Page 109 of Foresyth Conservatory
The bark splintered in bursts—sharp, cracking noises like brittle bones snapping one by one. The air was thick with the low, reverberating moan of strained fibers tearing apart.
Before I could register the tree falling, a glint of metal flew across the room, and my fingers burst into pain. Aspen. He had kicked the knife out of the Meister’s hand, but the force had echoed down my hand.
“Move!” he bellowed.
I scrambled for purchase, throwing all of my weight into forcing the Meister onto his back. Aspen swept me off of him, and we fell backwards, our landing softened by the chaise behind us.
The House shuddered. The roots strained against the earth with a final, reluctant pop, followed by the long whoosh of displaced air as the canopy collapsed. I felt Aspen’s fingers covering my head, protecting me from the stray branches as they fell. They broke around us with brittle snaps, tangling and twisting like desperate hands grasping at nothing.
The impact was a dull, thunderous thud that echoed through my chest. The floor rumbled, rattling through bones and chests, before the sweep of silence rushed in. It was as if the House itself had exhaled.
The Meister was lodged right under the tree’s trunk, a branch spearing his elbow. He let out a howl of pain.
I untwined myself from Aspen, rising to my feet. He was breathing heavily and covered in leaves, but otherwise unharmed.
“Sequoia,” I said, my eyes darting to the opposite of the room. She lay unconscious beside the uprooted tree, a gilded card in her hand, her face angelic and calm as if in slumber. I squinted my eyes to make out the image of a flower-crowned woman, next to a tall, roaring lion. The card of Strength.
My God, shehadpushed the tree herself.
“I’ll take care of her,” Aspen said, and lifted his chin with a grimace toward where the Book lay.
The Meister moaned in pain, trying to free himself, but he was pinned under the jagged bark. My whole body was pulsing in pain, but I forced myself to walk over to him and stare into those vicious green eyes.
“Is this not how you conduct the ceremony?” I spat over him.
He groaned, his arm spurting blood. “You might want to get that taken care of,” I said and turned to the hearth where the Book lay.
My job wasn’t done yet.
I forced my fingers to curl and pick up the Book, its weight unnaturally heavy, as if it carried the burden of every soul it had corrupted. Power shuddered through me, starting at my fingertips and spreading like a spider’s web through my arms and chest, threading into my very core. For a moment, my pain subsided. The sensation was cold and invasive yet intoxicating. I could feel it pulling at me, drawing me into its orbit.
I closed my eyes, centering myself, willing the world to fall away. The room dimmed, the noises dulled. All that remained was the Book, its voice a whisper in my ear, low and intimate.
“Dahlia Blackburne, your Bonder blood calls to us. Why don’t you open our pages?”it purred, the words coiling around me like smoke.“We have so much to teach you.”
The sound wasn’t just in my ears—it was in my skin, my bones, resonating with the same eerie pulse I’d felt since entering this House. My fingers slid to its edges, brushing the cold, obsidian surface. They itched to open it, to peel back the veil and dive into its secrets.
The temptation was almost unbearable.
But I didn’t move. My grip tightened instead, the reality of what I held sinking in. This was no ordinary tome. Solid carbon, compacted over years into stone, it was a relic of power and ruin. How many haunted hands had held its spine, known its true horror, and been destroyed by it? How many lives had it claimed?
It would not take mine.
“No,” I said, my voice hoarse but resolute. “I don’t need to learn from you.”
Without hesitation, I hurled the Book into the fireplace. It landed with a heavy thud, an unnatural sound that echoed in the silence. The flames engulfed it, licking hungrily at its edges, and for a fleeting moment, I thought it would burn.
Then came the click.
The obsidian shifted, expanding with a mechanical elegance that defied nature. A shield unfurled around its pages, protecting them, deflecting the fire.
A low laugh echoed behind me, cutting through the crackling of the fireplace. The sound was bone-chilling, a mockery of mirth. It didn’t match the Meister’s twisted, monstrous face, but I didn’t need to turn to know it was him.
“Stupid child,” he gurgled weakly, his voice curdled thick with blood and hatred. “You cannot burn the Book. It is protected from the elements. Its power is eternal.”
“Perhaps not with fire,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. I reached into my pocket and drew out the black pebble, cold and sharp against my palm. “But I can with acid.”
The Meister’s laughter ceased. His silence was all the confirmation I needed.
