Chapter 6 Comfort Admist Fear
“What do you want?” he asked, stepping toward me. I stumbled back, giving him room to pass. He did not seem to notice my fear; he walked straight to the attic window and stood looking out.
“Uh… I… I was sent to look for you…” I stammered.
“Looking for me? Why?” His voice was calm but edged with coldness.
“Professor Ashcroft… he wants me to work with you.” I forced my voice to stay steady.
He turned to me, expression blank. “Work with me?” he repeated.
“Yes.” I swallowed and, with a boldness I didn’t feel, I pulled the manuscript from my coat and held it out. His face hardened the instant he saw it. “On this?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded.
He went back to the window. “I’m not doing it.”
“What?... Why? But Professor…” I began.
“I don’t give a damn about Ashcroft.” His words fell like stones. “I have no damn business with that man. My business here is to study. You may leave.”
“But this is also part of studying too. I just want your help to translate…”
“I said you may leave. Immediately!” He snapped, his voice echoed through the attic. I froze beneath the seriousness in his eyes; my chest heaved and I had to steady my breath. Quickly, I shoved the book back into my coat. Since Julian wouldn’t help, I’d have to do it alone.
I turned and took slow steps toward the door. He called after me, low and unreadable: “If I were you… I would never want to know what’s in that manuscript.” He faced the window again before I could ask why. The word caught in my throat.
“Believe it or not, it’s alive,” he added without looking back.
I didn’t know what to say, honestly. A cold finger of dread crept beneath my skin. I opened the door, fled the attic, and slammed it behind me.
Outside, I breathed hard, telling myself I was free of fright. Since Julian refused, I’d manage alone. I would live in the library twenty-four hours a day if I had to translate this manuscript in forty-five days. I’d break my back for it. I don’t mind stressing myself about it. But if it was when I was in Brimstone, I hated stressing myself over long homework that would take up to thirty minutes. Even when cleaning up with Aunt Harvey we will have a few problems before finishing up.
I returned to the library, gathered The Meditations of the Damned, and tucked the manuscript back into my coat. Standing in the doorway, I tried to convince myself Julian was not something supernatural. Magic was forbidden in this school, even Gravenmoor as a whole; such things did not… could not… exist here.
But he had a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth.
I turned and… crashed.
Books flew; pages fluttered like wounded birds. I hit the floor hard, I groaned in pain. A gentle hand steadied my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” the voice asked.
The voice was familiar. I looked up and it was… “Oliver?” I breathed.
He blinked, as if waking from a sleep like he had forgotten completely about me. He had been my friend from kindergarten through high school until he left Brimstone. He hadn’t changed even a bit… emerald eyes, brown hair, olive skin. “Double L?” he grinned; that old nickname of his fell warm across my chest. He laughed awkwardly, he has changed that also. He helped me up, awkward and happy. I threw myself on him, hugging him tight, forgetting for a second the manuscript and the attic and the whisper. “Lexie, my old pal.”
“Oh… sorry,” I said, pulling back, when I realised his uniform shimmered, expensive in a way mine never did even though it was new.
“For what?” he asked, his smile faltering.
“I didn’t mean to jump on you like that… it would spoil your uniform.”
“Uniform? Who gives a damn. It’s been a long time. When did you get into Gravenmoor?” he asked.
“I… uh… got in two days ago. I got a scholarship,” I said, voice thin.
“Oh, that’s great. Welcome to Gravenmoor Art Academy,” he said, grinning. My eyes flicked to the scattered books. “What’s with all this? Are you the librarian now?”
He smirked. “Just some books I’ve been studying lately,” he said, already crouching to help gather them. I joined him, hands brushing his as we picked up the fallen books. “Wow, you still study like a man possessed,” I teased.
Oliver had always been the teacher’s pet, clever in every subject. Gravenmoor Academy’s reputation of the brilliant and rich students made his presence unsurprising. “Here.” I handed him the last book. His face darkened when he saw the cover of the book he was holding. It looked like the manuscript, I quickly search my coat. It wasn’t there. My stomach dropped.
“What’s that?” he asked, brow furrowing.
I lunged for the manuscript, but he raised his hands higher. His taller reach beat me to it but I didn’t give up. “Calm down, Lex,” he said, a practiced soothing. “Give it back.”
“Please, Oliver… give it back,” I blurted, half playful, half panicked.
“Take a chill pill,” he said, raising both hands. “I know this book.”
“You do?” I stared.
He nodded once. “Not that I can read the Latin perfectly, but I’ve heard of it. These Latin texts… are poems that tell a story. People talk.” His eyes searched mine. “But how did you get it from the restricted shelf?”
“I… I took it, under Professor Ashcroft’s name,” I lied without flaws. His eyes widened.
“Professor Ashcroft? You could be expelled,” he said. My face burned. I lowered my gaze. “I just want to research it.”
Oliver’s expression softened. “All right. I’ll help you translate. Together, we’ll find out what it hides.” Relief made me dive into him in a grateful hug.
“Thank you,” I whispered childishly to his ears.
“It’s no big deal, Lex,” he said, then straightened.
“This should be between us,” I said. He X-ed his finger over his heart, “I promised.” He gave me the manuscript, “Here, keep it. Tomorrow.” I cradled the manuscript as if it might vanish. “I need to get to my dorm.”
“Goodnight, Double L,” he said, flashing that old, easy smile.
Back in room 6B, Mel’s rose perfume met me at the door. She was asleep, curled under her blanket. I shut the door quietly, slipping out of my uniform and tucking the manuscript beneath my mattress. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, heart still thudding with Oliver’s promise of help.
Then the whisper curled through the room again, soft, sibilant, ancient:
“Girl of Ivy…”
I slammed the blanket over my head and held my breath until the world went black.