Fox shakes his head. He doesn’t know either.
We continue walking. And finally, we reach what must be the end of the tunnel, a door blocking our way.
Fox presses his finger to his lips and then motions for me to step back. He leans into the door, pressing his ear to the old gnarled wood, listening. I listen too, even though my ears are not nearly as good as the vampire Professor’s. Eventually he straightens up.
“There’s no one there,” he says, sniffing the air just in case. “No one behind the door. But like I said, I don’t know where it might lead. If we’re unlucky, we’ll be stepping straight into Sterling’s office.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think we will. I don’t think anyone would build this tunnel and lead it straight into the path of whoever was running the academy. I think it will be somewhere safer.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.” He places his hand on the handle. “But be ready anyway, Briony. Just in case.”
I nod, and he twists the handle. I think he’s being optimistic. I expect the door to be locked. But it isn’t. The mechanism clicks, and Fox edges the door open cautiously. Then he’s creeping forward, peering through the new gap. No light spills through, just more darkness, and I watch as his vision swings throughthe gloom. Then he opens the door some more and beckons me closer.
It isn’t Sterling’s office, or the Madame’s, or that strange doorless room I found myself in all those weeks ago. It isn’t the Great Hall, or the great room that lay beneath the Great Hall with the giant dragon skeleton, either. It’s somewhere I’ve never seen in the academy before. Damp. Cold. Moss covering the ground in a carpet of slime. The walls wet and stony.
“Where are we?” I whisper.
“I think we’re down in the dungeons,” he says. “I think my room is right above.” He peers upwards to the dank ceiling. Then he drops his gaze and searches through the dark. I follow suit, searching in this strange boxed room for any way out. There must be one. The tunnel can’t have led us here simply to have disposed us in an inescapable room.
Fox spots it first: metal bars seared into the stone wall. They run all the way up, disappearing through a gap in the ceiling.
“Looks like we’re on our way out,” he says.
“I’ll go first,” I say, resting my foot on the first staple.
The Professor huffs. “No way, Briony Storm, am I letting you climb that ladder first.”
“Why?” I say. “My magic’s more powerful than yours.”
“‘Tis not,” he tells me firmly.
And then, before I can argue some more, he’s leaping over me and is already halfway up the ladder.
“Shit,” I say. I forgot about his supersonic speeds.
Chapter Four
Thorne
The next morning when we hear footsteps on the staircase, we’re expecting another delivery of revolting food. However, this time we hear the heavy bolts of the door slide back and then the door itself swings open. I don’t know who to expect: the elite guard, Sir Cecil, the Empress herself.
It’s none of those people.
It’s Beaufort’s brother, Aaron, dressed in bright clothes that could rival Fly’s.
Unfortunately, Aaron doesn’t have the style to pull it off, and the effect is gaudy and distasteful, rather like the man himself. He’s always turned my stomach, and I’ve wondered how it’s possible for the two to be related. Where Beaufort is stoic, hard-working and occasionally arrogant, Aaron is the exact opposite. He’s always arrogant, never stoic, and I doubt he’s done a day’s hard work in his life. In fact, I think it must be a miracle that the man made it through the academy at all. Then again, we’re learning the academy isn’t all it seems to be, and maybe he, like every other shadow weaver, was given a free pass.
He comes sauntering into the room now, a giant smirk on his face, clearly loving the situation in which we find ourselves.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” he says, shaking his head with fake empathy. “How the great and good have fallen. Beaufort, old chap, the apple of our mother’s eye.” The comment makes Beaufort snort. “What in all the realm could have gone wrong?” He crosses his arms over his chest and taps his fingers against his lips as if he really is thinking. Then suddenly he grins. “Let me see, it was that little slut from Slate. Told you she was trouble. Pretty girls always are.” He chuckles. “Of course, you should have done what I always do, Beaufort. Don’t get attached. Enjoy them while you can. When things get complicated…” He makes as if he’s tossing a bag of garbage into the trash.
Dray growls and comes striding towards him with murder written across his face. Immediately the elite guards flank Beaufort’s brother and draw their weapons. It doesn’t deter Dray. He’s a pent-up ball of frustration. He rarely thinks straight. He’s definitely not thinking straight now. The guards zap him with their weapons and he goes flying across the room, hitting the wall hard and sliding down with an agonized groan.
Aaron laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.
“Why are you here, Aaron?” Beaufort says through gritted teeth. “Come simply to gloat at our position?”
“Well, definitely come to gloat, Beaufort,” he says. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years and years. You were always a mighty pain in my ass, little brother, and finally it seems I’m going to be rid of you.”
