Page 166 of Every Shade of Shadow

I turn back to Damien. “Where is he then, this Hargraves?”

“In the Headmistress’s office,” she says, tone hesitant. I can understand why. That’s the last place I want to be right now, back in that murdering bitch’s office with its cupboard of cow parts, the very place where she plotted this whole fucked-up thing.

“Better get it over with then,” I muse, bringing Damien’s hand to my lips and sending him a mental promise.

I’ll be back before you know it.

I don’t know when he’ll wake up. Hell, I don’t know if he will wake up. I just don’t want to miss that moment.

Chaos doesn’t begin to describe what’s been going on in the Academy since ‘the event,’ as it’s come to be known, because God forbid anyone would actually call it what it is: a massacre.

At least it didn’t take the AOB long to swoop in. I guess they can nose out mass disturbances like this, just muscle-portal their way in, though I heard Isadora didn’t make it easy with an elaborate network of wards and protection spells surrounding the castle. No, she planned this well.

She just didn’t plan for me.

I was surprised to learn most AOB agents are about my age, maybe a little older, in their matching suits and uniforms that look direct from the fifties. That’s what has always been weird to me about the magical world. It’s so damn stuck in the past.

Soon they were swarming over campus helping the survivors and setting up perimeters. It’s hard to go anywhere here now without one of them sniffing at your ass.

Lily and Ava have taken it all better than I thought, even if they are a bit shellshocked. I don’t blame them. It’s been a long time since anyone has seen something of this scale. Not since the Great Purge.

I don’t know what they think is going to happen, though. Mortis is dead. I made well fucking sure of that.

I stand outside the Headmistress’s office, my stomach twisted into knots. Right behind these doors is where I talked, very cordially, with that evil whore. She welcomed me in with open arms, which makes me wonder if, in light of recent events, the Academy will remain ‘Lumina.’ Surely not. No one will want to attend an institution of higher learning named after a mass murderer. Hell, I’ll be surprised if they don’t just close these doors for good. Maybe it’s better that way.

“Enter,” calls a hoarse male voice.

I enter, chills running up and down my body.

The man behind the desk in the Headmistress’s office looks exactly how you would picture a Hargraves Beaker complete with blustering moustache and comb-back.

Isadora sat in that very seat welcoming in her next victims. I cannot help but feel I’m walking into a similar sort of trap.

Hargraves taps the cigarette he’s holding over an ashtray, one that’s full of at least ten butts. The smell of tobacco is heavy, even with the window open.

There’s a younger male agent by the wall to my left, who remains still.

“Ms. Fairchild? Annabelle Fairchild?” he asks, reading my name off a list in front of him.

I try to maintain my composure. The last thing I want to do is spend another minute in this fucking office. “Yes.”

“I’m Hargraves Beaker of the AOB, Head of Mass Event Response,” he introduces himself, puffing smoke out his nostrils. “How are you holding up?”

“I was just about to break out the champagne,” I smile.

He gives me a slack smile back. “I see. I don’t begrudge your gallows humor, of course. After all, you’ve been through a lot. Take a seat.”

“I’d rather stand,” I tell him. “And I’d like to make this quick, if we can.”

“Somewhere else you’d rather be?”

I remain silent.

“Yes, Professor Darkwood,” he nods. “I’ve heard you were…close.”

Fuck. Here we go again.

“In any case,” he continues, “I do need to ascertain exactly what happened here and your part in it. Word is you were rather instrumental in turning the tide, so to speak.”

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