7
anchors
The heels of her boots thudded on a wooden floor. Sera stumbled forward and gripped the mahogany fireplace mantel to keep from falling. She lifted her eyes, and a frown found her mouth instantly at the picture of the twin boys just above the ledge. A thin rectangular gold plaque marked the bottom of the frame, one she had missed her previous time there.
Abandoning the painting, she spun to the empty room. A part of her wished Rosie would happen to come in, or better yet, Barrington himself. Though missing from the room, his aura remained in the space, a brooding yet intelligent air that seemed to linger from his things, from the books stacked on his desk to his professorial robes hung on the coat-tree at the corner of the room. Clutching hard at the impressions, Sera strode to the door. His books and robes were not the ones solving murders. She needed to find the man.
She traveled down the hall, past numerous closed doors. He could be in any of those rooms, if he was even on this floor. If he was even home! She bit her lip. Had she overstepped her boundaries in coming unannounced on a weekend? What if he sent her away, not even bothering to transfer her back to the school? She didn’t need impeccable manners to know it improper to seek him out in his home.
But he had said a witch could die in the time it took her to find what was in the pictures. Her hand tight on the photographs, she hurried to the training room. Upon not finding him there, she rounded back to the staircase and descended.
“Damn,” she muttered, reaching the ground floor. The grand stairs led down to a large parlor dominated by a round table in the middle with a vase of white flowers on top. Through an archway before her was the entrance hall. There was a closed door to her left, and to the right, an empty dining room. Two hallways stretched beyond either side of the grand staircase.
She spun in a circle and crossed her arms over her chest, mulish. “What now?”
A yelp resounded. “Miss Dovetail!”
Sera spun to Rosie, who clutched a silver tray tightly, her pallor as white as her hair. “Oh, forgive me, Rosie. It seems I’m always frightening you with unannounced arrivals, but I swear I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important. Is the professor in?”
Rosie’s brows rose. She gazed down to the bottle of sherry and two tumblers beside it, and a hint of panic flashed over her eyes. “I…the Master…well, yes, but…”
The doors to the adjacent room swung open, and both women jumped. Barrington made to step out, but upon seeing Sera, he stopped short, his eyes fixed on hers unblinking. “Miss Dovetail?”
“Professor, I…” she began, but trailed off, noting his cravat was undone, shirt partly untucked, and hair tousled—more than usual. Her eyes narrowed. And was that lip rouge on his neck and collar?
Someone giggled from inside. “Dovetail? What sort of a name is Dovetail? I thought your maid’s name was Rosie.” A brunette head came into view from behind the sofa, but Barrington closed the door quickly before Sera could see the woman’s face.
He cast a glance at the grandfather clock beside the entrance hall doorway. “It’s past midnight, Miss Dovetail.”
Sera’s face burned at the gentle scolding, yet a scolding nonetheless. “Yes, I know, Professor. I wouldn’t have come, but I…” The events of the night washed over her. Unable to sort through and make sense of all that had happened, she held out the stack of impressions and her notes. “Here.”
Barrington took in the slight shake of her hands. “You saw,” he said, his irritation washed over by his interest.
The door opened behind him before she could answer. She drew back the impressions as a woman strutted across the threshold. Dressed in a purple gown that did little to hide her breasts, the woman draped herself against the doorway like a lover, her brown hair disheveled. Red and black eye paint made her wide brown eyes wider, and her swollen lips were smeared in red rouge. Sera’s cheeks warmed, her suspicions confirmed.
The woman glanced at Rosie’s tray. “Is this the sherry you promised me, Barry?”
Sera raised a brow. Barry?
“Barrington,” he said pointedly, then snatched the bottle from Rosie’s tray and shoved it into the woman’s arms and breasts. “Thank you for your help, Gummy. I’ll look into…matters and report back.”
Her red-stained lips bowed to a pout. “You mean the party’s over?”
Barrington sighed. “Rosie, can you escort Miss Mills out, please?”
Gummy gasped. “Miss Mills? Why, you haven’t called me that in ages, since before we—”
“Please, Gummy.” He went to straighten his cravat, but seeing as it was undone, he merely smoothed it down and adjusted his waistcoat. “I’ve work to do.”
She scoffed. “Work, I’m sure.” Lips pursed, she eyed Sera from under painted brows. Sera eyed her the same, cleared her throat, and looked away.
Gummy chuckled. “What’s the matter, young ’un? Never seen breasts before?”
Beside her, Rosie flushed and stuttered unintelligible words, then set the tray down on the round hall table with a loud tap. “Heavens be, Miss Mills. This way, please.”
The woman gritted her teeth. Chin high and dress dragging behind her, she followed Rosie through a doorway, the bottle of sherry in her arms like a babe.
Barrington cleared his throat and drew back Sera’s attention. He stepped aside and motioned for her to enter. “I take it the answer to my question is yes for you to come by so unexpectedly. I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”
Sera blew out a breath and strode into the parlor. “Yes, well, you’re not the only one not expecting to see certain…things.”
He shut the door and said just as sharply, “Miss Dovetail, may I remind you, I am your superior, and what I wish to do on my own time in my home—”
She held up the photographs. “I meant these,” she lied. She set the impressions on the round drawing room table and her page of notes beside them. “There were ciphers everywhere, but I can’t interpret them.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Barrington murmured, perusing her notes. “Advanced cipher translations are years into Wood-level studies.”
He picked up one of the impressions. Sera spun away, not yet wanting to look at them again. She paused, caught by her reflection in the quatrefoil mirror over the crowded mantel. If her arrival hadn’t frightened Rosie, she was sure her appearance would have. The events of the night were imprinted on her; her usually fair skin was even paler and her brown eyes wide. The messy braid she’d managed with shaky hands had slipped, and now her hair tumbled wild over her shoulders. The firelight cast shadows on her face, and in the amber light, she looked haunted, scared, fallen. Had she still been in her white nightdress, she would have mistaken herself for a ghost.
“You can see it, then.” Barrington rubbed his lips, a strange sort of smile marking his mouth behind his fingers. “Fantastic.”
“It took me some time, but yes. Why did you need me to see them if any other seventhborn could have—”
“Did you tell anyone? Does anyone know you’ve developed the sight?” he asked from over the photos. “Anyone at the Academy? A friend, a teacher, anyone at all?”
“So that the Aetherium could swoop in and suggest I join their seers? Once a seer, always a seer, and never an inspector.” Part of why she’d been happy not to develop the sight was not being recruited by the Aetherium as a seer the way other Academy seventhborns had been, forced to examine crime scenes for spells by criminals but never allowed to investigate the actual crime. To have her dream stolen away? Never. “No, Professor. No one knows. It happened just before I came here. I—”
Before she could dive into her list of questions, Barrington swept up the pictures and her notes and exited the room like a man being chased. She took off behind him, up the stairs, and into a workroom beside his study. He tossed the impressions onto a long table and strode to a bookshelf, one of many in the room. The rest of the shelves were dominated by vials and instruments. A telescope was before the window in the back of the room where there were two doors on either side of the chamber, one black and one wooden.
Barrington hovered before the bookshelf, fingers drumming at his lips. “Ah, here we are.” He drew out a black tome squeezed onto the shelf and tossed it down on the table. Sera neared the workbench, sat at one of the stools, and watched him flip through the yellowed pages. Upon reading the title, she flinched.
“Necromancy?” She thought over the photos, the burned bodies next to exhumed graves, and the residing corpses. It made sense, but goodness, of all forbidden magic…
“Yes. I imagined that to be the case but couldn’t be sure—not without the full investigative notes anyway. Sadly, a friend was able to get a hold of only the impressions and a handful of reports for me, but they had nothing of importance.”
Sera’s eyes widened. “You mean these are stolen?”
He shrugged off her alarm while comparing her notes to the book. “I rather prefer borrowed from the Aetherium, and when I no longer need them, I will have my friend return them.”
Sera pinched the bridge of her nose. It was bad enough to be found dealing with anything necromancy related, but to be in possession of items stolen from the Aetherium? She sank into herself, feeling sick.
Barrington set down his pen and sat back. Small lines formed at his brow. “Well, aside from confirming the victims to be female, Aetherium inspectors also believed it to be a series of necromantic rituals gone wrong. Once a necromantic ritual has started, it must be finished. You can’t partly open a connection to the Underworld. They assumed these women started the ritual without proper training, then realized they were out of their depths but couldn’t turn back.” He shut the book heavily. “But the cyphers here are a blend of magic, white and black, and older runes coupled with newer ones. This spell was crafted by a knowledgeable magician. It will take me some time to decipher the runes and test the various combinations to uncover the spell and its purpose. Did you see anything else that could help us?”
Memory of the hand that gripped her flushed ice through her veins, and she rubbed her wrist. After a moment, she lifted her eyes from the ciphers in the book and realized she hadn’t answered him. But she didn’t need to. Barrington set down his glasses, clearly gaining his answer from her silence.
He leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. “We are bound under the same oath, Miss Dovetail. While our arrangement is a secret, there can be no secrets between us. What did you see?”
She stood and paced the room. “It wasn’t what I saw, but what I heard. Voices echoed in the smoke, girls—or women—feminine voices. They were sobbing and scared, and all repeated the same word: puppet.” She stopped at the head of the table, goose bumps sprouted along her arms. “I believe I heard the girls in the impressions, which is why I think the Aetherium is wrong. They all screamed no, please, don’t make us…as if they were being forced. And then there was a hand…”
Gazing at her wrist, she shivered at the memory of the phantom grip. “When I touched the photograph, the hand reached out and grabbed me. It was only for a second, and I know it’s impossible for ghosts to physically touch those of the living realm, which is why I know it wasn’t a ghost…rather a memory, only it wasn’t mine.” She turned to him, but he stared down at the table, troubled. “I know you must think I’m mad, and I admit I would think the same, but I felt it. The hand was warm and masculine.”
Barrington’s gaze grew distant. “Interesting.”
“What does it all mean?”
He rose. “It means that in hoping to solve one mystery, I’ve stumbled upon another: you,” he clarified. “What you accomplished—a summoning—is something done years into Aetherium studies, yet you managed to do it on your first try, with various spirits at once.” A small smile curved his lips. “A mystery, indeed.”
“But I didn’t try. It just happened.” She shook her head. “Did it say anything about a summoning in the investigative notes you stole—”
“Borrowed.”
Sera rolled her eyes. “Borrowed.”
“The Aetherium inspector who was assigned to the case did have one of the seers summon the spirits, but they refused to cooperate. Spirits can be fickle and elusive, and yet they came to you.”
“I’m beginning to think I imagined it all.”
Barrington leaned back against the table, arms folded at his chest. “You didn’t imagine it, Miss Dovetail. I’ll admit, I’m as confounded by your abilities as you are, but you’re in luck that I’m quite fond of mysteries and that I’m a rather magnificent magician. Worry not, I’ll guide you through it.”
“You want me to try summoning the victims? I don’t know if I can do it again, much less what I did to make it happen.”
“A seventhborn’s second sight allows her to see dead things. Sometimes that’s an executed written or spoken spell, or spirits, or visions of experiences in the past. It all depends on your training. Based on your level of schooling, I assumed you’d be able to see the spells used at most, but instead you summoned our victims.”
He spread out the impressions. “If you will allow me, I would like to help you channel your powers, to see if we can summon them again and get any more information that will help us. If I’m right—which I am—these impressions will serve as your channeler. But,” he said before she could speak, “what you did tonight was dangerous, and I never would’ve had you search the pictures alone had I known you would summon. You should never fully immerse yourself in a summoning without an anchor. Some spirits are wicked and will lure you deep into a vision so profound you may never find your way back. You will be lost in your mind forever. Do you understand?” His face was serious, eyes dark and mouth set hard in wait for her answer.
Sera swallowed through a thickened throat and nodded. What on earth had she gotten herself into?
He sighed, satisfied. “Hopefully we’ll be able to learn more about our mystery hand or about the victims.” He rushed back to the bookcase and gathered another book. Sera’s eyes widened. It was an Aetherium book—more, a year-four Aetherium book, one year before Aetherium graduation. Her heart nearly ripped from her chest as he set the book before her.
“This is the spell we’ll be using. Please gather the materials while I write down some notes.” Barrington sat at a small side table along the wall and began to scribble furiously in a notebook.
Sera could move only enough to lift her hand to the thin pages. She smiled, her fear replaced with wonder and hope. One day she would own a book like this. If she kept learning and getting stronger, there was no way the Aetherium wouldn’t accept her, wouldn’t let her become an inspector.
Barrington cleared his throat. “Sometime tonight, Miss Dovetail?”
“Oh!” She stood and spent the next moments locating all the supplies needed for the spell and also memorized their locations for future reference. She set the sky-blue and purple candles on the table at the appropriate places, then set off to find the required crystal.
She searched through the curio of vials and paused. “The spell calls for dissolved Rhodonite crystals.”
“In the pantry, there,” he said absently, waving a hand to the back of the room. She walked to the back of the chamber and reached for the black door’s knob.
“No!”
Sera sucked in a breath and stumbled back as Barrington straightened sharply. “Not that door. That one.” Frame tense, he pointed to the wooden door. “The black door is locked, and even if it weren’t, it is off-limits. Is that understood?”
Normally she would have seethed at his tone, but Sera moved to the other door, her stare fixed on Barrington, who turned back to his work. “Yes, Professor.” Touring her gaze between him and the door, she abandoned the mystery and entered the pantry.
The supply room was immaculate, no doubt of Rosie’s doing, if Barrington’s office at the Academy spoke of his cleanliness. She located the Rhodonite crystals quickly as the vials were in alphabetical order, next to herb bunches, also classified.
“I’ve found all the materials,” she announced.
He set the impressions in the middle of the workbench. “Rhodonite crystals are ideal for—”
“Memory,” Sera interjected.
“Very good. Once the victims are summoned, a bond is created between you and them. The Rhodonite will work through you to enhance our victims’ memories. That way you will not have to delve too deeply and remain in the vision for long.” He motioned to the vial. “Would you like to do the honors?”
She nodded, a small smile twitching at her lip. Finally, she was learning actual inspector work, the same she would be doing in the Aetherium. A spark fluttered in her belly. This was more than she could have ever hoped for. She sprinkled the Rhodonite over the pictures.
“Perfect.” He drew his wand. “First things first; you must remove the casing at the handle of your wand.”
He held his wand before him and, with a twist of the wrist, popped off the metal case and set it on the worktable. “Normally our magic flows from the blunter end to the tip for more focused magic. However, this will burn out the dust quickly and sever your connection even faster. That is why you hold on to the pinnacle and send out your energy through the wider end.”
“So you want me to use my wand backward?”
He frowned. “Precisely, though I rather like how I explained it.”
Sera rolled her eyes, but he flipped his wand and continued. “By using it this way, the release of power is gradual and gives you more control of the burn and the vision. Even when you’ve mastered wandless magic, it is recommended you use your wand. The outflow of magic must be precise.”
As he explained, Sera wished Mrs. Aguirre would have explained using Rhodonite crystals the way Barrington had. Perhaps then her attempts wouldn’t have been so disastrous.
He set down his wand. “Now, take off your casing, and I will guide you through the spell.”
Nodding, she spun to the table, her pulse in her ears. This was it. No tests in books, only the real-life display of magic, which she could not botch.
Barrington came close behind her. Sera startled and shifted away. The professor was quiet a moment, and her heartbeat quickened.
She swallowed tightly. Damn, damn, damn. He may have overlooked her behavior the first time, but how would she explain this? Perhaps she should have explained somehow—something, anything—but no doubt he would see the panic in her eyes. Instead, she gripped her wand tighter. I cannot fear him. I cannot fear him…
She resumed her place by the table.
“I do not wish to overstep my boundaries, Miss Dovetail,” he spoke from behind her, a gentle sort of awareness in his tone. “But I suspect something in your past makes our proximity…distressing.”
Sera winced. “It isn’t what you think, I can assure you.”
“You need not explain it to me; it is none of my business. But while I know that trust is earned in time, for the sake of us working together, I will have to ask it of you before earning it fully. Be a little mad and trust me, Miss Dovetail,” he said, his voice low between them. “I swear on my magic, you are safe here, and I mean you no harm.”
They were mere words, but Sera thanked the heavens she stood by a table, for they hit her like a blow to the gut. She pressed fingertips on the table to steady herself. He’d asked for trust. Not about her life before the Academy. Not of her behavior. But…trust.
She met his stare over her shoulder. Light eyes bored into hers, and he nodded.
Exhaling, she turned and extended her arm in answer.
Barrington straightened her elbow and turned down her wrist. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist then. His touch was firm, though also kind, as if his hands were determined to prove that he had been honest in his words.
“When you ignite the spell, do it measuredly, in rhythm with your breathing. Your magic should blanket the crystal fragments and impressions slowly. If the glow of the crystals is too bright, then you know you’re using too much magic. Now, whirl your wrist slowly like so.” He led her wrist in a continuous loop, demonstrating the proper rotation. “It helps you keep a rhythm and more control. I’m lighting the flame now.”
Releasing her, he snapped and lit the candles.
Sera focused on the whirling of magic at her core instead of the void left by Barrington’s hand no longer on hers. A warm sensation hovered like humidity over her skin as she allowed her magic to flow in controlled waves as opposed to her usual manic rush. She directed this down toward her wand, slow and easy like her breathing.
Her palm burned; the energy pooled in her hand for release. “My hand is burning.”
“That’s normal. Your magic is used to a wider entry point into your wand. Focus and lead it in through the tip.”
She did as told, and within moments, every strand of wood in her wand illuminated red, filled with her magic.
“Fantastic,” Barrington said. “Now, guide it toward the crystals, slowly.”
Sera directed her magic—a mist of amber—down toward the crystals. A thin sheet of magic floated over them that suddenly took on the Rhodonite’s pinkish glow.
“Wonderful. Now focus on the impressions. Think of nothing else.”
Exhaling, she stared down at the gruesome photos through the pinkish haze. Gnarled skeletons. Charred corpses. Heaps of dirt. Pain. Screams. Death. Her pulse quickened, prodded by memories of her night, of the screams and the hand.
Her magic crested. The dissolved crystals flashed brightly and extinguished with a hiss.
Damn. She lowered her wand, her cheeks warm and stomach a sour pit.
“Too fast,” Barrington said, waving away the smoke with a hand. “Much too fast.” His tone was harsher, but she knew it wasn’t personal. Still, she thrust down her wand and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Barrington swept to the back of the room and into the pantry. He reemerged with another vial of Rhodonite. At the table, he waved his wand in an arc motion. A weak gust snuffed out the candle flames and whisked the now black Rhodonite crystals to the floor. Sera moved back, crestfallen. She’d failed, and now Rosie would have to clean up her mess.
He held out the vial. “Patience,” he said, drawing back her gaze. “We do not excel at everything on our first go. Well, I do, but I’ve always been rather brilliant.”
She fixed him with a scowl, but the small smile at the side of his mouth eased her, and she took the vial from his hands.
He snapped again and lit the wicks as she sprinkled the dissolved Rhodonite crystals over the impressions. Sera drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. She could do this. She had to.
Gnarled skeletons. Charred corpses. Heaps of dirt…
The crystals ignited, glowed like embers. The mist of her magic took on their hue, steady and warm.
Gnarled skeletons. Charred corpses. Heaps of dirt…
Within moments, the smoke above them washed out the world from around her, save for Barrington’s steady breathing.
“I can’t see anything,” she said, her voice a soft echo in the mist. “Nothing is happening. Just fog.”
“Do not force it,” he said, his voice a whisper. “Let it come.”
Feeling weightless, a soul void of a body, she waded in the fog. Whispers eased in just as smoothly. Puppet, puppet, puppet…
Their whispers grew to screams that collided against one another, multiplied, and crowded Sera’s head. “I hear them, so many of them. They’re whispering puppet, but one is also screaming while others cry help me and please, no. Oh God.” Pressure mounted in her temples. She pressed a hand to her chest, the agony too much to bear.
“It’s all right. You feel it much more now because of the Rhodonite, but their pain is done,” he said in her ear. His voice sounded far, lost within the cries. “Listen to them. They need you, Miss Dovetail.”
Sera swallowed and, following the voices, she felt herself float in the fog, deeper into the vision. The farther she dropped, the more distant the screams, but the individual whispers grew clear. The temperatures also plummeted, and she shivered uncontrollably.
“What are you saying?” Sera asked into the smoke. “I can’t understand you.”
Agatha Beechworth, whispered one.
Briar Wakefield, said another.
Catherine Yates.
Elsie Godwin.
Harriet Adams.
Winnie Forge, said one, and then added, Portia Rees.
“What do you see?” Barrington asked softly, his breath a warm fog on her cheek, the warmth welcomed in the frigid smog surrounding her.
“Just fog, but they’re telling me their names, over and over.” She repeated the names to him and heard the swift stroke of his pen as he wrote them down.
The hand burst through the smoke and took hold of her wrist. “Puppet!”
Sera screamed and jerked back, but Barrington’s hands came onto her shoulders and held her steady. “I’m here. Relax and remember, I am your anchor. I will not let you go. Focus on their killer. Help me avenge these girls.”
With the sound of their screams all around her, she held fast to Barrington’s words and looked to the hand clutched around her wrist. “The hand from before has gripped me.”
“I need you to focus on it. Are there any identifying marks, an Invocation ring perhaps?”
“No, sir. No ring, but…there’s something on his cloak sleeve. A crest of sorts.” She focused her mind’s eye. “It’s an emblem of ravens. I hadn’t seen it before.”
Barrington bristled behind her, his hands slipping from her shoulders. “Ravens? Are you sure?”
Sera nodded.
The hand evaporated from around her wrist. The screams grew further apart, the voices withering to distant echoes. The smoke dissolved around her, slowly revealing the impressions on the table once more. She gathered a few breaths as the white mist of her magic curled back into her wand, and the crystals extinguished their glow.
A small smile spread on her mouth, though she still trembled. She had done it. She spun to Professor Barrington but did not find the same satisfaction on his face. He leaned forward onto the worktable, his hands flush on the surface, his head turned down.
Her smile faded. “Professor, is everything all right?”
He lifted his head slightly, his brows pulled in. “I need you to be completely honest with me, Miss Dovetail. In trying to figure out the impressions, did you suspect necromancy and in turn research the art at all? Did you look into its history?”
“No, never. I searched in my divination books, but never once considered necromancy. Why? Did I do something wrong?”
Barrington shook his head and straightened, his mind far away. “I’ve grown tired and must rest.” He picked up her wand casing and handed it back to her. “We’ve covered a great deal today. Take tomorrow off and replenish your reserves. We will continue on Tuesday.”
He led the way out of the room, dismissing her. She slipped her casing back on, followed him into his study, and stood at her previous entry point, sure he didn’t see her as he stared up at the painting of him and his brother.
He let out a long, helpless breath that extinguished all of her previous mirth. If she had done so well, why was he so sad?
“Should I take the impressions with me?” she asked, hoping to add some sound to the terrible silence. “Perhaps see if I can uncover anything else?”
“No need. You’ve given me more than I could’ve hoped for. Good night, Miss Dovetail.” He unsheathed his wand and pointed it at the floor beneath her.
“Good night, Professor.” Sera lowered her head and braced, her stomach already in tangles.
“And Miss Dovetail…”
She lifted her head.
“Well done today.” A small smile touched the side of his lips, though wells of sadness echoed in his eyes. “I know I’ve made the right choice.”
Before his words settled between them, the floor vanished beneath her. The next moment, Sera sagged back against her bedroom window, her stomach still knotted within. But through the nausea, she smiled. She had helped with a case—real help that led them in a new direction. This may have been the best night of her life—save for the hand and the voices.
Yet later that night, just before she fell asleep, it was Professor Barrington who haunted her thoughts. His abrupt change in mood. His solemnness as he stared at the portrait with a look of pain, loss, and regret. No, he hadn’t been tired, she realized. He’d wanted her gone. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach. Something about the raven crest had changed things, and whatever it was, it made the case personal for Barrington. But what could murdered and burned witches have to do with him, she wondered as she rolled to her side and watched the shadows. And why hide it after asking for her trust?