Lifting my head, I see the silhouette of a man in the forest. Is this the God of Death? The hooded figure peels away from the tall evergreen trees and glides toward me. Is it over, then? Surely I must be dead. But then, Raiku slithers from the person’s arm to mine.
Struggling to sit up, I take stock of the courtyard around Dearly Departed. Two Firstline Mortemagi are binding Mara and the other puppet by the street—they’re both still, and both in an advanced state of decomposition now that the puppeteers have gone.
I squint to have a better view of the hooded man.
My question is immediately answered the moment the figure steps in front of me. He doesn’t have to lower his hood; I would recognize the smell of burned sandalwood anywhere.
Overseer Paltro stands before me with the fury of a thousand gods.
Attention, Whisperers:Anchored ghosts can and will possess you at length. See a nonmagi priest for help.
Tip:Anchored ghosts cannot give out their names.
Should the whisperer want to permanently keep or dismiss their anchored ghost, they must guess the correct name. However, if the mage guesses the wrong name, the anchor breaks, and the ghost is free to possess the mage. Be wary, ghosts are known tricksters.
Addendum:Nonmagi priests are no longer taking expulsion requests.
RULES & REGULATIONS OF GORHAIL, 2ND EDITION
twenty-five | viola
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1939
If I hated magic before, I loathe it now.
Grasping the threads above Mara’s shoulders felt like ripping my soul in two. The burning from my cuff carried through my veins; I thought it would set me on fire. And every time I tried to snap the threads, a sharp stab at my temples threatened to drill into my head.
Until the small voice of the woman from the catacombs spoke again.Let me help, she said. And I did. I don’t remember a thing after that.
“Archyr, does prison mean nothing to you?” The overseer of the House of Poison stands over Sylas in the courtyard of Dearly Departed, winged by the shadow of the trees behind him. “Thank Haal your sister has more sense than you.”
“Great.” Sylas pushes himself up, dusting his palm against his tatteredpants. His weapons harness is empty, and underneath, his shirt is ripped, dried blood caking at the exposed skin. Lyria saved our lives.
Beau and Victor stand side by side, awkwardly looking back and forth between Sylas and the overseer. They’re both alive. I did it. I resurrected them… Well, the ghost did.
“Coming back from the dead doesn’t bar you from expulsion from Gorhail, Mr. Carver,” the overseer says without looking at Victor. Instead, his glare is trained on Beau. “Cardot, I’m rescinding your Grand Magus rank, effective immediately.”
“Uncle—” Beau speaks up, but the overseer is no longer looking at him. His menacing blue eyes study me from head to toe. “And you…” His tone oozes with scorn. “A brand-new Mortemagi, so well versed in the blood arts. Only the Gods can spare you now.”
The Gods know nothing of mercy. Why would they spare us when they were the ones who cursed us with magic?
“All four of you will answer to the Principal Grand Master immediately. I will be waiting in your car, Sylas, after we finish processing these puppets.”
Paltro turns around and glances at the building. Quietly, his brown aspier slithers from his arm, through the grass, and into the back door. If he’s hoping to find anyone else, he’ll be disappointed. He walks toward the street, where two Firstline Mortemagi hold the sagging bodies of Mara and another man I now recognize as the Albion baker’s husband. How could the Gods sit by as the monsters they created stole yet another innocent life?
Even if Firstline and DOTS investigate these two puppets, the truth remains that we are out of our depths—I overheard Victor say there were multiple puppeteers, and if we all nearly died to one, how will we survive against an army of them?
After tonight, I don’t know that I can fulfill my promise to Olivia— I am not strong enough for this world; I don’t have the grit to pursue a killer that hides behind other people’s bodies.
“Youstarted this.” Sylas glares at Victor. “And now we have to sit in front of the Grand House becausesheused her wretched magic to helpyou.” His mouth twists in contempt as he stalks over to where Victor stands.
She. He speaks of me with such disdain, like Iwantthis magic, like I wouldn’t scrape out every trace of it from my veins if I could. And now… I will be sentenced to death because of it. Maybe if I beg Priya and ask herto seal my magic, she will spare me from execution. It’s my first infraction; I’ll argue that I’m barely a mage. My foolish arrogance tricked me into believing I could make a difference, and I failed.
Beau levels his brother’s glower. “Viola’s magic is good when it brings me back, but wretched when we must answer for it.” He shakes his head, briefly glancing at Victor. “Actions have consequences, Sylas; we all knew this, and we were all prepared for it. If Victor didn’tstart this, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
Victor’s lips part in surprise, but he doesn’t say a word.
Sylas holds his brother’s stare for a second, then walks off toward the car, his fists balled at his sides. “Don’t mind him.” Beau gives me the smallest smile.