Page 52 of Foresyth Conservatory
And with that, the Meister and I quickly left the Council chamber the same way we entered.
“The deeper I go, the more I realize that power at Foresyth is not simply earned—it is consumed. It draws from something deeper than knowledge or skill. It hungers. I feel it in my bones, and though I reach for it, there is a cost. I’ve seen it in their eyes—those who have tapped into this well before me. What have they lost, I wonder? And what will I lose, when the time comes?”
—Julian Earhardt’s journal,dated February 20th, 1919, translation by Dahlia Blackburne
Chapter 18: Druid Like Me
I arrived back at Foresyth a few minutes past midnight. As I entered, the House greeted with its usual creaks and groans, and I carefully avoided the rotting board of the entrance steps. I had become accustomed to the sounds of the House. It was as if it had a life of its own, breathing and trembling, just as its inhabitants were prone to do. My knees ached from the drive, and I stretched them along the lanes of the hallway, readying myself for bed.
I had secured the Skorn deck and could count the day as a success. But still, thoughts of my father, the Council, and the red woman wrapped around me like a cloak of mist—ephemeral and difficult to grasp. My father hadn’t been investigating Foresyth as I thought.
He had beenattendingit.
A migraine was budding at the base of my skull, and I rubbed the sensitive place with my thumb. As I rounded the corner up to the stairwell, I saw light pouring out from the reading room. Who would still be up at this hour?
The floor creaked again, and a backlit shadow appeared in the frame of the door.
“You made it back,” the shadow said.
“You would have preferred I didn’t?” I said to Aspen.
“Why do you antagonize me so?” he said, stepping into the hallway. I could hear the sly smile forming on his lips and saw a flicker of his thumb caressing the edge of his mouth. He was wearing casual slacks and a crisp white button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Effortless, but calculated. Like everything about him.
“You know why,” I said quietly and against my better judgement. I was tired and just wanted to retreat to bed. I’d had enough duplicity for one day.
He pretended not to hear me. “So, you got the deck, then?” he said, crossing his arms. He narrowed his eyes, studying me.
“Of course I got the deck,” I said, crossing my arms back.
“I didn’t doubt you. It’s just that the Council is known for being a bit . . . skeptical.”
“They didn’t give me any trouble,” I said, yawning. “I’m headed to bed; you can interrogate me tomorrow.”
“I was just going up myself.” He turned back to the reading room. “Let me just get these lights,” he said.
When he flicked the switch off, the entire House turned dark. My body tensed and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust.
“You can hold my hand if you need help up the stairs,” Aspen mused, no doubt noticing my hesitation.
“I’m fine,” I said and started up without him. I blinked my eyes into focus and found the steps.
As we ascended the stairs, the sound of rushing water became audible. It sounded like someone was drawing a bath. At the top of the staircase, I flicked on the hallway lights as my Oxfords squished the carpet underneath.
Water was spreading in a slow, gleaming pool across the floor, seeping from beneath one of the doors. Sequoia’s bedroom.
“What the hell?” he said.
Aspen and I exchanged a glance, then moved in tandem toward Sequoia’s door. With each step, the sound of rushing water intensified, a low roar now pressing against the walls. I lifted my hand and knocked.
I tapped on the door, calling, “Sequoia?” No answer.
Aspen was right behind me. I kept him in my peripheral vision as I cracked the door even further. I called again. No answer.
“Sequoia, are you in there? You’re overflowing the tub,” I called again. There was a hitch of irritation in my voice. How could she be so careless?
“I’m coming in,” I said, ignoring the splashes of water against my socks. I pushed the door open and strode into her room, calling her name again. Strangely the bathroom door was locked, even though the threshold under the door was spewing water through it. I wiggled the door handle again, but to no avail. I was going to have to pick the lock.
“Let me,” Aspen said. “It’ll take too long to pick,” he said. He placed a firm hand on my shoulder, gently moving me out of the way.
