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Tanner glances back at Tony, who’s still smiling at Snow as if he’s the cutest darn thing he’s ever seen. “No, his feelings.” When he notices my lips tightening, Tanner takes my hand and adds, “I’ve never…”
He stares into my eyes, and I reach up on tiptoes to kiss him. “I know, it’s okay. I know you wouldn’t.”
“We’re here to see Professor Thornfield,” Mack has approached the ticket desk.
A bored-looking young man clicking away on a computer looks up lazily. He either can’t see Snow from behind the desk or doesn’t care. “Do you have an appointment?”
“He’s expecting us,” Mack replies, avoiding giving a concrete answer.
A few more clicks. A frown. “You’re not in his diary.”
“I spoke to him yesterday. He’s expecting us,” Mack repeats.
The boy sighs then picks up the phone next to him. It rings several times, then he shrugs. “He’s not in his office. You can try the occult exhibition on the second floor.” He takes a leaflet from the stack next to the card machine and opens it, tapping on a floor-plan to indicate a room labeled The Durham Hall. “If he’s not there, I can’t help you. You’ll have to make a proper appointment.”
Leaving the boy to his computer, we head for the grand staircase just beyond the reception desk.
I take the map from Mack and lead the others in the direction of The Durham Hall, the worn-out steps creaking softly beneath our feet. The leaflet guides us through several other large rooms, filled with knights and swords, toward Thornfield’s exhibition.
As we round the corner, a dimly lit hall unfolds before us, populated with glass cases that gleam mysteriously under the subtle lighting.
“Whoa,” Tanner murmurs, his eyes darting around the vast collection. “This is…”
“Bullshit.” Kole has stopped in front of a large glass case. “Trinkets arranged for humans to gawk at.”
“I dunno.” Tanner tilts his head, squinting into a smaller case beneath a large stained glass window. “Some of it’s pretty cool.”
I step up beside him. Inside the case is a mixture of curved blades, jewelry engraved with strange symbols, and neatly bundled herbs and feathers labeled with words I can’t read.
Nearby, hands in pockets, Mack is looking at a larger display. I walk over to him and slip my arm through his.
“Divination,” he says, pointing to the collection of objects in front of us.
Behind the glass, crystal balls shimmer subtly, while decks of tarot cards and bone-carved rune stones decorate the shelves. Beneath them is a selection of what looks like Ouija boards of different eras paired with ancient books about mediumship and channeling.
“Do those things really work?” I ask, tilting my head to read the description next to one of the ouija boards.
Mack shrugs and tuts a little. “Some. Wouldn’t recommend it though.”
I shiver a little and keep walking. Beside the ouija board case, a sign catches my eye: The Cambridge Coven. An entire section dedicated to the city’s occult history. In the center, a book written by Professor Lucien Thornfield. Histories and Mysteries of the Cambridge Coven. It is displayed on an ostentatious velvet cushion, and it’s open on the introduction.
I trace my fingers over the page and read out loud.
“The storied history of the Cambridge Coven traces back to the early 14th century. As the city blossomed as an academic hub, drawing scholars from across the lands, so did its allure for those who practiced the arcane arts. Vampires, especially, found solace amidst the cobblestone streets and spired architecture. Legend has it that the coven was formed by a trio of vampires who sought knowledge above bloodlust.
“Led by the enigmatic Lady Isolde, a former Byzantine princess turned vampire, the coven merged the worlds of scholastics and sorcery. Cambridge became an underground haven for Supernaturals. Old manuscripts indicate that the university’s underground catacombs were not just constructed for storage, but served as secret meeting places and shelters for the coven.
“However, the tranquility was short-lived. As the Renaissance era dawned and fear of the occult grew, hunts for supernaturals intensified. Cambridge wasn’t spared, and the coven was forced into hiding.
“Yet the coven’s legacy persisted, thanks to Lady Isolde’s foresight. Before her mysterious disappearance, she hid numerous artefacts and scrolls that held the collective knowledge of the coven. Some believe that these relics, if discovered, hold the key to a new age of understanding between mundanes and supernaturals.”
I stop and look at Mack. “Mundanes?”
“It’s what the British call humans,” he says with a note of disdain. “They have a flare for the eccentric.”
“Do you think it’s true? The relics?”
Mack’s eyes graze the text. “I don’t know enough about European supernatural history to answer that, Little Star. But no one thought The Original Six was a true piece of our history, so it’s possible.”
