Words no longer make sense. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would see Beau again. I had convinced myself his ghost was lost forever. Lyria will lose her mind when she sees him. I should be happy, but a faint feeling of guilt catches up with me. Viola did all of this with the magic I despise.
My eyes land on her. She’s retreated to a corner, her head lowered, as if she’s trying to shrink into the wall. I hate it. All of it. The way she immediately removed herself, the side glances at the door, the slight quiver of her chin. I hate that I notice everything.
“Could we…” She hesitates, her voice brittle. “Could we have done the same for Olivia?”
Beau’s smile fades, and Victor frowns in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Viola. Death magic isn’t woven for nonmagi. Their ghosts cross into the Orga,” Victor says. But Viola already knew that. Hope is like a serpent; it sheds its skin with promise, while silently seeping venom into your veins.
A single tear works its way down her cheek before she brushes it off. “Olivia told me you have the answers I seek.” She steels her question.
“I do.” Victor nods. “I was paid to create illusions of ghosts so she could pass as a conduit.”
“By whom?” Viola frowns. I glance at Beau, and we’re both just as confused.
“I don’t know, it was always anonymous. The bank sent yearly checks in the mail.” Victor presses his lips together. “But if you help me get my body back, I can file an inquiry with the bank. The nonmagi clerks cannot see materialized ghosts.”
I study Victor as he stands there, his hands wrung together, lips pursed.
“You said you knew who killed Olivia,” Viola presses, but Victor looks away. I take a step forward. He doesn’t know who killed them; I would surrender my aspiers on that bet.
Viola shrugs. “I’m not bringing your body back if you don’t tell me.”
“I meant to write, ‘I know what led your sister to her death,’ but the magic wrote something else.” He sighs. “Fable Rowan. She didn’t kill Olivia, but she threatened to tell the dean that your sister was a fraud,” he says. “Olivia ran away after that. We’d spent twelve years hiding her identity, and Fable destroyed everything in a single night. I… I was already dead by then. I couldn’t follow your sister out without being caught by conduits.”
How did Fable find out about Olivia? Could Sierra have told her? That’s impossible. Sierra seemed too vexed by her and Lorne.
“She never should’ve been here in the first place.” Viola looks up, blinking away the tears that pool in her eyes. Again, with the self-loathing, and again, I have to stop myself from walking over to her.
“Do you know who killed you?” I finally speak, and then turn to Beau. “And you?” It’s surreal to be speaking to my brother again.
Victor shakes his head. “I was in the woods, collecting some flowers for my mother’s medicine. Then I was dead. Thankfully, I always inject myself with frost venom when I leave Gorhail, in case poachers attack.” We all look at Beau.
“I was running back toward the passageway. I think poachers attacked me. Mortemagi, I’m certain, because no one forgets the coldness of the claws of the undead.”
Viola winces, but she says nothing. My legs move then, and I’m standing next to her. It must be that stupid bond again—poisoning me with this uncontrollable longing to be close to her.
“Mara is a puppet,” Victor offers, and Beau nods behind him.
“We are aware,” I reply. Viola looks up at me, then she turns to Victor. “Who is the puppeteer?”
“We don’t know, but we’re fairly certain the puppeteer killed all three of us, and might kill more.” Beau walks around the chamber, studying the numerous vaults. “Purists are such curious people—there are so few of them, and yet they think the masses must worship them.”
Victor’s eyebrows lift in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting the descendant of a purist family to forsake them. In truth, a lot of us do; their archaic rules make no sense; they’re constantly lobbying DOTS to take us back to the mid-1500s when Houses were segregated, and we made next to no magical progress due to the lack of collaboration, and they’ve made it their life’s mission to eradicate crossmages. Of course, there are still plenty of purists—like Fable—who think they’re owed the world.
“We know they’re after heirloom relics. Both of yours, and Viola’s, butwe don’t know why,” I muse aloud. “Do you haveThe Founder’s Book of Relics, Victor? The library said you checked it out.”
Victor scowls. “That’s impossible. I needed the book to see if using a Founder’s relic could reorganize memories. I put in a request, and they said it has been missing since 1918.”
Beau’s lips flatten, and I remember he told us about Victor’s mother being at St. Fabian’s Ward for Altered Minds in Riverview. He probably needed the book for her.
“Would that coincide with the timeline of Faro’s Cuff going missing?” Viola asks. “So far, we have a missing book, a missing Founder’s relic, and two stolen heirloom relics, with a third we know they want.”
Haal, the way her mind works is stunning. I wasn’t thinking about a coinciding timeline. I don’t know how we’ll find out when the cuff went missing, but at least we have another clue.
“Faro’s Cuff is missing?” Beau and Victor say at the same time.
Viola nods. “It’s ‘long gone,’ according to the guardian of the catacombs.”
“That’s impossible.” Beau meets my eyes. “Only you and Lyria—”