Page 97 of Foresyth Conservatory
Magick is all ceremonial, you see. And intention matters.
It came down to a matter of timing. If I died before the actual ceremony, then it wouldn’t work—the Meister wouldn’t succeed. I wished I could have thought of another way, but I had mere hours to lay out my plan. The Meister was going to kill me one way or another. But if I was going to die, at least I’d have a say on how it would happen.
And I had a back-up plan: I had you.
The Meister knew of your existence (thanks to your prolific Tarot-reading practice which made the January issue of the Greenwich Observer). I used that knowledge to my advantage. I knew that you’d be invited to Foresyth shortly after my death. The Meister would draw you here with some plot of his. And of course, you’d be curious. You’d hear the call of magick that’s in your blood, and you’d come looking for me.
I apologize, dear sister, for laying out this plot for you and making you suffer it. I wish there had been a better way—another story in which we could all live together. But you are the last element, the one who can end this cycle of death. I laid out everything in Foresyth so you would slowly come to know its true nature, and the depth of its darkness, without being consumed by it. I couldn’t trust anyone, even the other students. If the Meister was using me, he surely could be using the others. I made sure that you would be the only one with the full story. Maybe that was a mistake, but it’s too late now.
You are almost to the end. But you’re not there yet.
Take these letters as proof to the Council and have them see how corrupt the Meister has become. Until this moment, there hasn’t been enough evidence to convict him. But my grand exit and written words ensured that there would be enough to challenge his rule. If you find my mother, maybe she’ll help you, if she feels remorse over my death.
If you’ve gotten this far, then I know we would have been friends. But maybe, despite being separated by space and time, we can still solve this together.
Cheers!
Your dearest brother, Julian
When I finished re-reading the letters, I closed my eyes, trying to steady my racing heart. If nothing else, I had answers. The truth pulsed through me, rushing to my head, filling every vein. Now I understood why the Meister had brought me to Foresyth, why I’d felt so compelled to unravel the mystery of Julian’s death, and why the magick called to me.
It was in my blood.
And most sickening of all was how Julian had treated this all like a game—his magnum opus. He treated his very own life like a puzzle, like one of Aspen’s sculptures meant to be shattered. Like . . . Sequoia, drowning herself in the name of a God who wasn’t even the source of her power.
And yet, here I had been—obsessed over finding Julian’s killer, when he had discarded his life all along, refusing to fight. He had claimed to be under the manipulation of the Meister, but surely his genius could have found another way than to use his death to set off a chain reaction.
I tasted sourness on my tongue.
Something told me that Julian hadn’t minded dying—that if it served a purpose, it was worth it. His lack of sanctity for his own life felt like the greatest betrayal of all. I could have ignited with rage, but I pressed it down and channeled it into something useful: a plan.
I had to save the other students, even if they were too stupid to value their own lives. Julian had said the final piece of the puzzle would be showing this evidence to the Council—that they could be trusted to enact justice. But I was tired of playing his game, of retracing my father’s footsteps. I was tired of feeling like there was something wrong with me for feeling too much.
That my intuition was any less powerful than my logic.
Ignoring his gut, hiding his feelings—that’s what had gotten my father killed. And following someone else’s plan, along with his own hubris, had gotten Julian killed.
I was done with all of it.
I was done listening to men who thought they knew better than me—especially now that they were both dead. I was done believing that following my instincts was a weakness, that secrecy was power, that solitude was strength.
No, I wasn’t going to follow Julian’s plan anymore. Or walk in my father’s shadow.
I had something very, very different in mind.
Chapter 31: Return to Blackburne
I walked the winding stone path along Wicker Street, my shoes scuffing against the uneven cobblestones. The scent of rain lingered in the cracks, mixing with the faint traces of chimney smoke curling from distant rooftops. The street was quieter than I remembered, or maybe that’s what Sundays were like in Greenwich now.
Ahead, the bookstore stood still and solemn, its windows dark, its door marked by a hastily written sign:Temporarily Closed.
A heaviness settled in my stomach. I reached for the doorknob, my fingers brushing against the brass, cold and unwelcoming after months of absence. It had been almost three months since I’d left, and so much had changed.
But I wasn’t here for nostalgia.
I was here for Estelle.
“Mother?” My voice wavered as I stepped inside, the bell over the door letting out a feeble chime. “It’s me, Dahlia.”
