Page 58 of Foresyth Conservatory
Stop, before you go too far,my father’s voice resounded in my head. I pushed him away, just as I did the burning in my legs.
When I got to the top and saw the clearing, I stopped to catch my breath. Despite the fire in my lungs, my mind was clear and bright, free from the gloom of the House. I took in a hungry gulp of air, filling my chest and holding it there. I sighed, my pulse falling.
The Tramping Ground was right in front of me.
I stared at the cold, barren earth. The patch of dry soil was circumscribed with rocks, no doubt the work of Nina defining the grounds. The circle itself was perhaps only three yards in radius, but the dead bleakness of the ground was contrasted by the overgrown grass surrounding it.
Nina had called thisSophia’sCircle. The same deity that Sequoia had seen the night when she nearly died.
A jolt of energy ran down my arms, and I wrapped my blazer tighter around my midsection. I took out Julian’s journal and flipped to the pages stained in red, with what I now knew was blood.
He had left a message. One he didn’t want just anyone to know—only those who had access to this Circle. And I was going to figure out what it was.
I came closer to the Circle and crouched down just a few inches away from its edge. I laid down the journal on the grassy side and stacked a few rocks on either side to keep it propped open. I reached inside my bag and took out my leather gloves. There was no way I’d touch the soil with my bare hands. I donned the pair and began to reach for the soil. It was hard and packed, as if someone had indeed been stamping around on it.
I dug my fingernails through the gloves, pinching the crust to break. It finally did, but at the cost of heat rising in my finger tips. It wasburningmy hands through the gloves. I worked quickly to coat the journal’s pages with the foul soil until all the words were obscured.
It had only taken seconds for Nina’s blood to disappear. The familiar buzzing surrounded me, and I tuned into the noise, no longer pushing it away. It was saying something, I realized, in a tight pitch.
Blood, it rang out.
I watched in awe as steam rose from the book, burning away the runic characters, leaving behind only the English written in red pen. I quickly dusted off the rest of the soil before it burned through the book.
I studied the marvel before me closely. It worked on organics. Blood, cellulose paper. Even the leather of mygloves was not impervious to its effects. I took out a small vial from my bag and scooped a pinch of the soil into the container to examine later.
I turned my attention to the journal in front of me. I raised it and shook out the dirt from the pages back into the Circle. To my delight, only the English writing remained. My heart lurched when I saw the entry was addressed to me.
Dearest Dahlia Blackburne,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. But don’t worry, I caused enough trouble on my way out to make it worthwhile.Abyssus abyssum invocat—hell calls for hell. My one regret is that we never met. I had hoped that, under different circumstances, we might have.
The shadows over Foresyth run deeper than I feared, and I hate to think of you facing them. But Foresyth is in your blood, just as it is in mine. Blood of my blood. If you’ve found this Circle, then I know it’s really you. I made sure only you would be able to uncover its location.
The Bookwill call to you as it called to me. But if my theory is correct, you may have the power to resist it. Resist it.
Be careful of the Meister. His power lies not just in magick—but in his deception. He bends truth to serve his needs, and that makes him more dangerous than anyone else. I’ve been studying the Gnostic texts, and I believe our rituals aren’t just drawing power from the abyss—they’re feeding it. The demiurge, the architect of the material prison, grows stronger with every invocation.
Find our father’s journal. Only then will you understand the cycle of suffering in this House—and how to stop it. The coordinates are at the bottom of this page.
If there’s one thing I regret, it’s that we never met. I will look forward to it in another life.
Sub rosa,
Julian
The words on the page swam before my eyes, but one line stood out as though it had been etched into my bones:Blood of my blood.
My father . . . was Julian’s father, too. The man I thought I knew, the man who raised me, had buried a past so deep I was only uncovering it now, in the dirt, in blood, like an animal. A scream was budding in my throat. My face paled, and I started to sway on my feet, reaching down to steady myself against the cold, barren earth.
I flipped back through Julian’s journal frantically, searching for something—anything—that would explain it away. But it was right there, hidden in plain sight. His cryptic words, his obsession with Foresyth’s secrets, and now, this.Blood of my blood.
Julian was my brother.
The world around me tilted. My knees buckled under the weight of the truth, and I reached out to steady myself on a nearby tree. My breath came in short, sharp bursts, each gasp pulling me deeper into the storm of realization crashing over me.
And how did Julian lead me here to this Circle? I hadn’t found it, Nina did. But I had pulled the cards for her . . .
A sharp pain erupted at the base of my skull—a migraine threatening to split my head open. The Tramping Ground lay still before me, but the revelation roared in my ears, drowning out everything else. My father’s ties to Foresyth,Julian’s research, the dark call of power that lingered in every corner of this place.
