Chapter Twenty Sylas
When a Mortemagi materializes a ghost, they become immune to conduits. Materialized ghosts walk among us—they have an uncanny habit of walking through walls and students. Even though they aren’t quite human, they should be treated as such.
twenty | sylas
Victor Carver stands behind us, his crow-black hair a mess, a hesitant smile on his face, and his amber eyes too alive for someone who’s dead. I squint and notice the faint translucence of his skin.
Viola hasn’t blinked in a few seconds. She clutches the laurel leaf so tight I worry the metal will cut into her hand. If her glare could vaporize Victor into nothingness, he’d already be gone.
“How?” she asks. “No,” she replies to herself, before shoving the laurel leaf back into the vault and slamming the door shut. Then she walks into Victor, forgetting that he isn’t real, and stops herself. “Why the riddles? And why did my sister tell me to find you?” Viola wastes no time.
Victor backs away. “I apologize, I… It’s dangerous for ghosts to wander in the open because of conduits. And we don’t speak in riddles; our words just come out that way when we try to communicate with the living.”
“What are you?” I ask, instead of the ten other questions I need to ask, like who killed him, or where is Beau’s ghost, or where is The Founder’s Book of Relics he took from the library.
“Still a ghost,” he says. “But now that a Mortemagi materialized me, I’m immune to conduits. They won’t be able to lead me into the Underiver.”
“How is this possible?” Viola asks. I would also like to know, because Victor looks more human than ghost; he even sounds human.
“We realized you were a whisperer at the funeral home. We followed you when we could. Avoiding conduits needs its own mage rank at Gorhail—it’s near impossible.
” He laughs, then stops when he sees the look on our faces.
“When a Mortemagi and a ghost touch the ghost’s ancestral relic at the same time, the ghost can materialize.
Now, we have perhaps one or two days to stitch my ghost with my body. ”
We. Who is he talking about?
“What do you mean ‘stitch your ghost’?” Viola paces back and forth, her chest heaving. “Mortemagi can’t bring people back from the dead. I read every book. I—”
Olivia. She doesn’t have to say it out loud. I would have gone to the depths of the Underiver if it meant I could bring Beau back. Our eyes lock for a moment, hers welled with tears, mine empty. I almost reach for her—almost—but I don’t. After this, we’ll go our separate ways.
“Miss Corvi—” he starts.
“Viola,” she cuts him off.
“Vi-Viola,” he stammers. “You… you have a relic second only to the Founder’s relic. There’s little you cannot do. Besides, we’re not dead dead.”
We again.
“You’ve been dead for days,” she argues. “Your body is in a state of decomposition by now, if they haven’t already disposed of it.”
“I injected myself with frost venom,” he tells her. “It wasn’t a lot, just enough for about a week, give or take a day, if my calculations are correct.”
I clear my throat. “Beau—he sold you the frost venom…” My voice cracks, and I don’t finish my sentence.
Victor steps back. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but he nods at Viola.
Her eyebrows knit together, like they always do when she’s working through something.
She considers me for a moment, then nods.
Her shoulders relax, and she twirls my dagger in her hand.
All I can think about is how perfect that dagger is for her.
Then it all happens in a blur. Her prying open the Cardot vault, retrieving a red aspier, and the same light breeze that came with Victor’s reappearance.
“These pesky conduits need to find a new line of work.” Beau’s silvery voice fills the room.
I stop breathing. My throat is thick, my tongue heavy, and my eyes blurry with tears.
This cannot be real. He cannot be here. It’s impossible.
Yet here he stands, next to Viola, his dimpled smile so bright, his messy brown hair all over the place, and his clear blue eyes wide with wonder, oddly reminiscent of the first time Dad brought him home.
“Are you real?” I choke up tears. My hands shake as I try to reach for him.
“As real as a ghost can be,” Beau jests. “Sorry I died.”
“Shut up,” I say, my face wet with tears. “I wish I could hug you.”
Beau glances at Viola and nods. “Love you, too, Sy.”
Words no longer make sense. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would see Beau again.
I had convinced myself his ghost was lost forever.
Lyria will lose her mind when she sees him.
I should be happy, but a faint feeling of guilt catches up with me.
Viola did all of this with the magic I despise.
My eyes land on her. She’s retreated to a corner, her head lowered, as if she’s trying to shrink into the wall. I hate it. All of it. The way she immediately removed herself, the side glances at the door, the slight quiver of her chin. I hate that I notice everything.
“Could we…” She hesitates, her voice brittle. “Could we have done the same for Olivia?”
Beau’s smile fades, and Victor frowns in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Viola. Death magic isn’t woven for nonmagi. Their ghosts cross into the Orga,” Victor says. But Viola already knew that. Hope is like a serpent; it sheds its skin with promise, while silently seeping venom into your veins.
A single tear works its way down her cheek before she brushes it off. “Olivia told me you have the answers I seek.” She steels her question.
“I do.” Victor nods. “I was paid to create illusions of ghosts so she could pass as a conduit.”
“By whom?” Viola frowns. I glance at Beau, and we’re both just as confused.
“I don’t know, it was always anonymous. The bank sent yearly checks in the mail.” Victor presses his lips together. “But if you help me get my body back, I can file an inquiry with the bank. The nonmagi clerks cannot see materialized ghosts.”
I study Victor as he stands there, his hands wrung together, lips pursed.
“You said you knew who killed Olivia,” Viola presses, but Victor looks away. I take a step forward. He doesn’t know who killed them; I would surrender my aspiers on that bet.
Viola shrugs. “I’m not bringing your body back if you don’t tell me.”
“I meant to write, ‘I know what led your sister to her death,’ but the magic wrote something else.” He sighs.
“Fable Rowan. She didn’t kill Olivia, but she threatened to tell the dean that your sister was a fraud,” he says.
“Olivia ran away after that. We’d spent twelve years hiding her identity, and Fable destroyed everything in a single night.
I… I was already dead by then. I couldn’t follow your sister out without being caught by conduits. ”
How did Fable find out about Olivia? Could Sierra have told her? That’s impossible. Sierra seemed too vexed by her and Lorne.
“She never should’ve been here in the first place.” Viola looks up, blinking away the tears that pool in her eyes. Again, with the self-loathing, and again, I have to stop myself from walking over to her.
“Do you know who killed you?” I finally speak, and then turn to Beau. “And you?” It’s surreal to be speaking to my brother again.
Victor shakes his head. “I was in the woods, collecting some flowers for my mother’s medicine. Then I was dead. Thankfully, I always inject myself with frost venom when I leave Gorhail, in case poachers attack.” We all look at Beau.
“I was running back toward the passageway. I think poachers attacked me. Mortemagi, I’m certain, because no one forgets the coldness of the claws of the undead.”
Viola winces, but she says nothing. My legs move then, and I’m standing next to her. It must be that stupid bond again—poisoning me with this uncontrollable longing to be close to her.
“Mara is a puppet,” Victor offers, and Beau nods behind him.
“We are aware,” I reply. Viola looks up at me, then she turns to Victor. “Who is the puppeteer?”
“We don’t know, but we’re fairly certain the puppeteer killed all three of us, and might kill more.” Beau walks around the chamber, studying the numerous vaults. “Purists are such curious people—there are so few of them, and yet they think the masses must worship them.”
Victor’s eyebrows lift in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting the descendant of a purist family to forsake them.
In truth, a lot of us do; their archaic rules make no sense; they’re constantly lobbying DOTS to take us back to the mid-1500s when Houses were segregated, and we made next to no magical progress due to the lack of collaboration, and they’ve made it their life’s mission to eradicate crossmages.
Of course, there are still plenty of purists—like Fable—who think they’re owed the world.
“We know they’re after heirloom relics. Both of yours, and Viola’s, but we don’t know why,” I muse aloud. “Do you have The Founder’s Book of Relics, Victor? The library said you checked it out.”
Victor scowls. “That’s impossible. I needed the book to see if using a Founder’s relic could reorganize memories. I put in a request, and they said it has been missing since 1918.”
Beau’s lips flatten, and I remember he told us about Victor’s mother being at St. Fabian’s Ward for Altered Minds in Riverview. He probably needed the book for her.
“Would that coincide with the timeline of Faro’s Cuff going missing?” Viola asks. “So far, we have a missing book, a missing Founder’s relic, and two stolen heirloom relics, with a third we know they want.”
Haal, the way her mind works is stunning. I wasn’t thinking about a coinciding timeline. I don’t know how we’ll find out when the cuff went missing, but at least we have another clue.
“Faro’s Cuff is missing?” Beau and Victor say at the same time.
Viola nods. “It’s ‘long gone,’ according to the guardian of the catacombs.”
“That’s impossible.” Beau meets my eyes. “Only you and Lyria—”