Page 35

VIOLET

I’d doubted Viktor would be here, so I’m not looking at an embalmed witch who deserved to die much more horribly than he did.

I’ve found something better. The tomb doesn’t have space to hold a body, instead the structure is positioned over a gap in the mausoleum floor to hide an entry. Something more than death emanates from below, and the convergence of magical energy runs stronger below us.

I look over a shoulder at Rowan and gesture at the steep, narrow stairway. “Steps.”

“Oh god, no.” Rowan drags a hand down his face. “Please don’t go down there.”

“Are you serious? A witch’s mausoleum with a hidden chamber in a seemingly random cemetery?”

Without waiting for another protest from Rowan, I slowly descend the roughhewn steps and halt at the base.

The air is heavier, the magic I sensed now pressing against my skin, as tangible as the dampness above.

I can’t sense Viktor, but there’s death around that’s linked to more than the embalmed relatives above us.

Rowan’s witchlight shines. This isn’t an empty chamber, but a space used for rituals—a place that somebody recently cleared out. The three stone alcoves aren’t an unusual touch, but although they’re empty, there are faint imprints around where jars or books once sat.

The solid, uncracked stone floor is also too clean for a disused chamber.

“I guess Cornelius was expecting us,” says Rowan, stepping in behind me.

“Yes. But he wasn’t worried about us discovering Viktor. Somebody performed darker magic here until very recently.” I scan the room, taking in the details.

“Yeah, the residue is strong. A lot happened inside this mausoleum. More than storing dead bodies.”

“I know exactly what.”

“Necromancy?” Rowan darts a look around.

I nod. “The death magic hasn’t fully faded, even if it’s mingled with something else.”

I crouch at the center of the chamber, brushing my fingers across a faint circle on the stone, and Rowan kneels beside me. My pulse quickens as afaint rune appears beneath my hand . “Runic magic takes a while to fade; the place was used until recently. Days ago.”

Rowan peers. “That’s a caging rune that held someone—or something—in here.”

I nod, already placing the pieces together. “Or some ones . Cornelius knew I’d visit, even if he never intended to bring Viktor somewhere so obvious. He delayed me to clear the place out in case I succeeded in entering.”

“Cornelius is practicing necromancy?” Rowan whispers as if he might be around to hear.

“Witches with knowledge of, and access to, this place are necromancers, which rather narrows down the number. Cornelius? I’m unsure.

” Standing again, I focus on the room, sharp eyesight checking out every inch.

“If this was an impromptu clear out that happened quickly, those responsible must’ve left something.

Not an obvious item like a book or magical tools, but something . ”

Rowan turns his light, and our tall shadows appear against the stone.

As does something else. A glint in the corner. Glass. “Here!”

“What is it?” Rowan asks, voice wary.

I pick up the fragment carefully and examine the barely inch long, jagged piece. “Broken vial?”

A pale powdery residue clings to the surface, but not enough for me to wipe away. I sniff and them smile, even though the unmistakable scent supports Rowan’s awful theory.

“Wolfsbane,” I whisper.

Rowan tenses. “You’re sure? That’s not grown anymore. Anything that harms a shifter isn’t legal.”

“As if that’d stop witches who regularly kill and reanimate them.” I frown. “But nobody found wolfsbane on the bodies of the constructs we’ve come across.”

“Which means…Oh, crap.”

“That there’re more constructs in the world. Ones created in here. Cornelius is involved with the witches and murders! With Viktor. Do you think father and son worked together?”

“That’d be weird. If Cornelius severed connections with his son, why risk his rediscovery?” replies Rowan.

I bite my bottom lip as I survey my surroundings with utter glee. “Maybe Cornelius had no choice but to help.”

“Because he has skeletons in his closet?”

“What? Whose? Is that where you think Madison and her brother are? On his estate?” I gawk at him. “When did you deduce this information, Rowan?”

“Calm down.” Rowan lifts his hands up, palms out. “It’s just a phrase that means somebody has secrets that, if exposed, can cause problems.”

“Secret skeletons? Whose?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Forget I said that. There’s something we haven’t considered, besides Viktor’s erasure from history.”

“I highly doubt that. I consider everything and draw conclusions long before other people.”

“Oh? Then tell me this: have you considered that Viktor might not have wanted to live the life that his father gave him?”

“Of course I have,” I say crossly. “Viktor lost a prestigious and luxurious lifestyle to become an electrician.”

“And whose fault is that?”

I blink at his inane question. “Viktor’s. He murdered somebody. Two somebodies.”

“And Cornelius could’ve covered that up without performing magic as insurmountable as he used.

Hell, if Cornelius can totally wipe Viktor from people’s minds, he could’ve helped him out of a murder conviction.

” Rowan smiles at the tug to my brow. “Instead, Cornelius chose to send his son into exile and deny him everything he’d be entitled to.

Punished him. But the man never considered how ungrateful and powerful his son is. ”

“Or vengeful,” I murmur, eyes widening. “Either Cornelius is involved in the witches’ plot against Dorian, or Viktor forced him to help.

Cornelius allowed necromancers to use his space.

Nobody would go after someone as respected and untouchable as Cornelius Whitegrove without evidence.

So, nobody would investigate his properties without cause.

I bet Viktor knows things about Cornelius that he doesn’t want revealing—apart from this. ”

“Then why hasn’t Cornelius destroyed his son’s body?” asks Rowan. “Viktor is a link.”

“Whitegrove’s family were never on the radar before the tiara came to light, and Cornelius might need to hand over the culprits.

There’ll be a lot of energy imprinted on these walls that implicates Cornelius and he can pin that on Viktor.

” I look at Rowan. “Anything on the glass besides the shifter-killing substance?”

Rowan leans in closer, hesitating before brushing his fingertips over the glass. His eyes flutter shut, and his breath stalls as the psychometry spell reaches for imprints left behind. He recoils.

“Anything?” I repeat.

“The energy is too fragmented.” He wrinkles his nose. “I’d need to use a focused spell to pick up something, but the emotions… fear and then… nothing.”

I’ve nothing to wrap the shard in, instead carefully tucking it into my sweater pocket. “This is enough.”

“For what?”

“Evidence for Dorian. He can attend the mausoleum and confirm everything—Cornelius may’ve emptied the chamber, but he can’t demolish the mausoleum or what’s below.

Whitegrove will reveal everything, including the truth about Madison.

I’ll ensure he’s brought to justice and that he gives Dorian the information he needs to bring down his enemies. ”

Rowan laughs, but the sound is flat. “You sure about that?”

No. But when I tell him the truth, this lead must help my case. Or am I fooling myself in the way Grayson accuses me of?

With one last glance at the hidden chamber, I turn and stride toward the stairs. “Let’s move. I don’t want to be here if Cornelius decides to check on his little secret. I’ll need to contact Dorian. My father knows something’s happening.”

We creep back up the steps, Rowan climbing from the tomb first, sneaking back outside. Rowan heaves in a breath.

Leif’s bulky figure sits on the ground between the fence and the adjacent mausoleum.

“Where’s Grayson?” I ask.

“My comment about Dorian freaked him out. He left.”

Rowan stomps over. “Left? To tell his uncle what we found?”

“Grayson doesn’t know what we found, only that we came here. There’s no new information for Grayson to impart to his uncle.”

“Yeah, I get why he left. I was tempted to follow.” Leif glances behind us. “Is Viktor in there?”

“No.”

As Rowan explains our findings to Leif, I gaze into the darkness, head filled with Grayson . Left . Will he be back?

What do we do next?” asks Leif.

Rowan steps closer, voice low. “Violet wants to contact Dorian.”

“Now?” Leif’s voice rises.

I shake my head, brushing dust from my sleeves. “When we get back to the academy, I’ll call him.”

I’ll tell Dorian what he needs to hear; if I control the conversation, I control the fallout.

I unsheathe the tiny blade from my pendant. “At least we can get back to the academy quicker than we arrived.”

I choose the edge of campus as our spell location.

Holly always reacts badly when I arrive in our room out of nowhere with several guys and, technically, I’m not supposed to use blood magic to leave and enter the academy even though Dorian removed the block.

Leif and Rowan appreciate the efficiency of the Blackwood spell, but not the side-effects, and so I leave the pair to compose themselves as I return to my room.

The other reason I chose to leave the pair? Dorian. I don’t know what happened when he, Whitegrove, or both discovered my disappearance, but I’m sure I soon will. If Dorian knew where I went, I would’ve encountered him by now. Cornelius played a different move.

I approach my room but don’t need to enter to sense someone waiting for me.

A figure sits on my bed, the pale moonlight stroking his perfect features, but he isn’t the person I wish waited here as he did once before.

“Hello, sweetest girl.” My stomach flips. “Would you like to tell me where you’ve been and why Cornelius Whitegrove is desperate for me to take you to Scotland?”

“Is Cornelius around?” I ask cautiously.

“I asked you a question, Violet.”

Dorian contains his anger but if I say another word, right or wrong, that’ll unleash. I’ve asked Leif and Rowan to meet me here once they can walk so, for the second time today, I must leave Thornwood quickly.

“I’m ready to return to Scotland where I shall explain everything.”

My father slowly stands, and I hold my ground. “You say that as if you have a choice.”

The unspoken lingers between us. I once informed all the guys that my father would be unlikely to maim or kill them in a public place, which they found little comfort in.

If he takes us all to Scotland tonight, I can’t guarantee Leif and Rowan’s safety.

Time’s up, and I’m not imparting information with the guys close by. I lift my hand, outstretched ready for the magic. “I suppose we’re not driving?”