Page 76 of Divine Oaths

Kasem’s answer was cold. “What do you think?”

A chill pricked against the hairs on my arm, my stomach twisting with unease. Moments before, the library had been brimming with possibilities. And now it was twisted and menacing. Sure enough, the plaque at the base of the statue reaffirmed the sinister origins of the figure.

BRIGADIER GENERAL JOHN THOMAS WINHALL. CONFEDERATE SOLDIER WHO STOPPED AT WESTFIELD UNIVERSITY TO REPLENISH SUPPLIES DURING THE CIVIL WAR.

“I believe the board of trustees had this statue erected sometime in the 1930s,” Kasem said.

“And Sigma and Theta just let him use the school as a base during the war? I thought Honey said they were abolitionists. Why would they allow that?”

“I don’t know,” Kasem said. “Maybe they didn’t have a choice?”

“But what about Yara? Were they just there when this all happened?”

“Yara would have been at Westfield at this time,” Kasem said. “And Kent would’ve been here too. Both of the university’s founders were present.”

I remembered Honey explaining that back at Theta House. Kent and his half brother, Duncan, founded Westfield as it was known today.

Kasem nodded back up at the statue. “But during the Civil War, I’m pretty sure the campus was seized by this guy, Winhall. His Confederate forces used it as a base even while the school was running. Kent left at a certain point to join the Union, and Duncan stayed as an abolitionist spy and passed along information about the general to his brother. Eventually, Kent and the Union seized Westfield back, right before the Battle of Appomattox Court House and the end of the war.”

“Then why is there a statue of him in Westfield’s biggest library instead of statues of Kent or Duncan?” I said.

“I told you,” Kasem said, “the board of trustees are the stewards of the Westfield estate. After Kent’s death and Reconstruction ended in 1877, Duncan became Westfield’s new president and the estate was turned over to the Board. They’ve have been managing it since then. Alaster’s side of the family remain as figurehead presidents, and our side has the conservatorship overseeing how we inherit the estate. But this part of Westfield’s legacy, it’s what the Board and its donors choose to prop up. Not us. It’s why Kent’s statue stays hidden in a restricted courtyard and Duncan just has some rusty plaque near the campus store.”

I stared at General Winhall’s ominous figure. The statue loomed above us with arrogance and disdain. He’d lived to see Kent and Duncan seize the estate back from him for the Union. Neither the Board nor this statue of Winhall could change that, no matter what lies they peddled or told themselves. I took satisfaction in that fact, that as much as they’d tried to rewrite history, the truth would outlive all of them.

At the end of the path, the library loomed ahead of us, as grand and imposing as Westfield’s other buildings. Since it was open hours, the double doors were unlocked. A sign noted that the library wouldn’t be accessible to students under one thousand merit points during specific hours of the day. It also informed visitors that campus study rooms, which were available in student dorms, could be used as alternatives during library off-hours. And of course, per university guidelines, first-years didn’t have access to public campus buildings after midnight.

I wouldn’t stay long, though. I had assignments to finish, and Vivian and Luke were planning on meeting me later. Kasem held the library door open for me, and I hurried in after him.

Inside, the musty scent of worn leather filled the vast space. There were quiet study areas with mahogany tables, glass conference rooms, and bookshelves everywhere.

Kasem gestured for me to follow, and we made our way past rows of bound books and research filings. A few times, he stopped and rummaged through the shelves, picking up a textbook or a file before nodding at me to keep going. Finally, we arrived at the quiet rooms tucked in a corner. There were rows of them, some with students already crouched together to work. One of the rooms was empty, and he tapped his phone against the screen, the system recognizing that he had enough merit points to book the space.

“Ready to make good on your side of the deal?” he teased.

I crossed my arms. “Only if you are.”

He held the door open for me to enter, and I ducked past his outstretched arm, taking a seat at the wooden table to try and uncover the history of the curse and learn how to break it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Something after death

AS HIDDEN AWAY AS WE were in the quiet rooms, with midterms approaching, the library was packed with students. Kasem and I sat a few feet away from each other, and in the quiet rooms around us, groups of students worked intently on assignments, from engineering students hunched over their laptops to design and fashion students pasting together color theory grids and hand-sewing garments for studio.

In a leather-bound notebook, Kasem drew a diagram about everything we’d been piecing together, including Theta’s and Sigma’s origins, what he knew about the curse from his parents and Jojo, as well as the series of deaths we could link directly to the curse.

“Pete and Jay are basically puppets of the curse at this point,” Kasem said. “So they’ll be finding ways to do its bidding but also won’t want to reveal themselves to the whole school since they’re technically on bail.”

“And since Vivian’s bound to her oath of loyalty to the Ԑnhye, same way Jojo and you are bound to Sigma and Honey is bound to Theta, we won’t be able to piece anything together from those threads until I rush,” I said, taking the pen from him and scribbling my own notes next to his.

He stared intently at my handwriting, and when I handed him back the pen, he drew a box around our observations.

“This isn’t much headway on how to break the curse,” he admitted.

“So we’re stuck?” I sighed.

“Not necessarily. I mean, part of this is figuring out what we don’t know.”