Page 12 of Foresyth Conservatory
She sighed as if the answer was obvious.
“Monster lore reflects society’s fears, anxieties, and, most importantly, offers explanations for the inexplicable. Imagine you’re a pilot in the Great War, flying over the trenches in a biplane, when your engine suddenly sputters and dies. Would you prefer to think that your mechanic overlooked a crucial repair, or that you missed something during pre-flight inspection? Likely not.”
I was amused by her reasoning but disagreed. “When I work on a machine and can’t figure out its malfunction, I ascribe the error to myself—not some fictional deity.”
She gave me a steady look. “Yes, but you’re not working on machines of war, unless you have something interesting to share? These engineers faced the unsettling truth of human fragility—they couldn’t flawlessly command such complex machines. It’s easier, more comforting, to believe the failure was beyond their control, surrendered to something supernatural. Psychologically, it feels far safer.”
“That’s giving too much power to random chance,” I replied. “You must have a strong external locus of control.”
“I wasn’t talking about myself. I controlallthings, living and inanimate,” she said with a shadow of a smirk.
A faint warmth rose to my cheeks. I’d spoken too freely. She was, after all, a suspect—however brilliant her mind or disarming her curiosity. And yet, I couldn’t deny the flicker of intrigue her research stirred in me, nor the unexpected pleasure of genuine academic exchange. I would need to be more careful. This wasn’t the place to divulge too much of my own interests.
Still, a question budded inside of me, quiet but persistent:Could Foresyth be a true institution of learning after all?Not merely the shadowed sanctuary of occult ambition mymother and others had condemned, but something more—something real?
“Psychological threats can loom larger than physical ones,” I noted. “Do all the students share your sentiments on magick?”
Her smirk died and she returned her books to the shelves. “It wouldn’t be an academic Conservatory if everyone thought the same, would it? We all have our own notions of right and wrong here,” she said, a hint of irony lacing her words. “Tarotology—you read Tarot or just study it? Don’t worry, I won’t ask for a reading. It’s a bit low-brow, like asking a medical student to check your deviated septum. We’re not amateurs.”
I glanced away, fingering the books on the shelf in front of me. “Yes, I read Tarot. I believe the cards hold sacred iconography that taps into our collective consciousness.”
“Ah, Durkheim’s theory?”
“His, and Jung’s archetypes,” I replied, a thrill rising in my sternum. It had been rare to meet anyone who could discuss the psychology of Tarot with me. Even Gabriel shied away from the darker, mystical topics I found myself enthralled with since I was a child. But before I revealed too much, I quickly shifted the topic. “So, gremlins—that’s your thesis topic here at Foresyth?”
“Mythological zoology, or cryptozoology, with an arts concentration in mixed media. I use natural fibers and elements in my taxidermy,” she added, noticing my raised eyebrow. “It’s not as gross as it sounds, and we have a decent science lab here. I mostly use the microscopes, but there’s a lot of equipment that’s just collecting dust. If you’re into machines, I can show you after breakfast.”
“I’d like that a lot. My dad was a sort of scientist before he changed careers.”
“Is that right?”
“Geology, mostly, but he made his own lenses to study minerals. Nothing that could walk, though. Not as interesting as taxidermy,” I added, hoping I hadn’t lost her. I needed an ally at Foresyth. Even if I couldn’t trust her, maybe she could trustme. That had to be worth something.
Nina smiled, placing her last book on the shelf. “I hope they don’t walk,” she joked, waving a hand. “Come on, breakfast is in the other room. I’ll show you the way.”
As we started down the aisle, she grabbed my arm, tugging me back into the stacks. She bit her lip, deciding whether to share a thought.
“I have to warn you,” she whispered. “Aspen—the tall one—he’ll try to play a trick on you. He always does on the new ones. Just play along, all right? It’s a stupid hazing ritual. His father hates him, so he must take it out on everyone else.”
I tried to mask my surprise at her bluntness. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll be careful.” Was Nina genuinely looking out for me, or was she part of the game too?
We made our way to the breakfast room, a bright, airy space with high ceilings and white curtains filtering the January sun. My gaze drifted to the table where three students were seated.
Across the table sat a woman with blonde curls like a Botticelli angel, her face flushed, lips forming a cupid’s bow as she laughed with the man beside her. She exuded charisma, an aura of effortless charm wrapping her andeveryone near her. She wore a long dress of blues and purples draping her figure elegantly.
Beside her, the man lounged casually in his chair, his strong jaw and deep-set hazel eyes catching the light. His tailored sports jacket was made from a rich, heavy fabric which complemented his bohemian poise. His arm was draped over the back of the blonde’s chair, suggesting a familiar intimacy. He was the first to notice me.
“Look what the Meister dragged in. Another playmate,” he said with a smirk, locking eyes with me.
The blonde smiled warmly. “You must be the new student. We’ve been excited to meet you. Come sit.”
A man sat further down, seated in a wheelchair with a book in his lap. When he looked up, I saw the half-dazed look of someone pulled from another world. Nina settled into a seat, and I noticed everyone wore bright, whimsical colors like the lining of the Meister’s jacket—everyone except me.
I stood for a moment at the edge of the room before joining them at the table. Individually, they seemed unremarkable—eccentric scholars, perhaps not too different from myself. Examining any one of them too closely would render them as separate, isolated pieces—like a jigsaw puzzle in fragments. But together, they formed a powerful, enigmatic ensemble. And one, if not all, could be dangerous. I would never fully trust any of them, but I had to secure their trust in me, at all costs.
“I’m equally excited to meet all of you. Though I must admit, the Meister didn’t share all your names,” I said with what I hoped looked like a genuine smile.
Nina busied herself at the buffet table, then returned to sit with the others. “These are the Trees—Aspen Barlowe and Sequoia Nightingale. Leone Beaufort is the one always reading. And I’m Nina, in case you’ve already forgotten.”
