12. Chapter 11 #2
“It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real,” she whispered as she grasped the freezing handle.
She winced as she pried it open, and her shoulders sagged with relief when there was only a blue and silver box inside.
She reached in and pulled it out, then placed it on the table.
Silver etchings of the constellations shone in the overhead light.
It was about six inches at each angle, making it a perfect square.
Ivy flipped the top open to reveal a celestial projection cube.
The silver mechanical piece was designed with four tiers of glass plates, which held multiple arcane maps of the night sky, and the knobs on each side could be twisted to get the exact constellations they were looking for.
While it contained constellations that mundane astronomers have recognized, it also contained those which could only be seen with magic.
On top of the cube was a circular lens to magnify the images from the plates.
She tossed the empty box onto the floor, and as it skidded across the room, that was when she noticed it.
Slowly creeping up the walls was a thick layer of ice.
Her pulse raced as she watched it travel farther.
Would she be trapped inside, left alone to freeze to death?
Or was it only a trick of the school’s magic?
Either way, she needed to hurry. She turned around, pulling open Briar’s door to reveal a scrap of paper with only four lines scrawled on it.
Death comes knocking once—she finds an enemy.
Death comes knocking twice—she finds a friend.
Death comes knocking thrice—she finds a lover.
Death knocks one final time—she finds only herself.
“A riddle?” She would’ve preferred to face the angry snapdragons again. Word games were always Briar’s strong suit, and Ivy chuckled at the irony of it being behind her door. She placed it next to the box and moved to her own door.
But when she pulled, it didn’t open. She tried it a few more times to no avail. “There’s no time to waste on it,” she mumbled before turning around to the table.
There was a small lever next to the lens on the cube, and when she pulled it, the light above her dimmed, and a spattering of white-blue stars scattered across the entire room. She turned back to the riddle, picking up the page to read the words again.
Clearly, the last answer was Death’s constellation, which was a scythe. She moved to the cube, turning and pulling at the knobs for the fourth tier. She searched the room for any signs that she was right. There was nothing. Only the ice climbing farther.
She returned to the note. An enemy of death.
It must be the opposite, so life would be its enemy?
If she remembered correctly, life’s constellation was a goblet.
Her last class on astronomy was only a few years ago, so thankfully, her knowledge wasn’t too fuzzy.
She played with the first tier until the stars above her formed into a goblet.
A friend and a lover of death. Two of the vaguest pieces.
What were two other constellations relating to death?
She closed her eyes, trying to conjure the image of her old textbook in her mind.
Illness was often hand-in-hand with death; perhaps that made it a friend?
Her eyes flew open, and she twisted the knobs to the second tier until the stars formed a snake.
To be a lover of death would have to be something always true. Something constant. What could it be? She looked around the room again, pacing back and forth, as if some clue would magically jump out at her. But there was only the ice nearing the top. Time was running out.
She stopped.
Time. It had to be.
At the end of time, death was always there, waiting. She rushed back to the cube, turning the knobs on the third tier. As the hourglass formed, she rounded the table and hurried to the door at the front of the room. But nothing happened. Nothing glowed. And the ice had almost reached the top.
“Shit, shit, shit.” She ran back to the box. Something had to be out of order. Or, God forbid, wrong. She fought back panicked tears as she scrutinized the riddle again and thought back to her old lessons. What did her teacher say?
“Life and death are intrinsically connected. One would not exist without the other.”
Life must be the lover of death, making time the enemy. Her hands trembled as she adjusted the images on the tiers, and her teeth chattered as the cold seeped into her bones. She needed to get out. Now.
With the last turn of the knob, the stars above her glowed brighter.
The ice cracked and collapsed from the walls, shattering loudly against the floor.
She ran over to the door, shoving her hands under her arms to bring some warmth back to her fingers.
But the door didn’t swing open. It didn’t even budge.
She smacked her palm against the metal and winced at the sting.
Could anyone hear her on the other side?
“Hello!” she shouted. She inspected the door closer, hoping to find some secret latch or button.
They had to install some sort of fail-safe, right?
She found nothing. She turned around, still surrounded by the illusion of a morgue, and her focus fell on the door with her last name scratched on it.
Ivy moved back across the room, grabbed the latch, and when she pulled it this time, it opened.
Inside sat a blue envelope with her name written on the front. Once she grabbed the letter, the morgue faded away, returning to the empty room as before.
“You have completed your assessment, Ivy. You may leave.” And the door at the front creaked open.
When she stumbled out, her magic prickled beneath her skin again.
She looked ahead, and the blond student peered over his shoulder at her.
His near-black stare fell to the letter clutched in her hands, and she quickly hid it behind her back.
His thick brow lifted in question, but he was otherwise unfazed as he turned back around.
She rushed out of the exam hall, dying to get into the warm sun.
Once she stepped outside, her shoulders sagged, and the heat enveloped her.
There were no classes on exam days, so she had the rest of the day free.
On her way back to Embry, she tore open the message and pulled out the folded paper inside.
Anyone else would see nonsense when reading the letters scrawled across the page. But not Ivy. The seemingly random letters were one of Briar’s ciphers. She stepped off the path, leaning against one of the trees to examine it more closely.
Something not given holds the answer
— Briar
“Something not given…” Ivy swallowed roughly. What was the one thing Briar didn’t get before she disappeared? The damn essay sitting in Thorne’s office.