Page 78 of Foresyth Conservatory
The words curled between them like smoke, slipping into the cracks of Quill’s hesitation, filling the spaces. He felt a head rush and his eyes dipped to her lips. How could anyone be so devastatingly beautiful?
“That’s why I want to do this with you,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. Her grip was warm, still slick with blood.
She rose from her crouch, moving to where he knelt beside the carcass. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them, to just to this moment.
Quill could feel the heat of her skin radiating towards him. He whispered to her, “Before we include the others, I have another idea—” But before he could finish, she leaned in, her breath warm against his lips. The scent of blood and cinnamon filled his lungs. The world blurred at the edges, the ritual swallowing them whole.
When she kissed him, her fingers still red from the fresh kill, Quill did not pull away. He accepted her lips like an unholy communion, baptized by their spilled blood.
Chapter 26: The Mapmaker
Once upstairs, I paused to catch my breath. My hands trembled, though I couldn’t tell if it was from the cold sweat clinging to my back like a second skin, or the lingering terror still twisting in my gut. The House was silent this late at night, its long hallways stretching out in eerie stillness, the gas lamps casting jagged shadows against the walls.
I drifted toward the foyer, intending only to steady myself, maybe regain some sense of control before I moved again. That’s when I saw it.
A red envelope, tucked neatly into my mail slot.
My breath caught. It hadn’t been there before.
I swallowed hard and reached for it with slow, measured movements, my fingers brushing the thick, waxy paper. I glanced around, suddenly hyperaware of the empty corridors. It must have been delivered only hours ago.
I quickly dropped my bag and tore the envelope open, my pulse hammering against my ribs. The note inside was brief, but the weight of its message pressed down on me like a vice.
How’s your research project going? I’m eagerly awaiting the results.
No date. No signature. But I didn’t need one.
The Al-Ahmar.
The name slithered into my mind like the cursed lion serpent in my dreams. I could almost hear her voice, the amusement laced with quiet menace. She was reminding me of our trade. The Skorn deck in exchange for an answer toJulian’s death. She must be trying to undermine the Meister, working around him. Maybe he was failing to deliver results.
My fingers tightened around the paper, crumpling the edges. The problem was, I still had no answer for her. What would she do if I failed her? I forced a breath, trying to untangle the knot forming in my stomach. I had to move.
My time was running out.
I needed to find Leone. Now.
*
I was stuffing my face with blueberry biscuits as I walked into the library. I probably should’ve kept the crumbs away from the books, but I was starving, and I wasn’t there for the books. Not at two a.m. on a Monday night.
Everyone at Foresyth had a preferred letter in the stacks where they frequented, making it easy to find them. Leone was in the “C” section, bent over a particularly weathered cartograph.
Is everyone staying up late tonight?
“You’re not allowed to eat in the library,” he stated without even glancing up.
“I brought extra if you’re hungry,” I teased, even though I knew Leone’s only appetite was for books and maps.
“No, thank you.” He sighed with apathy. I leaned over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the map he was studying. It was of an archipelago I didn’t recognize, but the intricate craftsmanship was impressive. Even with my untrained eye, I could see why Leone deemed it worthy of his attention.
“Quick question, do you make maps, or do you just study them?”
Leone paused mid-scribble. “If someone’s up this late working, it’s likely because they have a deadline, not because they enjoy it. And as much as I value your conversation, I’m a bit preoccupied.” His tone was flat and dismissive.
“Fine, then. I won’t waste your time. I need a map of the underground tunnels at Foresyth.”
Leone finally looked up, his expression impassive but not without a flicker of curiosity.
