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ELEVEN

LUCIUS

We drove for two hours, almost reaching the place where the road ended. To get there by car, you’d first drive through the countryside, then take a narrow road past Blackburn Woods toward Blackthorn. That road connected to Blackthorn’s train station, and once you arrived, you’d still have a five-minute walk through the groundskeeper’s land before finally reaching Blackthorn itself.

With all the money Blackthorn made, I always wondered why they never bothered to build better roads. But then again, I understood that they wanted this place hidden.

As we reached the end of the road and took a turn toward Blackburn Woods, the road beneath us turned rough. Small stones rattled and clanged beneath the car, but Cass didn’t flinch. Without a word, he turned up the radio, filling the silence with “The Man” by The Killers as we drove on.

I remembered the stories about Blackburn Woods. About people who lost their way among the trees and swore they heard voices, whispers from the dead. But the truth is, the forest was dense enough to swallow anyone. Getting lost in a place like that could twist your mind until madness was all you had left.

For us, though, the woods were just a secret escape, a place for parties or a place to ditch classes. Maybe that was why all of us ended up so messed up after leaving school. Because, even though we physically left, part of us stayed behind, trapped as if Blackthorn Academy owned some unspoken piece of our lives.

Soon, we passed the old train station, noticing the familiar black train with its golden embellishments, proudly reading: Blackthorn, Academy of Verity and Vision, 1907. Once we reached the groundskeeper’s property, we spotted Hector standing outside the house. I remembered him clearly from back then. He had always seemed taller than anyone I knew, but now, with his injured knee, he leaned heavily on his walking stick. Though he looked like he had seen his fair share of battles, he was only in his early sixties—and he had fooled us all. He knew more about combat than half the security guards working for Cass’s dad. With his father always shut away in his office, Cass had spent most of his time with him, and over the years, the old man had come to love Cass like a son.

We parked the truck and grabbed our stuff, the doors slamming shut behind us. Approaching slowly, Cass reached out to hug Hector, patting his shoulder warmly before placing a key into his palm.

“This is for you, Hector.”

“You’re giving me this old thing?” Hector chuckled, stepping forward.

Cass looked puzzled. “What do you mean? It’s brand new.”

Hector laughed softly, shaking his head. “Still as clueless as ever, huh?”

I grinned, stepping in closer to hug Hector and pat him affectionately on the back.

“It’s good having you boys here again,” Hector said quietly, his gaze shifting warmly between us.

“Feels good to be back,” I replied, noticing how heavily he leaned against his cane. “Hey, do you have somewhere I can store my bike?” I asked, gesturing towards the truck.

“You can keep it in the barn,” he said, pointing with his cane toward the worn building off to the right.

“Thanks,” I nodded and headed back to the truck to unload my bike.

We repeated the same motions we used when loading the bike. As soon as its wheels touched the ground, I swung onto the seat, kicking up dirt as I rode toward the old barn. Inside, it was silent and empty, no animals, just the lingering scent of dried grass and freshly chopped wood. For a moment, memories flooded back to me.

Sometimes, memories are hidden by your mind for a reason, and this time, they are surfacing as a warning.

When I stepped back outside, Hector and Cass were standing beside the truck, inspecting the tires stained with mud.

“Ready?” I asked.

Cass turned, picked up his own bag, and slung it onto his shoulder. He led the way, and we waved goodbye to Hector, who stood smiling by his new truck as we continued down the road toward Blackthorn.

The Blackthorn Academy cast a shadow over us, a castle with large towers and walls of stained stone. Located on lonely cliffs, cut off from the surrounding Scottish Highlands, connected only by a stone bridge with a wooden rooftop above. At the entrance of the bridge, two angel statues stood on either side, one covering its eyes, the other pressing its hands against its ears. It was as if whatever happened here was meant to go unseen and unheard, the secrets of Blackthorn forever locked within its walls, destined to be forgotten.

We walked further until we reached the heavy doors to Blackthorn’s gate and went inside.

At the center of the academy grounds stood a very old ash tree, whose leaves in tones of orange and rich crimson fell gently onto the marble pathways below in light beige and midnight black. Around the tree were four stone benches, each bearing the coats of arms for the academy’s founding houses. If you climb to the second floor, you can see from above a massive star-shaped compass with beige stone paths radiating from the central square, each leading to another tower that housed the student dormitories.

To the south was the House of Serpents , with its emerald and black flag flying proudly against the building, featuring a serpent coiled around a dagger and bearing the words: “Knowledge is power, tempered with venom.”

Westward was the House of Corvus . A flag in gold and ivory, gracefully chained to a wall, featured a raven perched on a branch, holding a key. Below was written: “In silence, we see.”

In the east, the House of Arachnis unfurled a rich purple and silver banner from a staff made of wood, with a black spider dangling from a silken cord, holding a lighted match. In the wood, carved words were saying: “Through craft, we prevail.”

Finally, to the north was the House of Scorpion. Its striking red and black flag carried a scorpion, with its tail curled guardingly over a single star, and with words above that said: “Through pain, we endure.”

Each house was allocated a tower, with apartments and offices for the heads who oversaw their students. Dormitories were directly below each tower. To further put responsibility in the hands of the heads, each house was assigned a pet, an animal that we would care for during our stay.

A square building surrounded the dormitories, with classrooms connected through the hallways extending out from each house. Enormous outer walls surrounded the whole academy, and the bridge we’d just come through was the only entry and exit.

The grounds of Blackthorn were still quiet. The students weren’t there yet. Cass and I exchanged a momentary look, then headed off in different directions to our own houses to prepare for the great speech that Dean of Blackthorn wanted to hold in the Great Hall .

Blackthorn had strict rules, rules that were never meant to be broken. Those who ever got punished never discussed their punishment, but they were never the same.

I walked north along the stone pathway into a corridor with windows that afforded a view out over the rugged Scottish Highlands and where the smoothly flowing River Coe merged into Loch Leven. Approaching my office, I paused in front of the ominous black door, already having my name boldly carved onto a gold plaque: Professor Lucius Lockwood . Quietly taking a breath, I turned the key and stepped inside.

Inside, a simple wooden desk was set out for me, with papers and heavy books covering it. Behind this was a glass terrarium with a sand, in which a black scorpion was concealed in a small stone cave. A small tag was attached to the tank with a simple message: Venom. I dropped my bag to the ground and crept to the tank, bending a little to peep inside.

“Hi, friend,” I said, looking at it, “I have great plans for you.”

The little guy was shy, like my Little Star.

I sighed, turning around to look at the bookshelves standing on the right side of the office. In front of the desk was a large, old-fashioned carpet with the House of Scorpion coat of arms woven in the center.

I walked toward the bookshelf on the right. There was a black book with a golden scorpion symbol that caught my eye. And as I pulled it free, the entire bookshelf moved, sliding to the side and revealing a hidden doorway, and behind it, a staircase spiralled upwards.

Grabbing my bag from the floor near the door, I locked the office and stepped through the hidden door. The marble staircase curved in a perfect circle with a golden scorpion statue standing at the center. As I reach the final step, I hear the door slide shut behind me.

The apartment was an undeniable upgrade from my industrial apartment in Glasgow. Floor-to-ceiling windows flanked a breathtaking view over the lake, their glass panels throwing reflections across the space. A wooden black staircase curved upwards to the second floor, and the kitchen extended to the left. To the right, there was a large black leather sofa, and in front of it, two glass tables with gilded edges.

Bookshelves filled every space between the windows, and directly opposite the kitchen, a circular table was placed with two chairs sitting neatly to each side. Tilting my head to my left, I noticed that the door was open, and inside was a bathroom with gold details and white marble.

Climbing upstairs, I reach the top floor. As my bag dropped to the floor, I walked to the round bed in black silk sheets, which was in the center.

Blackthorn is Gothic perfection.

Standing up, I made my way to the two windows that stood next to the closet, looking over the academy.

Cass had already called to check if I was ready. By some miracle, I was.

I stood before the mirror next to the closet, adjusting my black shirt. The last two buttons remained undone, exposing just the tip of my chest, while my black shirt and suit pants fit snugly, hugging my frame. My hair was still damp, slicked back with gel, though two strands kept falling over my forehead no matter how many times I ran my fingers through them.

My glasses sat low on my nose, slightly loose, while my jaw was shaved clean and remained clenched.

Looking at my reflection, I lifted a hand to my chest. The scorpion tattoo on my right hand, inked between my thumb and forefinger, was a memory of a night when I was so drunk to beg Nikolai Antonov to tattoo it during my second year here. Luckily, he was good at it.

I was ready.

I grabbed the blazer draped over the kitchen chair and swung it over my shoulder as I made my way down to the office. I approached the bookshelf, which slid open on its own, making it in time for aknock at the door. Cassian.

I didn’t hesitate—I didn’t need to. I walked out, closing the door behind me, then locked it without a second thought. Then, together, without a word, we started toward the Great Hall, where the meeting was being held in the dining area.

It took no more than five minutes to reach it. By the time we entered, the other professors were already seated. Neither of us felt the need to move further in. Instead, we settled at the last available table near the door, blending into the background.

At the far end of the hall, two massive tables stood beneath a grand statue—a twisting composition of a snake, a raven, a scorpion, and a spider. Atop it was a golden lectern that seemed even shinier in the candlelight.

The doors shut closed, sealed by two security guards in black suits. Silence took over the hall as the Dean of Blackthorn stepped forward.

Dark brown hair, streaked with salt and pepper at the sides. A strong jaw, emphasized by the neatly trimmed mustache beneath his nose. His gray suit was pressed to perfection, a single white flower tucked into his right pocket. As he reached the lectern, he pulled a pair of round glasses from his pocket and perched them on his nose before speaking.

His voice filled the hall, moving against the high walls and arched ceiling.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome back,” he said with a smile. “I remember when you were students sitting behind those very tables. And now, you’re professors.”

“Not all of us,” came a voice from the back. It was Lorna, the old professor who had been here longer than any of us—long enough to have seen generations come and go.

Laughter rippled through the hall.

“Not all of you,” he echoed with a chuckle. “But this year is special, because my very own son now stands where I once did. Professor Cassius Blackthorn, the new head of the House of Serpents. Alongside the other heads of house, I have no doubt they will remind us why Blackthorn can be great once again.”

Applause filled the room, hands clapping against wooden tables, murmurs of approval following.

“Please welcome Professor Cassius Blackthorn, head of Serpents,” he announced, pausing before moving on. “Professor Luna Aracelis, head of Arachnis House. Professor Lucius Lockwood, head of Scorpion House.”

As he spoke, Luna rose from her seat, her long robes whispering against the floor as she made her way toward Blackthorn.

I elbowed Cassian in the ribs, lowering my voice. “Do we have to get up?”

He barely spared me a glance before shoving me upward, forcing both of us to walk toward the center.

Shit. Too much attention.

I forced an awkward smile.

I hate people.

“And Nikolai Antonov, head of Corvus House,” Blackthorn continued.

We stood there in an uneasy line, glancing at one another, silently asking, What the hell are we supposed to do now?

“Students will be arriving tomorrow by eleven. They will have the opportunity to attend each of your main classes and decide which ones to commit to by the end of the day, after which they will be sorted into their respective houses. Once assigned, they will be situated in their dorms accordingly.”

He paused, surveying the room before concluding, “Until then—let’s eat.”

On cue, the doors at the back of the hall swung open, and waiters entered, pushing carts with silver platters. The scent of roasted meats, warm bread, and spiced wine filled the air.

Blackthorn turned to us, subtly motioning toward the long table behind the lectern. Taking the hint, we followed, settling into our seats in silence.

We didn’t speak, not until the plates were placed in front of us.

Great. More socialization. Just what I needed.