Chapter 35 Dorian
Dorian
Our words are giants when they do us an injury, and dwarfs when they do us a service.
—Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White
Spotlights crisscross the night sky, like a beacon, guiding us forward. Lines of expensive cars queue up in the drive to Old Bones, letting people out to marvel at the decorative multicolored lights and glittering incantations.
“Why didn’t Professor White steal the wand earlier?” Raven asks, breathless as she runs by my side.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Maybe she wasn’t strong enough.
Perhaps after killing those two people, she’ll finally be able to break through the protective wards.
” It’s a guess, but I can’t think about hypotheticals now.
The one thing we know for sure is we have to get to the wand before she does. I just hope we’re not too late.
Raven and I bound up the stairs to the museum, running across the red carpet lining the steps, past people in tuxedos and sparkling ball gowns walking to the front doors.
The Procession of Time exhibit is in full swing as music pours out of the museum and into the night, announcing the start of the gala.
I couldn’t care less about it. I can’t think about anything except Atticus.
“Excuse me, coming through,” I say as we push past the line of people filing into the front doors of the foyer. It’s a packed crowd, and I grab Raven’s hand to make sure she doesn’t get lost.
At the front of the line, I flash my museum badge, still holding Raven’s hand, and the security guard lets us in without question. He didn’t even bother to check if it was valid.
Inside, the museum is packed full of people perusing the exhibit, holding flutes of champagne and eating canapés, admiring all of the pieces that I’ve spent the last few months meticulously curating.
A string quartet plays music on a small stage, filling the room with sounds fit for a grand ball.
Candles infused with magic cast a warm haze on the heads of beautiful guests, esteemed alumni, and current faculty alike.
Raven and I are forced to catch our breath as the crowd swarms ahead of us.
Hecate’s wand sits in a glass display box, right in the open. “At least it’s still here,” I say.
“But for how much longer?” Raven says.
Her gaze roams the museum, taking in everything with wonder. She’s thinking the same thing. “How are we supposed to steal it? There are hundreds of people here, witnesses. They won’t just let us.”
She’s right.
“Come on,” I say, pulling her deeper into the exhibit. Laughter and clinking glasses fill the air. I look left and right, searching for Warden Stone. I don’t see him yet, but I know he’s here somewhere.
Finding Professor Evander is easy enough, though. He’s surrounded by a small crowd, men and women praising the exhibit. It’s like he’s holding court, gesticulating with a champagne flute at the museum around him to appreciative murmurs.
“Professor,” I say, leaning in close and whispering. “I need to talk to you.”
He looks startled at first, and then smiles at the other guests. “Of course! Excuse me, everyone, duty calls!”
I guide him to the outer perimeter of the crowd, and we hide behind a pair of columns. “What seems to be the matter, Mr. Winthrop?” he asks. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I need to take something from the museum. Right now.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s an artifact here that is dangerous. Hecate’s wand, remember, the one that knocked me out my first day? In the wrong hands—”
Raven hisses in my ear, “Stone is here.” She motions toward the crowd, and I catch sight of him. He stands with a group of professors, looking right at us.
“Professor, please,” I plead. “It’s important. I believe someone intends to use it. We have to hide it.”
“What are you talking about?”
There’s a commotion. Guards have been called. Warden Stone is coming our way, directing security with a radio. They’re going to arrest us.
“Professor, everyone here is in danger. Something terrible is going to happen, and Warden Stone—”
“He knows all about the danger,” Professor Evander says.
“What?”
“The wand, it was his idea to store it here. It’s the safest place.”
“Not anymore,” I say.
A strong hand grabs me by the arm, and I look up into the face of a security guard as broad as a building. Raven lets out a yelp as another guard grabs her arm, too.
Warden Stone stands behind us, talking briefly into the radio before gesturing for the guards to move in. “You are trespassing at a private event,” Stone says.
“Warden Stone,” Professor Evander says, “is this really necessary?”
“Professor Evander, please listen!” I beg, as the guard twists my arm painfully behind my back, making me wince, and pulls me away from the professor, through the crowd of curious onlookers wondering what’s going on.
The guard’s hand on my arm is solid as a vise, twisting my skin. I grind my teeth and check him like I would at lacrosse. This is all going wrong. I have to think of something.
But then, from the far end of the museum, there’s a scream. High-pitched and wild.
The security guards stop pushing us to the exit to turn around and see what’s going on. There’s a rush of movement near the bar. Shattering glass and more screaming.
Professor Evander rushes toward the sound.
A hulking shadow rises up above the crowd.
The malum.
“What is that?” The guard holding my arm is frozen in fear.
There’s more screaming, and people are running toward us. They crash into one another. Bodies strike the floor. A stampede in ball gowns and tuxedos.
I don’t have time to be scared. Everything is happening so quickly.
The malum is larger than I recall. It’s a whole head taller than everyone in the room. The guards forget about us. They turn to face the shadow. Warden Stone stands with us, inert with shock. Then the party devolves into pandemonium, people running in every direction.
Warden Stone comes to his senses and charges the malum. He summons a spell, gathering the power in his hands, and throws it at the shadow. The creature howls as the spell splashes over it.
I grab Raven’s hand and run.
We dodge blasts of explosive energy. They whiz past our heads like wasps. It’s a room full of magicians. All eyes focus on the malum. No one is looking at us anymore.
Hecate’s wand is still in its protective case.
I grab a napkin from a table, wrap my fist in it, and punch the glass.
Raven flinches, and the glass fractures like a spiderweb.
I hit it again, and this time it shatters.
All around us people scream and scurry toward the exits.
Magic fills the air, and the malum’s roars never cease.
Wand in hand, I run. At the exit, hundreds of people clog the narrow doors. Everyone is trying to escape. We can’t get through.
A voice cuts through the noise. “Raven!”
We whip around to see Aspen standing behind a painting that’s swung outward on hidden hinges. He waves us over frantically, and we have no choice but to follow.