38. Dorian

Chapter 38

Dorian

I sink into my old armchair. The leather creaks under me, and I swear it sounds like it’s complaining. The room is dim, lit only by a single lamp that casts long, accusing shadows across the antique furniture. Books line the walls, their spines a testament to centuries of accumulated knowledge and secrets.

The air feels thick. Everything’s too intense—the smells, the sounds, even the shadows. The musty scent of ancient parchment mingles with the metallic tang of magic, sharp enough to taste. Shadows writhe at the edges of my vision, while the constant throb of my curse pulses through my body like a second heartbeat. Even the silence seems to have weight, pressing against my eardrums with the promise of secrets yet to be revealed.

As I rub my temples, trying in vain to soothe the relentless throbbing, the curse pulses through me. This curse... It’s like it’s alive. I can feel it moving under my skin. It’s driving me crazy. The pain is exquisite, a symphony of agony that threatens to shatter my sanity. I can almost hear it whispering, urging me to give in and let the darkness consume me entirely.

I’m only twenty-two…

It’s not my curse that occupies my thoughts tonight though. It’s Frankie. Her face haunts me, as do her eyes that have seen too much pain and betrayal, and I’m about to add to that burden.

“Still haven’t told her, huh?” Uncle Everett’s voice cuts through my brooding like a knife through flesh. He saunters into my old room that he’s taken over, a tumbler of amber liquid in hand. “You look like you’re about to face an eredar beast with nothing but a toothpick.”

I glance up at him, managing a weak smile that feels more like a grimace. “You know, Uncle, I’ve been noticing some strange energy fluctuations in the library lately,” I say, frowning. “It’s like there’s something hidden down there, something powerful.”

Everett raises an eyebrow. “Blackwood’s always been secretive about his research. You think he’s up to something?”

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Maybe. It’s probably nothing, but...”

“But your instincts are usually right,” Everett finishes, his expression grave. “Be careful, Dorian. Blackwood’s not a man to be trifled with.”

“Dealing with Blackwood might be preferable to what I’m about to do.” I score my nails down my face before I blink up at him.

Everett settles into the chair across from me, his eyes twinkling with a mix of concern and amusement. The ice in his glass clinks softly, a counterpoint to the deafening silence of my guilt. “Come on, kid. We’ve been over this. You can’t keep those men in your magical bubbles forever. Frankie deserves to know the truth.”

I sigh, leaning back. The leather creaks again, the sound accusatory. “Damn it, I know,” I growl, the curse pulsing beneath my skin. “But every time I steel myself to tell her, I see her face again—the raw guilt, the soul-crushing pain when she thought she killed. I couldn’t... I couldn’t let her carry that burden.”

“By lying to her?” Everett raises an eyebrow, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. “That’s a pretty slippery slope, Dorian. Trust me, I’ve slid down it a few times myself.”

“It wasn’t just a lie,” I argue, though my voice lacks conviction. The words taste like ash in my mouth. “I was trying to keep her from becoming a killer. You know what that does to a person.”

Everett’s expression softens, the lines around his eyes deepening with memories of his own demons. “I do, and I understand why you did it, but keeping this secret... It’s eating you up inside, and if Frankie finds out from someone else?—”

“I know,” I interrupt, running a hand through my hair. The strands feel coarse and brittle, as if the lies I told have poisoned me down to the roots. “But what if she hates me for it? What if this destroys whatever we have?”

“Then at least you’ll have been honest with her,” Everett says, leaning forward. His eyes bore into mine, unflinching. “Look, Dorian. Frankie’s strong. She’s been through hell and come out swinging. Give her a chance to surprise you.”

He stands, clapping me on the shoulder as he passes. The weight of his hand feels like absolution and condemnation all at once. “Take it from someone who’s lived a long, messy life—secrets have a way of coming out at the worst possible moment. It’s better to control the explosion than let it blow up in your face.”

With that parting wisdom, he leaves me alone with my thoughts. I stare into the flickering shadows of the room, Uncle Everett’s words echoing in my mind like a death knell.

Finally, I stand, my decision made. The curse flares within me, as if sensing the impending revelation. “You’re right, Uncle,” I mutter to the empty room. “It’s time to face the music.”

I rush out of his room and down the stone stairs. Each step feels as though I’m moving through water.

As I burst free of the dorms, I take a long, deep breath before making the short walk to the cottage. It still smells of mold and a dampness that we haven’t yet cleaned away.

It doesn’t matter that it’s a temporary home. It’s one we are slowly putting together.

As I approach the cottage, my footsteps falter. The weight of my secret presses down on me, threatening to crush my resolve, but I force myself forward, one leaden step at a time.

The cottage looks so normal, so peaceful. It’s like it’s laughing at how messed up I feel inside. Light spills from the windows, warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the darkness roiling within me. I can hear muffled voices inside, and Frankie’s laughter, light and carefree, cuts through me like a knife.

I pause at the door, my hand hovering over the weathered wood. The curse pulses beneath my skin, urging me to turn back and keep my secrets buried, but Uncle Everett’s words echo in my mind, steeling my resolve.

With a deep breath, I push the door open.

Quiet envelops me as I look around the space.

Leo’s forgotten sneakers lie at the front door, Matteo’s knives line the counters, and there, on the rickety table, sits a book I gave Frankie weeks ago, open on a page about Nyx.

My finger glides over the worn parchment before I hear a curse from deep in the cottage.

Before I know it, I stand in front of her door, my hand poised to knock. The curse writhes beneath my skin, urging me to run, but I force my fist forward, the sound echoing like a death knell in the empty hallway.

An eternity passes before I hear her muffled, “Come in.”

Frankie looks up as I enter, her eyes widening slightly. Even now, with the weight of my betrayal hanging between us, she takes my breath away. “Dorian? Is everything okay?”

My stomach clenches, and a cold sweat breaks out across my skin. Each word I speak feels like swallowing broken glass, the weight of my deception threatening to choke me. “No, it’s not. There’s something I need to show you—something I should have told you a long time ago.”

Confusion flickers across her face, but she nods, rising to follow me out of the cottage and onto a worn path back to the library. As we make our way through the winding corridors of Shadow Locke, I can feel the weight of her gaze on my back. It’s a physical sensation, her eyes burning holes through my flesh, peeling back the layers to reveal the rotting core of my deception.

I can’t even speak. My tongue feels heavy, dry, and coarse, preventing me from speaking as I lead her into the library.

The hallways seem to stretch endlessly, the shadows deepening with each step. The air grows thick and heavy with the scent of ancient stone and dormant magic. Our footsteps echo off the walls, a rhythmic reminder of the secret I’m about to reveal.

“Where are we going?” she asks as we descend a narrow staircase we’ve taken a hundred times before. The stone steps are worn smooth by centuries of use, each one taking us deeper into the bowels of Shadow Locke Library and closer to the truth.

“To the truth,” I reply cryptically, unable to bring myself to say more just yet. The words stick in my throat like shards of glass.

Once at the bottom, I turn to the right, striding past our usual spot and into an area I haven’t shown her yet, turning down a corridor that if one isn’t looking for it, they’d easily miss it.

We reach a door that seems to devour the surrounding light. Ancient oak, reinforced with bands of shadow-infused iron, it pulses with malevolent energy. The air around it shimmers, reality warping under the weight of the magic contained within. Runes of protection and concealment are carved into its surface, pulsing faintly with suppressed power.

I press my palm to its surface, whispering an incantation. The door swings open with a groan that sounds like the wail of the damned, revealing a dimly lit passage beyond.

Frankie hesitates at the threshold, her body tense, ready for flight or fight. “Dorian, what is this place?”

I turn to face her, seeing the mix of curiosity and apprehension in her eyes. The curse writhes beneath my skin, urging me to run, to keep my secrets buried, but I force the words out, each one a dagger in my own heart. “It’s where I’ve been keeping my promise to you, and where I’ve been betraying your trust at the same time.”

Her brow furrows, but she follows me into the passage. The air grows colder, laden with the weight of unspoken truths. As we walk, I begin to explain, and once I start, I can’t stop. It all comes pouring out.

“Do you remember when you first came to Shadow Locke?”

She only hums in response.

I lick my dry, chapped lips. “I know about the men you’ve pushed through the shadows.”

Frankie stiffens beside me, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. “What?”

I nod, guilt twisting in my gut like a knife. “What if I told you that you didn’t kill them? That I’ve been... keeping them safe and contained?”

She doesn’t say a word, only looks around the corridor with fresh eyes. I can’t bear to even look at her.

We reach another door, this one humming with protective magic. The air around it shimmers, distorting the fabric of reality. I mutter a quick incantation, disabling the magical wards I helped create during my apprenticeship with Blackwood. The thought sickens me, but right now, that inside knowledge might save our lives.

I unlock it, revealing a large, circular room beyond, and in that room, suspended in bubbles of shadow magic, are the men Frankie believed she murdered.

Frankie gasps, stumbling backward. Her gasp hits me like a punch to the gut. I can’t breathe for a second. I reach out to steady her, but she flinches away from my touch as if burned. “What... How... Dorian, what have you done?”

The pain in her voice cuts deeper than any blade. I force myself to meet her gaze and face the hurt and betrayal I see there. The way she looks at me... It’s like seeing how much I hate myself, but a thousand times worse.

“I couldn’t let you carry that burden,” I explain, my voice hoarse, scraped raw by the weight of my confession. “I know what it’s like to have blood on your hands, Frankie. I didn’t want that for you, so I... intervened. Every time you thought you killed someone, I was there, containing them and healing them if necessary.”

Frankie shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the suspended figures. They float in their shadowy prisons, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me? All this time, I thought I was a murderer, and you knew the truth?”

“I wanted to protect you,” I say, knowing how hollow the words sound. They ring false, even to my own ears, a pathetic justification for my betrayal. “I thought... I thought if you believed you were capable of killing, it would keep you from fully embracing your shadow powers and keep you safe.”

She whirls on me, anger flashing in her eyes like lightning in a storm dark sky. “That wasn’t your choice to make, Dorian! You lied to me and manipulated me just like...” She trails off, but I know she’s thinking of Valerie. The comparison stings, a lash of self-loathing across my soul.

“You’re right,” I admit, the words tasting like ashes and regret. “I’m sorry, Frankie. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I was wrong.”

Frankie turns away, her shoulders shaking—whether with anger or suppressed sobs, I’m not sure. I want to comfort her, to take her in my arms and shield her from the pain I’ve caused, but I know I’ve lost that right. My betrayal stands between us like an impassable chasm.

“What happens to them now?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. The question hangs in the air, heavy with implications.

I open my mouth to respond, but a flicker of movement catches my eye. One of the shadow bubbles is pulsing strangely, its surface rippling like disturbed water. The magic containing it seems to waver, stretching and distorting.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” I mutter, moving closer to investigate. My curse responds to the fluctuation in shadow magic, writhing beneath my skin like a living thing.

Frankie follows my gaze, her anger momentarily forgotten in the face of this new mystery. “Dorian, what’s wrong?”

Before I can answer, the bubble bursts with a sound like shattering glass. The noise reverberates through the chamber, vibrating the other bubbles ominously, but instead of releasing its occupant, the ruptured bubble reveals a hidden passage behind it, yawning open like a wound in reality.

“What the hell?” Frankie whispers, stepping closer despite herself. The scent of her fear mingles with my own, a heady cocktail of adrenaline and dread.

Curiosity overrides caution, and we find ourselves venturing into the passage. It leads to another room, this one sterile and clinical. The walls are lined with strange machines and bubbling vials of shadowy liquid. The air is thick with the acrid smell of chemicals and the ozone scent of active magic. Machines hum and beep, creating a discordant symphony that sets my teeth on edge.

“This is Blackwood’s lab,” I realize with a jolt of horror. The curse marks on my skin pulse in response, as if answering my assumption. “He’s been experimenting right under our noses.”

Frankie’s eyes widen as she takes in the scene, her gaze lingering on the vials of shadowy liquid. They bubble ominously, their contents seeming to move with a life of their own. “Those vials... They look like what Valerie used to inject me with, only they were light.”

The implications of her words hit me like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. “We are going to talk about that later.”

She shifts from foot to foot before giving me a curt nod.

“In all this time, the pods never once reacted.” I turn to Frankie, knowing it was her they reacted to and that somehow fate intervened.

I rarely believe in fate.

“What the hell is going on down here?” Frankie says, her voice hardening. “We have to tell the others. I won’t let anyone else be manipulated like I was—by Valerie, by you, or by Blackwood. Bishop. We need to find Bishop.”

I nod, already reaching for my phone, but as I do, I catch sight of my reflection in one of the machines. The sight stops me cold. The curse marks, usually a faint beneath my skin, are darkening and spreading before my eyes. I can feel them moving, a sensation like insects crawling under my flesh. The pain intensifies, a burning ache that threatens to overwhelm me. It’s responding to something in this lab, I realize with a jolt. The shadow magic here is... familiar, like it’s calling to the darkness inside me, trying to draw it out. Whatever Blackwood’s been doing down here, it’s connected to my curse, and that terrifies me more than anything.

Frankie notices too, her anger momentarily forgotten in the face of this new threat. “Dorian, what’s happening to you?”

I meet her gaze in the reflection, seeing the concern there despite everything I’ve done. It’s a kindness I don’t deserve, a reminder of why I fell for her in the first place. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice tight with pain and fear, “but I think we’re running out of time.”

As if in response to my words, a low rumble shakes the room. The vials of shadowy liquid vibrate on their shelves, their contents swirling more violently. The machines around us begin to emit a high-pitched whine, their displays flickering erratically.

“We need to get out of here,” Frankie says, grabbing my arm. The touch sends a jolt through me, both comforting and agonizing as the curse marks flare in response.

We turn to leave, but the passage we entered through has vanished, replaced by a smooth, featureless wall. Panic rises in my throat as I realize we’re trapped.

“No,” I mutter, running my hands over the wall, searching for any hint of an opening. “This can’t be happening.”

Frankie joins me, her fingers probing the seamless surface. “There has to be a way out. Maybe if we?—”

Her words are cut off by a piercing scream.

“That’s an alarm.” Panic ripples through me.

“How the hell are we getting out of here?” Frankie spins in a circle, looking for a way out, but there is nothing but shiny sterile walls.

I swallow bile, my tongue once again thick in my mouth. “I don’t know.”