The Revenants

November 1935

The lamps in the library burned low by the time I made my way up to the main lobby of the Stacks, what the students at the Scholarium Arcana called the library. A few of us remained to manage the late-night shift. Only desperate students were still here at this time of night, cramming for midterms or scrambling to finish essays that were due in the morning. The soft scratching of pens on paper, the quiet close of another book, the subtle creak of a chair echoed in throughout the floors.

I grabbed another stack of books and lugged them towards the shelves. It was one of the least glamorous tasks for a student archivist, shelving, but we all had to pay our dues. I wanted every advantage I could get to earning the graduate fellowship, so I never complained about menial tasks. Besides, my classes and campus job gave me the excuse to spend most of my time here, looking for materials for my research or on errands for Professor Aetos, the Head Librarian. No one bothered me, and I didn’t have to face the treacherous social landscape of the dining hall or commons. I learned the layout of the massive library faster than a sophomore ought to because I couldn’t bear the terrible tightness in my chest when I found myself in public alone. I explored every corner that I had access to, and a few collections that I technically shouldn’t be able to see. But no one needed to know that.

I’d just finished shelving a stack of spellwork manuscripts when the double doors banged open, making everyone jump.

Four students, three boys and a girl, crashed into the library atrium, dripping from the rain and tracking sodden leaves across the polished, black-veined marble. As they stepped into the light, I recognized them. They were in my year and kept mainly to themselves. Other students were afraid to get too close to them. Everyone called them The Revenants, because every time they approached trouble (either through minor rule breaking or questionable topics of study) they escaped discipline. The four of them burned almost too brightly with an ethereal vitality. Even now, soaking from the rain, their eyes were blazing, their cheeks pink. They were so vivacious and loud that I didn’t know if I should kick them out, or ignore them and hope they stormed out as quickly as they’d swept in.

The tallest of them, a boy with a handsome face and serious tilt to his mouth, slicked his sandy hair away from his brow. His eyes found mine, and I couldn’t do anything but stare as he strode towards me, paper in hand. “Good evening. I wonder if you might help us find this?”

I gingerly took the sopping paper. “It’s wet.” My heart thrummed like a spell gone wrong, wild and uncontrollable.

“Right, sorry,” he said. He traced a finger over his palm and muttered under his breath. A great gust of warm air ripped through the shelves, sending loose leaves of paper cascading about the floor. The boy and his friends were now dry, if not decidedly more disheveled. The paper I held had also dried, becoming more brittle in my fingertips.

I pointed to a sign prominently displayed on the end of a shelf.

No Magic.

Spellwork inside the Stacks was forbidden. The great fire of 1835 had nearly burned the entire college to the ground, all because the errant sparks of a luminous butterfly had caught onto the pages of the books. There were safeguards in place to shield the treasures that lay below, but the wards that protected those books did not prevent minor spells from working on the upper levels.

“Better to be dry than dripping throughout the Stacks,” he said, flapping an impatient hand. “Can you get us the book or not?”

I scrunched my lips. “Certainly. Wait here,” I said with as much authority as I could muster.

“If it’s all right, we’ll come along,” interrupted one of the other boys. He was thin, with wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, enlarging his upturned eyes. “There might be more we need. We won’t know until we see them.”

I glanced between all of them, weighing how much damage they could do. The girl was busy re-braiding her hair, trying to tame her shockingly white-blonde tresses. She met my eyes and held them.

I’d never seen eyes as blue as hers, the color of cerulean lightning. She lined them with dark pencil, accentuating her angular face. She was stunningly beautiful and reminded me of a storybook faerie queen.

The last boy stood with his hands in his overly stuffed pockets, a worn leather satchel slung against his back. He seemed bored with the proceedings, and kept peering down the long aisles of shelves, as if looking for something else, and toying with the end of one of his many braids.

All of them swayed like planets drawn into the gravitational pull of the boy’s orbit who had used magic without a second thought. Perhaps it was better if they stuck close to me. The book they wanted was a quarter mile under the stacks, which would leave them unattended for far too long. Who knows what else they might get up to in the lobby while I was gone?

The one with the satchel fidgeted, tugging the strap of his bag.

Typically, archival students would fetch books for those who requested them. Certain students and even professors were notorious among the archivists for making outlandish requests. It was rare when someone wanted to browse, but it wasn’t unheard of.

The library shot above ground in four stories with glass towers and stony, Gothic architecture, all pointed turrets and intricate carvings. It was the crown jewel of the most prestigious magical university in the country. While the exterior shone with a distinctly magical polish, catching the light in the most breathtaking way, its treasures lay below the surface. I still didn’t know many floors descended into the ground, but I once heard Professor Aetos tell a senior archival student to check on the documents on mile two. Mile two.

I was held I was held to a higher standard than most mages who studied at the Scholarium. My grades had to be perfect, my gratitude unwavering, my adoration pure. Yes, it would be best to honor their request and take them with me. If we stuck to the public floors, everything would be fine.

“Right this way,” I turned on my heel, clutching the piece of paper between my thumb and finger. I didn’t wait to see if they followed, but I heard the patter of their footsteps behind me as I wound my way down the iron staircase.

We walked out of the atrium and down a flagstone corridor that held several study alcoves where students hunched low over their books and papers. Some muttered frantically to themselves or pressed on their temples, as if trying to physically stuff knowledge inside their heads. One girl who had been here every night for the past week looked like she was in desperate need of a bath. Her hair hung in straw-like clumps, and her uniform was wrinkled. In another alcove, a stern-faced boy glared at his self-writing typewriter, its keys overworked and slowed to a pathetic click… click…clack.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled at the sensation of being followed. The Revenants were silent as I led them down the right fork at the end of the corridor, and we took the elevator to sub level four. Every part of me felt attuned to them, even as I led the way.

We exited the elevator and strode halfway down the hall before I finally stopped in front of a small wooden door. Blue lantern light flicked to life as we entered the room, sensing our arrival.

“Always the flair of the dramatic, the old Scholarium.” The tall boy sighed, though not without fondness.

“I quite like it,” said the girl. “Very mysterious.”

I checked the paper they’d given me and moved further down the shelves. I plucked an old leather-bound tome from the second row and handed it to the tall boy. He gave it to the silver-haired girl, who took it and read under the nearest sconce. The other two spread out, fingers trailing along the spines, clearly looking for something else.

There was something not quite right about the whole thing. Something in the way they kept exchanging wordless glances, saying plenty without speaking aloud. “If that will be all?” I inched towards the door, desperate to be gone. I didn’t want any part of their research.

“Not so fast,” said the tall boy, stepping to close the gap between us. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Isadora Fox.”

“Of the Hampton Foxes?”

“No. The Maine ones.” I clenched the paper. Of course they’d ask for a wealthy family connection. But I didn’t have any. I was the only scholarship student in our year, and it was a miracle they’d accepted me.

“I’m Sebastian Starcaster.” He paused, searching my face for a spark of recognition.

“Like the company?” I asked hesitantly. The Starcasters owned one of the wealthiest magical corporations in the world, selling their patented spells to anyone who would buy them. I’d overheard other students whisper about him when talking about the Revenants but hadn’t bothered putting any names to faces with them.

Sebastian’s grin lit up his entire face. “The same. This here is Oliver Thorne,” he gestured to the boy with the glasses, who gave a curt nod in acknowledgment.

“Jasper Sharp is around here somewhere. He’s the rogue with the baggage.”

“Hey,” said an indignant voice, followed shortly by the face of the boy with the satchel. His smooth, brown skin glowed beneath the blue lantern light. “How dare you call this baggage?”

Sebastian shrugged. “And that is the stunning Cordelia Lark.”

The girl peered over the page of a book. “Hello,” she said coolly.

“Pleasure,” I managed as my stomach lurched. She certainly was striking.

“It’s not here, Sebastian,” said Cordelia, snapping the book shut. “We’ve missed something.”

“Perhaps Miss Isadora can be of further help. You’re an archival track, yes?” One hand as thrust into his pocket, but his eyes gleamed with determination.

I nodded. I had declared a course of study that would allow me to spend as much time as possible in the Stacks. Though how he knew that I couldn’t say.

“Supposedly, there’s a tunnel leading into the cemetery. Only Thaddeus Grimwood ever documented it.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just a myth,” I said, shifting further towards the door. They were sophomores like me. Shouldn’t they know that?

Everyone had heard the rumor. It was a cheap initiation trick the upper classmen liked to play on the freshman. Party’s in the cemetery. Just take the tunnel, you can’t miss it.

Only there was no tunnel, and we were not permitted to visit the old graveyard just outside the school grounds. There was a magical barrier that prevented anyone from stepping foot inside its sacred ground.

“We’re very sure it’s not,” said Jasper, stepping around the shelves to join us.

“The documents I’ve been researching suggest the very real construction of this passage.” Cordelia placed the book back on the shelf. “‘Tunnel’ might be a bit of a misnomer. I don’t think it goes underground at all, but I am happy to be proven wrong.”

“And why do you want to find this… passage?”

Cordelia flicked her eyes to Sebastian’s.

They were definitely hiding something.

“I love to be right,” he said simply. “How satisfying would it be to throw a party on the bones of the Scholarium’s forefathers?”

“I dunno.” I took a step back towards the door.

“C’mon, Iz,” said Cordelia, addressing me as if we’d been friends for ages. “Don’t you want a little adventure?”

“I’m only an archivist.” My mouth went dry, and my palms tingled as a mixture of apprehension and damnable curiosity sparked to life within me.

Sebastian flashed another toothy grin. I was about to bolt for the door, to forget The Revenants had ever burst into the library or asked for my help, but Oliver was the one who convinced me to stay.

“I’ve always found that the greatest adventures are found between the pages of books,” he said with complete seriousness. “Unfortunately, my friends need that adventure brought to the physical realm to appreciate it. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t find our own enjoyment from the search and discovery, right?”

I froze, completely drawn in by him.

“You must know exactly where to look. It would take us an entire semester just to learn our way around this place, but you must have it all memorized.”

His words were only meant to persuade me, but in that moment, when the rest of them were circling like vultures, it felt real. If anyone else had said it, it would have been easy to write off as nothing more than cheap flattery. But Oliver spoke with genuine warmth. He pushed his black wire frames up the bridge of his nose with a knuckle, waiting for my reply.

A little voice inside my head, the one that had convinced me to apply to the Scholarium against my parents’ wishes, was growing louder. Awakened by the four pairs of eyes that stared at me expectantly.

Everything would be fine if I didn’t get caught. “I think I can help,” I said.

“Brilliant,” said Sebastian, clapping Oliver and Jasper’s shoulders. “Lead the way.”

I set a course for the Founder’s Collection, praying that I would not regret it. The collection contained books and manuscripts that pertained to the creation of the school, its curriculum, and the lives of the original founding board.

“So, where to, Iz?” asked Sebastian.

“This section is off-limits, but the Founder’s Collection contains records of the school’s inception, including blueprints. There’s a high chance that what you are looking for will be there.”

“I knew it,” he said, turning over his shoulder to gloat.

Cordelia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the quirk of her lips.

We walked another quarter mile down twisting staircases. The air pressed in close here, cold and clammy. Even though there was plenty of archival magic to keep the paper dry, it did not extend to providing comfort to the people who walked through the library.

This time, we stopped in front of a door made of iron. I fished into my pocket for my key, which all archivists kept on a small brass chain. The key was spelled to work on any lock within the Stacks, with more doors opening as the archivist who held the key earned more privileges. But if an archivist committed a terrible magical violation, like breaking into a level that was restricted, it melted into a useless pile of ash.

I bit my lip and hesitated for a faction of a second. Only archivists were allowed to enter this room. I had the clearance, so I didn’t have to worry about that, but my heart raced all the same. If I were caught bringing in other students, there would be serious consequences.

My ears pricked, listening for any sounds. There was no one here other than us. I scanned the door, the knob, the floor, studying the runes etched into wood and brass. There was nothing here that would set off an alarm. Most of the runes were purely decorative.

Even so, my chest tightened, as I inserted the key into the lock and did my best to shove away my lingering doubts.

Inside, we were greeted once more by blue lantern light. A bust of Thaddeus Grimwood sat on a pedestal in the center of the room. I averted my eyes from his disapproving marble gaze. Sebastian and his friends spread out, scouring the floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves while I headed straight for the construction documents. I plucked a few the most promising scrolls from the shelf.

The first few were interesting. One even detailed a network of tunnels that sprawled out from the dining hall, but there was nothing about the graveyard. The fourth scroll was marked with a rune I’d never seen before. I opened it and felt a bubble of pride swell in my chest. I turned it over to Sebastian.

He examined the drawings, squinting in the lamplight. “This is encouraging.” Sebastian called for Oliver, who helped him make a quick copy of the scroll using an ink transfer spell that was impressive, but made me squirm with discomfort.

None of the runes around the door had contained any alarms for spell casting, but my palms still grew moist at the thought of them breaking a security ward.

Once the original scroll was returned to its proper place, the quartet moved towards the door without a word.

Cordelia, trailing behind the others, stopped at the door. “You coming, or not?”

I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, fighting the urge to wring my hands. Some small part of me wanted to follow them. I had a morbid curiosity about the passage. And I was the one who had gotten them to the potential solution.

If I stayed, I knew my life would go back to the same drudgery. Where books were my only company, and the pressure of perfection my constant companion. I think Cordelia sensed that too, because she offered me a small, encouraging smile. Even if they were only bringing me along because they felt some sort of indebtedness to my helping them, I would get one night of adventure.

Besides. I wanted to see this research through.