Page 29 of Foresyth Conservatory
“But Meister, don’t you think—”
“That’ll be all, Ms. Blackburne. Unless you want me to end your research assistantship? And the checks that come with it?”
“No, sir,” I said, fully knowing that catching up on any sleep this week would be impossible given the increasing load of expectations. And there was still the case of Julian left to investigate.
“Very well. Then you’re dismissed to go and continue your studies. And here, keep this.” He tossed the sachet of runes to me. “This might help.” I pocketed the sachet and stood.
“Oh, I’m sorry. There is one more thing. I did have Richard bring down Julian’s personal effects. If you would like to take a look . . . for your other research project.” He motioned to the grand piano in the corner of the room where a carton box sat atop the bench. My heart skipped a beat.
Finally, evidence to look through. Having so many distractions would make it difficult to make progress on the case, but at least I had evidence.
“Yes, indeed. Thank you.” I cut across the room and peered into the box. There were journals stacked to the brim, along with several checked-out books on esoteric symbology and iconography. I’d have my work cut out for me, indeed. I picked up the box and started for the door.
My heart sank when the door cracked open, and in stepped Aspen. I should have arranged another time to come for Julian’s things.
“You’ve run over fifteen minutes,” Aspen said, his hands casually in his pockets. A devilish smirk ticked the corner of his lips.
“New research project,” I said, slipping past him as quickly as I could.
“What do you have there?” Aspen asked, turning back away from the Meister’s office and into the hallway where I stood.
“Research materials. I’m doing a meta-analysis.” Both statements were factual, though they were disconnected truths.
“That’s what the library is for.” He furrowed his brows together, then took a step forward, letting the door go.
“From the Meister’s private collection,” I said and turned away. If he got a step closer, he might recognize Julian’s journals. “You don’t want to be late to your meeting,” I shot back at him, disappearing around the corner and to the staircase.
The last thing I heard was the office door closing. I breathed a sigh of relief and scurried to my room as quickly as the weight of books on me would allow.
“‘Sub rosa’ is a common refrain among Foresyth scholars, used before engaging in magickal discourse. In alignment with Foresyth’s core value of ‘INTEGRITY OF THE WORD,’ we encourage students to express and explore their ideas to their fullest extent.
This pursuit is made possible only through ‘THE VEIL OF THE ROSE,’ a bond of discretion that we affirm to protect one another. It is our shared secrecy that binds us, shielding our discussions. Here, no words or thoughts of magick will be persecuted, as was so common in the not-too-distant past.”
–Foresyth Student Handbook,1920 edition
Chapter 12: The Tarot Circle
I was panting by the time I made it to my room with Julian’s box, having narrowly escaped Aspen’s interception. I couldn’t risk Aspen—or any of the other students, for that matter—learning about my investigation. My throat tightened at the thought of Aspen seeing the journals I carried, clearly marked with Julian’s initials. But had he already seen them? I slipped by him so quickly, it seemed unlikely. Unlikely, but not impossible.
I pushed the thought aside as I picked through Julian’s things. I scarcely had time to search the box, given that my proposal was due in six hours, but my curiosity had gotten the best of me. My cursory glance found four journals—presumably one for each of the semesters he’d spent at Foresyth—two books on Gnostic symbology, and three on Norse mythology, plus a Norse dictionary.
But what connection had Julian seen between ancient Christian mythos and Norse runes? The two practices were separated by at least two centuries. Flipping through Julian’s journals, I noticed something else peculiar: they weren’t written in English. At least, not all of them.
They were written in strange markings that resembled a mix of Latin and Nordic symbols.
I stacked the books and journals back together in the box. I imagined Julian thumbing through these books in the library alcoves late at night, scribbling his findings excitedly into his journal, running his hands through his curly hair with each thought pulsing through him. He was only a year older than me.
Perhaps too young to leave a mark on this world, certainly too young to die, especially in the manner that he did. Whatever Julian was studying had to be connected to his death. But I couldn’t afford to spend more time thinking of it, not when I had to speak at Circle tonight in front of all the other students. Tonight’s performance might silence their doubts—or unravel the illusion entirely.
I trudged back downstairs and into the library, avoiding the route that would take me past the Meister’s office, just in case Aspen was coming out of his meeting.
It was exceptionally quiet.
Richard had drawn the curtains to cast out the afternoon light. I retreated back to my workstation and started stacking the books out of my bag onto the table. Luckily, given my extensive knowledge on the topic, there were only a few gaps to fill before I could construct a coherent proposal.
The scent of aged, leather-bound books clung to the air, and despite everything, a small smile found its way to my lips. Whatever the circumstances that had brought me to Foresyth, there was a part of me—quiet and unshakable—that felt at home here, buried in the alcoves, surrounded by words.
I drew in another breath, letting the stillness settle around me, and then turned to my study. The fog in my head lingered, but I kept it at bay with steady cups of black coffee retrieved from the breakfast room. Each bitter sip cut through the haze, sharpening my focus as my eyes moved over the page, line by line, chasing clarity in the flickering lamplight.
