The Library Marauder

Sullivan looked at me like I was mad. "How can we not inform anyone of this medallion? What if it's stolen? Moreover, it might help us find out who was masquerading as caretaker!"

"Sullivan, please just do as I say," I said, closing Black Diamond's stable door. "I do not say things out of reason."

"Are you sure you're sound of mind?" she bristled. "You truly believe it is best to do nothing."

"To do nothing is not at all what I am suggesting. Rather the opposite..." I debated telling her about Lizzie's disappearance and the other missing girls. No, it would rouse unwanted attention. One wrong step, and I might further endanger Lizzie from the cult. Secrecy was best in this matter, especially if I wanted to single-handedly apprehend that rogue cipher sender.

"The situation is delicate, Sullivan."

"What situation?" Her emerald eyes shined with fresh suspicion. "Is there... something you're not telling me? Rather odd for a student to join in the middle of the year. What is the true nature of your visit?"

I needed to put an end to her incessant questioning. I lowered my gaze at the dogmatic girl. Perhaps I was cruel to expose her like this, but it couldn't be helped. "You will tell no one of this incident, Sullivan," I said calmly. "I do not wish to extort someone of your nature. I imagine it would make your stay at Imperial Academy... unpleasant. "

"Are you blackmailing me?" She barked with laughter. "Oh this is real rich!"

"Quite the opposite, wouldn't you say?" I whispered.

Sullivan fell silent.

"You are currently a scholarship student, are you not?" I inquired.

"I..."

My eyes travelled down her petite form. "Your uniform is well kept but faded compared to the other girls."

"S-so what of it?" she demanded.

Did she really want me to continue? I sighed, admiring her false bravado. "It means you cannot afford multiple pairs like the other girls so you wash the same one everyday. If that's not conclusive enough, we can look to your book collection. The spines look worn and tattered, though the ones on the top shelf with crisp and pristine pages, have the library stamp. I suppose you brought the older books from home. You must've reread them over and over because you could not afford new reading material." A rustle came from Bellismo's corner. I dismissed it and refocused my attention on Sullivan. I didn't need to go on. I shouldn't have gone on. But deducing Sullivan so thoroughly gave me a sense of wretched satisfaction that distracted from my frustrations. "There's also the way you walk..."

"My walk?"

"The gait of a man or woman can reveal much. When deep in thought, you pace a few feet to the right, straight, then come back, making a vague rectangle. It appears you do so out of habit. I wager your quarters at home was terribly smaller than the dormitories here. Were you kept in... something like a storage closet?" Sullivan's face deflated like a balloon with each deduction. I pressed on. "Considering your aptitude, it would seem the academy has taken you as a scholarship student and views you as a charitable cause. Take a poor girl with promise, fill the required quota, and assign her chores that no girl from High Society would do, like feeding and cleaning the horses... Am I mistaken?"

Her small, pink lips trembled. She squeezed her eyes shut and in pitiable whisper confirmed my deductions. "All of it... I-it's true. Without the academy… it's my only chance for my education. If the other girls knew..."

"They would treat you like an outcast."

The raven haired girl gave a feeble nod.

"Say nothing of this matter, and I promise not to tell a soul. Else, I'm afraid you force my hand."

"Too late for that," came a snarl.

I jerked backwards. Damnation.

Angelica and Alice emerged from Bellismo's stall. They stood side by side, their faces drenched with betrayal.

"I knew you were different," said Angelica. "There was always something peculiar about you... "

"You lied to us, Sullivan," said Alice.

"I-I didn't, Alice. I mean you never asked if—"

"I'm afraid you lost the privilege of calling us by our first names. You will address us as Miss Kingsley and Miss Develigne herein." With cold indifference, Angelica stepped towards Sullivan and snatched the blue jewel from the petite girl. "Who did you thieve this from? It hardly suits a sewer rat anyway."

A single tear streaked down Sullivan's cheek. I pressed my lips into a taut line and held out my hand, creating a barrier between Sullivan and Angelica. "Care to wager a bet?"

"What are you on about?" Angelica snapped.

"A game of chance," I replied, fixing her a cool stare. "We'll play with this deck." I pulled out a Funtom box of cards. "If I win, you'll leave Sullivan alone."

Her eyes glimmered at the medallion I held. "Very well. And if I win I'll inform the whole school about that little blowse and take this pretty stone."

I scowled. "I rather publish your rubbish manuscript before giving you that medallion."

Angelica's mouth dropped. "You...read my manuscript?"

"Unfortunately," I said with a sigh. "It was only a few pages. I could not assail my mind further."

Angelica went red in the face. "I had Harold deliver it to local publishers. Never thought it'd get into your hands."

"I've decided to expand my toy company into FunTomes publishing. Though I'm questioning if that was a prudent choice after stumbling across obscenely pretentious manuscripts like yours."

"Why...you...you bi—"

"Now, now, don't jeopardize this wonderful, possibly one in a lifetime, opportunity for yourself."

"If I win I'll divulge Sullivan's secret, get that stone, and have my manuscript published," she snapped.

"You drive a hard bargain, Develigne... I accept."

"Cielle, what are you doing?" Sullivan regarded me with pink rimmed eyes.

"Seeing this debacle is partly my faulty, I figured I'd make amends." I murmured into her ear, "Besides, watching Angelica carry about like this makes my moral fibre unravel a bit."

Sullivan sniffed. "I did not think you had a moral fibre. You better not lose."

"I have never lost a game." I graced Angelica and Alice with my most charming smile. "Shall we start? I'll be dealer." I showed Angelica the rules of our game. "Here are three cards—two Queens and a Joker—that I'll place face down. Now, choose a card, but don't turn it over."

Angelica selected the one in the middle.

"Now," I said, turning my attention to the other two face down cards. "Since I know what's under all 3 cards, I'll reveal one of the Queens." Angelica raised her brow as I flipped the card over. "And now..." I pointed to the face down card Angelica selected and the other face down card. "Clearly, one is a Queen, the other is an Joker. If the your card is the Queen, you'll get a point. We'll do this ten times. If you select more Queens than Jokers, you will be the winner." My lips slowly curved. "Moreover, you may also choose to switch to the other face down card if you wish."

Angelica smiled. "Fine. It's simply a game of 50/50. Nothing to it."

"Exactly so." The girl was already playing into my hands. Of course, I would play fairly. No cheating. I wouldn't need to resort to such elementary tactics for someone of her caliber.

"I choose my card, of course," she said, gazing at the two face down cards.

"As you wish." I turned up her pick. A queen.

As Angelica tittered, Sullivan flashed me a nervous look.

We moved to the next round. Again, I placed the three cards face down. This time Angelica selected the one on the right. Like before, I gave her the option to go with her chosen face down card or switch with the other face down. Not surprisingly, she chose her own.

Queen again.

I lowered my eyes as Angelica and Alice balked with laughter.

Amused, I made a show of frustration. Furrowing my brows, chewing my lip, curling and uncurling my hands. The key to a convincing performance was to make it believable. Judging from Sullivan's stricken face, I was doing the job quite nicely.

As our game progressed, Angelica's winning streak declined. "You can't win them all naturally," she said to Alice. Two more turns passed, and her composure unraveled. She grew angrier and angrier with each loss. I tightly pressed my lips together, controlling the laughter that threatened to spill from them.

"You're doing something!" Alice accused.

"Yes, I'm merely enjoying how horribly this game has gone for your friend."

Angelica threw her cards into Sullivan's face and stood up with force. Her fists trembled at her sides.

I lazily collected the blue stoned medallion. "Looks like no one will have the ill fortune of reading that horrendous manuscript of yours."

"This isn't over. You'll have your comeuppance. Come, Alice!" Angelica practically yanked the other's girls arm as the duo fled from the game.

When they went out of sight, I released my pent up laughter, almost forgetting Sullivan's presence.

"Cielle!"

I laughed long and hard. The last time I had done so seemed like eons ago. I wiped a tear from my eye. "Ah...that was excellent. I truly needed that. Thank you, Sullivan."

Sullivan looked disgusted. "It is unbecoming to take such pleasure in someone's loss after cheating."

I put a hand to my chest. "It wounds me that you think of me so lowly. I did not cheat. I merely used probability."

"You didn't?" Sullivan stared with great intensity at the cards. Her hand flew to her mouth. "You really did play fairly. Or at least...mathematically. To the mere observer's it appears to be a game of 50/50, but in actuality, the player only has 1/3 chance of winning if they don't switch their chosen card... not 1/2." Her grin broadened. "In other words, instead of a 67% chance of winning, Angelica only had 33%."

"Precisely."

"But, how did you know that she'd keep her card and not switch?"

"That was a bit of a gamble. But I had confidence in Angelica's inflated ego. Would a girl who thinks her judgement is most valuable consider anyone else's suggestions?"

That was...brilliant, Cielle."

"Thank you," I said as we exited the courtyard through one of the four doors permitting entrance inside. Stepping on the raised floorboard, I turned to face Sullivan with a puckered smile. "Though a part of me is sorry that my so called brilliance was used on Angelica. Such a waste of mental abil—"

"Cielle, look out!"

I tripped on the floorboard and collided headfirst into a tall frame.

"Are you blind?" came a stern voice.

"I didn't see where I was going, okay..." I muttered. Pushing the hair out of my face, I glanced up into the displeased face of... a faculty member. The man looked to be in his thirties, with broad shoulders and thin streaks of grey gracing his chestnut coloured hair. Sporting a light dusting of a beard, he looked passably attracted for his age.

It took a moment to find my voice. "Sorry, professor," I blustered. "My friend and I were just heading to... " I caught Sullivan silently waving her hands at a nearby entrance. "The library."

"The library you say?" Disdain riddled his features as he spoke. The professor removed his blue steeled spectacles, and my vision met his. Gleaming, his dark eyes held the warmth of the swirling arctic sea. For a brief instant, I felt strangely disoriented.

"Frankly, I do not mind the lie," he said crisply. "It is the insult to my intelligence that bothers me."

My cheeks must've went scarlet.

"I suppose I'll overlook your misstep if you truly are going to the library now," he said. "Heavens knows, it might do you wonders."

That...foul...

"Of course. Please excuse us, professor." Sullivan gave a bow to the vile professor. "It won't happen again."

Before my anger could get the best of me, Sullivan dragged me through the library entrance.

I balled up my hands. "Who the bloody hell does he think he is?"

"Language, Ciel!" she whispered, stealing a glance over her shoulder.

"Whom the bloody hell does he think he is?"

Sullivan smacked my arm. "You ought to be more careful here, Cielle. The professors are extremely strict. A few even believe in flogging."

"How ineffective. Unless that punishment was used on professors like that." I ambled into the library, greeted by the comforting smell of musty pages and quiet rustle of pages.

"While we're here, perhaps we can check out a few books?" Sullivan crossed her arms and crinkled her nose. "If you are to blackmail me, it is the least you could."

Rolling my eyes, I suppose couldn't refuse the hopeless book-bosomed girl this simple request. Especially after I subjugated her to my distasteful deductions earlier. "Fine..."

While the raven haired girl scampered into the Shakespearean aisle, I placed my bags on a desk and took my seat. My gaze drifted to a newspaper on the desk. I read the front headline.

Her Majesty's Diadem Stolen from Jewel House.

I sat up straight and skimmed the article. To complicate affairs, the Yard revealed that Irene Diaz has escaped from their custody, substantiating she is likely the culprit of this theft. The Yard has issued a warrant for her arrest and urges anyone who may have leads on the stolen diadem to come forward.

Incompetent as ever. If only the poor lot knew I had housed the so called thief at my manor. I smirked and lowered the paper.

Between tall tomes of books, I glimpsed a librarian pacing towards the Inspector Randall's—that is, the headmaster's secretary. An anxious look marred her features. Grabbing a random stack of books from a cart, I made my way to them, concealing my face behind the books. When I had neared enough, I disposed of the books and hid behind one of the bookcases, peeking through the shelf.

"Miss Hulda, it's happened again."

"Another missing book?"

"I'm afraid so. It's from another collection that is not in circulation. Just like before."

Hulda swore.

"Cielle?" Sullivan whispered behind me. I jumped.

"Don't do that!'

She spied the two women from my vantage point. "Now what are you doing?"

"Eavesdropping clearly," I hissed.

"Anything good?" Sullivan crouched beside me and took in the curious scene.

"The headmaster won't be happy to hear that," Hulda murmured. "I still haven't told him about the other missing book."

The librarian looked unnerved. "You won't need to. That book... was returned today."

"What? Do you think this is some practical joke by one of the students?"

"Maybe. If they access to the key to the back room."

"What's in the back room?" I whispered to Sullivan.

"That's where they keep the books that are not in circulation. Books with objectionable content, valuable items that are irreplaceable, or old books need to be handled delicately. Some came with the old building before the headmaster refurnished it into an academy. Students aren't allowed to take such books, of course." A bitter tinge filled Sullivan's voice. "I've tried."

Hulda crossed her arms. "Well, which one has this book thief taken now?"

"See for yourself."

"This one? How peculiar..."

The two women huddled over a sheet of paper that I presumed had the title of interest.

"May I help you ladies?"

Slowly, Sullivan and I turned. A stern librarian's face hovered between ours. Blast. She regarded us through her spectacles hanging from her neck, disapproval gleaming in her eyes.

"Just, er, looking for a book," I said lamely.

"You don't say."

"We'd like to check these out," Sullivan said, pointing to the stack of books she had placed on a nearby cart.

The librarian eyed us with with wariness but gestured to the front desk. I gratefully accepted the half a dozen books Sullivan handed me. As the librarian stamped Sullivan's book, I eyed the key set near her wrist. Perhaps I could pocket it. One of them had to open the back room.

"Well?" The librarian had finished stacking Sullivan and caught me staring at the key set. Eyeing me with distrust, she took the keys and placed them into her pocket. Then, she motioned to me. So much for that...

As I pushed the books towards her, I caught a fellow walking towards me, his pace brisk as though he was late for something. He balanced a tall stack of tomes which blocked his face. He brushed past me, skimming my shoulders. I flinched on reflex. My pile of books teetered dangerously along the edge of the desk and spilled upon the desk... and the floor. My eyes flashed to the horrid professor from before. He had turned behind his shoulder for a fleeting second. I could've sworn I saw a shadow of amusement tinge his lips.

"Foolish girl!"

"We're terribly sorry," Sullivan squeaked to the librarian.

I swept down to retrieve the fallen tomes. Quickly recovering, I made my way back to the desk, eager to be out of this space. I reached for my bag when I stopped in my tracks.

"Cielle?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Someone's been through my bag."

"How can you be sure?"

"As I'm left-handed, I always leave my bag on the left side of my desk, not the right." I snatched the bag and rummaged through it. My books were out of ordered. Moreover... I pointed to an silver pencil box that was open a crack. A tiny scrap peeked out of it. Not another bloody one.

Sullivan squinted at the slip I pulled out. "What does it say?"

"C12P666P2."

"If I didn't know better, I say it looks like a book cipher. The P likely refers to a page number, C the chapter, and the other P might reference a paragraph."

A book cipher? I recalled the concept being introduced in a recent Sherlock Holmes story by Dr. Arthur. Could it be...? I stared hard at the slip. Whoever had written this knew me. The incident of Von Seimens played itself in my mind. Everyone in that circle most certainly knew of my admiration for Dr. Arthur's detective stories. The thought that someone at that party sending me this cipher unsettled me deeply.

Sullivan kept her voice low. "Given what occurred with Angelica and Alice moments ago, do you think they put it there?"

"Do they read?"

"Hardly."

"Then no. I do not think it was their doing." Still...Sullivan had a brought up a valid point. The scrap didn't contain the usual signature—'7891011 12' like the previous ciphers. Had whoever simply forgotten to add that...or were there multiple cipher senders involved in this?

My steeled gaze wandered across the library, skimming over book-bosomed girls and landing on the vile professor. The librarian had just finished checking out an impressive stack of books for him. Carrying it in his long, steady hands, he caught a glimpse of me over the top of the books. I jerked my head away, but not before I caught a flicker of something unbidden flit across his features. Pretending he didn't see me, he resumed his pace, heading for the exit.

"Who exactly is that?" I asked acridly.

"Judging from the stack of music theory books, he must be the new music professor," said Sullivan. "The old one quit and teaches at the rival school now."

"You don't say."

Sullivan shrugged. "Quite a few professors left and teach at Eton now."

"Is that so?" I scowled at his shadowy silhouette leaving the library's entrance.

Helping Sullivan carry her stack of books, I meandered through the hallway in pensive thought. When we passed the headmaster's office, Sullivan stopped in her tracks.

"We really ought to tell, Cielle."

Groaning, I peered through the thin glass of the office. The commissioner of Scotland Yard sat hunched over his desk, his face haggard. His eyes shifted restlessly, glancing at some paperwork while he ran both hands through his grey hair. He was worried. No, terrified.

"Fine," I said lowly. "Inform Headmaster Delacourt about the rogue boy but make no mention of the blue medallion."

"But why not?"

"Criminy, do you always ask these many questions?"

"You can't solve a problem if you do not ask the right questions." Her voice wavered. "Maybe you can't answer me now... But I hope you will. You can trust me, Cielle."

"Trust?" I said with a laugh. "Others will let you down in this life. Just look at how your so called friends betrayed you, Sullivan. Promises will be broken. Lies will be told. I've learned the hard way that the only person you can truly trust is yourself...and sometimes barely that."

"Oh, Cielle..."

"Don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong." Stepping towards her, I gazed hard at her face. "And do not ask questions that you do not want answers to."

"Tell me what's going on," she whispered.

I didn't reply.

"Does it have something to do with your cousin?" She searched my face and then focused on Lizzie's gemstone bracelet circling my wrist. "She hasn't shown up today either...along with a few other girls."

"I-I have literature soon. I must go."

"Cielle, wait!"

Ignoring her, I hurried to my class and heaved a long breath. Damn her observance. I didn't know how long I could dodge her incessant questions at this rate.

I was almost eager for literature to begin and provide me distraction. The distraction that did come, however, wasn't one I had in mind. We had the droll task of reading J. Sheridan LeFanu's Carmilla. A tale of a beautiful female vampire who preyed on a teenage girl named Laura.

Jane sat a few desks away from me, diligently taking notes as the professor lectured. After the awkward incident that occurred in her room, Jane had said nary a word to me. I didn't particularly care.

As the professor droned on about symbolism of the piece, I made a pretense of taking notes in my notebook. In actuality, I was scribbling various ciphers of my own. If the culprit wanted to play with ciphers, fine. I'd give him a cipher of my own to toy with.

"Why Miss Phantomhive," said the professor, "you seem to be writing a novel back there."

Bollocks. I quickly flipped to a clean sheet of paper.

"Since you seem so keen about the material, perhaps you can continue reading Laura's narrative for us. Take it from chapter four please."

"Of course." I cleared my throat. "I experienced a strange tumultuous excitement that was pleasurable, ever and anon, mingled with a vague sense of fear and disgust. I had no distinct thought about her while such scenes lasted, but I was conscious of a love growing into adoration, and also of abhorrence... " A sick feeling gnawed at me. "This I know is paradox, but I can make no other attempt to explain the feeling..."

"Nicely emoted. Can anyone tell me what is the significance of this scene?"

Jane's hand shot up. "I think it means... while Laura has conflicting emotions for Carmilla, the narrator can't deny her fascination and attraction towards the monster. This scene illustrates Laura's desire—and hesitance—to engage in a taboo relationship. Meanwhile the vampire seeks a physical consummation of her love and ends up falling for her victim, Laura. Carmilla implies that for them to become one, Laura must die. To drink Laura's blood is to become one with her forever."

"Yes, exactly so. Thank you for that analysis, Miss Greyling. If you would continue, Miss Phantomhive. Same chapter, page 100."

I swallowed a wave of nausea. "Sometimes after an hour of apathy, my strange and beautiful companion would take my hand and hold it with a fond pressure, renewed again and again; gazing in my face with languid and burning eyes, and breathing so fast... It was like the ardor of a lover; it embarrassed me; it was hateful and yet over-powering; and with gloating eyes she drew me to her…" I stopped reading, my breath quickening.

"Miss Phantomhive, is everything all right?"

"I...may I use the lavatory? I suddenly am feeling unwell."

"Yes, please do so. Would you like someone to escort you?"

"I'll go with her." Jane stood from her desk, a concerned expression on her face.

"No... that's alright. I can manage." I needed to get away from this class. From her. From him.

When I made it to the lavatory, I clutched the sides of the sink and panted sharply. I despised that story of Carmilla. How Laura was sucked in by that creature's beautiful and terrible mask. How the monster pursued its prey to no end... I abhorred it all. Partly because Laura's sentiments resonated as though they were my very own.

After visiting the dining hall for a light supper—Vienna pudding and a semolina soup— I closeted myself in my dorm. Due to my episode in literature, I did not attend the rest of my classes for the day and was forced to spend the next few hours finishing my missed assignments.

A soft knock disrupted my pluperfect conjugations for Latin. I sighed. "Come in."

Jane.

"I came to check if you are feeling better," said the head-girl. "And give you the notes on Carmilla you missed in class."

"How considerate of you," I said, veiling any sarcasm in my tone. "Yes, I am feeling much better. Would you like to take a seat?"

"I really shouldn't." Jane's gaze drifted to my bed, and a tinge of pink stained her cheeks. "But if you insist..." She ambled into my room, a sweet floral scent cloying behind her. To my surprise she seated herself on my four poster and crossed her long, shapely leg over the other, beckoning me. "Since you weren't feeling well, I took the liberty of collecting your mail," she said. "A letter from your estate. I thought I'd personally see to its delivery."

"Thank you, Miss Greyling."

"Jane," she corrected as I sat down beside her.

"Jane."

"Better." She leaned in and deposited a crispy, cream coloured envelope on my lap. "How goes the case?"

"Found some points of interest, but nothing conclusive," I replied vaguely.

Her lashes fluttered. "I wonder if Carmilla abducted those poor missing girls."

"Pardon?"

"I hope this doesn't sound too forward of me," she started. "But you seem like you really hated that story in literature." She laughed. "Why, It's almost as if you met Carmilla in person."

I furrowed my brows at the envelope. "I've met worse than Carmilla."

"Have you now?" Her pupils dilated, she eyed the smooth, elaborate penmanship on the paper. "Who is it from?"

"...My butler."

"I see," Jane whispered. Her eyes darkened at the blue postage stamp of Queen Victoria. She looked like she regretted the gesture of collecting my mail. As the uncomfortable silence lengthened, I found a means of changing the subject. I stared at the hem of her skirt.

"You've a stain there."

She sighed, the moment passing. "From one of my experiments, no doubt."

"And that?" I pointed to her inner forearm which had a small, purplish bruise I had not noticed before.

"Also from my experiments. It is not the first time a bunsen burner has done me in." She rose from the four poster. "Well, I best continue on before they make us turn off our lights."

I forced a smile. "I have no doubt you'll conjure up a perfume that's one of a kind."

The head-girl brought a finger to her lips and winked.

I took some relief when the door closed behind her. I stared at the familiar signature on the letter, my saliva thickening. Just open it already it. My fingers ripped into the envelope, and I scanned the missive.

To my young mistress,

I trust your first day has gone without too much trouble. As per your instructions, I have investigated the rival academy. The headmistress seems consumed in her preparations of the masquerade ball that is days away. She is intent on making this an eventful occasion. It may interest you that she used to be in the gemstone business prior starting her school and has an impressive personal collection of gems. She pays the faculty quite handsomely as well, though I believe it may be a ploy to recruit faculty from Imperial Academy. It is as Inspector Randall implied, she seems to have personal agenda against him. Perhaps it is something from their childhood as I've discovered her last name prior marriage was Delacourt. The records suggest the headmaster of Imperial Academy and headmistress of Eton are siblings.

My eyes widened. Inspector Randall conveniently forgot to mention that detail. Was there that much bad blood between them now? So much so that the headmistress would be involved in the kidnapping of Isabella Delacourt, her own niece? Madame Red's wild eyes flitted in my mind. That night in the alley...a knife in hand... She had attempted to attack her own niece, hadn't she?

Somberly, I read on as he listed the mundane errands he had completed pertaining to Funtoms, Mr. Noble, and the estate. My fingers tightened on the parchment. I searched in between the lines for a single drop of emotion. I failed to find it. Each sentence was written with professional indifference. Of course. What were you expecting—? My heart thumped as the letter neared its end.

"...otherwise, the manor has been dull without the young mistress. It is with reluctance that I admit that I was a touch vexed when I left you at the academy. I ask your forgiveness in the light of recent events, especially if I have given you any displeasure. I do not wish for you to see the form that speaks badly of my reputation. Until the day truth becomes lies, I devote my entire being to please my mistress. I should very much look forward to your presence soon and regaining your favour."

Yours,

Sebastian.

Something stirred deep within me. That feeling that was equal parts exhilaration and abhorrence which Laura spoke of. His words struck some chord within me that resounded beautifully for a fleeting moment before transforming into a harsh tritone. How easy it was to be swept away by beguiling words like sweet poison. He would do anything for me, and yet he would be my demise. Even more problematic was the fact that he was...different these days. At first, I attributed to a figment of my imagination, but I knew better. I was no simpleton. Bits and pieces of his demonic nature were seeping through the cracks. Hellfire eyes and the image of a ripped corset made me shudder. How long would it be before that carefully crafted mask cracked altogether?

Despite this troubling knowledge, I devoured those few lines he had written over and over, as though I would find something anew in them. And when I held up the envelope again, my foolish mind thought it found that something. The blue postage stamp was affixed on envelope at the top right corner with a peculiar tilt. I was no stranger to postage code. In private affairs, a sender could use stamps to encode messages to the receiver. This particular stamp relayed, I am longing to see you.

He had done this on purpose. He wanted to drive me mad. To tease me, to tempt me, to make me react. He knew that I'd either chalk out this gesture to be nothing at all. Or everything.

"Damn demon," I whispered. Like a moth to flame, I trailed the florid signature with my finger. I brought it to my trembling lips and repeated that cursed name like a litany. "Sebastian..."

Control your heart, whispered a treacherous voice in my mind.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and drew in a sharp breath. I couldn't allow sentiment to cloud my reply. No, that's exactly what he would have wanted.

Sebastian,

Asking my forgiveness for such matters is unnecessary and a moot point. We both know you've given me much displeasure since the moment I've met you, but I've grown quite used to it by now. I confess I am curious about that last bit—how exactly do you intend to regain my favour?

My first day at the academy has been... interesting to say the least. Wagers, spying, blackmail, racing stallions, encountering 7891011-12 in person, and reading Carmilla are all in a day's work. You've reported some intriguing information on the case, though I'm afraid we're missing the bigger, more tangible pieces. Like the ripped pages of alchemy Lizzie had supposedly sent. Keep at it. Speaking of gems, I trust Miss Diaz has not left the manor. The same multi-stoned diadem she attempted to thief that night has gone missing. Investigate that in addition to your other duties."

That would do. The tone was casual, business-like. And utterly lacking. A restlessness came over me. Reluctantly, I unfurled the letter I had just written. Against my better judgement, I added one more line.

In other news, I rather confess I am missing teatime at the manor. The sweets here are none like yours—Cielle."

Before I could have a change of heart, I stashed the letter inside the envelope, placed the stamp at the same angle as his, and delivered it the mailing room that was seen to each morning.

By now, night had come down, and Hulda started making her rounds, ensuring all lights were out. When her footsteps sounded past my door, I paused my writing and waited an extra twenty minutes for good measure before putting my plan into action. While I waited, I finished my cipher and strategically placed the scrap of parchment in the crevice of my door.

With the blue medallion in my possession, I was certain that the mysterious boy would return for it and do a thorough search of the place. Sooner or later, he'd stumble upon my pigpen cipher. I had already placed one in the lavatory, one in the courtyard, the library, and other places I had visited today.

Used by freemasons in the 18th century, the tic-tac-toe-like cipher was a geometric simple substitution cipher. Letters were exchanged for symbols which formed fragments of a grid. Any serious cipherist worth their salt would know of it, yet it was uncommon enough that if anyone else noticed the paper, it would simply look like some innocuous school girl game.

When decoded, my message simply read: I have the stone. Let us meet—CP.

Somewhere an old clock chimed twelve times, heralding the witching hour. Lamp in hand, I crept out of my dorm, pushing the door centimeter by centimeter to avoid loud creaks. A dim light emerged from Jane's room. It appeared she had stuffed the crevice of the door with clothing, but a silver of candlelight had escaped. Faint tinkering sounded behind the door, and I caught a sweet floral fragrance and a subtle burning scent that often accompanied bunsen burners. Jane must have been up to her so called unladylike pursuits of fragrance making.

I returned my attention in to the quiet hallway. The flickering candelabras provided me sufficient light to wander. Cloaked in the shadows, I stayed close to the walls, walking in tune with my shadow. With each room I passed, I discerned light snores, pages flipped in secrecy, soft giggles and telltale whisperings followed by the creaking of bed springs.

Taking the short cut to the library, I used the outside pathway. Though the night air chilled me to the core, I wouldn't run into any faculty on nightly rounds by this route. I passed through the frostbitten rose garden, and my ears pricked up. Was that a crack of a twig? I whirled around and narrowed my eyes. A snow covered tree branch swayed in the wind, but all else was still.

Shivering, I continued through the courtyard and slipped into the hallway that led to the library. Adjusting my cloak so that it covered my head, I furtively crept through the library's main entrance. Save for the small sphere of illumination from my lamp, darkness claimed the space. It was strange being here. I had never stepped foot inside an empty library when the rest of the world had fallen fast asleep. When books became the rightful owners of the library and bibliophiles felt like trespassers. I raised my lamp in front of my face, the glow bathing tomes upon tomes in a flickering light.

I followed the light in front of me as it led me to the back room. Raising the lamp, I turned and twisted the door knob with my other. Of course. Locked.

Stealing a glance over my shoulder, I fished a bobby pin out of my tresses. Nimbly, I bent the pin to a 90 degree angle and then twisted it into the lock. It took a few tries before I heard a click. Never underestimate the power of a good accessory. Satisfied, I cast aside the dented pin and pushed the creaky door open.

Moonlight from the small diamond paned windows spilled upon hundreds and hundreds of prized, archaic books. I groaned. Locating the right book would be like finding a needle in mountain of a haystack. I scavenged through spines with flaking gold letters, old newspapers in Cyrillic, atlases of vanished countries, and Bengali poetry books with delicate rosettes. A sweet earthy smell billowed from the archaic pages, and I coughed. Half an hour went by like this, and I still found nothing of interest.

"For Pete's sake." I unceremoniously shoved a signed first edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray back into the shelf. Rubbing my temples, I recalled the cipher from memory. C12P666P2.

The only information that I gleaned from it was that I was looking for a thick book—one that had well over 600 pages. As I scrutinized the page number I frowned. That's odd. What was the need of including a chapter number if one already had the page number? Unless...C12 didn't refer to a chapter.

I raised the lamp against a bookshelf. At the very top, the number '5' was etched into the wood. I surveyed the nearby bookcases. All of them were all numbered. My heart skipped a beat. If C12 referred to 'Column 12', then I might stand a chance of finding that book. I located the column with '12' and skimmed the shelves. My eyes roamed from bottom to top and stilled. Only one book looked thick enough to fit the bill.

I stretched my arm. Blast, the book was too high. The culprit was mocking me dearly.

Glad no one else could see my pitiable display, I jumped into the air. Missing my mark, I jumped again and grabbed the book, then blundered to the floor. I swore under my breath. Irately, I stared at the filigreed book in my hand. It was heavy and thick, though the vellum binding felt delicate and soft. I traced my hand along the cover, taking in the gilded hermetic illustrations and spidery gothic styled title—The Twelve Keys. A sliver of moonlight spilled upon the author's name. I blinked hard, my hands freezing in place. No... it couldn't be.

Baselius Phantomhivus?

The latinised name stared back at me. My surname. I took a strangled breath, the question burning in my mind.

Was one of the Phantomhive descendants. . . an alchemist?

Author's notes:

When I was in college, one of my professors went over the infamous Monty Hall problem in stats and we all got a kick out of it. It was a popular game show problem in the 90s that got many people - even PhDs in a tizzy. If any numberphiles are intrigued by how flipping a queen when you have only two face down cards - a queen and joker - is NOT 50/50, this youtube vid explains it quite well (watch?v=4Lb-6rxZxx0)

Let me know what you'd like to see next! I read each and every review 3

As many of you guys already know, my first book, "Alice in Winterland: A Fangirl Novel", is out! You can read the first chapter on amazon. Right now, it's an ebook but paperbacks release in Nov!