Page 75 of Foresyth Conservatory
I took the case file from him and thumbed through the newspaper clippings. A few were from 1893, then started again in 1904. Elizabeth Svenski, Michael Locke, Eden Kohnman, Jamie Gillard, Thomas Wood, Lily Fraser. The names went on. Every name was like a vial of horror injected into my veins. Wait,Lily Fraser?
She was one of the names on the dismissal notices I had just found in the Meister’s office. Students were disappearing, and the Council was covering it up as academic dismissals.
The cycle of suffering.This is what Julian had meant. This is what he wanted me to end.
“I can’t leave now,” I said, resolution ripening in my chest. For better or for worse, I was a part of Foresyth’s history now. There was no sense or reason to explain what I felt, but I just knew it. Julian had known it, too.
“Why can’t you just admit it?” he snapped. “Admit that you wanted to come here—to be a student.”
“What?”
“It’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it? To attend an elite school, to get a prestigious degree. Greenwich was never good enough for you.Iwas never good enough for you.” He stood, his voice dripping with bitterness. His features, which were usually soft and demure, were now sharper, cutting in unison with his words.
“Wait, Gabriel, that’s not true,” I started, but his words had stung deep, laced with a truth I didn’t want to face. It wasn’t just Julian that kept me here. Hadn’t I spent years longing for something more, something that Greenwich could never offer? Hadn’t I craved the validation Foresyth offered? The acceptance of the students, the academic rigor, the feeling of being among equals?
I stood, trying to steady myself. “You should go. If you came to convince me to leave, I’m afraid it’s not going to work. I’m committed to seeing this through.” The words felt like stones in my mouth. I knew hurting him would make him fight less for me, maybe even forget about me. It was the only way to keep him safe. “And there is someone else,” I added.Two someones, if I was going to be honest about it.
Gabriel scoffed, shaking his head. He slung his satchel over his shoulder, eyes filled with pain. “I hope this placeis everything you’ve dreamt it would be, Dahlia,” he said, walking toward the door. He turned to me one last time before leaving, and his anger was momentarily replaced with a flash of sadness. Then, he was gone.
My eyes drifted to the case file on the table, the newspaper clippings of missing students strewn about. I thought about the letter from the Council, and the bloodwork analysis of mine and Julian’s blood.Ourblood. I was bound to this place, whether I liked it or not. Julian had tasked me with ending the cycle, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—run away.
Gabriel had been right about one thing: Foresyth was turning out to be the exact nightmare I deserved.
Chapter 25: The Hunt is On
Gabriel’s visit had reaffirmed my purpose at Foresyth: solving Julian’s murder and understanding my father’s connection to the school. I tucked my other motives, along with thoughts of Aspen and Sequoia, neatly behind a wall of guilt and set out on my next task. Equipped with a compass, a flashlight, a bobby pin, and Julian’s coordinates, I began my search for the journal at quarter past midnight.
Tracing my steps back down to the seventh door along the hallway, picking the lock, and descending the rickety flight of stairs was easy enough. But keeping my breath steady and my heart from racing—that was harder.
I reached the revolving bookshelf after only tripping twice. Panic jolted through me when I realized I didn’t remember which book Aspen had pulled to trigger the passageway. I racked my brain. What had he said to me?
Hold on to your dictionary.
I had to jump to reach the Merriam-Webster, but my fingers finally caught it, and I pulled down the spine. A few seconds of silence passed before I spotted the other one. I rolled my eyes. Of course, that pretentious bastard had used the Oxford dictionary instead. This one took a few more hops, but when I finally reached it, a mechanical click sounded, and I smiled in satisfaction.
My flashlight was less impressive than Aspen’s eternal flame, but it got the job done, and it sat snugly between my ear and my skull, bound by my curls, allowing me the freedom of both hands. I took out my notepad and reviewed the rough map I’d sketched earlier. That, alongwith my compass, put me within twenty degrees north of the coordinates. I was only a few turns from Aspen’s workshop when my compass started spinning wildly, as if I’d entered a magnetic anomaly.
I was facing a barricaded doorway. I took a step back, and my compass returned to normal.
Very strange.
I examined the doorway more closely, noticing a faint layer of dust.Iron filings.This magnetic anomaly wasn’t natural; it was fabricated. Someone knew what was down here and didn’t want anyone else to find it. I cursed under my breath, ready to turn back. But then, as if the House was sanctioning my quest, the barricaded door creaked open.
Old magick.
Had the door sensed my touch somehow? A ridiculous hypothesis, but I’d seen stranger things at Foresyth. It was then that I recalled something Julian wrote in his journal, something about the House itself being alive. I had taken it as a metaphor, but what if it extended beyond that?
I entered the room, bracing myself for whatever lay beyond. A wave of energy crested over me as I stepped through. This place feltfamiliar. Nothing about a barricaded room in an underground tunnel should feel familiar, yet somehow it was both unsettling and oddly welcoming.
You’ve come.
I swiveled my head, looking back at the entrance. I could’ve sworn I heard a voice, but there was no one. Lodging a thick stone between the door and its frame, I ensured I wouldn’t get trapped. Then, I turned my attention to the room.
It was a sparsely decorated study, with a large oak desk in the center and cabinets scattered around the walls. A lone, moth-eaten chaise sat in the far-left corner, its fabric thinned with age. I began a methodical search, starting on the left side and moving clockwise. For locked cabinets, I used the back of a pocket screwdriver to break the hinges. Whoever used this office hadn’t been here in ages; they wouldn’t miss the furniture.
I was sweating by the time I’d upturned every cabinet, shelf, and book in the Godforsaken office. I couldn’t believe it wasn’t here; the coordinates had led me directly to this room. I checked my compass again to see the needle now spinning erratically. I cursed and returned the useless compass to my bag. Whatever magnetic anomaly coated the door must’ve been to blame.
Heading back out to the tunnels, I spotted peeling wallpaper behind one of the cabinets I’d moved. I went back and tore away more paper until it ripped in tiger stripes across the wall, revealing the image of a tree and markings speckling its trunk. Tracing my fingers over the symbols, I recognized them—the runic alphabet. This was a replica of the tree in the sitting room, except the bark had been stripped to reveal the runes etched beneath.
