Chapter 36 Raven
Raven
But we are strong, each in our purpose; and we are all more strong together.
—Bram Stoker, Dracula
“Aspen?” I ask.
From the shadow of the tunnel behind the painting, the archivist holds out his hand to us. “Come on!” he shouts.
Can I trust him? What if Atticus’s theory about St. Ad’s was right?
But a fireball rockets past my shoulder, making the choice for me.
I take his hand and Dorian follows quickly. Aspen seals the wall behind us, and we’re plunged into darkness. The commotion outside is muffled, but still audible. Warden Stone’s voice rings out above the roar of the crowd, and the boom of an explosive spell rattles the floor.
My hands are shaking. Dorian’s arm brushes mine, and I grab on to him for support.
In his hand, he holds the wand.
Aspen summons a handful of light in his palm, illuminating the corridor. We’re in one of the hidden tunnels leading underground.
“The malum,” Dorian says, breathless. “It’s the same one, right? There aren’t two?”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Are you two hurt?” Aspen asks.
“No.” Though my heart is pounding so hard, it aches.
“Is that what Professor White is controlling?” Aspen asks. The battle still rages on the other side of the painting. Whatever they’re doing, the security guards aren’t able to slow it down.
“How do you know that?” I ask warily.
“I’ve been looking into the malum for a long time. I suspected Professor White when I found her trying to steal a book from the Rosette all about chaos magic. She’s hated me ever since. St. Adolphus Hall has kept an eye on her for a while.”
It all starts to make sense. That’s why Atticus saw him around Arches that day. He knew Professor White was up to something.
Aspen moves to lead us away from the carnage. “I have to get you out of here.”
“We can’t. Our friend is in trouble,” I say.
Dorian explains, “Professor White took him to the tunnels under Arches.”
Aspen’s eyes land on the wand in Dorian’s hand, but something heavy slams into the painting hiding the entrance, making all of us jump. It sounded like a body.
“That wand is the only thing that can stop her now. Go,” Aspen tells us. “I’ll deal with the malum.”
“You’re sure?” I ask.
“The place is crawling with wizards, we’ll handle it.”
“Right.”
“You’ve been there? To these tunnels?” Aspen asks.
I nod.
“Take this.” He cups the lights from his hand and holds them out to me, transferring the spell from his palm to mine.
The lights dance inches above my skin, floating like a cloud of fireflies.
“If you know where to go, if you remember the place, the lights will be your map. Follow them. It’s how we move around the tunnels to the archive. ”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “And I’m sorry about, um, us…”
“Yeah, I figured that wasn’t going to work out when I met your two friends. The three of you are kind of a throuple, aren’t you?”
Before I can answer, Aspen’s already pushed open the painting to join the fight. “GO!”
Dorian and I take off, traveling deep into the bowels of Sibylline. Our hurried footsteps echo all around us, and Dorian’s haggard breathing is close behind me. “Nothing’s following us,” he says, checking over his shoulder. “But don’t stop.”
I don’t intend to. I know what we left behind.
I still hear those people’s screams…They still echo in my skull.
We pass through great atriums, winding corridors, chambers with vaulted ceilings, and ancient passageways, following the light as it guides us toward the tunnels under Arches.
We find a place where the walls are covered in familiar writing.
The sigils, the smell, the sounds, all of it is just as I remember. This is it.
My heart races as we approach the ruined chambers. My mind goes to the worst possible places, imagining how we’ll find Atticus. I hope we’re not too late. God, please let us get to him in time.
The lights lead us to the door of Adelina Ward’s lab, where they vanish, snuffed out like a candle in a strong breeze. We’re plunged into darkness. There is only the faint glow coming from under the door.
“We’re here,” I say.
In the dark, Dorian’s eyes are mere pricks of light.
He rolls up his sleeves, and together we push open the door and step into the lab.
The candles in the wall sconces cast flickering rays of light across the stone.
The alchemy table, full of vials and a simmering cauldron, bubbles with magic.
There is no sign of Atticus or Professor White.
At the end of the tunnel, in the cell room, there’s a golden light. Candles, hundreds of them. The air is rank with the smell of blood, sulfur, and smoke. The walls are half-collapsed but still standing.
Beside the iron cell, a body rests on the floor. It’s Professor White. Her gray hair is splayed out around her head as she lies, her eyes wide open, a book on the floor beside her. Adelina’s journal.
Then I see him. Atticus. He’s chained up on the floor in the cell, dried blood marking a circle around his body.
Dorian throws open the iron door with a clang and rushes to Atticus’s side.
He stirs, groaning, and Dorian scrambles to remove the iron cuffs from his wrists. “They’re locked,” he says.
I go to Professor White and check her pulse. She’s still breathing, but she doesn’t react to my touch. Her eyes are blank; they stare into endless nothing. In her pocket I find the key. I throw it to Dorian, and he unlocks Atticus’s chains.
I grab Adelina’s journal before returning to Atticus just as Dorian removes the last of the cuffs from his ankles.
“Atticus,” Dorian says, gently pushing aside the hair from his forehead. It’s stuck to his skin with sweat. He looks pale, almost sick, but he groans and his eyes open.
Dorian’s face splits into a smile, and I throw myself into Atticus’s arms. I hold him tightly, squeezing so hard I might break his bones. I kiss him, on the mouth, on the cheeks, on the forehead, relief making me shiver all over. He tastes like sweat and dirt, but his skin is warm, and he’s alive.
Atticus pulls away, rubbing his forehead with an open hand.
“Where am I?” he asks.
“Under Arches. We have to get you out of here.”
Atticus casts his dark eyes around the room, looking confused. Dorian helps him to his feet, but he can barely stand.
“Can you walk?” I ask.
“I think so,” he says, voice trembling.
I move to the cell door, but Atticus doesn’t follow.
“Can I have those?” he asks, looking at the book and the wand in my hand.
There’s something in his eyes, a flatness, that makes me hesitate. I pull back slightly.
Dorian doesn’t seem to notice. “Come on, Finch, let’s get out of here,” he says, trying to lead him forward. But he doesn’t move.
Atticus blinks slowly. He just stares at the room, at the book in my arms, at Professor White on the floor nearby. A befuddled expression covers his face, and he looks like he’s waking up from a dream.
“Atticus,” Dorian says, more forcefully.
“What?” he asks.
“Let’s go.”
“Dorian,” I say, not taking my eyes off Atticus. “Wait.”
Dorian stares at me, and then at Atticus, and it dawns on him. Something is wrong. He looks like Atticus, of course. He has the same dark hair, same dark eyes, same full lips. But something is off. I don’t know what, but I just feel it.
His eyes are empty.
“You’re not Atticus,” I say.