Chapter Seven Viola
Dear Olivia, I wish we were celebrating my birthday together. My magic is weird. I have to be near a dead body to hear the last words of the dead. It’s nothing like in Nan’s books. I’m scared.
seven | viola
The door creaks open, and a woman stands a few inches from me.
Her straight brown hair is neatly tucked behind her ears, and her hands mindlessly adjust her long black coat as if she’s waiting for me to invite her in.
I notice a muted navy crest embroidered on its left pocket, the profile of a raven with a golden eye: the symbol of the House of Death.
Her expectant gaze lands on me, and I take a few steps back, putting enough distance between us. In all the years Olivia has attended Gorhail, no one from that forsaken place has ever set foot in our house.
“Madame Corvi,” she greets, shifting her look behind me. Mother must have heard the door and come downstairs. “May I come in?”
I’m surprised she’s asking, given she had no trouble turning the door-knob earlier.
Mother takes measured steps until she’s standing next to me. Her face is blank, and her lips are drawn in a thin line. “I would prefer we speak on the front porch,” she says, and the woman immediately turns on her heels.
I frown, following Mother out. Nightfall is nearly upon us; a flock of birds flies to the north toward Gorhail Woods, and if I listen closer, I hear the clatter of shoes on the pavement—people rushing home in time for dinner.
A slight breeze carries the sweet scent of purple roses to where Mother and I hug the door, facing the woman’s back.
Mother flips the switch, and the single lightbulb hanging off the wooden beam lights up.
“I am Overseer Delaney, the head of the House of Death at Gorhail Institute. Olivia—” she begins, but Mother interrupts her.
“You killed Olivia.”
The woman’s lip twitches at the accusation. She clasps her hands as if, were she to unclasp them, she would do terrible things to my mother. Her lips stretch into a forced smile. “Olivia left school grounds after curfew. She was well aware of the dangers.”
Olivia would never break that rule. Just two days ago, she was joking about that very scenario.
She knew not to leave that wretched place after curfew.
My heart races, rage flowing into my veins.
Did this woman come here to tell us that Olivia died because she broke the rules?
Died. Again, the word leaves a sour taste on my tongue.
Olivia didn’t die, I remind myself. She was killed.
“It is under investigation both by the Bureau of Magus Nonmagi Alliance and DOTS.” She relaxes her smile. “Early reports say that it was an accident. Little Lake Albion’s boardwalk is slippery from all the rain and melted snow this time of year.”
An accident? Olivia’s arm was butchered with claw marks, and they stole her relic. I move, but Mother’s bony fingers clasp my arm, holding me in place. “My daughter was terrified of water,” she says calmly.
“I’m sorry.” The woman lowers her head. “Olivia excelled at school,” she offers, as if this would erase her blasphemous statement.
When she lifts her eyes at us again, the slight annoyance is gone, replaced by regret.
“She was brilliant. In fact, I personally recommended her for a junior magister position at the academy.”
This is why Olivia wanted to stay at Gorhail. They sold her dreams of a future that was never written for her.
“Oh.” Mother lets out a small gasp. Don’t fall into her trap, I want to tell her. Olivia was killed and they are trying to blind you with posthumous accolades while dismissing her death as an accident. They don’t care.
“I’m here to let you know that Gorhail will be taking care of all funeral expenses,” she says matter-of-factly. I hate how she speaks of Olivia’s murder as an afterthought, as a formality to file away. I hate how my sister died thinking they wanted her among them.
“We appreciate it,” Mother replies.
I step away from her. The ease with which she accepts Delaney’s offer repulses me. Only moments ago, she was holding me responsible for my sister’s death, and now that we have someone concrete to blame, she folds.
“Very well.” The woman gives her a curt smile, as if Mother’s answer has checked another box on her list. See Olivia’s mother. Check. Offer to pay for funeral expenses. Check.
Then she turns her gaze to me, studying me like I’m an exhibit at the museum, as if she can’t decide what to make of me yet.
“What is your name?” she asks, moving into the light. Her face is worn, threads of a sad life woven in every crease around her eyes and mouth. Her thin rose lips twitch with impatience the longer I look at her.
“I don’t owe you a name,” I finally reply.
She laughs. “Rhea taught you well.”
“You knew Nan?” My curiosity gets the best of me. This woman is baiting me, and I am taking it like a starved fish.
“Rhea was my dearest friend.” Her gaze is distant at first, then it locks on me. “DOTS has informed me that Olivia was a nonmagi.”
Next to me, a strangled sound escapes Mother’s throat. Did she think the three of us would carry the secret to the grave? That DOTS, the governing department of magic in Draterra, wouldn’t realize Olivia didn’t have magic when they examined her body?
“How could you not know?” Mother asks instead, to my surprise.
“Did you?” Delaney’s voice is chilling behind her smile. “Because if you did, it would be a grave offense, and I would have to report you to the local sheriff for allowing your daughter to impersonate a mage.”
I feel Mother’s glare burning into me. I want more than anything for her to shut her mouth.
Now is not the time to be vindictive. The moment Delaney finds out I am a mage and I’ve lied, I doubt she’ll afford me the courtesy of the local sheriff.
Mages in violation of any rules go straight to the Grand House at DOTS for judgment.
I don’t have time to rot in jail, not while Olivia’s killer walks around Gorhail free.
“I didn’t know,” she replies. “Thank you for your visit, Madame Delaney, but it’s been a long and difficult day. We appreciate your financial help.” With that, she leaves me alone with this stranger.
“How long have you had your magic?” she pries.
I return a blank stare. She’s fishing for confirmation.
“Oh my dear,” she coos, her eyebrows knotting together.
“If Olivia was a nonmagi, it only means that you are the Mortemagi in the family. Magic never skips a generation.” She offers me a sympathetic smile before turning to face the garden again.
Now that it’s dark, a few lightflies buzz around the flowers; Olivia used to love watching them from our bedroom window.
Usually, there’s a cluster of them, but tonight, they all seem to be mourning my sister.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. She probably thinks I’m lying, but I don’t know how long I’ve had my magic.
Nan was the first dead person I was around, the first one to share her last words with me.
After that, I had to sneak into every funeral I came across so my ears wouldn’t ring into oblivion.
“Olivia never mentioned a sister,” she muses. “I could report you to DOTS. It’s illegal for mages to not register themselves.”
A knot forms in my throat, and it becomes clear that she’s not here for Olivia at all. “My sister was murdered this morning, and you’ve come here to make threats?”
“It was an accident, Miss Corvi,” she states, turning to me. “Poachers aren’t idiots. They wouldn’t murder a mage when Secondline patrols the area every hour.”
Her insistence makes me sick, but it also reminds me that the authorities will likely brush Olivia’s murder under the rug. By Friday, my sister will be nothing but a statistic, her senseless murder not even worthy of a headline. I refuse to let this be Olivia’s legacy.
“What do you want?” I ask through clenched teeth. She clearly has something in mind. Why else would she drive to Albion to threaten me when she could’ve reported me to DOTS the moment she found out Olivia was a nonmagi?
“For you to attend Gorhail.”
A laugh bubbles at my throat. No. I did not spend the last twelve years staying away to cave in to threats now.
But then, this woman’s words spark an idea.
What if attending Gorhail could help me prove that Olivia was murdered?
I think back on Olivia’s riddle, and Gorhail is filled with mages with serpentlike relics. Still, I ask, “Why?”
“The Grand Master of the House of Death wishes for you to enroll at the institute,” she replies.
Delaney is giving me the chance to investigate Olivia’s murder on a silver platter, yet something gnaws at the back of my head. The Grand Master doesn’t grant leniency out of the goodness of her heart. What else do they want?
At my hesitation, Delaney’s gaze flicks to my arm. “You may not realize it yet, but your cuff holds centuries of cultivated magic. It would be a waste for DOTS to seal it all away.”
Of course, it’s the magic. In the end, mage or nonmagi, they’re all the same—it’s always about what they can get from you and never about you as a person. I haven’t even begun to grieve my dead sister, and these people already see me as a commodity to add to their circus of monsters.
“I…” I begin, but I don’t know what to say. No matter how much I hate magic and Gorhail, my investigation into Olivia’s murder has to start there. “I’ll need some time… please.”
“Of course.” She holds my gaze for a moment, then turns away.
“I suppose you will be busy with funeral rites, so I will await your answer by Friday morning.” She climbs down the steps, stopping at the barren rosebush that Mother ruined two days ago.
“You know, Miss Corvi, even a trivial lie festers like a wound.”
As Delaney drives away into the night, her words linger.
What I thought was a harmless secret ended up killing my sister, and in the end, that same lie is taking me to the place I was so desperate to escape.