“I have to talk to you, though—” I protest, turning to follow her even as she brushes me aside.
“Bianca, whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait until after the assembly,” she insists.
“But it can’t—this is important—”
“As is the assembly. I suggest you file into the auditorium and take a seat immediately so you don’t miss the announcement.”
I’ve never seen Headmistress Fothergill panic. Probably because she almost certainly passed Poise and Charm with the brightest of flying colors when she was a student at Brightling. Still, she moves at a pace that’s practically a run. I trail desperately behind her, trying to keep up. How she manages to walk so fast in high heels is beyond my comprehension.
“You don’t understand,” I insist. “I have to talk to you about Kassia Beckett—I think she’s missing.”
The headmistress stops so quickly I finally manage to reach her side. “What do you mean? Why do you think Kash is gone?”
Time is moving too quickly. I can’t get into details—it will take too long, and every moment counts.
“We had a fight,” I blurt out. “It was stupid—just a misunderstanding and some jealousy—but I haven’t heard from her since last night.”
Headmistress Fothergill’s plump, pink-lipsticked mouth puckers like she just ate a grapefruit. One of her eyebrows rises suspiciously, towering above the frame of her glasses. “Last night, you say?”
I nod. “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings—”
She shakes her head. “It’s not your fault, Bianca. You did nothing wrong,” she says gently.
“But you don’t know what happened—”
She reaches out to brush my arm. “Just get to the auditorium. I’ll send someone to start looking for Kash immediately after. We can discuss this later. Can you do that? Is that all right?”
My breath comes out in a ragged sigh. “Okay.”
There’s an all-consuming feeling of tension inside the auditorium. Like the room has a pulse—and like that pulse is racing. I fidget in my seat, trying to ignore all the nervous gossip and shuffling around me. I search for Sebastian’s face in the crowd. I want to find him. Ask him if he knows what’s going on. Make sure he’s safe. But I don’t see him.
“I wonder if the Board finally proved the existence of two-headed dragons,” Aurelia Ketterling, sitting in the row ahead of me, speculates to no one in particular.
Melanie Bettencourt, crammed into the chair beside Aurelia, inches away ever so slightly. I don’t want to assume her retreat has to do with trying to get away from Aurelia, but I know deep down it does.
Before I can say anything to intervene in Aurelia’s defense, Headmistress Fothergill appears on the stage at the front of the auditorium. She raises her hand in the air—a summons for silence—and the murmuring slows … then stops.
“My dear ladies of Brightling Academy,” she says into the microphone at the podium. “It is with a heavy heart that I must deliver dire news to you. For millennia, Muses have carried on a sacred, precious duty: inspiring beauty and goodness into the hearts of our non-magical brethren. Together, Muse and Mundane have seamlessly coordinated to make our shared world a better, brighter place. Yet the time has come when our numbers are waning, and our efforts have less impact than they used to.”
Around me, there are startled gasps, confused glances, and dread-filled whispers. The other girls may not understand what’s happening, but I already do. The headmistress is talking about the Lost Scroll of Clio. She’s going to tell them about the prediction. And even though I’m not surprised by the news, my stomach clenches like it’s trapped in a vise.
“Clio, one of the original Nine and Muse of history, foresaw that a time like this would come—a time when the Well of Imagination runs dry,” the headmistress continues.
She proceeds to tell them about everything Sebastian and I have already managed to sort out—that the prediction is coming true, that it’s happening quickly, that we’re in danger. While she talks, I crane my neck, chewing on my nails, searching again for Sebastian. Where is he? He must be here somewhere. He needs to hear this. He needs to know that, for better or worse, we were right.
“We are now closer than ever to Clio’s final warning,” Headmistress Fothergill informs us. “So close, in fact, that the Board of Nine has instructed each of the Muse academies around the world to be on high alert. The streets are dangerous for Muse-kind at present. Until we are sure the threat has passed—regardless of the outcome—all students are hereby on a Board-mandated lockdown until safe passage back to each of your homes can be arranged.”
Crap. This is bad.
As disorder erupts across the auditorium, my palms begin to sweat. I twist in my seat, still looking for Sebastian. That’s when I notice the statues are gone. All nine original Muses, with their laurels and instruments. The platforms on which they once sat are now scattered with a white powdery substance. It’s dust—shards of clay, the material from which they were sculpted. As I realize what must have happened, the imaginary vise tightens around my stomach. It’s so snug I think for a moment I’ll vomit.
Someone shattered the statues.
Shattered them, then carried away the pieces.
That’s it—the seventh omen: they will smash the creations of our hands with their own.
Chapter Twelve
My head is still spinning faster than a windmill in a storm as I stand outside the doors of the auditorium, watching the stream of girls pass by on their way up to their dormitories. There’s the expected array of reactions to the headmistress’s announcement. Crying about the uncertainty of Muse-kind’s future. Complaints about the injustice of being academy-bound for the foreseeable future. Bemoaning the plans beyond Brightling’s gates that will now go missed: birthday parties, dates, and concerts.
Mostly, though, there is panic—fear of the magic unravelling around us, terrified speculation about what might come next … and how it will arrive.
I wait, listening to snippets of all the worried whispers, hoping to find Sebastian’s face in the crowd. Still, there’s no sight of him. I find myself rocking lightly back and forth on my heels, bobbing like Kash does. And then, as the crowd begins to thin, the headmistress comes toward me, bringing up the rear.
“Bianca, you haven’t gone up to your room yet—” she begins when our eyes meet.
I think she’s about to lecture me for disobeying her orders, so I interrupt her before she gets the chance. “But I can’t find Sebastian either, now,” I blurt out.
She frowns. More mouth-puckering. “Sebastian is safe,” she says tersely. “Come with me. I think it’s time the three of us have a serious conversation.”
Sebastian sits behind the locked door of Headmistress Fothergill’s office. His shoulders are slumped, his head cradled in his hands and his elbows propped on his knees as he hunches forward. He glances up when he hears us approaching, and when he sees me lingering behind the headmistress’s curvy form, he startles, standing up quickly.
“I didn’t do it, Bee,” he tells me immediately. His green eyes are wild seas again, waves breaking over a pair of rocks. “You know me. Please tell the headmistress I wouldn’t do something like this—I’ve been trying to stop the omens from coming true, not rush them along.”
My mouth dangles ajar. I look over at the headmistress. There’s a burst of red in her cheeks. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her cat glasses slowly slide down her nose. She’s angry, I realize. At him. And I’m almost positive I know why.
“You think he broke the statues, don’t you?” I whisper.
Headmistress Fothergill frowns. “Well, someone inside the academy certainly did,” she says coldly as she lowers herself into her chair. Sebastian and I follow suit. This is going to be a conversation that will be as long as it will be serious—I can already tell. “In fact, someone has been hastening the progression of the omens mentioned in Clio’s Lost Scroll for days now—since around the time S
ebastian turned up at Brightling, actually.”
My throat goes dry. “You … you know that we already heard about Clio’s Scroll?”
She nods once. “We may carry on the works of the ancients, but this isn’t ancient times, Bianca. We have security cameras. I am well aware of your late-night trips to and from the auditorium.”
“I wanted to help,” I tell the headmistress, my voice wavering. “That’s why I went looking. I wanted to find out what was going on, that’s all.”
Headmistress Fothergill nods sympathetically, and her tone softens. “I know you did, Bianca. It’s only natural that you would be drawn to the Lost Scroll, just like your grandmother was before you. You’re a descendent of Clio, after all.”
The vise inside me loosens slightly. At least she doesn’t think this is my doing, my fault.
“It’s Mr. Greenbriar’s motives that I question,” the headmistress adds sharply. “Nothing has been the same here since he came to Brightling. His very arrival made me suspicious. It struck me as odd that a young man so close to graduation would transfer schools—and to what is, for all intents and purposes, an all-girls’ school. Access to a certain auditorium could be a powerful motivator for someone intent on bringing Clio’s warning to fruition.”
Her words make me think of Kash—of all the accusations she made last night. I swallow hard, as if I’m trying to gulp down a very large, very bitter pill. The auditorium. Sebastian wanted to go there even before I told him about the Lost Scroll. Maybe he just wanted to destroy the statues all along. And if that’s all he wanted, our kisses would have meant nothing to him. Tears boil up in my eyes. Disappointment, frustration, disgust—all aimed at Sebastian—burn inside me.
“Just because I came here doesn’t mean I did anything wrong,” Sebastian tells the headmistress. He turns to me then and adds in a desperate whisper, “I didn’t, Bee. Please believe me.”
But I ignore him. I feel so betrayed. I trusted him—I defended him to Kash. Now, I can’t even look at him. Instead, I keep my stare ahead, focused on the corner of the room behind the headmistress. He mentioned having a dark family legacy. I guess he wasn’t kidding.
“It’s because you are descended from Clio that I assigned you to be Sebastian’s guide, Bianca,” Headmistress Fothergill continues, coldly disregarding him. “As Clio’s heir, you have an innate gift—one not just to record or sway the history of people’s actions, but also to sense their character and intent. I believed that if Sebastian was connected to the omens, you would sense the wickedness in him and tell me.”
She looks at me expectantly, her eyebrows raised again, as though to prompt me to pass my judgment on Sebastian. “Well?”
Everything around me seems heavy and constricting—the collar of my shirt, the weight of my blazer, even the air that fills my lungs. Finally, I glance over at the boy in the chair beside me. Fear casts a shadow over his face; it grows grimmer with every second that ticks away without my response. Maybe he’s even picturing his fate if I condemn him. Maybe he’s wondering if the Board of Nine will inspire him to perform a self-inflicted punishment—to smash his own skull, just like the statues were destroyed, perhaps.
Sebastian’s tongue flicks nervously over his lips, and I remember the taste of butterscotch on his mouth and the way he let his guard down with me before we kissed. I remember how gently he touched my arm—and how determined he was to make me smile. There’s no wickedness in him. No matter his prideful first impression. No matter what Kash or the headmistress say. No matter how hard I try to sense it. It’s simply not there.
I’m about to open my mouth and explain this when desperation gets the better of him. “Bianca, please listen to me,” he murmurs. “The truth is, I am connected to what’s happening—but not in the way she thinks.”
My heart stills inside my chest, and a tear leaks out onto my cheek. No, I can’t be wrong about Sebastian. Again. I can’t accept that he would do what he’s been accused of.
He takes a deep breath. “I’m not a Muse.”
My insides turn to dust, as dry and disintegrated as the remnants of the statues left behind in the auditorium. “But you’re here—you’re pledging to Thalia,” I remind him, more desperate to convince myself of his innocence than anyone else.
Sebastian shakes his head. While Headmistress Fothergill and I gasp, he glances away, unable to look me in the eye. “My mom was a Muse—a pledge to Thalia—but I’m not. I have a different gift. I’m a Seer. I have these dreams sometimes about events that will come to be.”
I shake my head, unable to understand. “If you’re not a Muse, then why come here? Why do you care about the Lost Scroll?”
He sighs reluctantly. “My dad was a Mundane. He left when I was little—something about not fitting into our realm. I barely remember him, but it broke my mom’s heart. She used to cry all the time. To cheer her up, I’d give her these candies the housekeeper would put out. Every time I have one now, I still think of her.”
“Butterscotch …?” I whisper, although I already know the sad answer.
He nods. “Then my mom got sick, and we moved back to her family’s estate. My uncle owned it by then, but he wanted us there so he could help, and it seemed like the best option. Mom had cancer, but he was convinced it was a broken heart. He blamed my dad for abandoning us … After she died, he was my only family, so I stayed with him. It wasn’t easy, though. My mom warned me about him. She told me to be careful—to avoid him, if I could. It wasn’t until after she died that I understood why.”
Sebastian pauses, and I picture him as a little kid. Wandering around a sprawling, poorly lit mansion. Alone and lonely. Always keeping his guard up. Now my heart is breaking.
“My uncle is also a Muse. A dark Muse. A pledge of Melpomene,” he goes on, his voice hoarse. “He brings tragedy into the world wherever he goes. My mom’s death haunted him, and he took on this crusade against the Mundane—all because of my dad. He’d go out of his way to inspire misfortune in their lives. ‘Take away the things that are beautiful to them, and they’ll destroy themselves in time,’ he used to tell me. He’d try to get me to use my visions to help him. Even though I’m not a Muse, Melpomene’s blood still runs through my veins. I could still uphold her legacy, he’d say.”
The imitation he did last night of a father-figure pressuring him replays in my mind. It was his uncle. I understand that now.
“I didn’t want to help him, but I had to—I needed his home and money,” Sebastian whispers. “A few weeks ago, though, I had a powerful vision—this time about him. I couldn’t quite sense what he was doing, but I knew he was working on his worst plan yet. A plan that would ruin the Mundane realm. I saw things … despair, poverty, wreckage. I wanted nothing to do with it. I knew I couldn’t help him anymore.”
He glances up at Headmistress Fothergill. “Then, my uncle made me come here. He faked my transcripts and letters of recommendation, and he made this loser who works for him pose as my guardian. I went along with it because I wanted to get away. I had to escape him. He said he had an assignment for me to do here and that he’d send me instructions when the time came. I didn’t know what he meant, but I never intended to do it. I cut off all communication with him as soon as I stepped through this door.”
He looks over at me next. “And then I met you, Bee, and we figured out I was right. Something is going on that will leave the Mundane in darkness—Clio’s prediction. My uncle’s behind it all. I know he is. This is his doing. He’s the one speeding up the omens. I bet he meant for me to be the one to smash the statues. He wants the Mundane to sink into despair and destroy themselves, just like my dad did to my mom …”
Dots connect, stars align, and pieces fall into place for me now. The man who stole the violin—who showed up at Brambleton—who bought the Empire Opera House … That’s Sebastian’s uncle.
I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I could keep my realizations bottled up inside. “Your uncle … does he wear a black suit with a green
handkerchief a lot?”
“Almost always—at least when he’s out on business,” Sebastian tells me. “He says it represents our family and reminds him of who he is and what he must do. The black is part of his surname—Raventhorne. And the handkerchief is my mom and me—Greenbriars, like my dad.”
Headmistress Fothergill has been quiet for so long, listening to us talk, taking in all the information. But she suddenly shifts in her chair, leaning forward, on high alert. “Raventhorne …?” she repeats. “As in Jupiter Raventhorne?”
Again, Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that’s my uncle.”
The headmistress takes off her glasses, closes her eyes, and presses her fingertips to their corners. The exhaustion in her face is about tenfold what it was only a week ago when I sat in this very chair being told to watch over Sebastian. So much has happened since then. She seems to cling to the seconds that pass by in silence. Maybe a piece of her wishes she didn’t have to open her eyes and deal with the chaos enveloping us. Maybe a piece of her even wishes she never accepted the Board’s appointment to headmistress at all.
Sighing, she finally opens her eyes, lifts her head, and looks back at us. “Jupiter Raventhorne is a known wicked Muse whose atrocities against the Mundane have been documented by the Board of Nine. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was the real reason your father left you and your mother, Sebastian. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.”
Sebastian pales, and he sinks lower in his chair, shaking his head. “I think we know who has the missing Laffitte now, too.”
“Your uncle is the reason why you asked Ms. Applegate about punishments for wicked Muses that day in Inspiration Practicum, isn’t it?” I ask him.
“Yeah …” he murmurs. “I keep hoping he’ll get caught—and that if he does, he’ll be out of my life for good.”
The headmistress stands again. “I’m certain that once the Board of Nine arrives, they’ll make that wish a reality—both for your sake and ours,” she assures him.
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