TUESDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1939
After our conversation in the library, I don’t see Sylas for the next five days; his siblings tell me he went to their family house in Iserine. It turns out Paltro didn’t kick him off Firstline. He was placed on bereavementleave for a week and has to see the institute’s counselor three times a week for the next month. Beau has been in most of my classes, earning a few raised eyebrows from the Magisters. Between her own classes and her research, Lyria fills in anytime Beau’s busy—Sylas apparently told them to be my shadow, and while I appreciate the sentiment, they shouldn’t have to fit their regular lives around me.
Finally, yesterday, Rhodes walked in while we were having lunch in Hollow Tree, demanding I sign a form stating that I’m keeping my anchored ghost. Aside from being my friend, the ghost has been instrumental in our private investigation.
Since Fable’s death, Firstline officers guard every courtyard of Gorhail, and one is stationed at the entrance of every House. Rhodes continues to reassure everyone during her assemblies, but deep down, we’re all on the edge of a knife, waiting for the next murder. We’ve stopped receiving copies ofThe Daily Mageand now have to rely on hearsay to know what is going on outside of Gorhail.
Tonight, as we drive past the evenly spaced cypress trees of Riverview, I mull over Sylas’s theory. That the poacher who murdered his unit in Gorhail Woods knew him.
“I shouldn’t be here.” Lyria clenches her counterfeit pass so tightly, I’m afraid it won’t be usable by the time we reach Riverview Prison. I reach across the car’s middle seat and squeeze her hand.
“Lyr, we’ll be fine. Visiting Victor won’t take long, and my parents’ vault is near the entrance of the crypt, so it’ll be quick. We’ll be at Rhea Corvi’s library in no time,” Beau reassures her from the driver’s seat.
“The last time you said we’d be fine, you died,” Lyria clips, and he sighs. There’s not much arguing with that.
Beau parks the car, and we get out in silence. I glance at the white square building in front of us. Sterile. That’s the best word for Riverview. Albion and Gorhail have so much character compared to the boxy buildings and carefully manicured lawns in this town. Even their sidewalk is a series of perfectly cut concrete slabs.
“Sy’s waiting at the entrance,” Beau says, and I seek him out. He leans against the building, clad in his all-black Firstline uniform; he looks as deadly as he did the night we broke into Dearly Departed.
When he notices us, he pushes himself off and takes a few steps forward, waiting at the top of the stairs. I straighten my borrowed jacket;Beau insisted that we all wear combat jackets in case we run into poachers, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the jackets wouldn’t matter. If we run into poachers tonight, we’re dead.
“You look fine.” Lyria stifles a smile as she loops her arm through mine.
The three of us cross the road and climb up the steps. Beau made us rehearse the script at least three times today: Beau is taking his sister— me—to see his boyfriend under the supervision of Sylas, whom Lyria is shadowing on duty.
Sylas glances at our locked arms and sighs. “Lyr, the officer on duty is thinking of earning his Grand Magus rank in death magic—distract him so he doesn’t ask too many questions as they’re visiting Victor. Our brother unfortunately has a very memorable face, and I doubt the fake passes will hold for long.”
Beau winks at Sylas. “Just say I’m handsome.”
“Beau,” Lyria hisses, letting go of my arm and walking ahead. “Stop joking around. You’re supposed to be sad.”
As we watch his siblings walk in ahead of us, Sylas leans his head to the side. “Poison’s red looks better on you than Death’s blue.”
Before I’m able to process his words, he files into the narrow door of the prison, following Lyria and Beau. I let out a shaky breath; now isn’t the time to think about the meaning of his words.
The entrance opens to a rectangular room with a single raised desk in the back. Again, everything is white: the walls, the tiles, the desk. It’s nauseating. The four of us step forward until we stand in front of the desk. An officer, dressed in black from head to toe, waves us over. He sticks out like a sore thumb. “Passes,” he barks.
We hand them over in silence. He notices the slight shake of my hand, considers it for a moment, then his curious eyes land on me. “First time in a prison, miss?”
“Y-yes.” I force a smile.
“Who are we here to see?” The man’s eyes shift between my face and the pass. “A lover, perhaps?” Beside me, Sylas shifts his weight, and it takes all my might not to glower at him.
“Yes.” Beau gently nudges me out of the way, inserting himself between Sylas and me. “We’re here to seemylover. I want my sister to meet him in case he’s placed on death row.”
I glare at Beau. Someone whose boyfriend is on death row wouldn’twear the world’s biggest smile. His face immediately drops into a solemn look.
The man grimaces, then looks at our passes again. “Weren’t you the dead boy on the front page ofThe Daily Mage?”
So much for a distraction.
Beau throws his head back in laughter. “Pray tell, how would I have been able to drive a car here?”
The officer’s look lingers for a second, before shifting to Sylas. “Division?”
“Riverview Division,” Sylas replies. “My sister is shadowing me on orders from Paltro.” He hands the officer Lyria’s pass and a letter. “We’re fine with waiting outside until they’re finished. We have to escort them back to Gorhail.”
The officer scribbles something down, then hands us the passes back. “Second door on the left, down the hallway, and another left. Prisoner is ready in a holding room; your visit was called in an hour ago.”