Chapter 24 An Unexpected Visitor
Sometimes I found myself glad that my father was dead. At least he didn’t have to witness how pathetic I was, running through tunnels, tears streaking down my face like a child.
Emotions are just a physiological response to stimuli. Control them. Don’t let them control you. His voice echoed in my mind, sharp and clinical. I swallowed the tightness burning in my throat and forced myself to breathe deeply, methodically.
Inhale, exhale.
Bit by bit, my pulse slowed, the panic retreating like a receding tide.
I wasn’t falling apart. I was just overwhelmed.
Sleep—that’s what I needed. Then I’d be able to think clearly.
But before I exited the tunnels, I forced myself to stop, pulling out my notepad.
I scribbled down the details of the tunnel system, noting which entrances were blocked, and the path back to Aspen’s workshop. I’d need that information again soon.
Stick to what you can prove. Fact, not feeling. My father’s mantra whispered in my ear, as if he were standing right behind me. Cold. Unyielding.
I needed answers. Not emotions. And I needed them soon.
My ankle throbbed with every step, swollen from my reckless escape, and my head felt like it was moments from splitting open.
Somehow, I managed to sneak back to my room undetected.
I tore off my clothes and collapsed onto the bed, feeling a sense of relief as the House’s shadowed corridors closed around me.
I’d been cautious, careful, yet part of me felt grounded here, tethered to something I couldn’t understand.
As if Foresyth had started to sink its roots into me, anchoring me into its dark soil.
I rolled over, my skin still tingling with the ghost of Aspen’s touch.
My lips burned with the memory of our kiss.
How had I been so foolish? How could I have trusted him, even for a second?
But in the back of my mind, the memory of his lips lingered, defying all logic, dragging me back into the feeling of that moment.
I couldn’t afford to be reckless anymore. I couldn’t afford to trust any of them. I was so close to uncovering the truth that Julian had taken to his grave. I just had to keep pushing a little longer.
Sleep didn’t come easily. I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, my mind chasing shadows in the dark. But when exhaustion finally claimed me, the sound of shattering glass rattled through my dreams.
*
I awoke drenched in cold sweat, my throat raw from a tangled scream, and the vivid image of my father morphing into a serpent still searing in my mind’s eye.
I blinked hard, trying to shake it off. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was just after six in the morning.
Plenty of time to investigate before the others stirred.
I threw the covers aside and swung my legs over the bed, testing my right ankle with a slow, circular motion. It ached, but the pain was tolerable.
As I crept down the stairs, I was careful to avoid the boards I knew would betray me with their creaks.
The House, as if aware of my plan, seemed to cooperate, granting me a soundless descent.
The Meister’s office was my first target.
He was complicit in Julian’s murder, and I just needed to prove how.
I reached the door of his office, an imposing slab of mahogany with a gold-encrusted doorknob. But the door was locked. He was likely away on Advisor business.
I ran my fingers over the keyhole, assessing the lock. Retrieving a hairpin from my bag, I crouched down and got to work, twisting and turning, but after five frustrating minutes, the lock refused to give. It was as though something was wedged deep inside, blocking my progress.
I sighed in irritation, dropping my satchel to the floor to free up my hands. As I did so, the deck of Skorn cards spilled out, scattering across the floor.
Use the cards, whispered a voice, faint but unmistakable.
I froze. My heart hammered in my chest as I whipped my head around. The hallway was empty, but the voice—that voice—I knew it.
Sophia?
A shiver crawled up my spine.
First, dreams of my father turning into a serpent, now disembodied whispers. I scoffed at myself, stuffing the deck back into my satchel.
“I’m losing my damned mind,” I muttered under my breath. But even as I tried to push the absurdity aside, my fingers hovered over the cards again, an inexplicable urge pulling at me. What harm could it do?
Reluctantly, I sifted through the deck and pulled out The High Priestess. She stood at the threshold of knowledge, the keeper of secrets. I smirked to myself.
“Guide me through the doorway,” I whispered half-jokingly.
Sliding the edge of the card between the door and its latch, I felt a heat build between my fingers.
A faint buzzing filled my ears, low and steady, like a pulse.
I worked the card along the door’s seam, frustration mounting as nothing happened.
Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I wiped it away, gritting my teeth. This was ridiculous.
But just as I was about to toss the card aside and resume picking the lock, there was a loud, satisfying click. And then the door swung open.
I stared at it, breathless. Pride ran through me in a hot wave.
The cards heighten your emotions. Aspen’s words rang in my ears.
No. It had to be a coincidence. I’d just managed to work the mechanism from both angles. Any piece of cardboard could have done the trick. But even as I tried to rationalize it, something deep inside me edged otherwise.
The card had worked because I willed it to.
I shook the thoughts away, refocusing on the task at hand. I pushed the door open and slipped inside, quietly closing it behind me.
*
I spent the next thirty minutes scouring the Meister’s desk and bookshelf.
The antique oak desk—where I had once sat while he piled on research topics—loomed in the center.
I shifted uncomfortably at the memory. He’d given me so many assignments, I could barely spare any time to investigate Julian’s death.
It was almost as if the Meister wanted me distracted.
I rifled through the drawers, coming up empty-handed.
I wanted to find The Book of Skorn but knew better than to think it would just be lying in one of his drawers, unguarded.
On the second pass, I remembered a trick my father used to hide case files.
He’d stick them beneath the drawer, in a hidden compartment on the other side.
With that in mind, I pressed my fingers to the underside of each drawer, feeling for any concealed papers or false bottoms.
Still nothing.
A groan of frustration escaped me as I slumped into the worn leather chesterfield chair. If I were the Meister, I wouldn’t hide anything in plain sight. But maybe he wasn’t as careful as he thought. Maybe he’d overlooked something.
I opened the top drawer again, this time rattling it side to side, hoping to jostle something loose. A flash of white caught my eye as a thin slip of paper slid between the cracks.
My heart leapt, and a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Finally.
I slid my fingers behind the drawer, feeling for the papers that had slipped through. The first two sheets were bloodwork panels. One of them had my name on it.
What the hell? Why was the Meister analyzing my blood?
The second blood panel was Julian’s.
They were dated for February 1919, almost a month before Julian died.
I surveyed through the other papers. Several of them were dismissal notices of students, issued by the Council for “academic misalignment.” I stuffed the two pieces of evidence into my bag and then turned my attention to the letter.
It was heavier cardstock, the kind reserved for deeds or wills.
The paper was folded neatly into thirds, like a letter.
My pulse quickened as I noticed an indentation between the two folds—a stamp. A circle enclosing a rose.
The symbol of Foresyth.
I ran my fingers over the mark, tracing the familiar grooves before carefully unfolding the letter. A weight settled in my chest, thick and heavy.
Dear Meister Christopher Renate,
Given the grave situation in which this letter finds you and the school, your presence is urgently requested at Council.
We would like to discuss the matter of contracting a detective over the disappearance of Julian Earhardt.
The exact location will be telegrammed to you an hour before the meeting on December 10th, 1919.
We expect to bring this matter to a close as swiftly as possible.
The Council was involved in my recruitment. When I met them, they all seemed to know who I was. At first, I thought it was because of my father. But what if it wasn’t him—my thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
My head swiveled up before I ducked under the desk. The doorknob rattled and I held my breath and started to count. One, two, three . . .
After a few seconds, the knob stopped moving. Whoever was at the door must’ve turned away after confronting the lock. I sighed a breath of relief. I needed to get out of here.
I waited a few more minutes before I got up from where I was crouched and slipped the letter back in between the drawers. I traced my steps carefully, making sure I hadn’t left anything upturned. When I finished, I slipped back through the mahogany door and crept back upstairs to my room.
*
The following few days at Foresyth, I kept to myself.
The Meister canceled our mentorship meetings again, citing urgent Advisor business.
But I knew the real reason: he didn’t want to confront me because he knew I’d grown suspicious of him.
He had brought me here for a purpose other than finding Julian’s killer, and I was hell-bent on discovering what that was.