Page 62 of House of Lilith

And a bunch of letters, tied together with a string, from someone by the name of Cian Fitzpatrick.

As soon as I read the name, my eyebrows pull down. Cian Fitzpatrick… Where have I come across that name?

It almost instantly dawns on me. I spring from my bed and jump over the rest of the boxes to grab the book off my desk.The History of Grimm Academy. Frowning and holding my breath, I open it onto the page talking about the Games.

And there I find it. Cian Fitzpatrick, the name of the shifter professor who wrote the section.

I slam the book onto the desk, fixing my eyes ahead. Itcouldbe the killer. Someone Professor Onas knew. Someone who obviously hadsomekind of interest in the Games. Someone who could be holding a grudge against the Fiain Academy.

My heart pounding with excitement, I rush back to the bed and grab my phone. ‘Cian Fitzpatrick’, I type into the browser search box.

And I start scrolling.

No, I curse when my eyes stop on an article titledThe Death of One of the Topmost Scholars in His Field, Professor Cian Fitzpatrick.

Four years ago. He’s dead and he died four years ago.

Goddamn it. I shake my head and I go back to the letters. They’re the closest to a lead that I currently have, but considering the man who wrote them is dead, I’m not in the least enthusiastic. I carefully untie the string and start reading.

Dear Ruvyn, it starts. That’s Professor Onas’ first name, I guess.

How are you, my friend? I hope the weather’s not treating you too badly. I’ve spent many an hour in the Greenhouse and I know exactly how the old joints can react to its chilly air.

Ugh. I keep skimming the paragraphs, then pages, then whole letters.

And there’s a lot of talk about lectures, research, students. But nothing of any interest to me whatsoever. Nothing that would implicate the old Fitzpatrick.

Until he ends one letter with the words:

I’ve finally finished it, old friend. The book I told you about almost ten years ago at that conference in the West Scion Lands. I know the Games can be a delicate topic, even after all this time, and you did warn me. You did say no one will want to publish it. So I did it myself, because I think it’s important to speak up about what happened and how the powers that be let a mere spat turn into the clash of the century. I just hope that, despite everything, it ends up finding its audience.

P.S. Yes, Ruvyn, you’re getting your own copy, albeit an undeserved one.

Love,

Cian

Holy shit. I drop the letter onto my bed and look into the box, where I find the said book lying under a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.How the Umbrage Could Have Been Avoided, by Cian Fitzpatrick.

Isn’t that just perfect. A book that I’m a hundred percent sure the Library doesn’t have, because I’ve already read everything there is to read on the topic. And what I really want to do now is curl up with it, but I’ve no time to waste onthat. After all, it’s tomorrow that I’ll have to return the Professor’s stuff and I’m no closer to finding the killer than I was before I started opening these boxes, I think as I grab the very last one.

Nothing. It contains nothing of significance whatsoever.

I let out a sigh and I throw myself onto my back. I guess the next logical step would be to go through the books again, see if there are any inscriptions from other people with ties to the Games.

Why, oh why didn’t he keep a contact book?

I hear my phone ping from somewhere and it sends a pang of anxiety shooting through me, but I choose to ignore it. I turn my head to the side and there it is, lying there, waiting for me. The book that might have some interesting insights on the Umbrage.

I guess it can’t hurt, to at least crack it open and skim the contents. If I don’t do it now, I’ll never get the chance to do it again.

But just as I reach out my hand to take it, my phone starts ringing.

Ringing.Which can only mean one thing, I think as I sit up in my bed. Max.

My eyes dart to the window. Fuck. It’s already dark out and I told him I’d be at the party in the Common Room in honor of tomorrow’s Game. Like a warm-up of sorts.

And I’m late and I didn’t even let him know.

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