Chapter 12
Twelve
Iglare at the cryptic note, willing it with every fibre of my being to burst into flame and rid my mind of its ridiculous snare.
You will find me when you find yourself –C
The note was waiting for me when we got home, pinned to the door of our apartment with a huge thorn. Instead of getting some desperately needed sleep, I’ve been sitting in the window instead, staring at it for hours as the morning light slowly creeps in.
I hate riddles. They bore me. Fancy poetry to hide true intent, and for what? Stupid fucking thing, with it’s stupid words, in stupid cursive, with stupid blue ink…
Wait.
I sit up straight and grab the parchment, bringing it closer.
I’ve never seen that colour ink before.
At least, I hadn’t, until I saw that overturned inkwell at the second crime scene. My heart stutters anew.
Maybe riddles aren’t so bad after all.
Could that be why the inkwell had spilled? If the ink matches, it could place Corvus at the crime scene. I push myself off the window seat and walk over to Quill who flutters awake, fluffing his feathers as I wave the parchment at him. I can’t believe I never thought of this before.
“Do you recognise this ink?” I ask urgently, watching him float closer to the parchment as he seems to study it.
My heart rate increases as I wait for his reply, but a moment later he shakes back and forth, his message clear.
My shoulders drop as my hope falters, but Quill floats over to his parchment and starts writing.
There is one who may know
My breath catches as I read, my head whipping to him for an explanation.
“Who?” I demand, tapping my fingers impatiently as he starts to write a name.
Cyril
“You know of Cyril?” I ask with a frown, wondering how that could be possible.
“Your librarian friend from the Memosyne Archives?” Stryx yawns from behind me, stretching her arms up above her head as she emerges barefoot from her room.
I nod. “Quill seems to think he might know where this ink comes from,” I muse, waving the note in her direction.
Her ears twitch back and forth as she observes it with narrowed eyes, and I notice the tiny crescent moon tattoo on her forehead is no longer glowing, along with the tattoos up her arms. She must have drained her magic last night by maintaining that illusion for so long.
“Maybe we should take a trip to the Archives, then. While we’re there we can do some research on memory siphoning too, see if there’s any reference to this ‘fog’ Riven mentioned,” she says sleepily, rubbing her eyes.
I swallow down my guilt at her lack of sleep.
As soon as Xavier left us to head home, I’d told her what Riven had whispered to me, and we spent the rest of the night speculating its meaning.
I can tell she’s still eager to help me, and I don’t want to deny her, but I can’t ignore the horror she went through last night because of me either.
She points her long finger and gives me a stern stare, understanding my turmoil without me needing to voice it. “Don’t even think about telling me to stay at home. Last night was unexpected, that’s all, I’ll be better prepared this time.”
I open my mouth to argue but Quill’s scratching on his parchment draws our attention.
Don’t be a dick
“I didn’t even say anything!” I admonish him, swiping at him, but he quickly ducks out of the way.
I give him my middle finger before marching off to grab my cloak from where it lies in a muddle on the sofa.
I pull it on before turning back to Stryx, who seems to be sharing an amused side glance with Quill.
“Your magic is drained, Stryx. If you go out there without a glamour, you could be spotted, it’s too much of a risk,” I say softly, hoping she’ll see reason, but she shakes her head stubbornly.
“I’ll make sure I’m hidden beneath my cloak–”
“Stryx–”
“I want to help!” she stamps her foot like a child, her ears pressing back against her head as her voice turns to a whimper. “I can help.”
I sigh. I can’t bear to leave her locked up in here, but if she gets caught, the consequences will be dire for both of us. But as my gaze snags on one of my larger empty phials on the table, an idea forms in my mind.
“How small can you shrink in your Irithys form?” I ask, walking to the table to pick up the glass bottle. She tracks my movements, a smile breaking out across her face as she figures out my plan.
Without a word, she transforms, filling up the space of the apartment and knocking a few books off the shelf with her long swinging tail. She floats towards the phial which I hold up to her, but she pauses, her voice filling my mind.
“If you put the lid on and leave me here, Octavia, so help me–”
I cut her off with a laugh, raising the phial again and gesturing for her to enter. “I promise I won’t leave you here.”
Though, for the sake of her safety, I admit the thought did briefly cross my mind.
She hesitates another moment before racing forward, and I can’t help but flinch as I instinctively close my eyes, waiting for her to collide with me.
But there’s no impact, and as a rush of air whips my hair back from my face, I open my eyes to find her inside the phial, shrunk to the size of a dragonfly.
I hold the bottle up so she’s eye level with me and I smile warmly at her.
“I’ll keep you in my pocket so you’re safe. I need to bring Xavier with me so you’ll have to stay hidden, but at least you can talk to me without him hearing,” I say, and she nods her little head in agreement.
I tuck her gently into a pocket in my cloak and head out the door, pulling out my new talisman and rubbing it between my fingers as my exhaustion starts to creep up on me.
Functioning on this little sleep never does me any good, but I’ll get plenty of rest when I’m dead, and right now, the dead need me to bring them justice.
It takes three attempts at knocking before Xavier finally answers the door, his black hair disheveled and the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced than yesterday. He looks like how I feel, which is unheard of for him.
“Do you have any idea what time it is, Octavia?” he moans, stifling a yawn as he leans heavily against the threshold.
“Yes, it’s time you got off your backside and start working this case,” I tease, but he looks at me deadpan, clearly unamused.
“Have you even slept since I left you last night?” he asks. “And where’s Stryx? Did she have enough fun last night to put her off for a lifetime?”
I finally caved and introduced him to Stryx a year ago, and there’s been many a time since then that I’ve considered telling Xavier the truth about her, but given his less than warm feelings towards the Echofae, I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it yet.
It pains me greatly to lie to him; we’ve always shared our secrets since we were children, and he’s a good man—I know he would accept her if I just explained everything to him. But this isn’t my secret to tell.
“No I haven’t, and yes, she’s had quite enough detective work for now,” I lie, schooling my features into innocence, though given Xavier’s current state, I doubt he’d even notice if the Irithys was out floating above my head.
Silence stretches between us while I stand at his door, waiting patiently with a sardonic smile. Eventually he caves, huffing his breath out through his teeth as he grabs his overcoat and locks the door behind him.
I’m going to have so much fun making him regret being my chaperone.
“The Chief and I are going to have words when this is all over,” he mutters, pulling his coat tighter against the cold bite of the air. “Where are we going, then?”
“The Archives,” I answer brightly, leading the way. The Memosyne Archives are one of my favourite places in the city, though my excitement at our impending visit dampens somewhat as I glance at Xavier’s pallid expression again.
“Are you sure everything’s okay with you? With Vesper?” I ask with a frown. He’s always so put together, it’s disconcerting seeing him like this.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still a little annoyed about him being my handler, but at the end of the day, he’s still my friend.
One of the best—and only—friends I’ve had.
I’ve known him since I was eight years old; we’ve grown up playing together and caused trouble as we grew into teenagers.
He even risked his reputation insisting that Chief Starling hire me when I wanted to follow in his footsteps—the first ever female detective to be employed by the Division, all thanks to him.
Despite my occasional grumbling about his over-protectiveness, I owe him so much, and seeing him this exhausted and detached makes my heart ache.
He shrugs noncommittally, once again avoiding eye contact. “I’m fine, just haven’t been sleeping well recently.”
I know the feeling. Whilst my instinct urges me to comfort him, his tone demands an end to the conversation, so I begrudgingly take the hint and decide to badger him about it later.
Xavier’s always lived close to the Division, so it’s only a matter of minutes before we are approaching the spiralling walls of the Memosyne, the religious capital of Velmora.
As well as being the seat of the Memonic Council, the place is also home to the Archives—a labyrinthine maze of books and rare antiquities housing the city’s fascinating history.
The gates loom before us like the threshold to another world.
Golden bars interwoven with filigreed vines shimmer faintly in the pale morning light, their surfaces etched with prayers written in fragments of forgotten tongues.
Beyond, the walls rise high and unbroken, carved from pale stone that gleams like its never known grime or shadow.
A fortress, yes, but one gilded with sanctity.