The boys looked at each other.
Alan’s face was serene as he scratched at his stubble. “Tobias had a nightmare.”
“Go to sleep, and if I hear another noise out of here, you’ll both have a week of detention.” His bearded face disappeared again.
“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” whispered Alan.
Tobias lay back in his bed, his whole body aching. He and Alan remained silent, still shocked. Tobias pulled up his covers, but the room no longer felt quite as safe. After a few minutes, he heard Alan get up and look into the bin. He selected a heavy Civil War textbook from his shelf and placed it atop the lid, hoping to prevent any errant bits of Ms. Bouchard from emerging and reconstituting.
18
Fiona
On the last day before March break, Fiona stood with her hands wrapped around the cold bars of the front gate, watching the morning sky turn a brighter shade of ash. The days were longer, and the temperature had started to warm, but dirty clumps of snow still blighted the Common paths. A world without magic was already beginning to seem intolerable. She turned away from the park. As she walked toward breakfast, she wondered how people coped with the tedium of ordinary life.
In the dining hall, she grabbed two chocolate croissants and some orange juice before sitting down with Tobias and Alan. Tobias’s bruise was fading, but the deep circles under his eyes suggested he still wasn’t sleeping well. As she approached, the conversation faded to silence. Alan’s face looked drawn and tired.
She looked from Tobias to Alan. “What am I interrupting?”
Tobias glanced at his friend. “It’s okay. She knows about me.”
“I know about what?”
Alan whispered, “Tobias is finally about to fill me in on his background. His real background.”
Tobias rubbed his eyes. “Fiona can probably summarize it.”
She smiled. She thought herself an expert on Maremount. She described everything she could remember: how the language of the gods created reality, that Rawhed controlled the Harvesters, and that Tobias was a Ragman.
Alan’s jaw dropped as she spoke, and Tobias jumped in to describe his pike fighting techniques.
Alan clapped his hand over his mouth. “Holy crap.” He stared at the table. “I’ve already seen the monsters, but I was still somehow hoping there would be a rational explanation for them.”
Fiona shifted her chair closer. “There’s more, though. You know that poem Ann Hibbins recited? It turns out there’s a legend about a King Philip poem. It’s supposed to be able to stop an evil sorcerer. We need to get the whole thing.”
Still staring at the table, Alan shook his head slowly. “I knew there was something weird going on with your whole arrival here.”
Fiona tapped her hand on the table. “Wait—why is this coming out now? What happened?”
“We were going to talk about who I killed last night,” said Tobias in a low voice.
“What?”
Alan nodded, listlessly taking a bite of croissant and speaking with his mouth full. “Ms. Bouchard.” His eyes had taken on a glazed look.
Fiona gaped. “You’re kidding, right?”
In hushed tones, Tobias delved into details of the powder and the gore, and the knobby knees that had pressed into his chest.
Fiona looked down at the table in shocked silence while she digested the information before staring at Tobias again. “I knew there was something weird about her. Was she a witch?”
Tobias rested his chin on his hand. “I think she was a night hag. They’re extremely rare. We’ve eradicated them in Maremount.”
Recovering some alertness, Alan nodded. “I’ve read about them. Succubi. There are beliefs all over the world about them. They’re cursed women who sit on your chest and cause nightmares. Lilith was the first one, in the Garden of Eden. Ms. Bouchard was probably a thousand years old before you destroyed her.”
Tobias shook his head. “I don’t understand why she came here, though. They’re only attracted to places of magic.”
“Let’s look through her desk at lunch,” Alan suggested. “It’s our last chance before vacation.”
Fiona certainly didn’t want to miss the excitement of picking through the belongings of a demonic teacher. At 12:30, she wandered into the art room and looked over the old wooden walls. Imitations of Jackson Pollock hung near the door. Above Ms. Bouchard’s desk, a black and white image of a frowning Picasso was marked with a comic book font that demanded, “make art!”
She walked toward the desk, and Tobias and Alan soon joined her. She rifled through papers on top of the desk, tossing aside students’ pencil sketches. Tobias pulled open the drawers.
Alan peered over his shoulder. “There’s hardly anything in these drawers. When Mr. Wormock was here, they were full of candy bars.”
Fiona smiled wryly. “And he kept cannoli above one of the ceiling panels. They’re probably still there.”
Tobias frowned. “Did you say Wormock?”
“The old art teacher.” Fiona opened the desk’s bottom drawer. “He died of a heart attack.”
“Jeremiah Wormock?”
“That’s it,” said Fiona as Tobias’s eyes widened. “How do you know his name?”
“I can’t believe it. Jeremiah Wormock writes the Danny Marchese books. They’re about a detective who solves crimes in Boston. All the literate classes read them.” He shook his head. “He’s a great writer. Or—he was. The only people from Maremount allowed to live outside the city are a few writers like him. It’s never been known how they get to and from Boston, but there’s a legend of something called the Darkling Tunnel.”
“Wormock was a sorcerer?” Alan’s eyes widened as he leaned against a student’s desk. “I never would have guessed.”
Tobias sighed. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”
“So he would have been practicing magic here?” said Fiona.
Tobias nodded. “He would have been well-trained at the best schools. I wonder if he left any philosopher’s guides behind.” He scratched the back of his neck. “You said he hid things in the ceiling?”
“He went to Mike’s Pastry every day. He had a stash up there.” She pointed to a rectangular ceiling panel directly above the desk.
“Hang on.” Alan jumped on the desk. He reached over his head, gently pushing the panel aside. He stuck his hand in to fish around the edges of the space. “I think I found a cannoli.” He shifted to the other side. “There’s paper here.” He removed a yellowed card, handing it to Tobias, and carefully replaced the ceiling panel.
Tobias inspected the card. “I can’t believe this.”
While Alan jumped off the desk, Fiona peered over Tobias’s shoulder. In one corner of the card, someone had drawn four symbols. “What are those?”
Tobias took a deep breath. “It’s written in the code of the Ragmen. I had no idea he worked with us.”
“What do they mean?”
Tobias grabbed a pen from the desktop and turned over one of the drawings to use as scrap paper. On the back, he created a square grid and began inputting symbols and letters into the spaces. Finally, he completed the table.
“These four symbols are the letters INRI in our code: Igne Natura Renovatur Integra. It’s an alchemical phrase—through fire, nature is reborn whole.”
Fiona pulled the card out of Tobias’s hand, inspecting the familiar format. “It looks like the cards in the card catalogue, except it’s mostly blank. Maybe it’s a book in the library—like, a spell book.”
Tobias stuffed it into his pocket and smiled. “A philosopher’s guide.”
* * *
Fiona led them to the very end of the east wing, where the codes began with I. The shelves stood across from the folklore books, where the painted stars shone from the ceiling. Dusty tomes with faded silver titles lined red oak shelves. Interrupting the I shelves was the tall memorial plaque commemorating the academy’s war veterans.
Fiona scanned the shelves
around the plaque, searching for the code INRI. She glossed over the book titles referencing Boston’s history, but where INRI should have been, she noticed a green book with no title. She pulled it off the shelf.
Tobias reached for it, but Fiona jerked her hand away and flipped through the pages. “It’s blank.” She handed it to him.
He turned the book over in his hands. “There’s nothing odd about it except that it’s blank. Maybe it’s invisible ink. There’s a spell for that, but I don’t know it.”
Alan paced back and forth with his hand on his chin, deep in thought, while Fiona crouched down, peering into the space she’d pulled the book from. Something metallic glimmered. Sticking her hand through, she groped around behind the shelf until she felt a lever. She pulled on it, and as she did, the memorial plaque detached from the wall on one side, creaking open on a hinge.
“Holy crap!” Alan nearly shouted. He jumped forward, pulling the plaque open further to reveal an arched oak door set into the wall.
As Tobias and Fiona crammed around him, he turned a black iron knob. When it opened, they were greeted with a musty smell of earth and mildew. There was a stone landing, and a dark stairwell curved both up and down. In the dim light, they could see that the ceiling was low, as though built for a child. The walls glistened with moisture.
Fiona whispered, “What is this?”
Alan turned to them. “Should we go up, or down?”
Fiona exhaled. “Up seems safer. Downstairs might be a dungeon or something.”
They stepped onto the landing. Fiona followed Alan up the uneven stairs, running her hands against the damp stone walls. In the darkness, she lost her footing on a crooked step and fell backwards into Tobias, who caught her before she tumbled down. She steadied herself and continued upward. Tobias chanted a spell, and a foxfire orb the size of a basketball appeared in front of Alan.
Alan spun to look at Tobias, his eyes wide. “This spell-casting is going to take some getting used to.”
He turned to climb, until they came to a closed door. In the center of the door, a brass snake-haired Fury held a knocker ring in her mouth. Alan glanced back and then pushed the door open as the sphere floated forward, bathing the hexagonal room in a golden glow.
Alan’s voice was barely a whisper. “Holy crap.”
At the entrance, Fiona’s hand covered her mouth as she looked around. Opposite the door, a narrow window interrupted the stone walls. Metal sconces shaped like long hands cradled partially melted red candles in curling fingers. To their right, a stone fireplace contained cinders and blackened wood, and stone gargoyles jutted from its mantle. A rug covered the floor, embroidered with animals and flowers. To the left, wooden shelves held jars of powders, dried plants, and a few leather-bound books.
Fiona took a deep breath. The room smelled like a damp newspaper, and underneath that was a rich aroma of mushrooms. She walked toward a table below the window and gasped. A crystal sphere rested on the table, the size of a cat’s head. Beneath it was a wax disc covered in labyrinthine drawings of pentagrams and unfamiliar symbols. Similar wax discs rested under the table legs.
“This is amazing,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Tobias joined her, picking up the sphere and turning it around in his hand. “Samael’s skeleton!”
She looked up. “Is that really how you swear in Maremount?” Touching the stone in his hand, she asked, “What is it? It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a shew stone—a scrying tool. Some people use mirrors, some use water, and some people use stones like this. They’re used to provide answers to questions. I know a little divination spell.” He smiled.
“Sweet. This place is incredible.” Alan turned to a tapestry that hung on the wall near the door. It depicted a long, curling snake, and astrological signs marked its skin. He crossed the room to the shelves, picking up one of the books and leafing through the pages. “No spells yet. Just some pictures of herbs.”
Fiona gazed out the window. A deep mist filled the air outside. It looked as though the tower stood in a cloud. As she tried to work out their location, a scuttling movement behind a gargoyle caught her attention. She shrieked, “What is that?”
Above the fireplace, a tiny, humanoid creature crept along the mantel. Its face looked like a death’s-head from a gravestone, but its large eyes shone in the light. It scampered down the side of the fireplace on spindly limbs, darting into a fist-sized hole below the window.
Tobias moved toward her. “It’s just a tower imp. It was probably someone’s pet at one time. They won’t hurt you, but they’ll steal your things if you’re not careful.” He put down the shew stone and turned to inspect the shelves.
Fiona looked over his shoulder as he pulled out another book. Pictures of planets orbiting the sun in concentric circles embossed its leathery brown cover. The pages were yellowed and brittle, each filled with an unfamiliar language on the left side, and Latin translations on the right. Decorating some of the pages were drawings of transformations: plants and vegetables that grew to unusual sizes, a bird changing from white to black, and people transforming into animals.
Fiona pointed to the page. “That must be Angelic on the left? And Latin on the right.”
“Yes, this is a philosopher’s guide.” Tobias’s face beamed with excitement. “This one’s written in the classic style that starts with the simple spells, and then moves on to more complex incantations. So we’ve got the easy spells like Dowager Zenobia’s Spell for Renewal, Lady Cleo’s Cloak, Vicomtesse Dangerosa’s Torn Bodice… Ah! Sir Baldrion’s Transformation Spell. And this sounds promising—Queen Boudicca’s Inferno. The page is a bit burned, but I can still read it.” He turned the page, and his jaw dropped. The remaining pages were crumbled brown crisps. “What is this? The rest of the book is burned!”
Alan thumbed through the other books. “None of these have spells. Mostly lots of plant pictures.” He turned a page. “And some names. I think they’re names. Mishett-Ash? Blodrial? Druloch?”
Tobias closed the spell book, and a small cloud of dust rose from its cover. “A list of gods. Mishett-Ash is the storm god, Druloch is the tree god, and Blodrial’s the blood god. He’s not worshipped in Maremount, though. His followers hunt philosophers.”
Fiona pulled the spell book out of his hands to peruse its fragile pages.
“Tobias, can you ask that shew stone why this room is here?” Alan traced his hands over the tapestry.
“I can try.” He bit his lower lip. “There’s a very small chance that a demon will appear. They’re sometimes attracted by magic. But old philosophers’ rooms like this are almost guaranteed to have aura protections. Otherwise no one would’ve been able to practice spell-casting.”
Alan nodded slowly and shrugged. “Sounds fine to me. Plus, you’ve killed a demon before.”
Tobias turned to the table. With his hand on the sphere, he intoned the divination spell. His eyelids fluttered and opened wide again. He began to sway. “Who are these people?”
Fiona tried to peer into the shew stone but could only see the crystal. “What are you seeing?”
After a minute of swaying, he spoke. “I saw the words Mather Adepti.” His eyes appeared to focus again. “Does anyone know what that is?”
Fiona brought her finger up to her lips. “It sounds familiar. I think it was something Celia mentioned. Someone told her there used to be a secret society here.”
“It looked like a coven,” said Tobias. “I don’t think they’re here anymore. They wore old-fashioned clothes. I think the room was unused for a long time—covered in dust—until an overweight, rumpled-looking man started spell-casting here.”
“Wormock!” said Fiona. “That sounds just like him. He must have been using this before he died.”
“If no one else is using it, we should form a new coven here,” said Alan.
“Yes! I want to be a witch.” Fiona bit her lip. “I guess you’d be man-witches.”
Alan shook his he
ad. “Jesus, Fiona. I didn’t get to the ninth level of Caverns of Chaos to be called a man-witch.”
“We’re called philosophers,” Tobias interjected.
“The Mather Adepti room,” Fiona murmured, touching one of the hand-shaped sconces. “Is it possible to be in love with a room? If it weren’t for the tower imp, I’d move in here.”
Alan kneeled on the floor, inspecting the bottom shelf. “There’s something here.” He pulled out a neatly folded letter, sealed with wax, and peeled it open. “It’s in that code again.”
He handed it to Tobias, who sat down at the table. Pulling out a pen and a piece of paper, he began drawing another grid, filling in the symbols and letters.
“What does it say?” Fiona pressed over Tobias as he worked.
“Just be patient.”
Alan stared into the shew stone and Fiona returned to scanning through the philosopher’s guide, trying her best to translate the Latin in her head.
After what seemed like ages, Fiona let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s too bad you guys don’t just have computers with passwords.”
“Not that I really care,” said Alan, “but we’re missing History right now.”
“I’m almost done.” Tobias copied letters below each symbol. “I can’t believe this.”
“What is it?” asked Fiona.
“It’s a letter from my father.”
He leaned back, holding up the letter to read it out loud.
Dear Wormock,
Rawhed and the Harvesters draw near. It is only a matter of time before we retreat to the Tuckomock Forest. This may be my last letter for some time.
Thank you for the papers you sent for the young Ragmen. They may be with you soon, though you haven’t yet told me where to find the Darkling Tunnel. Please send me the location as soon as you can. We haven’t given the young members much information for their own safety. Please watch over them when they arrive at Mather. Tobias doesn’t yet know your identity. He can be rash sometimes and get himself into danger.
I have very important news. Three of the Ragmen were successful in breaking into Sortellian College undetected. They retrieved one of the Mather Adepti journals—an early one. It was written by the philosophers who later helped to create Maremount and contained a clue to stopping Rawhed.
The Witching Elm (A Memento Mori Witch Novel, Book 1) Page 9