by Amanda Marin
“Bianca, you haven’t gone up to your room yet—” she begins when our eyes meet.
I think she’s about to lecture me for disobeying her orders, so I interrupt her before she gets the chance. “But I can’t find Sebastian either, now,” I blurt out.
She frowns. More mouth-puckering. “Sebastian is safe,” she says tersely. “Come with me. I think it’s time the three of us have a serious conversation.”
Sebastian sits behind the locked door of Headmistress Fothergill’s office. His shoulders are slumped, his head cradled in his hands and his elbows propped on his knees as he hunches forward. He glances up when he hears us approaching, and when he sees me lingering behind the headmistress’s curvy form, he startles, standing up quickly.
“I didn’t do it, Bee,” he tells me immediately. His green eyes are wild seas again, waves breaking over a pair of rocks. “You know me. Please tell the headmistress I wouldn’t do something like this—I’ve been trying to stop the omens from coming true, not rush them along.”
My mouth dangles ajar. I look over at the headmistress. There’s a burst of red in her cheeks. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her cat glasses slowly slide down her nose. She’s angry, I realize. At him. And I’m almost positive I know why.
“You think he broke the statues, don’t you?” I whisper.
Headmistress Fothergill frowns. “Well, someone inside the academy certainly did,” she says coldly as she lowers herself into her chair. Sebastian and I follow suit. This is going to be a conversation that will be as long as it will be serious—I can already tell. “In fact, someone has been hastening the progression of the omens mentioned in Clio’s Lost Scroll for days now—since around the time Sebastian turned up at Brightling, actually.”
My throat goes dry. “You … you know that we already heard about Clio’s Scroll?”
She nods once. “We may carry on the works of the ancients, but this isn’t ancient times, Bianca. We have security cameras. I am well aware of your late-night trips to and from the auditorium.”
“I wanted to help,” I tell the headmistress, my voice wavering. “That’s why I went looking. I wanted to find out what was going on, that’s all.”
Headmistress Fothergill nods sympathetically, and her tone softens. “I know you did, Bianca. It’s only natural that you would be drawn to the Lost Scroll, just like your grandmother was before you. You’re a descendent of Clio, after all.”
The vise inside me loosens slightly. At least she doesn’t think this is my doing, my fault.
“It’s Mr. Greenbriar’s motives that I question,” the headmistress adds sharply. “Nothing has been the same here since he came to Brightling. His very arrival made me suspicious. It struck me as odd that a young man so close to graduation would transfer schools—and to what is, for all intents and purposes, an all-girls’ school. Access to a certain auditorium could be a powerful motivator for someone intent on bringing Clio’s warning to fruition.”
Her words make me think of Kash—of all the accusations she made last night. I swallow hard, as if I’m trying to gulp down a very large, very bitter pill. The auditorium. Sebastian wanted to go there even before I told him about the Lost Scroll. Maybe he just wanted to destroy the statues all along. And if that’s all he wanted, our kisses would have meant nothing to him. Tears boil up in my eyes. Disappointment, frustration, disgust—all aimed at Sebastian—burn inside me.
“Just because I came here doesn’t mean I did anything wrong,” Sebastian tells the headmistress. He turns to me then and adds in a desperate whisper, “I didn’t, Bee. Please believe me.”
But I ignore him. I feel so betrayed. I trusted him—I defended him to Kash. Now, I can’t even look at him. Instead, I keep my stare ahead, focused on the corner of the room behind the headmistress. He mentioned having a dark family legacy. I guess he wasn’t kidding.
“It’s because you are descended from Clio that I assigned you to be Sebastian’s guide, Bianca,” Headmistress Fothergill continues, coldly disregarding him. “As Clio’s heir, you have an innate gift—one not just to record or sway the history of people’s actions, but also to sense their character and intent. I believed that if Sebastian was connected to the omens, you would sense the wickedness in him and tell me.”
She looks at me expectantly, her eyebrows raised again, as though to prompt me to pass my judgment on Sebastian. “Well?”
Everything around me seems heavy and constricting—the collar of my shirt, the weight of my blazer, even the air that fills my lungs. Finally, I glance over at the boy in the chair beside me. Fear casts a shadow over his face; it grows grimmer with every second that ticks away without my response. Maybe he’s even picturing his fate if I condemn him. Maybe he’s wondering if the Board of Nine will inspire him to perform a self-inflicted punishment—to smash his own skull, just like the statues were destroyed, perhaps.
Sebastian’s tongue flicks nervously over his lips, and I remember the taste of butterscotch on his mouth and the way he let his guard down with me before we kissed. I remember how gently he touched my arm—and how determined he was to make me smile. There’s no wickedness in him. No matter his prideful first impression. No matter what Kash or the headmistress say. No matter how hard I try to sense it. It’s simply not there.
I’m about to open my mouth and explain this when desperation gets the better of him. “Bianca, please listen to me,” he murmurs. “The truth is, I am connected to what’s happening—but not in the way she thinks.”
My heart stills inside my chest, and a tear leaks out onto my cheek. No, I can’t be wrong about Sebastian. Again. I can’t accept that he would do what he’s been accused of.
He takes a deep breath. “I’m not a Muse.”
My insides turn to dust, as dry and disintegrated as the remnants of the statues left behind in the auditorium. “But you’re here—you’re pledging to Thalia,” I remind him, more desperate to convince myself of his innocence than anyone else.
Sebastian shakes his head. While Headmistress Fothergill and I gasp, he glances away, unable to look me in the eye. “My mom was a Muse—a pledge to Thalia—but I’m not. I have a different gift. I’m a Seer. I have these dreams sometimes about events that will come to be.”
I shake my head, unable to understand. “If you’re not a Muse, then why come here? Why do you care about the Lost Scroll?”
He sighs reluctantly. “My dad was a Mundane. He left when I was little—something about not fitting into our realm. I barely remember him, but it broke my mom’s heart. She used to cry all the time. To cheer her up, I’d give her these candies the housekeeper would put out. Every time I have one now, I still think of her.”
“Butterscotch …?” I whisper, although I already know the sad answer.
He nods. “Then my mom got sick, and we moved back to her family’s estate. My uncle owned it by then, but he wanted us there so he could help, and it seemed like the best option. Mom had cancer, but he was convinced it was a broken heart. He blamed my dad for abandoning us … After she died, he was my only family, so I stayed with him. It wasn’t easy, though. My mom warned me about him. She told me to be careful—to avoid him, if I could. It wasn’t until after she died that I understood why.”
Sebastian pauses, and I picture him as a little kid. Wandering around a sprawling, poorly lit mansion. Alone and lonely. Always keeping his guard up. Now my heart is breaking.
“My uncle is also a Muse. A dark Muse. A pledge of Melpomene,” he goes on, his voice hoarse. “He brings tragedy into the world wherever he goes. My mom’s death haunted him, and he took on this crusade against the Mundane—all because of my dad. He’d go out of his way to inspire misfortune in their lives. ‘Take away the things that are beautiful to them, and they’ll destroy themselves in time,’ he used to tell me. He’d try to get me to use my visions to help him. Even though I’m not a Muse, Melpomene’s blood still runs through my veins. I could still uphold her legacy, he’d say.”
The im
itation he did last night of a father-figure pressuring him replays in my mind. It was his uncle. I understand that now.
“I didn’t want to help him, but I had to—I needed his home and money,” Sebastian whispers. “A few weeks ago, though, I had a powerful vision—this time about him. I couldn’t quite sense what he was doing, but I knew he was working on his worst plan yet. A plan that would ruin the Mundane realm. I saw things … despair, poverty, wreckage. I wanted nothing to do with it. I knew I couldn’t help him anymore.”
He glances up at Headmistress Fothergill. “Then, my uncle made me come here. He faked my transcripts and letters of recommendation, and he made this loser who works for him pose as my guardian. I went along with it because I wanted to get away. I had to escape him. He said he had an assignment for me to do here and that he’d send me instructions when the time came. I didn’t know what he meant, but I never intended to do it. I cut off all communication with him as soon as I stepped through this door.”
He looks over at me next. “And then I met you, Bee, and we figured out I was right. Something is going on that will leave the Mundane in darkness—Clio’s prediction. My uncle’s behind it all. I know he is. This is his doing. He’s the one speeding up the omens. I bet he meant for me to be the one to smash the statues. He wants the Mundane to sink into despair and destroy themselves, just like my dad did to my mom …”
Dots connect, stars align, and pieces fall into place for me now. The man who stole the violin—who showed up at Brambleton—who bought the Empire Opera House … That’s Sebastian’s uncle.
I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I could keep my realizations bottled up inside. “Your uncle … does he wear a black suit with a green handkerchief a lot?”
“Almost always—at least when he’s out on business,” Sebastian tells me. “He says it represents our family and reminds him of who he is and what he must do. The black is part of his surname—Raventhorne. And the handkerchief is my mom and me—Greenbriars, like my dad.”
Headmistress Fothergill has been quiet for so long, listening to us talk, taking in all the information. But she suddenly shifts in her chair, leaning forward, on high alert. “Raventhorne …?” she repeats. “As in Jupiter Raventhorne?”
Again, Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that’s my uncle.”
The headmistress takes off her glasses, closes her eyes, and presses her fingertips to their corners. The exhaustion in her face is about tenfold what it was only a week ago when I sat in this very chair being told to watch over Sebastian. So much has happened since then. She seems to cling to the seconds that pass by in silence. Maybe a piece of her wishes she didn’t have to open her eyes and deal with the chaos enveloping us. Maybe a piece of her even wishes she never accepted the Board’s appointment to headmistress at all.
Sighing, she finally opens her eyes, lifts her head, and looks back at us. “Jupiter Raventhorne is a known wicked Muse whose atrocities against the Mundane have been documented by the Board of Nine. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was the real reason your father left you and your mother, Sebastian. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.”
Sebastian pales, and he sinks lower in his chair, shaking his head. “I think we know who has the missing Laffitte now, too.”
“Your uncle is the reason why you asked Ms. Applegate about punishments for wicked Muses that day in Inspiration Practicum, isn’t it?” I ask him.
“Yeah …” he murmurs. “I keep hoping he’ll get caught—and that if he does, he’ll be out of my life for good.”
The headmistress stands again. “I’m certain that once the Board of Nine arrives, they’ll make that wish a reality—both for your sake and ours,” she assures him.
“The Board is coming? To Brightling?” I echo.
Great. Just as the world starts making sense again, I’m thrown another curveball. If the Board has been called, that means my grandmother might also show up—she may be retired, but she’s still an advisor. And if she shows up, she might find out about how I’m failing Poise and Charm.
Not that it probably matters anymore, with the threat of Clio’s prediction coming true, but still.
Headmistress Fothergill nods and, reaching for her phone, begins to shoo us away. “Yes, of course. The Board is coming to fortify the school and arrest the culprit before it’s too late. Naturally, I must redirect their attention to Jupiter Raventhorne now instead of you, Sebastian. While I do so, you’re both free to go—please return to your dorm rooms like all the other students.”
I hesitate, still glued to my seat, unable to leave. It’s like my limbs won’t work until I know the full truth. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘fortify the school’?”
The headmistress’s fingertips move over the keypad of her phone, dialing. “The last omen,” she says casually, as though it should be common knowledge. “It references an attack on Brightling.”
Bright halls turning dark.
That’s what Sebastian said Clio’s final sign entailed. Of course. Bright halls. The halls of Brightling. Where Muses are made.
I feel feverish as I glance knowingly over at Sebastian.
“But we’re Muses, not fighters,” he says, a panicked undertow beneath his words.
The headmistress cradles the phone against her shoulder. I can faintly hear the ring on the other end of the line. “Technically, you are a Seer, Mr. Greenbriar. We are the Muses. But you’re otherwise correct. We’re not fighters—we’re artists. However, we are able to influence others, and that is how the Board will manage our current situation. They have given us the authority to inspire any Mundane in any way necessary to protect the school.”
“But—”
“Hello. Yes, this is Evangelina Fothergill with an urgent message for the Board …”
As she turns her focus to the phone, the headmistress shoos us again, her plump hand waving us away like we’re a pair of dramatically overgrown flies in blue and gold plaid. Sebastian stands slowly, in stunned disbelief—like a man on death row just given a pardon. But a moment later, when we’re alone again in the hall, he turns to me, and the worry is back in his eyes.
“Something still doesn’t make sense,” he says, frowning.
“What doesn’t?”
“The statues in the auditorium. It wasn’t me who smashed them, so who do you think did?”
As soon as he asks the question, I know the answer, and it’s terrible. It makes me feel cold and exposed, like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
“Kash,” I whisper.
13
“Kash? Seriously?” Sebastian repeats, doubtful.
“Why not? She was gone last night, she was angry, and she had access to the statues,” I explain as we hurry down the corridor.
“But she didn’t know about Clio’s Lost Scroll,” he says. “You think she just randomly chose the right thing to attack that would fulfill the prediction?”
I stop short as we enter the main foyer of the building.
“What is it?”
“She did know about the Lost Scroll,” I tell him. “Maybe not everything, but something about it, anyway. She’s the one who suggested we look into it.”
The truth is an arrow to my heart. The pain is sharp, and I feel like I may bleed out from the wound it leaves behind. Kash is too sweet—too gentle—too fragile to do something like this on her own. Someone must’ve gotten to her—forced her—over-inspired her. Someone like Jupiter Raventhorne. That’s why she tried to warn me to stay away from this. That’s why she needed me, and that’s why she was upset I wasn’t there for her.
“Poor Kash …” I choke. “She’s the feather crushed under the weight of a burden. She’s the eighth omen. I didn’t see it in time.”
Sebastian takes my hand. “Don’t blame yourself, Bee. I didn’t see it either.”
I glance at the grand staircase to my right. Beyond it is the elevator to the dormitories. To safety. To following the rules. Obeying Headmistress Fothergill’s instructions m
ay keep me out of danger, and it may keep me from flunking out of Brightling, but it will do nothing to help Kash—or to stop the final omen from coming true. This is our last chance, and we have to take it.
“Come on,” I tell Sebastian, pulling him along with me toward the front entry. “We have to try to find her. She might know where your uncle is and what he’s planning. Maybe together, we can stop the attack on Brightling after all.”
The back gates aren’t closed yet. The lockdown order is too new for all the procedures to have been carried out. Groundkeepers still rush around the property, getting everything in order. As Sebastian and I sneak around the building, we see them shuttering windows on the lower levels, barring the entrances, or clearing the lawn of any valuables that could be destroyed in an attack. Sebastian and I dodge them all, hiding behind shrubs or signs along the way.
Then, we step out into the open: the city streets beyond the academy. In just the short few days since I last left the school property, so much has changed. Dense clouds hover in the sky above, a natural reminder of the darkness threatening to descend on the city. Litter is scattered around the sidewalk—trash of all shapes and sizes, from discarded coffee cups to the stained, torn-up mattress propped against a building on the corner. Even the air is dirty; napkins and plastic bags swirl in the breeze. The people are different, too. They stomp around, grumbling, fists clenched at their sides.
“It’s awful out here,” I murmur.
Beside me, Sebastian nods as he, too, takes in our surroundings. “It’s already bleak—just like I saw in my dream. If it’s this bad now, imagine what it’ll be like after the ninth omen comes true.”
As we stand and gape, someone trudges by, crashing into my shoulder. “Move it!” he shouts at me, glaring.