Ever since they rescued me from Lorne’s lifedrain lesson, Lyria and Beau have been spending the majority of their time with me. When we’re not in class, we scour books that Lyria gets from the library to research rituals. Beau has taken to randomly quizzing me on the history and rules of death magic, and surprisingly, between Olivia’s homework and Nan’s books, I’ve found I’m excellent at theory.
I wish things were going as smoothly with Lyria. It took me one whole day to learn to grip a fake dagger properly. Apparently, I have no proper fighting stance, and she says I flail like a fish out of the water when I’m under attack. She fails to consider that I’ve never had to worry about being murdered before.
Some nights after curfew, we slip into the Poisoned Stairwell, far enough to where I should hear the ghosts, but nothing happens. I think the anchored ghost keeps them away, but she’s been silent since that exchange with Sierra in Hollow Tree.
In the mornings, I arrive early in Hollow Tree to grab the newest edition ofThe Daily Mageand read it while eating my breakfast. News of the murders are crumbs across the pages, with one tiny headline about Fable’s death titled: “Are We Back to the Age of Grimm?”
Firstline takes up most of the front page and the five that follow. SomehowThe Daily Magefeels the need to report that the Holm Division is getting a brand-new office in the South, and that the Premier Intelligence Division still holds the record for poacher kills. Sierra wasn’t kidding; they do have a poacher kill count in the margins next to the Firstline unit names. So far, the Deathbringer holds the record of highest number of poachers killed in a week.
Poachers are terrible, but how can Firstline celebrate death as if it were a game? It makes sense why the Gorhail murders hold so little importance. To mages, death is part of their lives.
In the brief moments I forget that Sylas has the Imortalis, I catch myself wondering if he’s hurt. Every passing day digs a bigger hole in my heart. Our last exchange was a burst of anger I wish I could erase.
Sitting on the ledge of the small window in my room, I run my hand over the shimmering glass. The faint glimmer of the setting sun caresses my fingers. I hope Sylas is making progress on the Grimm task force, because Beau, Lyria, and I have been sitting on the same information for a week now. Three dead relics, not including mine, one missing cuff, one missing book, and, more importantly, a bizarre sense of normalcy, as if the whole institute is under a trance.
My eyes land on the writing desk, now full of books, notebooks, and more homework than I had when I was at the nonmagi university. Homework makes me think of my sister, and my chest tightens… Gods, Olivia. What secrets were you keeping? Why couldn’t you leave me a single clue? Or maybe she did, and I’m too blind to see it. We have yet to find the person who was paying Victor to help Olivia lie.
I unclasp my cuff, studying the delicate engraving. My mind flips through every book I’ve read from Nan’s library. I wish she were still here to guide me through everything—and suddenly I realize that maybe she is. Maybe the answer lies in her library, in the old crate of books I haven’t yet gone through.
I have to go to Albion.
There’s a knock on the door, followed by hushed voices and two shushes. “Lorne refuses to elaborate about the blood arts at Gorhail,” I overhear Lyria. “He knows so much, it’s fascinating.”
“Have you considered that it could be because they are forbidden?” Beau teases her.
I open the door. “I need to go to Albion,” I say as I let them in.
“Why?” Lyria frowns as she walks in and takes a seat on my bed. Beau, on the other hand, greets me with a complicit smile, as his tall figure folds into the small chair by my writing desk.
“Because…” I pause, weighing my words. I need them to agree. “There may be books about relics in my nan’s library.”
Lyria’s eyes light up. “Are you inviting us to the legendary Rhea Corvi’s library?”
“You can borrow as many books as you want.” I give her a tight nod. “And…” I pause, facing Beau. “I also need to speak to Victor.”
He sighs, turning his attention to the mess on my desk. His mouth opens, as if to say something, but then he picks up a pen and nervously taps the back to the wood. Finally, he speaks. “Vi, that would—”
“Beau,” I caution.
“Vi.” He holds my gaze, and the tapping stops. We plunge into a brief silence until he breaks eye contact. “I’m not doing anything until we talk about Dearly Departed. You’ve been avoiding the conversation for the past four days, but it’s killingme.”
Gods, we’re not doing this right now. My shoulders drop, and I lean against the dresser, crossing my arms, facing Lyria instead of him. I’m hoping she’ll change the conversation, but she looks back and forth between Beau and me, and shakes her head.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I murmur, sucking in my cheeks. I don’t want to be reminded of my impending death. We have a murderer to find, we can’t wallow on what we cannot change.
“Will you ever forgive me for taking your lifeblood?” His voice breaks, and my head snaps toward him. He looks down at the pen. I take a step forward, placing one hand on the desk and clenching the other at my side.
“Beau, look at me,” I say, and he lifts his head up. “There’s nothing to forgive.” I stress every word.
Victor tricked me, not Beau. With how miserable Beau has been over the last few days, I know if he could trade his life for mine, he would do it in a heartbeat.
“I could have… I should have read more about resurrection before going along with it.”
He should have. I don’t react. Beau might have found out, but I don’t need Lyria to know I anchored to a ghost.
“And so should I.” I pause, watching him wrestle with my answer. Finally, he nods, and I smile. “Now that is settled, you can make it up to me.”
His eyebrows shoot up in question, and I continue, “I need permission to leave Gorhail to go back to my house, and I need your help getting into the prison. Sierra told me Victor may have more information about Olivia’s last days, and she also said you may have a way in?”