Chapter 37
Weeks pass as the end of the semester draws closer, and I bury myself in my work, losing myself in homework assignments, finals preparation, and practicing my magic.
Most of my time is spent in the library, and the vast majority of campus has descended into a panicked, sleepless sort of academic frenzy as finals loom on the horizon.
My mom has already booked my flight home for winter break using what little money she’s managed to save for Christmas presents.
I’ve called her a couple times over the course of the semester and sent a handful of letters, but I never mention any of the disturbing events that have transpired and the secrets I’ve uncovered, instead telling her about my friends and how beautiful campus is.
She doesn’t need to worry about me any more than she already does.
Max has been a lifeline, as she’s the only person who knows the reality of my situation.
When Mitchell’s death is officially announced, she holds my hand and stays up with me all night as I sob.
AJ’s absence, and later his vacant expressions and hollow responses, are enough to make me sick with guilt.
“There’s nothing you could have done,” Max assures me one night when I’m still awake at three a.m. wrestling with my remorse. “Mitchell was already dead, and it’s better that you weren’t the one to tell him.”
They still haven’t revealed his cause of death yet, and I can’t help but wonder if the mushrooms are somehow related, if they’re more dangerous than I had assumed.
In the real world, toxic mushrooms can’t kill you unless you consume them, but if I’ve learned one thing over the last six months, it’s that this place is far beyond everything I’ve ever known.
Callista joins us in the library or the common room sometimes for study sessions, and her bright disposition is always a welcome distraction.
Delilah and Avery come when they can, but Delilah is drowning in her own coursework with the astronomical expectations that come with being in Meridian House, and Avery’s studying generally consists of physical sparring sessions with other people in her program to work on technique.
I’ve thrown myself into practicing magic whenever I safely can.
Max and Callista patiently coach me through basic elemental manipulation spellwork, but the bulk of my practice is focused on my Affinity.
I’ve spent more than a few afternoons by myself on the far edge of campus—the opposite side of the island from the forest—and have managed to almost perfect my skills with identifying plants and their needs, coaxing growth and inhibiting illness, and generally exhibiting the control I’d been lacking at the beginning of the semester.
It’s like I’ve found the current my magic runs through, and it’s taken me months to learn how to regulate the power running through it.
One of the hardest parts of my weeks is having class with Alaric.
I manage to wear a mask of indifference despite the heartache that surges every time I see his face.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, I arrive to class one minute before it begins, sit in the back, take meticulous notes, and leave the moment class ends.
Alaric tries to get my attention, though subtly.
He attempts to catch my eye during lectures, but I avoid eye contact as much as possible, and he always lingers at the end of class.
I make sure to strike up a conversation with Joanna as class ends each day in order to look busy on my way out the door, and we’ve waited on each other at the end of our lab sessions to go to lunch together in AJ’s absence.
Thankfully, Alaric respects my boundaries, though it’s evident in his demeanor that he’s having a difficult time.
Today, Max and I are in the library as we so often are.
She’s tapping a pencil against one of her psychology textbooks, mumbling to herself as she reads aloud a paragraph about the influence of magic on those predisposed to mental illness, while I have three yearbooks on the table before me, one of them open beside my notebook.
In the moments where studying any longer becomes impossible, I’ve resorted to digging into my investigations about who Charles and Melinda might be.
I’ve found so many matches for the first names, but I can’t manage to determine why any of them might be significant to my father.
I slam the yearbook closed, return it to the stack, and immediately grab the next one.
“You should probably take a break from that,” Max says calmly. “You’re going to drive yourself mad at this rate.”
“I’m already there,” I mutter. “I can’t figure out any connection.”
Before Max can respond, we’re interrupted by another voice calling our names in a whisper-yell. “Max! Vivian!”
We both turn, and Delilah is hurrying toward our table with a stack of books in her arms and a blazer draped over her elbow.
Her pleated navy skirt swishes over her tights with each footstep, and her long braids hang over her shoulders atop her white turtleneck.
She looks every bit the classic academic.
Her books land on the table with a heavy thud, and she sinks into the chair beside me. “Sorry I haven’t been around much. I’ve been doing a project about the minor variances in classic spellwork comparing Latin versus Greek incantations, and it’s basically taken over my entire life.”
“That sounds… miserable,” Max says, raising her eyebrows in a silent question of why would you ever put yourself through that?
“It’s actually really interesting,” Delilah says. “The linguistic background and translation of spells is actually a highly debated topic when it comes to Classicist circles, so I might actually focus on expanding this for my master’s thesis.”
“Well, that’s cool,” I chime in, because I have absolutely no clue what she’s talking about.
“Anyway, how are you two? What are you working on?” She asks, eyeing the yearbooks in front of me.
I hesitate, sharing a glance with Max. Delilah is kind and intelligent, and she’s shown nothing but positive traits since I’ve met her. But with all the warnings I’ve received from both my father and the other instructors about being careful with who I trust, I’m perpetually on edge.
Still, I’m tired of keeping secrets and tired of carrying this weight alone. Delilah is my friend.
“My father left me a letter,” I say slowly.
“Before he died. It warned me not to trust two people named Charles and Melinda.
But those are such common names, and I don't have last names or any other identifying information, so I've been searching through old yearbooks trying to find anyone who might fit.”
Delilah's brow furrows as she processes this. “Charles and Melinda,” she murmurs. “Those names sound familiar.”
“They're common names,” Max points out. “That's the problem.”
“No, I mean—” Delilah pauses, searching her memory. “There are two people with those names. An older married couple. Charles and Melinda Langley. They're on the board of trustees for the academy.”
My brain glitches for a moment as I come to terms with what she’s saying. “What?”
“Yeah, they’re on the board of trustees and are pretty influential from what I’ve heard. They've been on the board since my parents were students here.”
My heart beats so hard I fear it might break through my chest. “And their last name is Langley…” It’s not a question so much as my mind trying to wrap itself around the information.
“Is that significant somehow?” Max asks.
“Yes. That was my father’s last name. Whoever these people are, they’re related to my dad and, consequently, me. I’d bet you anything they’re his parents if they’re old enough to have been on the board for that long.”
“Well, shit,” Max breathes.
I’m reeling as pieces of the larger picture start to connect in my mind, only resulting in more questions. “Would the Chancellor know them? She’d have to work with them on some level, right?”
Delilah nods. “Yeah. She works with the board pretty closely on things related to the academy’s big-picture stuff.”
“So there’s no chance she’d not know their names?”
“Uhh, no, I doubt it. She’s been here for long enough that she’d know the board members all by name. There are only, like, twenty of them. Why?”
I explain the conversation to her, relaying how when I’d asked the Chancellor about the names, she gave the excuse that they were too common for her to know who I was referencing.
“Yeah, something fishy is going on there,” Delilah says. “Especially if she knows your father’s relation to them, which I have to assume she does since you’ve asked her about him.”
“But why would she hide that?” I wonder, then add, “Do you think the professors would know who they are too?”
Delilah considers the question for a few seconds before answering, “Maybe? Most staff members don’t interact much with the board, but there are probably a few who keep up with all the politics of the academies.
The board oversees all the magical academies, so sometimes there are overlaps in policy and things like that.
But your average professor who’s just here to teach probably wouldn’t care enough to know their names. ”
I breathe a little easier. The Chancellor may be intentionally misguiding, but it’s somewhat reassuring that the other two professors I’ve spoken to about this—Alaric and Professor Showen—likely weren’t aware.
“Are you okay?” Delilah asks. “You look kind of pale.”
“Just trying to process this.”
“How do you even know all this, anyway?” Max asks Delilah.
She shrugs. “Board meetings are technically public record for the academy community. Most people just don’t care enough to look. My parents work in government and like to know what’s happening behind the scenes, though, so I must’ve just inherited their curiosity about boring things,” she jokes.
“You’re a hero,” I tell her. “Seriously, I would’ve driven myself to insanity trying to figure this out.”
She smiles. “Glad to help. Anyway, I should go get back to studying, but… be careful, okay? With what your dad said in his letter and the fact that Aldrich is intentionally lying to you, something weird is going on.”
“I’ll be careful. Thank you again for your help.”
She leaves, and Max looks at me expectantly. “So, the most important person on campus is intentionally lying to you, you just found out your grandparents are on the board of trustees, and another professor who I won’t name has also been keeping secrets from you. What’s your plan?”
“I have no fucking idea. What can I do? Because I certainly don’t want to make an enemy out of the Chancellor, but I also can’t just sit on this information without digging deeper.”
“I get that. Well, I’m here to help how I can, and I know the other girls are too.”
“Thank you. I’m glad you have you guys.”
“Ditto,” Max retorts. “Anyway, my suggestion is that we get through the rest of this shit show of a semester and then work on investigating when next semester starts back up. You can even search for information about your grandparents while you’re home for winter break.”
“That’s a smart idea. I’ll have computer access then, which I’m not sure will help, but it can’t hurt either.”
“That’s the spirit. Worry about passing your classes before anything else, and then we’ll get shit done. Deal?”
“Deal.”
But even as I say it, I know I won’t be able to let this go entirely. Delilah and Max are right—something isn’t adding up here. And now that almost all of the faculty members I’ve spoken to have proven to be untrustworthy, I have to take my father’s letter seriously. Trust no one.
The question is, why?