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He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Youths. I swear. I’m not going to bite, children. Honestly.”

“What . . . what are you?” Lonan asks.

The statue huffs. “Really, young man, there’s no need to be uncouth. I am Sir Egbert Van Asten, former headmaster of this school, magical historian, purveyor of antiquities, and responsible for establishing these archives. Or, if you prefer to be grotesquely artless—and something in your befuddled, rosy-cheeked vernal visages hints to me that you do—I am a hunk of plaster that some nimble-fingered fellow bronze-casted in the likeness of Sir Egbert. Clearly.”

There is nothing clear about whatever this is. Lonan and I glance at each other, neither of us quite knowing what to make of Sir Egbert’s sudden arrival at sentience.

The man sniffs and wiggles his nose. “Does either of you own a cat? I’m accursed with allergies.”

“You’re a sculpture.”

“I am a bust, child, and one with dysfunctional sinuses.”

I always seem to have a few stray hairs of George the cat on me, but after all my dress has endured tonight, Sir Egbert must have a very sensitive nose to be bothered by Poppy’s pet.

“Forgive us,” Lonan says. “You’ve just never been able to . . . talk . . . before.”

Sir Egbert lifts his brows. “Ah yes. But tonight is no ordinary night in the hallowed halls of Gossemort, is it, young scholars? Many things in the school have behaved as they oughtn’t, and those that oughtn’t have acted as if they ought.” He looks at us expectantly, a sly grin on his face. When we make no response, he sighs exasperatedly. “Oh, fine. I am here as a revelator, young acolytes, granted by the school to shed Light on the mysteries that befall you in the obfuscation trial. Whatever quandaries you question, riddles you ruminate upon, or dichotomies you deliberate, I will shine upon them the noble Light of truth.” He finishes his speech with a self-approving grin.

“Do we have to rub your head?” I ask.

Sir Egbert sputters. “Saints, no. In fact, inform those other miscreants among your ranks that I would like my cranium to remain untouched in the future. I’m developing a patina.”

Yeah, I won’t be doing that.

“You said your name is Egbert Van Asten?” Lonan asks. “Related to Antoine Van Asten?”

“Indeed. I am his ancestor, in fact.” No surprise there, really. My godfather’s family has been at the forefront of the meiga community in Gault for centuries. “What else do you seek to know, child?”

With a glance toward me, Lonan says, “We’re looking for a silver stake.” My gaze cuts to his in surprise. He can’t possibly be planning to kill Galvin now. Not now that we know that our bloodbond is key to healing the rift between Light and Dark. It’s what he’s dedicated his whole life to.

The headmaster’s bronze eyes glisten. “Oh, my boy, you are in a precarious predicament, aren’t you?”

Lonan inclines his head, eyes boring into the old man’s. “Do you know where one is? We don’t have much time.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. Do you know where they create such things as silver stakes, boy? Do you know where the secrets of Dark magic come from?”

“I have an idea,” grumbles Lonan.

“Objects so Dark were not meant for untried hands.”

“There’s a siphon. In the school,” I cut in. If he can help us find one, it’s better to have it and not use it than need it and not have it.

Sir Egbert’s eyes narrow. “Indeed. Then these are certainly Dark times. I don’t have the answer you seek. I know of no silver stake.”

My chest deflates.

“What do you know about the healing of the rift between Light and Dark?” Lonan continues.

Sir Egbert nods solemnly. “The rift, yes. My esteemed descendant had a hand in that, I’m afraid.”

“What?” I ask, head snapping up.

“The headmaster is no saint,” Sir Egbert says. “He dabbles in the Dark as well as the Light.”

My hand moves unconsciously to the timepiece around my neck. I can feel its ticking against the hollow place in my chest.

“We knew that,” Lonan says. “But what does he have to do with the rift? He wants to reunite Dark and Light.”