It ’s a known fact that we here at io9 are quite fond ofstories set atspooky boarding schools , so we ’re very excited to be share an exclusive excerpt from Victoria Lee’switchynew boarding school - set novel A Lesson in Vengeance , which flux peculiar themes with Gothic chills .
Here ’s a plot verbal description to set the scene :
Felicity Morrow is back at the Dalloway School to finish her elderly class after the tragic death of her lady friend . She even has her quondam elbow room in Godwin House , the sole dorm room rumored to be haunted by the spirits of five Dalloway pupil — girls some say were witches .
A crop of A Lesson in Vengeance’s cover.Image: Delacorte Press
felicitousness was once drawn to the dark legacy of witchery . She ’s determined to bequeath that behind her now ; but it ’s hard when Dalloway ’s supernatural history is everywhere . And when the new girl wo n’t let her forget it .
It ’s Ellis Haley ’s first class at Dalloway . A prodigy novelist at seventeen , Ellis is off-the-wall and splendid , and Felicity ca n’t shake the pulling she feels to her . So when Ellis ask Felicity for help researching the Dalloway Five for her second script , Felicity ca n’t say no . And when history begins to reduplicate itself , Felicity will have to face the duskiness in Dalloway — and in herself .
And here ’s a look at the full covering , designed by Regina Flath , followed by a canary peep at A Lesson in Vengeance ’s superbly atmospheric eighth chapter .
Image: Delacorte Press
Chapter Eight
Here is the verity .
What happened to Alex was no accident . Not just because she fell , because we ’d fought , or because I thin the rope — but because of what bump last October .
I ’d recently decided on my thesis project : “ I monish you against this , ” Wyatt had tell when I told her I wanted to learn representations of witchery in literature . “ You will shin to get a dissertation on witchcraft approved by the government activity , no matter how estimable your scholarship . Dalloway is a goodly school — this is n’t the Scholomance . ”
“ I do n’t see the problem , ” I ’d state . “ I ’m not claiming the Dalloway hag were real . Just that conceptualisation of witchery existed in the 18th century , and that those were determine by perceptions of distaff authority and mental illness at the clock time . I want to link up the reality of their life to the fantasy of how women were presented on the page . ”
Wyatt had furbish up me with a lancet arch gaze and said : “ So long as you focus on the lit , Miss Morrow — not on flights of fancy . ” And she ’d sign the papers .
But when I ’d told my female parent about my plans , she ’d been appalled .
“ That school is a bad influence on you , ” my mother had order me while I was place for Thanksgiving break a few weeks after . “ I retrieve you knew better than to believe all that bunk about witches . ”
Perhaps she was right to be afraid . Of naturally , at the time I ’d scoffed . I do n’t believe in witches , I ’d take a firm stand , and it was rightful . Before Dalloway , I had fancied myself a rationalist — too rational , in fact , to think of the hypothesis that reality might contain more mysteries than my feeble mortal head could translate . But there was something about the Dalloway Five that drag me in , embraced me in their cold-blooded dead branch . They were existent : there was historic grounds for their biography , for their deaths . And I imagined their conjuration stitched like a thread across metre , pass from female parent to daughter , a glittering link from the founder to Margery Lemont to me .
That had mat like a comfort once . After Halloween , it finger more like a curse .
By that night , I ’d had plenty of opportunity to sweep up myself in lore and caption . My elbow room at Godwin House was litter with scanned grimoire pageboy and preeminence on the uncanny . Alex watched all this with a sort of donnish fascination ; she ’d never been able to sympathise why I was so drawn to darkness . She had always belong in the light of the sun .
“ Do n’t you imagine you ’re taking this a little too seriously ? ” Alex asked the night everything went wrong , waving a match through the air to extinguish the flaming . “ You ’ve been kind of over the top about this thesis business . Like , do you mean you ’re originate to get a little garbled about reality here ? Magic does n’t exist , Felicity . ”
“ Are you certain about that ? ”
“ I intend . . . yes ? ”
She held my regard for a long moment ; I look away first , back to the Ouija control panel set up between us . “ This is important to me , ” I confessed to the planchette . I dipped a textile into salt water and wiped it over the board itself , cleansing it for the evocation . “ Not because I believe in it , needs , but because they did . ”
“ And you ’re obsessed with them . The Dalloway Five . ”
“ I ’m not obsessed . This is our history — Godwin ’s history . They killed a girl . That really happened , whether we consider in witchcraft or not . And we cognise they hold a séance — that was documented in the tribulation . Whether they think it was real or just make - think , they performed a ritual to raise a spook . And Flora die a few days later . ”
The elemental author I ’d read in Dalloway ’s depository library were inconsistent as to the nature of Flora Grayfriar ’s death . The account I ’d read in the library described an almost ritualistic killing , Flora ’s pharynx slit and her stomach cut open , stuff full of creature bones and herb . But other contemporaneous written material said she was find oneself with a musket ball in her intestine , dead in the woods , shot like a animate being . It should have been a simple thing , to determine how a little girl died : Was she shot , or was her throat slit ? Do I trust the trial papers , or the letters write by Flora ’s mother ? Who had more motive to lie ?
Either the Dalloway girl were hag , and they ’d murdered Flora in some arcane deal with the deuce , or Flora ’s destruction had a far more unremarkable explanation . A hunt chance event , peradventure . A buff ’ row . Or even a bigoted townsperson who heard about the séance and wanted to see the girls punished for tamper with powers they could n’t hold .
The more likely account — that they ’d been killed by spiritual mountain folk who fear women , feared the thaumaturgy they ’d attribute to women — didn’t hold the same collection .
Regardless , Alex was right . I had n’t been able-bodied to get the Dalloway Five out of my head for weeks . I ’d even dream about them the previous nighttime , Beatrix Walker ’s pilus like spun corn silk and Tamsyn Penhaligon ’s bony finger’s breadth train along my cheek . They had witness their style inside me , like fungal spores inhaled and take theme . Sometimes I feel like they ’d always been there . I ’d read about reincarnation , about girl carry again and again , and imagined Margery Lemont whisper balmy words in the back of my mind . Every time I refer her skull at Boleyn House , I felt her in my blood .
perhaps I was losing my brain . Or mayhap this was what it was to appreciate history , to truly understand it . When I read books , the boundary between my world and others shifted . I could imagine other realities . I envisioned the tales so distinctly that it was as if I last them .
The tale of the Dalloway Five was a story born in Godwin House . Why should n’t their fable be literal ?
And if this ritual crop — if we spoke to them — we could put the mythos to rest once and for all .
The odor of sandalwood rose in the airwave . We ’d already turned off the lamp ; I could only see Alex by the flickering cd , her skin glowing warm silver in their light .
“ All right , then , ” Alex say . “ Let ’s summon previous dead hag . ” I ’d spell the summoning spell in my moleskin notebook : an incantation copied from an ancient tome in the program library ’s occult section . The procedure had been scrupulous ; no one in the eighteenth 100 , it seemed , had been possessed of legible script . Of course , they did n’t have Ouija boards in the eighteenth century either , and this Hasbro - branded contrivance I had bought at the independent bookshop in Ithiel Town hardly qualified as an accoutrement of actual witchery . But it was better than nothing .
I propped the notebook computer on my stifle , and me and Alex both set our fingers on the Ouija planchette , barely touching it .
And even though I had n’t spoken yet , all at once the elbow room seemed saturnine — the corners deepening , the line wakeless against my peel . I took in a shallow breath and register the spell aloud .
“ Nothing take place , ” Alex enounce after several seconds . “ It ’s not moving . ”
“ You have to wait for it . ”
“ You screw that when the pointer move , it ’s because we ’re move it , right ? Like , they ’ve done cogitation on this . ”
I ignore her and closed my middle . I ’d slip the Margery Skull ; it sat at the head of our Lord’s table , closelipped enough that I could have touched it . A part of me require to . The itch was almost overpower . perchance if I did . . . peradventure that ’s what this ritual needed . I shifted onward , eyes still shut , fingers reaching . My touch browse cold bone , and in the same moment , the planchette moved .
My heart pilot open . The pointer had darted across the board to hide the number 5 .
“ What does that mean ? ” Alex said , and I shook my psyche .
The Dalloway Five .
The candles guttered as if from an unobserved farting . The room had gone chilly , and a strange sense crept up my spine . My fingers quivered with the effort of observe my tinge on the planchette light ; I decline to loan any credenza to Alex ’s theory . If the table address , it would n’t be because I force matter into my own hands .
I ’d never tried this kind of thing before . I did n’t have sex what to expect .
Be existent . I need you to be material .
“ Are you really here ? ” I whisper . “ Is this . . . Margery Lemont ? Or — ”
I blockade myself midsentence and stared at the lettering on the display panel indicating the countersign yes . But the planchette had gone still , the numerical 5 still visible through its aperture .
This was n’t enough . The incense , the candles — even Margery ’s skull smooth against my palm . It was n’t enough .
I ’d read about this . I ’d show dozens of books , hundreds , researching for my thesis . I bang how magic work . I knew what these kinds of spirits required .
“ We have to make a ritual killing , ” I told Alex abruptly . “ Like the original Dalloway Five did in their séance , with the toad frog . If the Dalloway Five really were witches , they were powerful . Why should they speak to us if we do n’t give them something in return ? ”
Alex ’s mouth twist , skeptical . “ Well , I forgot to bestow along my ready to hand - dandy sacrificial goat , so . . . ”
But I already knew what Margery desire .
I released the planchette and grabbed the letter unfastener — the one I ’d used to spread the Ouija board box .
“ Felicity , do n’t you dare — ”
I sliced the steel into my palm . whitened fervidness cut along my veins , dark origin welling up in its wake . Alex keel back as I hold out my sleeve , but she did n’t leave the circle , did n’t retreat — just watched widely - eyed as my blood swash the crown of Margery Lemont ’s skull .
The candles blew out .
Even Alex yelp . My heart pounded in my thorax — too fast , too waste . Was that a figure stepping out from the phantasm , eyes gleaming in the darkness like dressed coins ?
Alex collide with a match , and the phantasma vanished . The position where it had support was lurch black , and yet I could still experience its presence . Maybe it had n’t go away . Maybe instead it had thrive , consuming us .
Alex and I stared at each other across the board . Alex ’s shoulders shifted in quick , shallow minuscule movements , her tongue flicking out to wet her down in the mouth lip . It felt colder now than before , like the temperature had spend several degrees when the candles choke out .
It ’s all justly , I wanted to separate her , but my glossa was a dead matter in my backtalk , heavy and ill taste . As if I ’d swallowed grave stain .
Margery Lemont had been buried alive .
My blood was sticky against my ribbon , the perfume of it high and coppery in the air , sweep over the musk of incense . Alex ignite the candles again — just the three nearest her . Their light regorge affected shapes along the board , most of the letter fall into dark .
Neither of us were tinge the planchette any longer , but its aperture was define over the word yes .
“ Did you move the pointer ? ” Alex shake off her drumhead .
My tooth dug into my lower lip . Together , we both tilt forward once more , our trembling fingers meeting atop the wooden planchette .
“ Are the stories truthful ? ” I postulate . “ Were you really witches ? ”
If the ritual account of Flora ’s death was true , it had been clearly Druidic in divine guidance : some bastardization of Greco - Roman reports that the ancient Celts performed human sacrifice at the autumnal equinoctial point — that the futurity could be record in the way of life the dupe ’s limb thrash about as they pop off . Even the way in which the sacrifice run had prognostic value .
The town accoucheuse ’s journal say a rendering of the fib in which Flora Grayfriar ’s body was found with her skin half - burn and her wearing apparel in ashes atop a wicker communion table . silver grey mullein leaves were strew about the ground , a wormwood crown laced through her hair’s-breadth , her throat blotto with blood .
I bonk the answer to my query , but I wanted Margery to say it nonetheless .
The planchette shifted under our workforce , my breath catch in my chest of drawers — the planchette moved away , then returned instantly to yes .
So many fresh doubtfulness swell inside me . Too many . It was unsufferable to ask all of them . out of the question to ask with a board and a Spanish pointer the question I really wanted to screw :
What can you instruct me about magic ?
I was about to take the Dalloway Five the function of Flora ’s death , what ritual they were taste to perform that nighttime at the autumn equinox — if they were even creditworthy for her death at all — when the planchette actuate again .
“ Get the notebook , ” Alex puff , and I snatched my moleskin back into my lap and uncapped my playpen with one shaking script .
The planchette shifted across the board in jaggy jerk under our touch .
“ I . . . A . . . ”
The air was frigid now , a bone - cryptic glass that crystalize in my blood . I did n’t presume search away from the card , which meant that when the planchette finally went still — when I at last turned my regard to the notebook — I could just register my own hand . “ What does it say ? ” Alex urge after I ’d been tacit for several seconds .
“ It says . . . ” I shook my head , swallowed ; my throat had lead wry . “ It says , ‘ I am going to kill you . ’ ”
I looked up . Alex stared at me from the other side of the gameboard , both her hands clenched in bloodless fists against her knee . Her face glowed dark-green in the candle flame , eerie , and —
Something grazed the back of my neck , a cold finger tracing down my backbone .
“ Alex , ” I choked out . “ Are you okay ? ”
The touch vanished ; I feel a breeze ripple through my hair as it passed . I was too afraid to look over my shoulder . “ I swear , something just — ”
The shadows deepen , conflate like smoke . A fig turn out behind Alex like a ghastly silhouette , long hair undulating like waves about its head , its manus like sharp claw make .
strain for her throat .
“ Alex , behind you ! ”
She spun around , and in that same move the spectre go away , bursting into shards and flake of shadow that pass off into the night .
Margery .
“ Nothing ’s there , ” Alex order .
But I could still feel her : Margery Lemont ’s spirit had its talons moil deep in my heart , my roue turned to poison in my veins .
I shook my head . “ It was . . . She was there , I aver . She was decently there . ”
How did the verse form go ?
And then the spirit , travel from her shoes ,
come to there a shoulder , whisper in each ear , . . .
But no one heeded her , or seemed to listen .
“ This is bullshit , ” Alex declare . “ No ! Alex , do n’t — ”
Too late . She swept the planchette from the board and jab the incense out . “ It ’s not real , Felicity . Calm down . ”
No . No , this was all spiral out of control . We had to finish the séance in good order . Margery was still here , lurking , the veil between our man and the tad world go fragile and diaphanous at Samhain . It was only too easy for her to shift into our sphere . I ’d prepared for this possibility : a tiny bowl of ground anise seed and rive to be ignited over a charcoal briquet — enough to protect against the savage spirit , or so I ’d been assure by the subroutine library ’s transcript of Profane Magick .
Alex dust the spices across the floor , yield them useless .
That was the mo , I decided later on , that set everything in question , the mo the devil ’s bicycle start to turn , my stock spill on Margery ’s skull and Margery ’s hands drag in the threads of our destiny . We ’d cursed ourselves . I am go to kill you , she ’d made me say . And she was right .
It had an ridiculous sentience of inevitability about it . I kept thinking about the séance the Dalloway Five had held , the one that was interrupt . About Flora , dead three Day later . How each girl died in mysterious luck which could n’t be explained , until finally Margery herself was buried awake . It was almost like whatever spirit they ’d lift had curse them — and would n’t reside until every one of those girls was dead .
But at the fourth dimension , I let Alex win over me . Once the lightness were on , it all seemed rather ludicrous : The candles had gutter because we ’d left the window open , which also accounted for the frisson . The figure I ’d see behind Alex was her shadow stretch and shifting in the candle flame . Everything had a reasonable explanation , and Alex was right . The spooky ambience , the old shoal legend , Samhain : we ’d permit it get to us ; that was all .
I did n’t tell her how I could n’t block up dreaming about Margery after that night , or how I slept with anise seed and clove under my pillow to keep her away .
A few month subsequently Alex was stagnant , and now . . . Now I ca n’t obliterate from the truth .
Extract copyright © 2021 by Victoria Lee . Published by Delacorte Press , an impression of Random House Children ’s book , a partition of Penguin Random House LLC , New York .
A Lesson in Vengeance will be unloose August 3 ; pre - order a copyhere .
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