Chapter 4
Four
Ivy
Even after Alek has unfurled a blueprint scroll and pointed out the entomology club’s dedicated room on the third floor of the Quadring, Stavros keeps scowling.
“And how exactly are you planning to get in?” he asks me in an acidic tone. “With your magic?”
I bristle before I can catch my reaction. “No. I’m a thief, as you so enjoy reminding me. There are plenty of non-magical methods of breaking and entering. If anyone’s there, I’ll see what I can overhear. If they’re not, I’ll search for evidence. It’s worth a shot.”
It’s better than waiting around to see if he’ll decide to send me to the hangman after all. And I can hope that the more he sees me working toward the same cause he believes in, the less murderously inclined he’ll be.
Casimir speaks up in his usual mild way. “If we’re going to let Ivy stay a part of our investigations, we have to really let her be a part. In every way she can.”
Alek finishes re-rolling the blueprint and hesitates for a second before adding his own understated vote of support. “She’s never hurt anyone at the school before.”
Stavros considers both of them, his jaw working. He knows I have hurt one person here—but only in self-defense. The rest of their points he can’t argue at all.
“Fine,” he bites out, pinning me with his gaze. “You see what you can make of the bug club’s headquarters, and then you come straight back to my quarters. If I get the slightest hint that you’re deceiving us about anything…”
He doesn’t need to finish that sentence.
I nod in acknowledgment, and he moves toward the wall that holds the secret passage. As Stavros steps into the shadows, Alek ducks through the doorway that leads to the rest of the archives.
Casimir aims a soft smile at me. “We’ll work this out.”
I’m sure we will. I’m just not yet convinced it won’t be worked out with a noose around my neck.
The courtesan vanishes after Stavros, and then I’m alone. I should give the men at least a couple of minutes to leave the area around the library before I come waltzing out too.
Well, I’m alone other than my uninvited ghostly friend.
Thank you, Julita says. For what you said about me… You really didn’t need to do that.
I shrug. “I felt like I did. It was true.”
She doesn’t confirm or deny that point.
In her silence, I realize there’s a little more I should probably say to her. I flop into one of the chairs near the desk. “Are you sure that you’re okay working with me? Hanging out in the closest possible proximity to a riven soul? Now that you know.”
Julita guffaws. Ivy, I have been with you through everything. If more of the souls around here were like you, we’d have a much smaller mess on our hands. I don’t know what it’ll mean for you in the future, whether the power will start to control you, but right now, I’m not worried.
More relief than I expected washes over me. I start to push myself upright, but Julita speaks again.
Are you sure you want me hanging on?
I knit my brow. “As opposed to…?”
You’ve already been stuck with me for longer than either of us expected. I know it can’t be easy having your head invaded. I could try to leave, to pass on, however exactly that works.
I didn’t ask to have another woman’s soul lodged inside me. I’ve wished my life were entirely my own again more times than I can count.
But hearing her extend the offer makes my heart lurch.
It’d be like asking her to kill herself. No one knows exactly what happens when your soul moves beyond this plane of existence into the embrace of the gods—how much you’ll remember, how much you’ll be aware of.
The thought of Julita’s determined spirit fading away just feels… wrong.
I keep my tone dry. “You dragged me into this mess. You can’t leave me to fend for myself now. And Alek’s right—your knowledge of how your brother and Wendos talked and acted should come in handy.”
Julita sounds a little relieved herself. Well, if you put it that way... I would like to see this through, as much as I can.
“Then it’s settled.”
I peel myself off the chair and touch the books in the right pattern to re-open the secret passage. In the stillness of the night, I pad quietly through the darkened halls.
Staying far beyond the reach of the lanterns around the outside of the Domi and out of sight of the workers in the distant corner, I cross the inner courtyard swiftly and slink into the Quadring.
The square ring of a building that surrounds the Domi feels even more vacant. No one’s likely to venture over here until classes start up again in the morning.
No one other than, I can hope, at least a couple of disgruntled scourge sorcerers.
Holding the image of the blueprint in my mind, I dart up the stairs to the third floor and ease down the hallway to the right spot. Only the faintest moonlight seeps through a broad window at the far end of the hall.
I stop by the door I’m sure is the right one. Leaning my head close to the tiny gap between the door and the frame, I strain my ears.
No sound reaches me. But a quiver of magical energy wriggles through my nerves.
I pull back with a shudder.
What’s the matter? Julita asks.
I answer in a murmur. “There’s some kind of spell cast on the doorway.”
Here in the teaching building, where hundreds of students might be coming and going from any given room during the course of a day, the college administration hasn’t bothered with the fancy magical locks that guard the dorms and the staff quarters.
This one merely has a regular keyhole below the knob.
But someone’s added an extra layer of protection.
Julita gives an ominous hum. Ster. Torstem must have wanted to keep the club’s space especially secure.
“I guess that makes sense.” No one who isn’t riven would even notice the magical precaution if they weren’t specifically looking for it. My broken soul automatically resonates with supernatural energy.
My power twitches in my chest. It could dissolve this spell in the blink of an eye. It could open the door as smooth as butter.
I did manage to take down Wendos without causing any unwanted destruction…
The second the thoughts pass through my head, I could slap myself. For fuck’s sake, I told the men that I had my magic under control just minutes ago.
I deserve the noose if I’d make that promise a lie the first time I face a tiny bit of trouble.
I only made it through the confrontation in the tower because Kosmel answered my desperate call. My current problem hardly qualifies as desperate.
The moment I let down my guard with my magic, it’ll screw me over. I can never trust its nagging call.
With guilt pooling in my stomach, I step back. I can’t get access to the room by picking the lock without setting off some kind of alarm.
But the doorway won’t be the only access point.
I pad down the hall to the neighboring room. That door gives off no impression of magic.
With a faint smile, I retrieve my one remaining knife from the sheath at my thigh.
The blade is thin enough that I can fit it into most keyholes, including this one. I wiggle it until I feel the right point of tension, and then I twist—and the lock clicks over.
I don’t know what the room on the other side is used for, but whatever that is, it involves a lot of clothes. Racks of gowns, tunics, and jackets line the walls amid full-length mirrors. The odor of heavy perfume hangs in the air.
I hustle over to the window and ease open the hinged lower pane. The cool night air brings a welcome clarity.
The bug club’s window awaits farther down the wall. A narrow ridge, about as wide as one of my feet, runs along the stone wall just below the window ledge.
That’s all I need.
Julita lets out a soft laugh of approval as she must recognize my plan, but she doesn’t speak. Maybe wanting to avoid distracting me from this precarious maneuver.
Thankfully, no tremors are shaking the campus like they were this afternoon. The daimon the scourge sorcerers riled up around the college have gone quiet just like they did in the temple’s tower.
I peer farther across the outer courtyard. A few distant figures shift in their guard posts atop the college wall. Lanterns cast a muted glow on the grass of the courtyard, but none close enough to highlight my perch.
I tug my dark brown cloak closer around me and knot the loose corners at the base in front of my ankles to ensure it covers my pale green dress. If all goes well, I’ll blend into the shadows.
After one last scan of the courtyard, I clamber out the window. My toes jar against the ridge, which barely holds them and the balls of my feet inside my boots.
It’s fine. I’ve made more difficult scrambles before.
I don’t want to be visible on the wall for any longer than necessary. Sliding my hands along the gritty blocks, I glide my feet after them.
One sideways step, two, three. I lean so close to the building, the rough stone bumps my cheek.
I don’t let myself think about what would happen if I tipped just a tiny bit backward and lost my balance.
My extended fingers bump the window frame. With a flash of gratitude, I feel along the glass for the movable pane and pop it open.
With one more furtive scramble, I’m swinging over the window ledge into the dark room.
All at once, I find myself missing the cloying perfume I left behind. The entomology club’s headquarters holds a mossy scent that isn’t entirely off-putting, but woven into it are hints of acrid smoke and an unpleasant tang I can’t place at all.
Ugh, Julita says in apparent agreement.
At a rustle from my right, I freeze in place. But as my eyes adjust to the room, I realize I have nothing to fear from its current inhabitants.
Which are, naturally, bugs.
The entomology club can justify its dedicated room with the rows of tanks and jars that seem to cover every piece of furniture in the space. Beetles clamber over bits of bark and twigs; winged creatures flit along glass walls; jointed worms wriggle through murky water.
“Ugh,” I mutter, echoing Julita’s reaction.