Page 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ISOLDE

Cassiel holds up his hand, eyes closed in concentration. “Now,” he whispers as the magical barriers pulse and momentarily weaken.

“Bad timing, fuckface,” CJ mutters, but I glare at him. “We have to move. We will circle back to all this shit later.”

“Noted,” he murmurs.

We move as one, slipping through the gap between bookshelves toward the secret entrance. My heart pounds against my ribs, blood rushing in my ears. William drifts ahead, his spectral form shimmering in the low light, while CJ brings up the rear, his presence a wall of protective heat at my back.

“Third bookcase from the eastern corner,” I murmur, counting shelves. My fingers trace along leather-bound spines until I find ‘Transmutation of Ethereal Entities’ exactly where it should be. Tugging it out, I wait for the mechanism to trigger, for the passage to open as it did before.

Nothing happens.

“What’s wrong?” CJ asks, his voice tense.

“It’s not working.” I replace the book and try again. Still nothing. “Blackridge must have changed the entrance.”

William drifts through the solid bookcase, disappearing momentarily before reappearing. “The passage is still there,” he confirms, “but the trigger mechanism has been altered.”

Cassiel moves forward, his eyes glowing silver again. His fingers hover over the bookshelf, not quite touching it. “There’s a new pattern,” he murmurs. “A sequence of books that must be activated in a specific order.”

“Can you tell which ones?” I ask, anxiety clawing at my throat.

“Give me a moment.” He frowns as his hand moves across the shelf. “This one first,” he says, pointing to a small red volume near the top.

CJ reaches up and pulls it partway out, then pushes it back.

“Now the blue one, third from the left, then the black tome with silver lettering, and finally, the original trigger book.”

We follow his instructions precisely, pulling and replacing each volume in sequence. The bookcase shudders, then swings inward with a soft groan of ancient hinges. The passage beyond is pitch black, darker than before.

“That was too easy,” I murmur, suspicion prickling along my spine. “Surely Blackridge is more inventive than that.”

“Agreed,” CJ says, his eyes scanning the darkness with predatory focus. “Blackridge wouldn’t make it that simple for us to return with a fallen angel at our side.”

William drifts into the passage, then immediately floats back out, his spectral form flickering with agitation. “The stairs are gone.”

“What?” I step forward cautiously, peering into the darkness. Where before there had been stone steps spiralling downward, there’s now only a smooth, vertical shaft plunging into blackness.

“He’s completely reconfigured the passage,” Cassiel observes, crouching to examine the edge. “This is a trap.”

“No shit,” CJ mutters, his eyes flashing amber momentarily. “We need another way in.”

I shake my head, determination hardening inside me. “No. We need to do this now. We need to know what that symbol means for William, and The Collectors could be coming for me any day. I need answers. ”

“And how exactly do you propose we navigate a vertical shaft into the old gods knows what?” CJ demands, his protective instincts clearly warring with his curiosity.

In answer, I shrug off his jacket and hand it to him. “I’m going down.”

“Like hell you are,” he growls, but before he can stop me, I sit on the edge of the shaft and push off, sliding into darkness.

The walls of the shaft are smooth, polished stone, offering no purchase. I plummet at dizzying speed, my stomach lodging in my throat. For a terrifying moment, I’m in free fall, nothing below me but endless darkness. Then my vampire reflexes kick in. I spread my arms and legs, pressing against the walls to slow my descent, friction burning through my clothes.

I catch glimpses of runes carved into the stone walls, flashing past too quickly to read. The air grows colder, heavy with ancient magic that presses against my consciousness like a sodden blanket.

After a few seconds, I land hard on a stone floor, my knees buckling with the impact. Pain shoots up my legs, but I roll with it, coming up in a defensive crouch, ready for whatever awaits me, magic coiled at my fingertips.

I hear CJ’s voice, close and furious: “Isolde. There are better ways down, you know. ”

I look up and see him standing next to me, holding out my jacket. “How did you do that?”

“I teleported,” he says, although he really sounds like he didn’t want to admit that.

“Teleported? As in one place, one second and another the next.”

“Precisely that.”

“You are more than just a vampire, aren’t you?” I say, rising and allowing him to put his jacket back on me.

“I’m at SilverGate, my sweet. What do you think?”

Through my vampire night sight, I see his face is tight with irritation. It’s something he doesn’t want to tell me, which makes me even more wildly curious about this vampire. This man, my fate seems so intricately intertwined with.

Looking around, the circular room is identical to the one we found before, with five doors arranged around its perimeter. But everything feels wrong. The air tastes metallic, and the doors ripple slightly.

William appears beside me, passing through the shaft with ease. “Blackridge has completely redesigned this space,” he murmurs, drifting around the perimeter. “These aren’t real doors. They’re illusions.”

Cassiel slides down the same way I did and lands with a bump on his arse. He looks up at me with a grin. “That was fun! ”

“Fun?” I ask, shaking my head. “You have a warped sense of fun. How do we get to the restricted section?” I ask, turning my attention back to William.

“Very carefully,” William replies. “This is advanced Blood Magic. I can sense the patterns.”

Cassiel rises and stares at William. “I can see and hear you down here.”

“Well, that helps us a bit,” I say.

“These doors are more than illusions,” he says, confirming William’s assessment. “They’re thresholds to pocket dimensions. Choose the wrong one...”

“And what?” I press when he trails off.

“And you’ll be trapped in a dimensional bubble for eternity,” William finishes grimly. “Or until Blackridge decides to release you.”

“Well, shit,” I mutter, my earlier confidence wavering. “How do we know which is the right door?”

“We don’t,” CJ says flatly. “This was a mistake. We should turn back.”

I ignore him, studying the doors more carefully. They’re identical at first glance: heavy wood bound with iron, ancient symbols carved into their surfaces. But as I look closer, I notice subtle differences in the carvings.

“These symbols,” I murmur, tracing one with my fingertip. “They’re not random.”

“Don’t touch them,” William warns, moving closer. “Each symbol represents a different type of magic. Blood, fire, shadow, mind, death.”

“How convenient that we have a know-it-all with us,” CJ remarks dryly. “Which one represents blood, Butcher ?”

William points to the door directly opposite us. “Stop calling me that, Aquila, or you will find out why it was given to me. That one. But it’s not that simple. These symbols are layered with complexity. The blood door could just as easily lead to a blood trap.”

“Or it could be the most obvious answer,” I argue. “The blood door leads to the blood section of the restricted library.”

Cassiel shakes his head. “Magic is rarely that straightforward, especially protective magic.”

“We’re running out of time,” I say, frustration building. “The next pulse in the wards will come soon, and Blackridge will know we’re here.”

“Then we make an educated guess,” CJ says, examining each door. “Process of elimination.”

I nod, thinking aloud. “Death magic is likely a trap. Shadow magic is too obvious for concealment. Mind magic could be a misdirection...”

“Which leaves fire and blood,” Cassiel concludes.

“Fire destroys,” William observes. “Blood preserves and transforms. If the goal is to protect books rather than destroy them...”

“Blood it is,” I decide, approaching the door William identified earlier. My hand hovers over the handle. “Stand back, just in case.”

“Isolde,” CJ starts, but I cut him off with a look.

“I need to do this.” I take a deep breath and grasp the handle.

The moment my skin makes contact, a jolt of magical energy surges up my arm. The door glows with a deep crimson light, the symbol for Blood Magic beating like a heart. Then, to my horror, the handle liquifies, transforming into actual blood that flows up my arm, wrapping around it like a living serpent.

I try to pull away, but the blood constricts, binding me to the door. “Shit!” I gasp, panic rising as the liquid sinks into my skin, burning like acid.

“Isolde!” CJ lunges forward, but Cassiel holds him back.

“Wait! Breaking the connection could make it worse.”

The blood continues to flow from the door into my arm, each drop bringing searing pain. But beneath the pain comes something else: knowledge. Images flash through my mind, too fast to process fully. Ancient rituals, forbidden spells, creatures that shouldn’t exist.

“It’s... testing me,” I manage through gritted teeth. “Reading my blood.”

William floats closer, his expression grave. “Blood recognises blood. It’s determining if you’re worthy to enter. Don’t fight it. ”

Every instinct screams at me to pull away, to break this invasive connection, but I force myself to remain still. The blood reaches my shoulder, creeping toward my heart. If it reaches it, I’m not certain what will happen.

“Think about why you’re here,” William coaches, his voice oddly gentle. “Your purpose. Your need.”

I close my eyes, focusing on The Collectors, on the symbol in the Bell Tower, on my desperate need to understand what I am and why I’m being hunted. The blood responds, its burning sensation lessening slightly.

“It’s working,” Cassiel observes, his silver eyes tracking the flow of energy. “The door is accepting you.”

The burning intensifies one last time, then subsides completely. The blood that had been climbing my arm reverses direction, flowing back into the door, taking a small amount of my blood with it. The door’s surface ripples, the carved symbol flaring bright red before settling into a deep, beating glow.

With a click that seems unnaturally loud in the tense silence, the door swings open.

Beyond lies not the restricted section we saw before, but a smaller, darker chamber. The walls are lined with shelves of ancient texts, but unlike the relatively organised chaos of the main restricted section, these books are arranged meticulously. Each sits in its own alcove, surrounded by protective wards that shimmer faintly in the gloom.

“What is this place?” I whisper, stepping cautiously through the doorway.

“Blackridge’s private collection,” William answers, his spectral form brightening with excitement. “The true restricted section.”

“How do you know that?” I whisper.

He points to a crest of arms on the stone floor that clearly says ‘Blackridge’ on it.

“Oh,” I mutter.

CJ follows me in, his nostrils flaring as he scents the air. “Blood, death and old magic. These books are dangerous even by SilverGate standards.”

Cassiel enters last. “Each of these volumes contains knowledge that could destroy minds or corrupt souls. This is far beyond what students are permitted to access. I can feel the corruption, taste it.”

I move deeper into the chamber, drawn to a pedestal in the centre where a massive tome rests. Unlike the others, this book isn’t warded. Its cover is unmarked leather, but something about it calls to me.

“Look at this,” William says, drifting to hover over the pedestal to peer at the title. “The Codex Sanguinis. Blackridge’s personal grimoire of Blood Magic.”

“Will it have information on The Collectors?” I ask, my fingers hovering over the cover.

“If anything does, it would be this,” William confirms. “Blackridge has been collecting knowledge for centuries.”

I hesitate, remembering the blood trap at the door. “Is it safe to touch?”

“Relatively speaking,” William says, which isn’t particularly reassuring. “It will respond to your blood as the door did, but less aggressively. It’s designed to share knowledge, not test worthiness.”

Taking a deep breath, I place my palm flat on the cover. The leather is warm, almost alive beneath my touch. It pulses once, a soft shudder that travels up my arm, but there’s no pain this time, just a gentle tingle like static electricity.

“It’s accepting you,” Cassiel observes with fascination.

I carefully open the book, revealing pages of text written in blood. The script shifts and changes as I watch, rearranging itself from an ancient language I don’t recognise into modern English.

“It’s adapting to you,” William explains, hovering at my shoulder. “Reading your knowledge base and presenting information in a form you can understand.”

“Chameleon,” I mutter, staring at him before I look back at the pages.

I scan them, looking for any mention of The Collectors or the symbol from the Bell Tower. The text flows like water, sections expanding or contracting as my attention shifts, responding to my thoughts almost before I’ve formed them.

“There,” CJ says, pointing to a passage that’s expanding before my eyes. “The Collectors.”

The page settles, revealing a detailed history that makes my blood run cold. I read aloud.

“The Collegium Collectoris, known commonly as The Collectors, originated in the 13th century as a brotherhood of scholars dedicated to the preservation of supernatural knowledge. Their methods, initially benign, grew increasingly violent as their ambitions expanded. By the 16th century, they had perfected the art of creating living grimoires from rare supernatural beings, believing that knowledge bound in conscious flesh retained greater potency than that recorded in mere paper and ink.

Female twin vampires have been their most coveted acquisitions due to the unique sympathetic connection between twins, which allows for the preservation of knowledge that would destroy conventional repositories. The process of transformation is lengthy and excruciating, involving a ritual known as ‘The Flaying of the Vessel of Power’ that preserves consciousness while divorcing it from bodily control.

The Collectors operate through a network of agents positioned throughout the supernatural world. They are identified by their sigil: a circle bisected by a jagged line, with three dots arranged in a triangle above it, representing the three stages of their work: Acquisition, Transformation, and Preservation.”

I pause and look at William.

“The symbol,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “It’s them. They killed William.”

“But why?” CJ asks, frowning at the ghost. “What did you know that threatened them?”

William’s form flickers with emotion. “My research. I was developing a method to create gateways through dimension using blood.”

“Why would they want to stop that, though?” I ask carefully. “Why kill you before you completed your experiment?”

“It’s odd,” William agrees. “You would think they’d want access to other dimensions to get their hands on more creatures.”

I feel physically ill.

Taking a moment to breathe, I turn the page, looking for more information, but freeze when I see what comes next: a detailed illustration of the ritual used to create living grimoires. The images are so graphic, so horrifically detailed, that my stomach heaves. “Gods,” I choke out, unable to look away from the systematic dismemberment depicted with clinical precision.

CJ slams the book shut, his expression a mask of controlled fury. “We’ve seen enough. ”

“No,” I push his hand away, reopening the tome. “We need to know how to stop them.”

The book responds to my determination, pages flipping rapidly before settling on a new section: “Vulnerabilities of The Collectors.”

“The Collegium operates under strict hierarchical principles governed by ancient magic. Each Collector is bound to their superiors through blood oaths that cannot be broken except through death. However, their ritualistic nature creates exploitable weaknesses:

· The sympathetic connection between twins, which makes female vampire twins so valuable, can be weaponised against them. If properly channelled, this connection can create a defensive barrier impenetrable to their magic.

· Each Collector bears their sigil somewhere on their person, typically concealed by glamour. Revealing and destroying this mark temporarily neutralises their powers.”

“This is it,” I breathe, hope flaring for the first time. “This is how we fight them.”

“Your defensive magic, which is connected somehow to Isaac’s offensive magic, is the key,” CJ murmurs, his eyes meeting mine.

“So I need Isaac after all?” I ask, dread welling up that I’m going to have to put him in danger.

“No,” CJ shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Isaac has nothing to do with this. This is all about you. As a vampire, you shouldn’t have access to this level of magic. You can access basic Blood Magic, moderate at best. Only a few can master Advanced. Without any other creature moulded into your DNA, you are simply a vampire. But you are not simply a vampire, Isolde. You are half of a whole. That magic should’ve gone to one vampire. Either you or Isaac. Instead, you split into two in the womb.”

“Eww,” I mutter, and he chuckles.

“So, who is the dominant force?” William asks. “Which one of you should’ve been the only one?”

“I don’t think it’s a case of that,” CJ says. “I think it’s rather that we have two vampires of equal power, but with different specialities.”

“Where is this coming from?” I ask curiously, although it makes sense.

“My mother is a gifted woman with the brainpower of several colleges’ worth of students. She made me read. A lot,” he says grimly. “It’s a standard magical failsafe.”

I frown at him. “Failsafe?”

“Yes,” he affirms, his expression deadly serious. “If one of you were killed before reaching your full potential, the other would absorb the remaining power, becoming a complete entity. It’s a way for magic to ensure its own survival and legacy. It’s quite common in ancient bloodlines where power is concentrated. ”

My head reels. “So if Isaac died, I’d get his offensive magic? And if I died…”

“He’d get your defensive shield but amplified. He’d become a walking fortress,” CJ finishes, his gaze intense. “But you are both alive, and your magic is evolving because you are being challenged. It’s adapting, seeking its full potential within you, separate but connected.”

“The sympathetic connection,” Cassiel murmurs, his silver eyes alight with understanding. “If it can be weaponised...”

“Then I need to learn how to control it, how to channel it without Isaac,” I say. “I need to figure out how to get that full potential without Issac dying.”

“Piece of cake,” CJ mutters.

“So, where do I even start with this?”

“Exactly where Blackridge placed you. Your classes.”

Before I can answer, the chamber shudders violently. Dust rains down from the ceiling as the walls contract slightly, the shelves pressing inward.

“We’ve been discovered,” Cassiel says, his wings flaring defensively. “Blackridge knows we’re here.”

“Take what we need and go,” CJ orders, glancing toward the door we entered through. It’s still open, but the passage beyond has changed, shifting like a mirage.

“We need to leave now,” William says .

The chamber shudders again, more violently this time. Several books tumble from their shelves, their protective wards flaring as they hit the floor. The air grows thick with competing magic, making it difficult to breathe.

“Wait,” I say, picking up the book, intending to take it with me and replace it as soon as possible.

An unholy shriek fills the chamber, coming from the book. The pages bleed, blood flowing from the binding onto the ground.

“That was an incredibly bad idea,” William yells over the noise, his form wavering in the magical backlash.

The door we entered through slams shut, then vanishes completely, leaving us trapped in a rapidly contracting room. The walls are closing in, the ceiling descending, the floor rising. The chamber is collapsing in on itself.

“Options?” I shout to no one in particular, clutching the stolen book to my chest.

Cassiel’s eyes glow brighter as he studies the shifting walls. “Put the book down!”

Instantly, I shove it back in place, but the damage has already been done.

“There!” Cassiel points to a section of the wall that’s rippling differently from the rest. “That’s not part of the chamber. It’s a hidden exit.”

CJ doesn’t hesitate. He charges the wall, shoulder first, hitting it with enough force to crack stone. The wall shimmers but holds.

“Blood,” William calls out. “It requires blood to open, like the door did.”

I use my claws to rip open my palm and press it against the section Cassiel indicated. Blood wells up and seeps into the stone, which glows with the same crimson light as the entrance door.

“More,” William urges. “It needs more to recognise you.”

Gritting my teeth, I drag my claw across my palm again, deeper this time. Blood flows freely, soaking into the stone wall, which slowly dissolves, revealing a narrow passage beyond.

“Go!” CJ shouts, pushing me through the opening. “Now!”

I lunge forwards. The passage is barely wide enough for one person, the walls rough and jagged. I feel them scrape against my sides as I push through, tearing my clothing and scratching my skin.

Cassiel follows, his wings retracted to fit through the tight space. CJ comes before the opening seals itself behind him with a loud bang, trapping William inside.

“William!” I cry.

“He’s a ghost,” CJ reminds me. “He can find his own way out.”

The passage slopes upward, steep enough that we’re practically climbing rather than walking. The air grows marginally fresher as we ascend, though it’s still heavy with the taste of ancient magic and dust.

After what feels like an eternity of climbing in near darkness, we emerge into what appears to be a storage cupboard. Cassiel pushes aside mops and buckets, and we stumble out, dishevelled and bloody, to find ourselves face to face with an extremely startled first-year student.

The young vampire stares at us with wide eyes, his fangs dropping in shock. “I... I was just looking for a book...”

“You saw nothing,” CJ growls, his eyes flashing amber.

The student nods frantically and scurries away, leaving us standing in the middle of the library, breathing hard, covered in dust and blood, but alive. And more importantly, armed with knowledge.

“None of you will tell Isaac about this, okay?”

They nod, and I glare at CJ to reinforce my demand.

William materialises before us, his spectral form more solid than I’ve ever seen it. “That was exciting,” he says dryly. “The chamber reset itself after you left. Blackridge will know someone was there, but not necessarily who.”

“Pretty sure he will figure it out,” I comment, but head quickly towards the library doors.

As we slip out, for the first time since arriving at this academy of monsters, I feel something like hope. The Collectors want to transform me into a living grimoire, a fate worse than death. But now I have a way to fight back, to protect myself.

The hunt is still on, but at least now I’m not just prey. I’m becoming a predator.