Page 10 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty (The Legacy of Aquila Hall #1)

CHAPTER NINE

DOROTHEE

I felt my stomach churn as I read the word suicide over and over again until the letters began to lose all meaning.

Archer said, “You were right,” as he stepped forward to take the report from my hands. This time, I let him. “Good God, you were right.”

“The thing I can’t understand,” I said, “is why they’d try to cover up the real reason.”

I couldn’t understand how it was possible for me to know any of this, either. Too many emotions were swirling inside me, too chaotic to untangle. My ears were ringing, and everything felt as though it was moving in slow motion, but I couldn’t let these feelings overwhelm me—not now. I had to trust the adrenaline would last long enough to get me back to my room in Aquila Hall.

“Money. You’ll learn in time that everything here revolves around money.” He swallowed hard. I tried to read any hint of emotion on his face, some reaction to this dreadful situation, but Archer was as calm as death.

“The parents might have been ashamed that their daughter committed suicide. Some people think it’s a sign of weakness, and most of our kind loathe weakness. That’s why we’re here, after all—tucked away where no one can judge.”

I frowned in confusion. “But why would the police agree to cover that up so easily? Don’t they have a code of ethics or something? Besides, it’s utterly illegal,” I added, causing him to scoff.

Archer closed the file and tucked it inside his jacket, his gaze following the people passing us by.

“If some important people offered you fifty thousand quid to keep quiet about something, even if it was illegal, would you take it?”

Would I take it?

“No, I wouldn’t accept an offer that involved me in a crime.”

His gaze shifted from the street to me. “That, Dorothee, is a lie,” he said, his tone now taunting.

“What? No, I’m telling the truth,” I protested.

“You’ve just committed a crime by stealing police evidence.”

“That’s different. I need to know—I need answers.”

“You desire nothing more than answers. That’s why you took the file. Most people desire nothing more than money. If you hadn’t grown up surrounded by endless wealth, never needing to worry about anything material, you’d have accepted the offer too. So, no, there’s no difference between these two actions.”

His words silenced me. He was right. The more I thought about it, the more I understood what he was trying to explain.

“Come with me,” Archer said as he strode past me. It took me a moment to catch up, but I followed him blindly back into the police station. He placed the file back where I’d taken it, and we quickly left again.

“Thank you for letting me find out the truth,” I said after a long silence as I followed him down the street.

I could only really see him from behind, as his steps were far longer than mine, and he was rushing. He wore a long black trench coat that swayed in the wind, slapping against my knees as I tried to keep up.

“I told you not to thank me,” he shot back, finally slowing his pace.

“Are you allergic to gratitude or something?” I asked, a little sarcastically.

He stopped abruptly, turning around, so I walked straight into him. Before I could stumble back, he gripped my shoulders to steady me, just as he’d done when he had saved my life a few days ago. His hands were strong, firm, but he released me the second I was steady again. At least he wasn’t so arrogant as to let me fall flat on my arse in the mud. I appreciated that my jeans didn’t have to suffer.

“I just saved your pathetic little reputation by covering for your attempt at theft. The least you could do is respect my wish and refrain from thanking me.” His tone was sharp, almost venomous.

I couldn’t tell if he was furious, but he was certainly upset.

I blinked at him, speechless, as he turned away and carried on walking. There was nothing I could say, no witty retort to fire back at him. Instead, I fell silent.

Why was it that whenever someone made me feel small, the words just dried up? It had always been that way.

I glanced at my wrist to check the time. One minute passed. Then two.

“Why did you want me to come with you? I need to catch my bus back to school,” my voice came out as a whisper. Two minutes and twenty-two seconds.

When I looked up, I realised Archer had been watching me the entire time I’d been focused on my watch.

“Forget it. I’ll give it to you later. You look knackered, and I’m meeting the others soon.” The irritation in his voice had faded, though he still didn’t sound particularly pleasant.

I nodded, and without another word, he turned and left.

When I returned to Aquila Hall, I headed straight to the library to research theories about the dead returning to the place of their death to find peace. My theory was that most of the souls lingering here hadn’t found peace and were seeking help to move on.

Most of the stories and documents I found were folklores or urban legends. Many described spirits inhabiting objects, such as dolls or jewellery that once belonged to them.

A chilling legend spoke of ghosts haunting buildings or families involved in their tragic lives, seeking vengeance.

When I was thirteen, I saw a woman, covered in blood, standing at the foot of my bed. She just stood there, watching me, blood dripping from her mouth onto the floor. It’s been too long to remember every detail, and it was dark that night, but I distinctly recall her mouthing something to me. I never knew what she was trying to say.

Perhaps she’d been murdered and thought I could help her find peace. All I’d done was scream so loudly my parents came rushing in, and she vanished in an instant.

It’s one of my most horrific memories.

I packed up my things and returned to my room since curfew was only fifteen minutes away.

Archer had said he wanted to give me something, but that hadn’t happened yet. His entire friend group hadn’t shown up for dinner. According to Betty, the kind lady in charge of serving the meals, they spent most weekends entirely in Owley until curfew. So, I ate dinner alone and went back to the library afterwards.

I think the library might officially be my favourite place here.

When I unlocked the door to my room, I froze. Maisie wasn’t alone. For a moment, I thought they were both asleep, but only she was. Her head rested on her boyfriend’s chest, both of them snug beneath her giant comforter.

Nathaniel, however, was wide awake. His eyes locked on mine, those same judging eyes I thought I’d shaken off over the last couple of days. Yet, as he softly brushed Maisie’s cheek while she slept, I could tell he wasn’t a threat—just someone fiercely protective.

I quietly set my things down by my bed and grabbed some clothes to change into in the bathroom.

“Archer gave me something to pass on to you,” Nathaniel whispered suddenly.

I turned to follow his gaze, which landed on an envelope sitting on Maisie’s nightstand.

With my clothes draped over one arm, I walked over and picked up the envelope. Doe was written on the front in delicate handwriting.

“Thanks,” I said softly, carrying it with me to the bathroom.

After placing my clothes on the sink, I sat on the edge of the bathtub, holding the envelope in my hands. There was something inside—something solid and weighty.

Carefully, I tore it open and pulled out a necklace with a black stone pendant. The stone was glossy and cold, its smooth surface oddly comforting against my skin.

Reaching back into the envelope, I found a note. Unfolding it quickly, I read the words written in that same delicate handwriting:

I don’t believe you’re mental. In fact, I think you’re far from it.

The stone you’re most likely holding in your hand right now is Black Tourmaline. As a protective stone, it’s said to repel and block negative energies. It’s also said to shield the mind from harmful influences. I’ve picked up a thing or two about crystals because Maisie can’t seem to stop talking about them.

To ensure nothing dangerous like that sleepwalking episode happens again, keep this with you at all times.

P.S. As you can see, I made sure it’s wearable as a necklace.

– ACK

He truly believed me.

Archer may not have realised how much that meant, but to me, it was everything. No one had ever believed me—not about the things I saw or the feelings I couldn’t explain.

Perhaps Archer wasn’t as much of an arsehole as I’d thought him to be.