Chapter Seven #5
Maybe, but if you wanted to talk about fascism, you’d bring up the most glaringly obvious answer. Though in regard to narrowing it down, something told me we wouldn’t have to. That the answer was right in front of us–
I turned my head to the side, finding, down the corridor and nestled between a corner of shelves, a chair with a single book on top.
I mumbled to the two still lost in thought, “Who lights a fireplace for an empty library?”
“Maybe someone forgot to put it out.”
“On the second floor? Exactly where this riddle leads us?”
Wolf kneeled in a trance. “No. There’s a purpose behind this fire after all. Look.”
August and I hunched closer and looked to where his finger was pointing. The remnants of a burnt paper in the corner of the fire. A twin of the one in my hands.
“A fire to light the way…” I finally understood and followed in the footsteps of those who’d been here before us. I threw in Wolf’s as well as my own.
“We’re not the only ones, it seems,” August said, following my actions with his own, pulling it from his pants pocket and kissing it before throwing it in. He caught us watching and his cheeks flushed. “For… luck. You know…”
His voice dwindled into silence, and no one said a word after that.
We watched them burn, and when they were completely consumed by the flames, Wolf tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Well… what now?”
“What time is it?” I asked.
Wolf lifted his arm and checked his watch in an unnecessary flourish. “It’s half past eight.”
I nodded slowly, my eyes moving down the hall again to the lone chair. “Isn’t it strange that no one had come searching for their seat as well?”
“Maybe they had,” August said.
“Maybe,” I replied.
This didn’t appear to be a joke or an elaborate plan made up by someone looking to extract revenge from one or all of us anymore.
It made me tense. Because if the Founder’s Society was what Wolf believed it to be, that would open up a set of questions I’d dismissed.
And that made my need for answers more than Wolf or August’s want to satiate their curiosity.
Walking down the row to the chair at the end of it, I could hear the pairs of footsteps following me. I lifted the book and read the title.
A Seat at the Table by Susan Wilkes. It was written in 1976, if the cover was anything to go by.
A little on the nose, I thought.
I showed the book to Wolf and August, gone with their giddy smiles and skips in their steps–the ones they’d arrived here with.
“Whoever burned their invitation first also left the book for the next, right?”
“Seems about right.” Wolf shrugged before pulling the book out of my grasp.
It was August who narrowed his eyes and made a grab for it. “Hold on, I know this book. It was banned a while back. Dark stuff and whatnot. But I suspect they simply didn’t want to see a woman with knowledge they were otherwise lacking.”
I didn’t ask who they were, only waiting for the next clue to reveal itself. I would get my answers to this entire ordeal soon enough, and when I did, I could move accordingly.
“Well… Anything?” Wolf ran a hand through his dark curls and waited as August continued studying the synopsis on the back.
“Mmm, it’s said that Susan Wilkes shot herself. Twice, if I’m reading through the lines correctly.”
“So, she was murdered?” I asked, the story unfurling.
August shrugged, not at all bothered by the dark news. “Seems that way.”
He flipped through the pages, and a note fell out. There.
All three of us dived for it, but Wolf was faster.
He snatched it from the ground and momentarily smirked proudly at us before unfolding it and reading aloud, “It is with regret that I inform you the hunt has reached its end. It was quite fun. If you have come this far, congratulations are in order. Retrieve your rightful key and take your place among your predecessors.”
At the end of his words, I released an exhale. Turmoil coiling in my gut.
It was true. The Founder’s Society.
And whoever had written that letter was inviting us to join.
August was practically vibrating in his spot. “... This is insane.”
Wolf cleared his throat and voiced what I’d been thinking, “Except we don’t know where these keys are, nor what they open.”
A fact they’d forgotten to consider was the significance of Susan Wilkes. There were several books and titles to choose from, and if what August said was true, there was a deeper tunnel where she was concerned.
Where I grew up, deaths labeled as overdoses when there were clear bruises around the neck weren’t uncommon. But this wasn’t where I grew up. Even I knew there was an art of subtlety and deception that these families mastered.
So why her?
Was she someone who betrayed this society?
Was her work left for us to find, a thinly veiled threat? What happens to those who forget their place?
Why me?
The question continued to repeat itself in my mind, and I couldn’t make it stop.
If my place at Castle Hill was for the sole purpose of this Founder’s Society, it would complicate one too many things.
I didn’t know if, after this meeting, I would return to my dorm and pack up what little of my belongings I owned before disappearing out the gates of this sprawling estate or if I would be reassured in my place here.
The memory of my flight returned to me as I weighed and laid my plans before me. The man, Evan, he said his name was, had given me an odd feeling. Like a heatless blanket coming down over me as I tried to fight my way out and search for even a sliver of light.
Upon the recent events, it was safe to say he hadn’t been there by mere coincidence. I tried recalling everything we’d spoken about, every slip of body language I’d noticed or forgotten. The threat he’d made.
Listen, kid, switch drinks or you’ll be arriving in Scotland with a broken arm.
Looking back, I was disturbingly disappointed in myself for how I handled the situation. For speaking to him.
I wanted to grip my hair and pull at the inconsistency in my story, forcing myself to remain composed.
Standing in the middle of the library, at that moment in time, I vowed to myself for the second time in my life to never allow those insignificant feelings to control me.
He’d caught me at a bad time; that was the only excuse I could muster. That I’d been on edge and jittery from the interrogation room up until the plane.
This brought me to the events before meeting Evan.
The commissioner’s words came back to me from that ringing, blindingly lit room.
A call came in at the nick of time, making me drive down all the way from Washington.
Thinking back, I began to connect the dots with flimsy strings of my memory, creating a spiderweb in my mind, unfinished yet leading somewhere I was too wary to venture.
I am being sponsored, and my place at Castle Hill is for a motivated reason. I tried making a list of what was left.
The name of my sponsor.
The mystery of Mr Browne.
The Founder’s Society.
Which brought me back to my currency predicament. The Founder’s Society. I guess my thoughts went full circle. The only way out is through, and it seems there was a bittersweet truth in those words.
“Maybe the keys are just hidden somewhere around here…” August began searching around the chair, flipping it and turning it until he found what he was searching for.
I left him to his devices and recalled the word play. That was all this was. They twisted words and meanings to fit their vision.
Rightful key.
I wasn’t stupid enough to believe it was that straightforward, but ‘rightful’ was too broad a word.
“What are you thinking?” Wolf’s voice broke through my trance as he nudged my shoulder lightly.
I didn’t respond, only looking to him for anything he might offer. We were about the same height, I noticed.
Though where he was lean, with a quiet strength that spoke of his discipline rather than vanity, I was slight and unassuming.
At first glance, it wouldn’t look as though I could hold my own in a fight, and I preferred it that way.
Years of living in danger, in the underbelly of every city, made me prioritize my physical strength.
And it wouldn’t be cocky to say I could take people like the lackeys of Callum Queen.
It was simply the truth.
“All these shelves look untouched,” I noted. I hadn’t realized that I’d noticed until my words made them true. Dust covered the books surrounding us; each row and shelf against each wall had at least some semblance of neglect.
Wolf shrugged before his voice took an amused tone, “Not a lot of people read books up here. Did you figure something out?”
I mentally shrugged past his words, looking around before zeroing in on the shelves next to the very chair that led us down this hall. “Except for this one.” I pointed to the wall of books that looked too clean, too… touched.
For a moment, I thought my words fell onto deaf ears. However, when he spoke, something seized up inside me.
“Maybe… this leads to another book?” Wolf offered as August continued searching away.
Why did I get the feeling he was trying to help me… rather than help us?
I leaned my head away to get a better look at him before tilting it down. His eyebrows twitched the slightest bit, furrowing down as he let me scrutinize him, albeit a bit confused. But that was all he let pass through his face before huffing out a breath. “Are you… okay?”
When I found nothing but my own paranoia staring back at me, I released a breath and ran a hand over my forehead. “Yeah… just confused.”
He hummed and looked around before stilling.
Moving away from my side, he walked closer to the bookshelf against the wall.
A disbelieving laugh tumbling out of his chest. “They were right there all along.” He looked back at me with a bright grin as he began to speak too quickly, “The keys. The rightful keys mean we had to look for our own rightful keys. They wouldn’t be lined up for us to pick up. ”
He looked about ready to continue rambling before cutting himself off. August, who stood to the side with confusion in his eyes, didn’t seem to catch on, and neither did I.
He looked between us as his smile dimmed just a little bit. “Like–for example, August Myro would look for August Myro’s key. They wouldn’t all be in the same place.”
It made sense, in a way, but this library was large, and that wasn’t a clue, simply a deduction. “So where would your key be, Wolf?”
He pondered on it, but only for a moment before snapping his fingers like a bulb had lit over his head.
“Somewhere only I could find. It makes sense, even if an outsider were to stumble upon this invitation and the note, they wouldn’t know something only I would know.
This part would stump them, so…” He lengthened his ‘so’ as he searched through the titles before him until he found the one book that, until moments ago, seemed to belong. “The Westing Game, I love this novel.”
August was the first one to speak, “Er… Isn’t that like–”
Wolf sent him a glare for his half-insinuation; one I wasn’t interested in being privy to. “So… where’s the key, then?”
Wolf lifted his head to meet my gaze before looking back down and flipping through the book.
And there it was. Slipping right out from between the middle pages was a heavy key.
But it was unlike any I’d ever seen before.
The shaft was worn smooth, from years of use, I assume.
When Wolf lifted it to the light, it wasn’t the teeth that caught my attention.
That was the thing, it didn’t seem to have any.
It had a small cylinder head–perfectly round with an intricate design carved into the opening at its tip. The patterns on the cylinder were delicate, almost as though they were carved by hand.
“Would you look at that?” August’s words were quiet as he inspected the key. It was silent as we both inched forward, but it was August who sprang into action, looking through the shelves before he let out an ‘aha’ and pulled out The Hobbit.
I looked to Wolf, but he was too busy inspecting his key, almost in a trance of his own.
August, as though I were looking at him through a murky glass, found his key as well. A twin of Wolf’s.
I was left utterly lost.
Because when it was my turn to ‘take my place among my predecessors’, I hesitated.
I didn’t have a book that spoke to me growing up.
In fact, reading hadn’t exactly become a hobby until I’d found it to be a useful way to pass the time inside those homes I was placed in.
And even then, with so many ripped-up and coloured-in pages, it was difficult to enjoy the pastime until I’d managed to scrape some time alone to visit the library.
And yet, I didn’t have any favourites. Nothing in particular stood out to me. But I knew that the only pattern to look out for was something that didn’t belong in a row of ancient books, a book free of any evidence of age.
I looked through the shelves, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
I pulled out a thin and glossy spine before turning the book over. The title read The Chocolate War. I turned it upside down and held out my hand for the inevitable key to fall into my palm, cold and smooth.
I didn’t let myself falter in front of the pair watching me.
“Now for the keyhole. Any guesses?”
My voice was too far for my mind to register but it held strong.
As though the words weren’t coming out of my mouth.
I tried to ignore the dread seeping into my bones as the quick satisfaction slipped away.
The title across the book turned blurry as it trembled in my hands.
I tensed my muscles, tightening them under my skin and around the pages to stop the easily detectible tell.
My heartbeat was louder than the voices sounding around me. They didn’t seem to find any of this uncanny, that a stranger knew their favourite novels. But I did, because I never cared for the book. Didn’t like it, didn’t hate it.
And yet it was the first book I’d ever properly read.