Each of us follows suit with our own blades, then, as one, we clench our fists over the top of the altar. Blood fills the channels, the grooved pentacle glowing red for a moment, then clearing, our blood absorbed by the earth, leaving the surface smooth and clean once again.
“Who gathers here as bonded brothers?” Cass asks, his voice clear and commanding.
The rest of us respond in unison: “We, the Keepers of the Grave.”
“Who spills his blood as a symbol of our commitment to one another and in the service and protection of the first?”
“We, the Keepers of the Grave.”
“Who vows, by his life or his death, by his silence or his words, in this and all incarnations henceforth, to protect the one true source?”
“We, the Keepers of the Grave.”
“We, the Keepers of the Grave,” Cass echoes. He then turns away from the altar and presses his bloody palm against a rock that juts out from the wall. Just beneath it, a small alcove illuminates, revealing the large black book tucked inside.
We call it the Brotherhood’s Book of Reckoning, though officially, it has no name.
Officially, it doesn’t exist. Not this copy, nor the others of its kind, used in rituals such as this at the other Academies, in other times.
But now he retrieves it and opens it on the altar, and each of us signs our name with the tips of our blood-soaked athames. After the singing, Cass places a Tarot card in the center of the page—The King of Swords—and speaks another spell.
Let our thoughts be true, our messages clear
Both words and intent are recorded here
Leave nothing unwritten, no secrets to bear
Among brothers in blood, all things are shared.
The card glows faintly, and when we speak again, our words will appear on the parchment, then vanish, recorded for posterity, hidden to all but members of our sacred order.
The robes, the blood magick, the King of Swords… It’s the same ritual we’ve done since the beginning.
Old-fashioned, maybe, but we do it anyway. We do it because we must. Because it’s the only way to ensure the secrecy of our mission.
Even at Arcana Academy, warded against outside intrusion, spelled to keep our secrets close, the rocks still listen with eager ears, the skies still whisper with treacherous mouths.
“Kirin,” Cass says, “please update us on your research.”
“I’ve reviewed the library’s remaining historical records on the Academy itself, including personal correspondences between the founders and the architects, as well as to and from family members during the initial build and dedication. I loaded everything relevant into the database, cross-referencing all dates against previous accounts mentioning the Book of Mist and Shadow, including fictionalized accounts written around the time we believe it disappeared. I wrote some new macros, trying to find patterns or anything I may have missed from my manual review.”
“Wow,” Baz says. “Kirin, I had no idea you were so dedicated to the mission… of never, ever getting laid again.”
“Hey. Witches dig smart mages,” I retort, then continue with my update. “I’ve got several more volumes of the architectural plans to review, but if the builders knew about the book or planned some secret cache, they don’t mention it to anyone else, or to each other. Those guys were fucking vaults.”
“Maybe not.” Baz leans against the rock wall, folding his robed arms in front of him. “Maybe they don’t talk about it because they truly didn’t know about it. Guys, if the book were here—anywherenearhere—we would’ve found it by now. Someone would have. Things like that don’t stay hidden, and they sure as hell don’t stay secret.”
“It’s here,” Cass says. “Somewhere on this campus. I just… I can feel it. The key to finding itmustbe hidden in the prophecies. Now that Starla Milan is here, things will be set in motion.”
“Why is Anna so sure the little jailbird can crack the code?” Baz asks.
“Blind hope, perhaps. A hope we share.” Cass pushes his hood back, revealing a grim face, the lines around his eyes made deeper by the torchlight. “She’s Melissa’s daughter. If she can’t do it, there’s no witch alive who can, and we’re back to the drawing board.”
“And more databases,” I say. Which, under normal circumstances, I’d get a little hard-on about. But in this case, time is ticking.
Ani shakes his head, his normally cheerful demeanor fading. “More witches and mages are getting caught up in this net every day. We have to find that book.”
“I’m well aware,” Cass says. “All the more reason to be sure Starla has everything she needs to do the translations.”
