“I won’t help you,” I say. My wrists are raw with pain.
“Sadly, you don’t have much choice in the matter.”
Then it occurs to me—I haven’t seen the malum. I search the room, but I can’t find it. “Where is it? Where’s the shadow?”
“It’s needed elsewhere,” she says.
I pull on the chains again, willing them to break, but they’re solid iron.
“For now, you are my focus,” says Professor White.
“What do you mean?”
“I tried experimenting on the spirits bound to Arches, but their dead essence made the magic brittle. I was missing a key component. A putlog hole, so to speak. A stabilizer.”
“Tried doing what? You destroyed Arches for some experiment?”
“I was testing out the spirits locked in the tower. Through that process, I learned of the existence of the malum. They told me about the creature bound beneath the building. They taught me how I could control it, how I could free the shadow from its prison if I destroyed the tower.”
“Why?”
“The malum is a tool, one of many that I intend to use today. You are yet another one.”
“Please,” I say. “Don’t. You’re not Adelina Ward. You don’t have to do this.”
Professor White moves to the desk. She sets down the journal on a stack of books, undoes a bundle of herbs, and lights a fire under a small cauldron.
A skull sits on the table. The skull from the cell. Adelina’s skull.
“Adelina’s spirit is bound to the skull. And with the right spell, I can call her back. I can invoke her, learn from her. I have many questions, and I can’t wait to ask them.”
“You can’t mean…” I’m horrified at what she’s implying.
Her eyes are fire bright. “I do. You’re going to be perfect.”
35
Dorian
Our words are giants when they do us an injury, and dwarfs when they do us a service.
—Wilkie Collins,The Woman in White
Spotlights crisscross thenight sky, like a beacon, guiding us forward. Lines of expensive cars queue up in the drive to Old Bones, letting people out to marvel at the decorative multicolored lights and glittering incantations.
“Why didn’t Professor White steal the wand earlier?” Raven asks, breathless as she runs by my side.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Maybe she wasn’t strong enough. Perhaps after killing those two people, she’ll finally be able to break through the protective wards.” It’s a guess, but I can’t think about hypotheticals now. The one thing we know for sure is we have to get to the wand before she does. I just hope we’re not too late.
Raven and I bound up the stairs to the museum, running across the red carpet lining the steps, past people in tuxedos and sparkling ball gowns walking to the front doors. TheProcession of Timeexhibit is in full swing as music pours out of the museum and into the night, announcing the start of the gala.
I couldn’t care less about it. I can’t think about anything except Atticus.
“Excuse me, coming through,” I say as we push past the line ofpeople filing into the front doors of the foyer. It’s a packed crowd, and I grab Raven’s hand to make sure she doesn’t get lost.
At the front of the line, I flash my museum badge, still holding Raven’s hand, and the security guard lets us in without question. He didn’t even bother to check if it was valid.
Inside, the museum is packed full of people perusing the exhibit, holding flutes of champagne and eating canapés, admiring all of the pieces that I’ve spent the last few months meticulously curating. A string quartet plays music on a small stage, filling the room with sounds fit for a grand ball. Candles infused with magic cast a warm haze on the heads of beautiful guests, esteemed alumni, and current faculty alike.
