by Tiegan Clyne
He lets me go and I nearly fall back into my chair. He snaps his fingers at Damien and the two of them join the others, leaving me trembling at the thought of what’s to come.
It takes me several moments to pull myself together. I don’t want to let Cassim ruin my evening. That’s what he wants. He loves to play mind games. A long time ago I used to find his sadism fascinating, but something changed him. Over the last twelve months, he’s become more sinister, his fetishes darker, and his lack of remorse has reached bounds not even the darkest of Darkbloods would want.
Sirena comes rushing up to me, her face flushed and her eyes filled with joy. Alice joins her and before I know it, they’re both dragging me back onto the dancefloor. I force any thoughts of Cassim to the back of my mind. Now isn’t the time to worry about him. I have things to do, mysteries to solve, people to kill, and right now, two amazing friends to dance away the rest of my night with.
Finally, the Festival of Light is over and the group from Nevermore are gone. The entire school feels like it’s breathing a sigh of relief. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, too. Or maybe it’s just the lack of Cassim’s knives stabbing me in the back.
There are no classes this Friday, since most people are recovering from the aftermath of the Samhain Masque. I learned my lesson and didn’t drink too much last night, which means I’m not feeling the effects like some of my compatriots. It’s quiet, so I’m able to move about more or less unseen.
I go up to the top of the library tower and back into Esmeralda’s office. There’s probably a spell to get rid of the dust and grime, but I haven’t learned it yet. I sit down at her desk and touch the engraving of our Lord’s symbol, but this time there’s no phantom image of hands in jars.
I search the room more thoroughly than I did before, and I move the black silk screen that partitions off a living area from the office. There’s a narrow bed, a trunk, and a vanity. The trunk is full of clothing that’s still in excellent condition, and all really stylish, besides. I pull out one of the dresses and hold it up to myself to get an idea of what Esmeralda’s proportions were like. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this dress had been made for me. It’s the perfect size. I wonder if I could or should claim the trunk and finally have clothes of my own. I figure my ancestor wouldn’t mind, and I move the trunk to sit by the door, ready for me to take it to my room.
There are three drawers on either side of the vanity. I open them all one by one. Four of them open easily and are completely empty. The bottom two, the deepest ones, are locked until I touch them. Green magic flares and burns my hands, and I jerk back with a curse. I should know by now that’s just Esmeralda’s way of saying hello.
In the drawer on the left, I find a folded up scarlet cloak. It’s made of the finest velvet, and the shiny black embroidery on the back and hems is exquisite. I pull it out and press it to my face. It smells of sandalwood and roses.
The drawer on the right holds something more interesting. There’s a copy of the Unholy Bible with a piece of parchment stuck between the pages. There’s writing on it, done by someone with very artistic penmanship, and it says, Seven gates need seven keys.
I have no idea what that even means.
There’s only one person here at Everafter who knew Esmeralda, as far as I know, and that’s Quasi. I need to talk to him. I tuck the parchment into my pocket and head down to the greenhouse, making a mental note to come back for the trunk.
It’s lunch time, and I haven’t eaten, so I conjure a box lunch on my way. A nice grilled cheese sandwich and a big juicy apple should be just the thing.
Quasi is watering the plants when I arrive in his little garden. He looks up and smiles at me.
I smile back and sign to him, ::Do you want to share my lunch?::
He loves that I can speak his language. He grins and signs back, ::Thanks, but I already ate.::
::Can I talk to you about something?::
He tilts his head. ::Sure. About what?::
::Esmeralda.::
The peaceful expression on his face collapses. I almost feel like I’ve ruined his day. He scratches beside his oversized eye and says, ::Yes, all right.::
He takes me out of the garden and into his little house. It’s small but tidy, and there’s a wonderfully homey feel to the place that reminds me of the cottage where I grew up. We sit together on the edge of one of the two beds. The covers are rumpled up and the pillow is crooked.
::Sorry,:: he signs. ::Maid’s day off. ::
He looks a little nervous. I laugh at his joke.
::What did you want to know about Esmeralda?:: he signs, and I can tell by his movements that he’s nervous.
There are a hundred things I want to ask. I settle on the biggest question of all. ::What happened to her?::
Quasi sighs and shakes his head. ::She was here, then she was gone,:: he says. ::I don’t know anything else.::
::What did she teach when she was here?::
He shrugs. ::Headmaster Lockwood would know better than me.::
I feel like an idiot. Of course he would know. He was only her boss. I want to facepalm so hard, but I resist the urge. Instead, I ask, ::She was important to you, wasn’t she?::
Quasi looks away. ::She was kind to me, like you’re kind to me.:: The look on his face makes me sad. I wonder how many people have ever been kind to him in his life. Probably not nearly enough.
::You made this garden in her memory?::
::Yes.::
::Who made the stained glass portrait of her in the greenhouse?::
Quasi puffs up his chest. ::I did,:: he says proudly. ::With my own two hands.::
I don’t know Esmeralda, apart from family legends, but I feel confident that I’m right when I say, ::She’d be very touched.::
Our classes pick back up on Monday and we’re back to the grind in no time. Professor Nightingale in his finite wisdom has assigned us all papers to write about the history of different magical practices. I’m supposed to write about the history of herbal healing. I mean, who even knows when it started? That’s like asking me to write about the history of breathing.
So stupid.
Serina’s topic is familiars and Alice is supposed to write about candle magic. Those would at least be interesting topics. I know about herbalism, because I learned a lot from my grandmother. That would all fall under potions, though. Nightingale was specific when he said he didn’t want me to write about potions. I guess I’m looking at the history of poultices and topical creams.
I have no fucking idea.
Where do you go when you have to write a paper and are miserably clueless about the topic? That’s right: the library. Mrs. Beauty seems much happier now that the rock face illusions have been taken down and she can get to her books again. I swear, she was going into withdrawal by the end of the week. Now she’s happy, puttering around the library, shelving and reshelving books that weren’t really out of order in the first place. I’ve never seen anybody who loves books the way she does.
I actually manage to find one that might help me, but I need three sources for the paper. Stupid Shite-ingale and his stupid rules. I go up to the circulation desk to ask Mrs. Beauty for her help.
She comes over to me with a friendly smile. “Why, hello, Redera. How can I help you today?”
“I need a book about the history of herbal healing, but it can’t be about potions,” I tell her, my annoyance clear in my tone of voice.
She nods sagely. “I know just the books. Please wait here.”
The librarian turns to leave when Aladdin comes up to the desk with a bunch of pretty purple flowers in his hand. Well, it’s a plant that’s flowering, but I guess to Aladdin those are the same thing.
“Mrs. Beauty,” he calls, extending the weeds to her. “Beauty for the Beauty.”
She stops short and looks at the vegetation he’s offering her. “That’s very pretty, Aladdin, but those aren’t really flowers.”
He looks confus
ed. “There are flowers right here.”
“No,” I step in and say. “That’s wolfsbane. You live with Quasimodo. How could you get that wrong?”
“Wolfsbane,” he repeats, looking alarmed. “Oh, no.”
Beauty takes the stems out of his hands, and he looks at his palms. They’re covered with hives and the swelling runs up to his wrists. His hands are doubling in size before our very eyes. Mrs. Beauty hurries off to call someone to help him.
He looks up at me and I stare him dead in the eye.
Wolfsbane only affects one kind of creature like that.
“Werewolf,” I hiss, glaring at him.
Aladdin turns and runs from the library. He’s fast but I’ve got rage on my side. I catch up with him easily. I grab his collar and yank him back, pinning him against the wall.
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh, please… don’t kill me….”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t!” I pull my knife and put it to his throat. “Are you Rosso Lupa?”He shakes his head desperately. “No, I’m not in any pack. I wasn’t even born this way. Please! I…” He opens his eyes and looks at me with overwhelming sorrow. “I’m not a witch hunter. Please don’t kill me.”
He’s making that damned sympathy set off inside me again and I don’t like it. I push the tip of the knife against his skin, a hair away from drawing blood.
“Tell me where Rosso Lupa is.”
“I don’t know,” he rushes out. I push the knife closer still and a single scarlet drop wells up around the point. He gasps. “But I’ll ask Penny Royal. Okay? I’ll ask Penny Royal.”
“You said you’re not part of any pack. Why are you so buddy-buddy with them?” I demand, still pinning him with the knife. “You told me they were paying you to tell them if any Darkbloods come here, but that’s not true, is it? No Darkbloods come to Everafter.”
“You’re here.”
I push the knife in farther. A thin trail of blood slides down his neck.
“They—they pay me to report back to them about Darkbloods, yes, and they also want to know what’s happening here in Everafter, but I don’t. I mean, I don’t tell them anything they can use. I tell them gossip about the royalty here, and I tell them stupid things like how many iris bulbs Quasi has planted, but I don’t really help them. I just use them for the money.”
He’s not doing anything to endear himself to me. “What have you told them about me?”
“N-nothing,” he says, shaking his head vigorously. “I’ve only said there’s a new girl who’s being bullied. I haven’t even told them your name. I certainly haven’t told them you’re a Darkblood. I mean, why would I?”
“What do they want to know about the royals?”
“They want to find out the weaknesses that the future crowned heads have, so they’ll know how to use them in the future.”
I’m not pushing the knife in any deeper but I’m not taking it out, either. “And why did you agree to help them?”
He answers quietly. “I told you why I’m here. Because I want to find the Genie that took my father. The one who…” He swallows again. “The one who gave me to the wolves, who did this to me.”
He holds up his swollen hands, and he looks so miserable I almost feel bad about what I’m doing.
Almost.
“Gave you to wolves? What are you talking about?”
Aladdin closes his eyes. “Every dog needs a chew toy.”
The way he says it breaks my heart. I pull back and let go of him. He rubs at the cut on his neck but doesn’t try to run away. I wipe the point of my knife clean and put it back in its sheath.
“Chew toy?” I echo.
He nods. “I was still pretty small, pretty scrawny, and I guess he didn’t have any more use for me. He tossed me out during the full moon in the middle of Grimm City.”
Nobody wants to be out on the street in Grimm City at a time like that. Not even a witch like me. I can only imagine what happened to him.
“You’re lucky you’re alive,” I state.
He laughs softly. “Yeah. Real lucky.”
I cross my arms and stand back, leaning against the opposite side of the stairwell. He stays against the wall where I had him. “So you’re a Changed werewolf.”
“Yeah. I guess all those bites had a long-lasting effect.”
He tries to laugh again, but the sound dies in his throat. Damn it.
I soften my voice a little. “Look, the same agreement holds that we made before. I’ll help you find the Genie and this Aaliyah person if you help me find Rosso Lupa.”
He nods vigorously. “I’ll ask Penny Royal about it. I’m glad you didn’t forget about our agreement.”
“I don’t forget deals,” I tell him. “That’s not the kind of witch I am. Now let’s get you someplace to get those hands seen to…”
I take Aladdin to Quasi, who knows what to do to help. After all, he’s the one who planted the medicinal herbs in Esmeralda’s garden. I watch him make a poultice using notes in my ancestor’s handwriting. Maybe I should go back to her office and see if there are some sources for my paper there.
When I’m certain that Aladdin will be okay, I go to find Professor Lockwood. His door is wide open when I reach the top of the stairs, and he’s sitting at his desk doing paperwork. It’s strange to see him using the desk as a desk after all the times he’s fucked me on top of it. I hesitate at the door. His eagle makes a soft call, causing him to look up. His eyes widen and he lifts his eyebrows, surprised to see me.
“Miss Hemlock. What do you need?”
No beating around the bush today. Professor Lockwood is all business.
“I wanted to ask you some questions, sir. About Everafter’s history.”
Lockwood raises an eyebrow. “Come in and sit down. You may leave the door open.” That’s his tacit way of telling me that he’s keeping his cock to himself—for now. I sink into the leather chair across the desk from him. “What aspect of Everafter’s history would you like to discuss?”
“Esmeralda.”
“Ah.” He puts his quill back in its inkpot. “Close the door.”
Now I’m curious. I shut the door and hurry to sit back down.
“She was my great-grandmother,” I explain. “I need to know what happened to her. As far as my family knew, she just disappeared. But I’ve seen her portrait in the greenhouse.”
I don’t tell him about the office. I’m not sure why. Maybe I’m afraid he’ll take it away from me. It is technically school property.
Lockwood leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’t much to tell you.”
“What did she teach when she was here?”
He strokes his beard with one hand. “Defense against the Dark Arts. It was a class for fourth years. We don’t offer it anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Too many people took it as encouragement. ‘Know thy enemy’ only works if you don’t adopt your enemy’s ways.”
“Did she start teaching the students things you didn’t want them to know, Sir? Like dark witchcraft?”
“There was an incident,” he allows, “but it wasn’t your great-grandmother’s doing. Some independent research can go awry if one isn’t careful.”
There’s a story there, for sure, but I get the sense he’s not all that enthused to tell me about it. I keep pressing for answers though.
“How long did Esmeralda teach here?”
“Quite a while. She’s been gone for a decade.”
That leads me to an important question. “What happened to her?”
“We don’t know, exactly.” He folds his hands on his desk, his face wiped clean of emotion. He might be able to school his features but this is the first I’ve ever seen him fidgeting. “She was taken by an unknown creature one night and simply vanished. We never found any indication of what took her, or where. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood… And then she re-appeared five years ago, teaching at Nevermore.”
My
mouth falls open. “At Nevermore? Is she still there?”
“I don’t think so but it’s impossible to say. Headmaster Salvador and I aren’t really on the best of terms. He doesn’t unburden himself to me about his staffing issues.”
His tone is dry as the desert. Funny.
Lockwood clears his throat. “She used to have an office and room quite like this one… a little less grand, perhaps, but still. It was in the library tower.”
I try not to give myself away, but he nods.
“I see. You’ve found it, then.”
I’m not going to be able to get any information if I keep secrets. I’ve trusted this man with my body; why does it feel so much more difficult to trust him with all this? He’s looking at me like he’s reading my thoughts. I wonder if he can.
“Yes, I found it, sir. A…friend showed it to me. But I found this all on my own.”
I take the parchment out of my pocket and unfold it, laying it flat on the desk in front of him. He clearly recognizes the handwriting.
“Seven gates need seven keys,” he reads aloud. “Where did you find this?”
“It was tucked into her Unholy Bible.”
His brows knit. “She left that behind?”
“She left a lot of things behind…including these shoes. I got them out of her trunk when I took it to my room.” I consider putting my foot up on his desk but decide not to. This isn’t a time to play. “Do you know why she’d leave her Bible behind, or what this means?”
Lockwood picks up the parchment and sniffs it. A sad look flits across his face, and for a moment, I wonder if maybe he and Esmeralda were more than colleagues.
“I don’t know why she’d leave something that precious behind,” he admits, “but perhaps she always intended for you to find it. And maybe this is a clue for you.”
He hands it back to me, and I take it, folding it up again. “A clue for what, sir? What seven gates?”
“If I were to hazard a guess—and this is strictly a guess, with no basis in anything concrete—I might suggest you research the Gates of Hell.”