Hi guys! Final exams are done (and I did pretty well if I do say so myself) so it's time to get back to writing. Here's another chapter for you all! In this chapter there will be several historical references near the end; however, this time I don't feel the need to clarify them beforehand, as I think they are explained properly in-story. Also, before we get started, I want to respond to some pretty cool people...
LackofName: I was so happy to read another of your insightful reviews! I enjoy reading your reviews as much as you like reading my story, so we make a great team! I also appreciate that your introspection helps me to focus on aspects of the story I might have overlooked before. And don't worry; I was not by any means planning to quit this story. Sometimes I just get distracted. I'm like a puppy running out of its yard to chase a butterfly, or some other adorable metaphor like that. I wander away until someone gets my attention and calls me back, and only then do I remember, "Oh yeah! I've got something going on over there!" That's basically how my brain operates. XD
bbst: Fear not! Edward will get more "screen time" soon! I've got a lot of characters I'm trying to juggle here, but I promise he is important.
VampireSiren: This CAN be good! And it shall! Also, I love your avatar. :3
Thank you guys for your reviews, and on with the story!
All day that Sunday, Lydia drifted in a state of such deep thought that she felt like she was staring up at the world from the bottom of a watery pool. Her attention rippled in and out as she wandered discreetly between the library, the gardens, and the rooftops, trying to evade the attentions of Soma, Ciel's acquaintance from a previous case and self-professed best friend. The Indian youth had seen her talking to her brother at Blue House the other day, and seemed to have come to the conclusion that if Ciel felt it was all right to speak familiarly with the older 'boy,' then it was all right for him too. Lydia really had no dislike for Soma- he was a charming, enthusiastic fellow who reminded her of what her father must have been like at that age. She did not know exactly what he was doing here, but Ciel had told her he had summoned him to assist them in defeating Maurice Cole. She was glad Ciel had another friend at the academy, but for her, it was dangerous to speak with anyone who was not aware of her secret. So Lydia dodged about the school grounds all day, keeping her distance.
She was still drifting mentally after the sun had set and the bell for lights out had tolled. Normally she would have been in Sebastian's room at this point, settling down for the night. However, tonight she and the demon were on a special mission. This evening was the final strategizing push in Ciel's plot to secure a place within the favored circle of the P4. To that end they would need to take down Maurice Cole, whose fabrications had caused Ciel to lose their favor in the first place. Under the guise of seeking Sebastian's help in tutoring, Ciel had spent the afternoon and evening in his private room as the demon meticulously pieced together torn scraps of paper which Cole had apparently written to his many hangers-on. Lydia was too focused on the other mysteries surrounding her to really care about these schoolboy deceptions, but apparently the issue had something to do with the Red House fag's determination to use the work of others to make himself seem competent for Edgar Redmond. She and Ciel talked over his strategy as Sebastian worked, interrupted every now and then by a knock on the door which would cause her to skitter into the closet and hide until the caller was gone. Eventually, Lydia felt guilty about making Sebastian do all the work, so she joined him at the table and helped to glue together the rose-shaped missives. This in turn seemed to make Ciel uncomfortable, and he eventually joined in the restoring project as well, Lydia and Sebastian trading amused glances as the young heir glared at the flowery cards with his one visible eye.
Now they had completed their restoration of the evidence and Ciel had returned to his dorm room for lights out. Lydia and Sebastian were currently working outside under cover of darkness, finishing construction for the final twist of their plan. Sebastian had snuck into the second-story art room and attached wires to the backs of all of the canvasses in a way that was hidden to a casual observer of the room. He had thrown the wires out the window and Lydia had gathered them into a coil below, gripped them in her bandaged fist, and dragged them all the way out to the swan gazebo. Using the superhuman strength which they both possessed, demon and human were currently finishing with the task of stretching the wires to the tensile state necessary to conduct sound, and attaching each one to a gramophone-like amplifier which Sebastian had procured from god knew where. Lydia wondered vaguely how they were going to explain the presence of these wires to the P4 tomorrow morning.
"Master."
Lydia climbed down from the chair she was standing upon and looking over at Sebastian, standing under the bone-white overlay of the swan gazebo. "Hmmm?"
"You've been very quiet this evening."
"So have you," she stated honestly, looking around for another amplifier to thread.
"Have you seen it again?"
Lydia did not have to ask what he was talking about. "I see it all the time now. Over the last few days, it's been there almost every time I've looked around. Sometimes in front, sometimes behind me….I look up and see that black shape standing there, just for a second before it's gone. It's like it wants me to know it's there, watching me, making sure I'm keeping on with….whatever it is that it wants me to do. The only time I don't ever see it…." Lydia stepped back onto the chair, swinging her arms up to wrap another wire around an amplifier, "is when I'm with you."
Sebastian glided across the gazebo and reached out a hand to help her down from her perch. "Then you should stay by my side," he murmured. "It is by far the safest place."
"I can't stay by your side all day. Someone would notice," Lydia commented, staring ponderously past him at the black horizon. Over the last few days she had made a herculean effort to condition herself not to jump or spontaneously panic when she caught a glimpse of the shadow-figure watching her. This was not to say she did not find the idea of a mysterious, ghostly presence at her back extremely disconcerting. "It is strange, though. All the times it's been so near to me, even when I didn't know it, it hasn't done a single thing to harm me. It seems like it's almost….trying to….direct me, and provide a safe path to ensure I make it where I'm trying to go."
Sebastian growled, a deadly rumbling in his chest. She had gotten used to the sound of his growl. He had been doing it quite often since they had come to Weston. "Whatever its motives are, its interest in you in unacceptable. Be it man, ghost, angel, or demon, nothing has the right to protect you in my place. It treads on ground it has no claim to."
"Technically speaking, despite the partial bond of my bloodline, you do not have claim to me." Lydia brushed the demon's hand aside. "There is no contract between us."
Sebastian's eyes flared and he seized her wrist in a cement-like grip. "And that is exactly the reason you are troubled by this presence! Please understand that I know what I speak of. A spirit such as I never looks twice upon a human with another's mark upon them. To do so is….unnatural for my kind." He pulled her closer to his body, black robes sweeping around her like a chilling mist. "I suspect that the reason this creature does not appear before you when we are together is because if it were to come too near to me, I would be able to sense its nature. Clearly it is trying to avoid confrontation at present. However, if you were to force an encounter, I could defeat it for you, my master."
Lydia blinked and pushed her hand against the wall of his chest. "I am sure I do not want to force an encounter between a demon and a sinister shadow in the midst of a school filled with innocent students."
"We could-"
"Furthermore, I have no interest in being marked as the property of any such creature," the brunette declared, finally prying her hand out of his grasp. "There will never be a contract between us, Sebastian."
The demon growled again, and his fists tightened until Lydia heard the screech of bending metal. "What good is any of this, then?" he hissed furiously, tossing aside the crumpled amplifier in his hands. Breaking eye contact, he turned his back abruptly and strode to the other side of the gazebo, staring into the pressing darkness.
Lydia trailed after him, unruffled by his anger. "Hey," she called, earning a temperamental grunt from the taller figure. "I'm not saying I don't want you."
He turned his head so only the barest sliver of his red eye shone upon her. Lydia leaned onto the gazebo railing beside him. "The contract is unhealthy. Truth be told, I would prefer you not have a contract with either of us. When I left the manor all those years ago, I thought your obligation to my family would end with my refusal to take the contract. I never imagined it was even possible for Vincent and grandfather to figure out a way to twist the contract and coerce Ciel into taking it in my place." She sighed, draping her wrists over the wooden edge. "But the damage has been done, so now we have to find a way to make it right. And anyway, didn't I come back to you, even without the contract?"
Sebastian ground his teeth in anxiety, turning to look at her more fully. "The damage will be irreparable if you are killed, master. For….everyone. The contract would provide insurance against that kind of mortal danger-"
"But don't you see, Sebastian? If I were to take the contract, I might safely live to be a hundred. But my life would be….warped. I wouldn't be me. The young woman standing here right now, she would be gone. I would become like….like what grandfather became. Demanding to be cossetted at every turn, caring for no one, causing pain to all….especially you. Did you think you could avoid that kind of outcome with me by making me believe you loved me?" Lydia shook her head sadly, blue eyes watching the river flow beneath her. "It would never have worked. In that state, I would not have been moved to connect with anything or anyone, just as he was not, even at the very end. His heart was so hardened, he might as well have never had one. Nothing entered, and nothing emerged." She raised her cobalt eyes to the demon. "And a large part of that outcome was your doing."
Sebastian did not look at her. He was quiet for a very long time. Lydia settled into the surrounding rhythm of the night's atmosphere, the calling of frogs, the rushing of trees, the footsteps of river water. She did not know if it was even possible for him to understand what she was trying to explain, but she was gratified that he at least appeared to be thinking it over instead of rejecting it outright. She did not know how much of the night passed before he finally shifted his shoulders and spoke.
"A long, long time ago," he murmured lowly, "It was said to me that I, as the creature I had become, would never cease to bring ruin to everything I touched. That is the nature of myself and my kind. Throughout all the eons I have lived, I have never had any reason to doubt this truth. I do not- I do not make things right. Everything I touch breaks and crumbles. For a demon, this is as it should be….I know how to use it to get what I need. Break the human, take the soul….it is not a difficult task. That is why human society is so averse to demons." Sebastian's mouth quirked up in a humorless half-smile. "It's interesting, if you consider it. One would think demons ought to be perceived as desirable and enviable by human beings. We have everything they value and wish for. Power. Beauty. Immortality. Versatility. One might even say, charisma." Sebastian chuckled lowly. "In the past, we were worshipped in many lands as gods. But your kind is not quite as stupid as they often seem. Very slowly, over thousands of years, they have learned of our true nature based on what happens to those who seek us out for their gain….as your ancestor did, master. None of our masks can change the core of what we are. It does not matter about our looks or our powers, our vitality or our knowledge. It doesn't even matter what we try to do. We never cease consuming, but our hunger never fades. We live for an eternity and never outlast our pain. No matter what we do, it is forever the same. We always….get it wrong."
Lydia felt the night wind rattle around them like the bones of a long-dead animal. She bit her tongue and tasted blood. She did not have anything to say. What could she tell him? What had she seen in her eighteen years of life that could counteract the grinding weight of an eternity spent grasping at straws, only to have them break under his fingers? What was he, in the end? She did not know about any of that. Perhaps she never would. In this place, in this moment, she only had one answer to give.
Sebastian was quiet. He did not care to see the world around him, so he closed his eyes and fell into midnight darkness. He could feel his master breathing beside him, and thought vaguely that perhaps she was beginning to understand the truth that he had never known how to express. The existence of a creature that only brought ruin and negation to everything he touched was meaningless to everyone, especially to himself. No matter what he destroyed or who he consumed, he gained nothing in the end. His hunger and agony would follow him into the pit for eternity, and even then, he still would not understand why. It was the most maddening, most painful, most eviscerating question that he-
The gears of Sebastian's thought process jammed suddenly as an unexpected sensation from the outside world flooded in. He opened his eyes to see Lydia's delicate left hand laid softly over his right. The young girl was gazing into the water below, and in her eyes Sebastian could see the spindling of light from the moon's gauzy reflection upon the river.
The demon tilted his head slowly. "Master….did you not hear me say that I ruin everything I touch?" He bit his lip and forced a bitter laugh. "Even knowing that, I still cannot stop trying to hold onto something. I am a selfish creature, after all. But it will always end the same way. It's no good…."
Lydia did not answer or even appear to hear him. She merely opened her hand and interlaced her thin, cold fingers with his. Sebastian blinked and acquiesced to the touch of her soul. He felt as though he was reading a text written in a foreign language. There was something occurring here, and he did not know what it was, but it had everything to do with her open hand, the light spindling in her eyes, even the water and starlight and wind that made up the night as it rushed around them. Sebastian closed his eyes and felt her fragile flesh and bone like an anchor, holding him to something he could not define. When he opened them again, the sun was rising before them at the edge of the world. He folded their hands together fully as the first rays of dawn touched the swan gazebo.
/
Three days later, Ciel's entire life at Weston College had turned completely around. His plan to lure Maurice Cole into the empty art room, confront him with the evidence of his wrongdoings, and secretly broadcast their conversation down to the swan gazebo via metal wires and gramophone amplifiers had taken place perfectly. His clothes had been torn in the resulting scuffle, but in the end, his roughed-up appearance had worked in his favor when Edward Midford and Herman Greenhill had burst through the art room doors to rescue him. Since then, everything had fallen into place. Maurice Cole had been officially disowned as Edgar Redmond's fag, and his reputation thoroughly discredited. An agreeable young boy named Joanne Harcourt had replaced him at Redmond's side, whom Ciel had no quarrels with. He himself had been officially declared as Clayton's fag only yesterday, and today he was on his way to visit the swan gazebo for the first time as a member of the P4's entourage. He was striding down the walkway with Edward and Clayton on either side of him, the other fags a few steps ahead. They all held carefully prepared dishes in their hands, snacks to present to their seniors upon arrival at the gazebo, which had since been restored to its normal state. Students turned their heads and whispered as they passed, and Ciel could not help indulging in a little smirk. Just a few days ago, their whispers had been ones of confusion and malice when they had believed him to have deliberately broken his engagement with the P4. Now they were singing tunes of admiration and envy instead. What was even better, Ciel would not have to see Maurice Cole's aggravating face anymore while working on this case. Victory was sweet.
Turning to look at the chapel building behind him, Ciel's eye caught a flicker of movement from the highest part of the roof. He watched as a slim, uniformed figure leaned halfway past the chimney and flashed him a brief thumbs-up signal. Then the figure turned her head, stared at something in the distance, and ducked quickly behind the chimney again. He could not see what she was staring at, but he knew it was there. Ciel's smirk turned into a somber frown. Victory may be sweet, but it was not his to taste yet. He had a long way to go before he would be able to relax. He and Lydia could not be seen speaking in public too often, as it had already drawn unwanted attention to her, but it was good to know she was keeping an eye on him from a distance, making sure his back was clear. What was not so good to know was that there was also something keeping an eye on her, something not nearly as friendly as she. The fact that his sister was constantly being trailed by a shadowy silhouette was causing him a great deal of anxiety, making him more eager than ever to resolve this case so they could leave this complicated school behind. Ciel had lain awake for an hour last night after lights out, silently rehearsing the conversational strategies he could use to probe for information about Derrick Arden while seeming completely innocuous. Now that he was finally going to the swan gazebo, the young heir was determined to leave its shelter with at least one piece of useful information.
/
"It's not as though this happens often. In fact, I don't think it's ever happened before. A student breaking into a prefect's private room and making off with his personal belongings? I've never even heard of such a thing."
Ciel gazed silently around the interior of the gazebo while everyone nodded their heads in agreement to Bluewer's statement. The blue house prefect pushed his spectacles up the ridge of his nose and fixed his eyes on a cloaked figure curled up on the settee. "Has anything turned up yet at your house, Violet?"
The prefect of purple house shook his head listlessly. "No, nothing. You keep asking me that; don't you think I would tell you if we found something? Nobody saw the intruder come in. No one saw him leave. The dormitory monitors reported no one out of bed during the time the incident took place. The books he stole have yet to be recovered." Violet dipped his head toward his knees in exhaustion. "I don't understand this at all."
The other prefects glanced at each other silently. Ciel got the sense they were all trying to be tactful toward Violet in the wake of the disturbance at his house. Although the Violet Wolf prefect's normal appearance featured tousled hair and shadowed eyes, the degree to which these had accelerated in the last few days made it painfully apparent that he was not sleeping well. Behind him, Cheslock ground his teeth and muttered low profanities. The younger boy was very protective of his house, and seemed to be taking its breach of security very personally. This added to the recent unpleasantness of Maurice Cole's betrayal meant the entire P4 and their entourage were on edge.
Redmond placed his teacup in its saucer and folded his hands. "So then, it is highly improbable the intruder is a resident of Violet Wolf House. But it also seems equally improbable they could have come in from outside without being detected. The doors are not locked, in case of fire, but they are very heavy. If they were to be opened in the middle of the night, the sound would surely alert the monitors to come investigate…."
Bluewer cleared his throat. "However, we have not yet considered the possibility that the intruder could have snuck into purple house during the day and hidden within until nightfall."
Sitting across from them in the large armchair, Greenhill swatted his cricket bat against his palm nervously. "Yes, but they would still have had to open the doors to get back out. Unless they went out a window, and that seems unlikely. The entire dormitory was searched, and all the windows were found locked from the inside, correct?"
"Yes," Violet nodded weakly. "I suppose they could have had an accomplice in purple house to re-lock the window after they escaped….there did seem to be more than one person inside my room, if the voice I heard was anything to go by. However, that second person would have had to move remarkably quickly to avoid being detected by the hordes of other students flooding the halls. And the nature of the things they stole….it just doesn't make sense. They weren't valuable in any way. They were just….books." The prefect chewed on his lip and stared intently at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. Ciel raised his eyebrow in masked interest. In spite of Violet's insistence that the stolen objects were just books, the degree of effort he had put into getting them back suggested otherwise. The tousled-haired boy sighed lowly. "Still, it bothers me that I….I can't remember exactly where, but….I could swear I've heard that voice somewhere before."
Ciel decided this would be a good time to distract everyone from their thoughts. "Pardon me, Bluewer?" he inquired politely. "Even with all that's going on….will the fourth of June's annual cricket tournament still proceed as planned? I was so looking forward to watching it for the first time."
"Of course," the blue house prefect said, fixing his stern gaze upon the itinerary laid in front of them. "We cannot allow anything to prevent us from carrying out our duties in keeping the school running, not even this flagrant breach of conduct. The tournament is tradition, and tradition must prevail." He raised his eyes with a more personable expression in them. "I didn't know you were so interested in the tournament, Phantomhive."
"Oh, yes! I love cricket," the young heir lied through his teeth, smiling exuberantly as he sensed the segue he had been waiting for. "However, I am a bit worried about the level of competition between the houses. What do you do when you have friends in other houses?"
"You fight valiantly and fairly against them, of course." Greenhill answered, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Anyone who tries to go easy on you impedes your ability to improve yourself. A true friend will give you his all."
Ciel smiled in appreciation. "I suppose you're right. That makes me feel better. I have a friend in Red House, Soma Asman Kadar, so I was somewhat worried about squaring off against him. And I have a friend in Purple House as well." Ciel made sure he was looking into the faces of all four of the P4, so he could gauge their reactions. "His name is Derrick Arden."
The reaction was instantaneous. Greenhill missed his palm with the cricket bat and struck the leg of his chair. Bluewer's glasses slipped down his nose. Redmond's mouth fell open in a most ungentlemanly manner. And Violet physically jumped as though someone had stabbed him with a needle. It only took a second for them to recover themselves, but Ciel had already witnessed their unconscious betrayal. They knew something.
"Derrick Arden?" Bluewer asked, clearing his throat and striving to fix his glasses. "Yes, in the fifth form...I wasn't aware that you knew him."
"We played together many times as children. I was actually a bit surprised when I first came here and tried to find him. In his letters he said he was in Red Fox House, but I have since learned he has been transferred to Violet Wolf." Ciel tilted his head innocently. "That's unusual, isn't it? For transfers to occur like that?" He could not help noticing that while all of the prefects were focused on him fixatedly, their fags did not seem particularly concerned. Clayton was pouring more tea, Harcourt was adjusting his jacket, and Cheslock and Midford were carrying out a conversation in the background. Interesting….
"Yes," Redmond nodded after waiting in vain for Violet to respond. "He was my fag, for a time. A very capable fellow. His transfer took place some time ago at the order of the Headmaster."
"Is that so….?" Ciel murmured. "How very singular. To suddenly transfer a student in his fifth year, when he had already established a place in his house as the prefect's fag….do you know why he was transferred?" He schooled his face into a mask of calm and waited with baited breath.
"Because the Headmaster ordered it," Greenhill broke in sternly, leaning his bat against his thigh. "No order from the Headmaster is ever wrong."
Ciel sensed the muscled prefect was trying to end the conversation. He considered pressing his inquiry, but decided it would look odd, especially in this kind of an atmosphere. He nodded and pretended to be satisfied.
"Let us all depart to our houses now," Bluewer declared, standing up and eyeing the face of the nearby clock tower. "It's almost time for supper." The other members of the P4 rose quickly in agreement, and the fags began to gather up the dishes they had brought with them. Ciel fetched his coat from the chair behind him and tried not to feel too disappointed by the P4's recalcitrance on the subject of Derrick Arden. He could not expect them to tell him everything on his first visit to the swan gazebo, after all.
"Um- excuse me! I don't mean to hold everyone up, but there was something I wanted to report at today's meeting…."
The occupants of the gazebo turned around at the unexpected voice of Joanne Harcourt. The young boy fiddled with his thumbs, looking a bit cowed in the presence of his seniors. Being new to the entourage of the P4, he was still shy and hesitant to speak. However, his eyes were determined as he raised them. "Normally I wouldn't think too much of it, but in light of what's been going on lately, I thought you ought to know….well….the thing is, I like to take walks in the evening around the perimeter of the campus grounds. I enjoy watching the sunset, you know, and um, the point is, lately I've been seeing….a person while I've been out walking."
"A person?" Redmond asked, raising his eyebrow. "What do you mean? Go on."
"Well, I mean, I see him regularly when I'm walking in the evening. He's on the other side of the fence, standing across the road, always in the same place to the right of the gates. And he just….stands there, watching the school, with nothing else around him but the horse he rode here on. The first few times I didn't pay much attention, but I've seen him at least six times now. I asked him once if he was waiting for someone, and he said yes, but that he didn't want to trouble me about it so I should be on my way. He had a thick accent, cockney, from underclass London….so it seemed odd to think he would be acquainted with anyone here. I'm not trying to be an elitist, but even our servants are higher class, so I just wondered- I mean- I'm rambling now, I'm sorry. I just thought you ought to know."
"What does this man look like?" Greenhill asked, drawing nearer to Harcourt.
The blonde fag closed his eyes. "Well, he's a young adult, and he usually wears a long grey travelling cloak, nothing out of the ordinary. But his hair is unusual. It's bright flaming red. And his face….it's hard for me to see so well in the falling dusk, but I do believe he has some sort of tattoo over his left eye. And his ears appear to have piercings. He looks like an altogether unwholesome character. I've never seen him come inside the fence, and I know it's not against the rules to stand outside, but- it's just a bit odd, is all."
A long, cold spear of memory wound itself up Ciel's spine. He felt like it had punctured his lungs, and he tried doggedly to stabilize his breathing so his body language would not give anything away.
"That is odd," Redmond frowned, glancing toward the vacant gates in the distance. "You did well to report it, Harcourt. You're right that we can't fault him for any transgression as long as he stays outside the fence, but all the same, such activity is very suspicious." He glanced around at the other prefects. "I propose we make a report of this and submit it to Vice-Headmaster Agares. He will move it up to the Headmaster, and the Headmaster can decide what our next course of action should be."
The others nodded, and Redmond gave Harcourt's shoulder a pat of approval. "Very well, then. Let us all retire to our houses for supper, and keep a keep a sharp eye out for any further disturbances."
Ciel strode quickly down the walkway to Blue House, allowing Clayton to talk at him without really registering what he was saying. He glanced anxiously up at the now-empty roof of the campus chapel and bit his lip. Tonight he would fake a stomachache to get out of supper, track down Sebastian, and enlist his help in finding Lydia. They needed to warn her right away that her enemies were closing in.
/
Lydia was sitting on the roof of the administration building, dangling her feet off the edge because there was no one around to see her. She was deep in thought, watching the sunset reds and purples streak their way across the sky. She did not look away from the cloudline, for she knew that if she did she had at least half a chance of seeing the disconcerting silhouette of the shadow-specter somewhere in the distance, watching her. In her lap she held the two books it had bade her take from Violet Wolf House. Truth be told, she was still having plenty of trouble figuring out what information she was supposed to glean from them. She had already looked at them at least fifteen times.
One of the books was written entirely in Latin, which had stymied her from the start. Lydia did not understand much Latin. She preferred to study languages like French and Spanish that could be used practically outside of the academic environment. Even if the book had been in English, it was so large and heavy that she would still have been baffled trying to find whatever it was she was looking for. The copy was very old, and bore the title Summa Theologica. In order to find out exactly what it was, she had enlisted the help of Sebastian. According to him, the Summa Theologica had been written between the years of 1265 and 1274 by a Catholic priest named Thomas Aquinas. Its roughly three thousand and five hundred pages contained within them the philosophical reasoning behind every major point of Christian theology, from a Catholic perspective, given that Catholicism had been the only extant branch of Christianity in the West until the Protestant Reformation in the fourteenth century. It was immensely frustrating for her to have one of the most influential books in all of Christian thought literally at her fingertips, and yet be unable to read it. Over the past few days, she had begun to search in earnest for a Latin dictionary to borrow from the library. What confused her most about the book, however, was the question of why Gregory Violet owned such a thing in the first place. Catholic influence had been vigorously oppressed in England for hundreds of years, ever since King Henry VIII had separated the Church of England from Rome in 1534. Every primary school child knew this history. So what was the prefect of Violet Wolf House doing hiding a Catholic text from the Middle Ages in his bedroom?
The second book was the polar opposite of the first in every way. It was small, so small, in fact, that it could scarcely be called a book. It was more like a pamphlet, only a few pages long. It was written in English, and unlike the first book, she did not have to ask Sebastian to clarify it. She had read it before as a child, in one of her grandfather's old editions of The Broadway Journal. It was written by a man named Edgar Allan Poe, and the story was called The Tell-Tale Heart. What she was meant to surmise from this esoteric reading selection Lydia did not yet know. However, on her second time reading through it, she had come across a drawing on the very last page which nearly caused her own heart to freeze in her chest. Standing there upon the paper, surrounded by a miasma of darkness and shifting shadows, was drawn the figure of Derrick Arden again. This time he was not smiling. He was leering up at her, the face under his top hat shrunken and abnormal, a perfect replica of her persistent nightmare.
