Dearly Departed looks haunted from across the street. The shadows of the surrounding trees brush along the side of the single-story white building. Chills trace a line down my arms as I cross over, and I convince myself it’s the frosty air, and not at all because I am terrified of the dark and the ghosts that roam. When I was younger, I read in one of Nan’s journals that wandering ghosts—those that haven’t crossed over to the Underworld—gather by the church at night, pleading with the God of Death to grant them safe passage. I know now how futile it is. Without proper burial rites, mages never cross into the Underworld.
I try the main door, but it’s locked. It’s also five in the morning, and in my haste to leave the house before Mother awoke, I forgot my key. After Delaney’s visit yesterday, her parting words swirled in my mind, their poison slowly taking root until it was impossible for me to sleep. Even a trivial lie festers like a wound, she’d said. And yet she was happy to get behind the lie that Oliviafellinto the water.
Delaney’s ultimatum comes barreling in my head. Gorhail or DOTS.I’d choose neither, but this isn’t about me. Olivia deserves justice, and I won’t find it by running away.
I take stock on the front porch, sighing when I count sixteen owl planters. Mara keeps a spare key to the back-office door in one of them, and they all look identical. Bloody saints, I just want to get in, talk to my sister, and leave before Mara comes in.
The low chirp of birds urges me forward. Soon, the sun will rise, and the ghosts will leave the church. As much as I want to believe it’s a myth, I don’t want to be caught in the middle of a gaggle of ghosts while wearing my relic.
After three wrong pots, a silver key shines up at me, buried behind a succulent. I pluck the key, studying the rust on the biting before walking around the corner. The back door unlocks with ease, and I slip inside.
The air feels wrong.
It smells of blood, salt, and something sharp. It smells of death. Were it the middle of a busy day, I wouldn’t question it. But we always leave the place spotless before we close for the night, out of respect for the dead.
I weigh my first step. Complete silence. My shoulders relax a little. I continue down the hallway, past the preparation room until I’m in front of the cold room. Olivia’s body should be here, and I pray to the Gods that her ghost lingered around long enough for me to speak to her.
When I reach for the door, my cuff sears against my arm. I flinch, releasing the handle, but the burning doesn’t stop. I step away, and the pain deepens. It gnaws at my flesh until I press down on the handle, pushing open the cold metal door. I wonder if this could be Olivia’s ghost, guiding me.
Two bodies lie side by side on cold steel tables. Neither of them is my sister’s. I look around, but no one’s here. Mara would never leave bodies unattended. She’d promised Olivia would be here, so where is my sister? Where is Mara?
The air shifts again, and I whirl, but I’m alone in here. It’s nothing… Maybe Mara had to rush out to get Olivia’s body from the sheriff’s office. There’s a reasonable explanation, I’m sure.
My gaze returns to the bodies in front of me. The first one is a young man a couple of years older than me—black hair, angular face, bruises along his jaw, his cheekbones, and three deep clawlike cuts on the side of his neck, stretching to his collarbone. The second man is around my age. His light brown hair is stained crimson with blood, his features moreboyish. Underneath his left ear is a birthmark shaped like a broken heart. His face as pallid as the first man. And yet, even in death, his lips quirk with a slight smile.
Something’s off. They’re unlike the dead I’ve worked with before, or maybe it’s my cuff misleading me, but they look like they’re frozen in time.
I lean over the dark-haired man, studying his clothes for any identification. He wears a long-sleeved black shirt with a detailed silver crest—divided in four quarters, one knife, one pen, one laurel, and one key—embroidered on the left pocket. The crest of Gorhail’s House of Arcane. The second body wears a similar shirt, but the fabric is torn where his House crest would be—ripped by claw marks.
My skin prickles. It can’t be a coincidence that three Gorhail students were killed on the same day. Olivia’s arm was riddled with claw marks. The clues are in plain sight, and with this, the authorities won’t be able to argue that her death was a mere accident. I swallow, the reality of it all sinking into my gut. Someone is murdering students.
A cold hand snatches my wrist. I yelp, but no sound comes out. The frozen tendrils of death crawl along my veins until Ifeelmy bones turning to frost. With the cuff, the magic is relentless. It holds my breath, locks me in my own body, reminds me that right now, it has total control.
The black-haired man opens his eyes. White irises stare at me. I expect his dry, flaky lips to move, but they don’t. They never do.He whom you seek lies in the catacombs.
The chill dissipates, and I snatch my wrist away, rubbing the invisible imprints of his cold, dead fingers off my skin. Another complex riddle. Olivia and this stranger chose the most inconvenient time to be cryptic, but I know one thing for certain: Gorhail houses both serpents and catacombs that stretch all the way through Bale to the holy grounds of Old Iserine.
Behind me, the door squeaks. I whip around, bracing myself on a table for balance. I don’t know who I was expecting, but it was definitely not Mara. Relief floods me—she must have come back to handle these bodies.
“Viola.” She leans against the doorframe, amused. I don’t know why I don’t greet her back. “You’re here… early,” she observes.
“I…” I pause. “I thought Olivia would be here.”
“She was, but a Firstline officer from DOTS headquarters came in late last night and requested her body for further investigation,” she says.I lift my eyebrows. Did they make the same connection about the three murders? Thank the Gods. If DOTS made the request, it means that they’re finally taking Olivia’s death seriously. If Firstline finds her killer, I won’t have to set foot at Gorhail. And if DOTS wants to seal my magic as punishment for my and Olivia’s deceit, I’ll gladly turn myself in.
“Oh…” My response is delayed, the words not quite coming together.
“How are you holding up?” Mara’s eyes soften. I hate that she regards me with such pity. Until now, I kept my sorrow at bay with the promise of speaking to my sister’s ghost. But she’s not here, and slowly, my grief is creeping back, sinking its claws into my heart. This time, I’m afraid it won’t stop until her death is imprinted on my soul.
I shake my head, biting back sobs that threaten to spill any second.
“You’re allowed to grieve.” The softness of her voice wraps me with the comfort I needed yesterday, one that my own mother couldn’t provide. Mara’s warmth beckons me to tell her everything that’s on my mind. How I’m hoping that Firstline rules Olivia’s death a murder, so I don’t have to go to the institute. How I loathe myself for being so selfish—Olivia didn’t hesitate a second before she took my place, and here I am still trying to find ways to stay away from that wretched school.
But I cannot bring myself to speak about her. “Did they just come in?” I ask instead, my head bobbing toward the bodies.
After a long sigh, Mara nods, her smile fading into a thin line. “Can you get started on cleaning both of them and wheel them to storage, please? I’ll be right back.”
When I don’t answer, she adds, “If it’s too soon—”