Page 59 of The City Of Fractured Memory

She cups the phial of blood between both hands and closes her eyes. Her lips move silently and the air around us shifts with her magic, the sort of pressure that makes the skin tingle. Her blue aura escapes her, the tiny crescent tattoo on her forehead shining, and the tome’s margin notes seem to match her glow for a heartbeat before they dim.

Her breath catches, and she reaches one hand out and gently touches my shoulder. Immediately, images—not quite tangible, more like impressions—rise like steam against glass in my mind, a latticework of sigils wrapped around a single, diaphanous concept. A memory of ice, formed not by cold, but by will, holding shape far beyond the body’s reason to keep it. And threaded through all of it, the faintest, most deliberate intention. I shiver. I don’t know what Stryx has done, but it’s worked.

My skin prickles and I force myself to breathe. “It’s a sort of…binding spell?”

She opens her eyes slowly. They’re red-rimmed from fatigue. “Yes, I think so,” she agrees. “Her blood was spilt with particular intent, but the spell was frozen, like the act of the blood spilling triggered something.” She skims a finger along the text. “The book calls this kind of hold a long hush. It can provide many uses–” she gasps “– Octavia, it can trigger a temporary coma.”

I flip the page, my heart thundering. Under Binding Arts- Common Uses, a neat paragraph catches my breath. “This says the ritual for creating a coma-like state is triggered by blood loss. It’s risky, though—the victim could bleed out before the spell is completed…” I feel something tighten inside my chest like a fist. “Gods, Stryx, it says it needs two litres of blood to activate. They all lost around two litres. Someone must have tried this,” I whisper. “But failed? Could this be a pattern of failed rituals?”

Stryx’s jaw works. “It fits…though the wound must be extremely small for it not to be obvious. If you bind this spell to the blood, but it only triggers when the blood is spilt, you could kill without evidence. You wouldn’t need to be there at the time of death.”

My teeth gnaw at my lower lip. “That could be why the first two were found in locked rooms. The moment of death was delayed. Their memories were siphoned, leaving them in overwhelming panic, leading them to barricade themselves, not realising they were already dying. It still doesn’t explain how they bled out, though.”

Stryx knots her fingers in her lap, her voice almost a whisper of anger. “This isn’t something a petty killer can just improvise. Whoever did this must have planned it meticulously, and have a very particular kind of cruelty. Do you think it ties back to the cult Raph mentioned?”

I meet her gaze, hard with resolve, but before I can speak, our attention snaps to Quill as he starts scratching away at his parchment. I recognise the handwriting as Chief Starling’s and my stomach drops.

I need you at the Division now. We’ve located Xavier.

There’s something you need to see.

Twenty-Seven

The Division’s tall black doors loom ahead, and my stomach sinks when I see the cluster of wardens outside, their faces drawn and tense.

The moment we step inside, the Chief’s voice cuts through the low murmur of the station.

“Finally.” He waits by the staircase, his expression ashen. “You’d better come with me.”

I frown. “What’s happened? Where’s Xavier?”

“Xavier,” the Chief says grimly, turning on his heel, “Is currently vacationing in the cells.”

“The cells?” Stryx—disguised under her mortal glamour—gasps, falling into step beside me as I follow the Chief. “Why?”

“We found him passed out in a back alley in Aethermere. Looked half-dead. When the wardens tried to bring him in, he woke up swinging.” His tone hardens. “He nearly killed two of them.”

I stop dead in my tracks. “What?”

Starling doesn’t look back. “He tried to force his way into the morgue to see his sister.”

My pulse spikes. “He hasn’t seen Vesper’s body–”

“No, and nor will he yet,” the Chief cuts in. “We couldn’t allow him inside in his current state, we’ve been preparing another body for examination.”

Stryx glances sharply at me. “Another body?”

We reach the lower corridor, the scent of damp stone and antiseptic thick in the air, and I realise he hasn’t been walking us to the cells.

Starling pauses by the door to the morgue. “That’s why I sent for you,” he says finally, voice dropping low. “You need to see for yourself. I think…I think it’s connected.”

My chest tightens as we follow him inside. “Connected to the murders?”

He meets my eyes grimly. “You tell me.”

I freeze as Starling pulls back the linen and Raph’s unseeing eyes stare vacantly up at me.

Even with what we found in the Archives, I was still sceptical about this being cult related, but as I stare at the body of the man who pulled us into the shadows not two nights ago, I can’t help but think his untimely death must confirm the truth of it. It can’t be a coincidence that he ended up in the morgue after revealing vital information. Other than that, though, there’s no resemblance to the other murders. Unlike the others, his body is barely recognisable now, marred by brutal, deliberate stabs. The gashes are deep and seemingly unrestrained. Whoever did this didn’t just want him dead.