Chapter 1: James

It was the 2nd of September 1889 when James Knightley first met Grace. He still remembered it vividly, and often found himself running through the events of that day over and over again in his mind. Despite his many attempts, he never succeeded in pinpointing exactly where and how his path had become so entangled with hers. 

That day had started as countless other days had, horribly tedious and mundane in every way. James had awoken precisely at seven in the morning. He had taken his breakfast and tea by the window, overlooking Grosvenor Square. He had flicked hastily through the morning papers. James couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but something had been off that morning. Time had felt slightly warped, as if it moved differently than usual, threads of fate nudging him in a certain direction. 

It started when his housekeeper had reminded him that the young master had a train to catch and was running late, which had surprised both of them. You see, James was not at all in the habit of being tardy. Yet time had sped past them far faster than it ought to have. Then there was an odd smudge on his shoe that would not be polished away, despite James’ incessant cleaning. And his raven black hair was in such an unruly state, he had spent even longer than usual attempting to tame it, to his footman's exasperation. And then they could not locate his long coat, even though it had been in place mere moments before. 

James did not think much of it at first.

He ordered his carriage, and put the protective wards in place around Knightley House by carving the usual glyphs into the door. The intricate symbols lit up, before fading into thin air. This all led to James arriving at King’s Cross Station several minutes later than he had intended to.

Even he, with all his masterful insight, could not have foreseen how those few moments of delay would alter his life path irrevocably. How it was about to separate his life in befores and afters. How that fateful moment of meeting her would set in motion the beginning of his end. 

As he stepped from the carriage at King's Cross, a biting September wind whipped around him, proclaiming the impending arrival of autumn. The force of it almost caused him to lose his balance, as if even the elements were set on delaying him. He popped up the collar of his coat and moved on, determined to fight both the wind and whatever other forces were at work.

As James’ energetic footsteps echoed loudly through the crowded station halls, his gloved fingers reached inside his pocket for his timepiece. It was an old heirloom, with silver filigree on the face and the tiniest of emeralds on each of the twelve hours.

He cursed under his breath as he observed how late he was, and hastened his steps. When he pressed the crown on the top of the timepiece, a second clock face slid over the first. Three silver hands lay across the bare clock face. 

The first hand was eternally frozen in place. The second hand moved, though never when James was watching, as if it did not wish to be caught. The third hand ticked forward at a steady pace. Or at least, it was supposed to. Currently the third hand was moving erratically forward with jerking motions, as if it couldn't decide where to stop. 

James halted abruptly, his brows setting in a deep frown. The hand started spinning wildly across the clock face, faster and faster, until James could barely make it out. He shook the timepiece lightly.  The third hand froze in place. Then it resumed its steady ticking.

How odd. He would have to get it fixed if it kept acting up.

His eyes were momentarily drawn to the engraving on the side of the timepiece. ‘G.F. Knightley.’ George Fitzwilliam Knightley II had gifted James his most prized possession when he had passed away a few years before. Aurelius, his eldest brother, had inherited the countryside estate in Aberdeen, with its modest castle. Gabriel had received Wildthorne Hall in Mayfair. Henry was bequeathed Arabella, the Knightley’s prize mare. 

Yet his grandfather’s timekeeper was more valuable than all of these combined. Only a handful of them remained worldwide. His brothers had been fuming of course, upon hearing the news that James was to inherit it. But James had always been his grandfather’s favourite grandchild, and thus had received the most valuable prize of all. Which is why James was advised by his mother to not to show it off too incessantly, especially not to his brothers. And why James did exactly that, every chance he got.

James pressed the crown on the top and the mundane clock face popped into place again. He pocketed the timekeeper and ascended the steps of the train platform. As he looked up, two familiar figures came into view, silhouetted against the black steam train in the distance that was readying to depart.

“At last, he decides to honour us with his presence.” Lawrence smiled, though his impatience was evident. “We were just contemplating leaving without you.”

James clapped him on the back. “You would have missed me terribly.” 

Lawrence rolled his eyes, though his heart wasn’t in it. He was clearly fighting a smile.

“Shall we?” James strode past his friends, making his way towards the first-class compartments. Lawrence and Allan fell into step beside him.

“Ready to start another academic year?” Allan said loudly over the whistling of the train.

“After this excruciatingly long, languid English summer? Thrilled to.” 

“Oh yes, all those garden parties and pigeon shooting trips must have been horrifying,” Allan said.

James laughed. “You know my mind rots away during the months I am away from the university. One more of my darling mother’s summer society parties and I fear my brain would have been irreversibly reduced to mush.”

Lawrence shook his head in amusement. “Is that why you snuck away a week earlier than planned?”

“The safety and solitude of the London townhouse came a-calling,” Allan said.

“I have the faintest impression you two are mocking me,” James said.

“Oh, never,” Lawrence said.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Allan chimed in.

They exchanged playful glances.

The conductor’s whistle sounded. The wheels of the train creaked as it moved down the tracks.

James yelled over his shoulder, as he quickened his step. “Come on, lads! We can’t miss it!” 

“We shan’t,” Allan said. “We can’t have your father scolding us two years in a row for missing the train.”

“It wasn’t the missing of the train for which he scolded us,” Lawrence added drily. “It was the consequential breaking into the campus buildings past midnight and shattering an age-old stained glass window in the process that seemed to rile him up.”

James shrugged. “Some restorative incantations were all it took to repair the damage.”

“We mustn't be wasteful with magic, James.” Lawrence sighed, knowing his comment would fall on deaf ears. “All magic has a pri—”

“A price. Yes, yes, I am aware.”

Allan shivered. “I’m still convinced your father was contemplating killing us on the spot. His gaze was positively murderous.” 

James laughed at the genuine worry etched in Allan’s features. He quite understood his friend’s reluctance to be faced with a furious Mr. Knightley. 

“All the more reason to not miss this train, then.” James broke into a run, one his mother would undoubtedly find very ungentlemanly.

…

Chapter 3

It was only the first day of the academic year and James was already slipping back into his old habits. He’d been called to the headmistress’ office. It was hardly surprising, since James had smuggled in some illegal potions, a large vial of pig’s blood and a collection of human bones he wasn’t technically allowed to possess. What was surprising, he noticed as he entered the headmistress’ office, was the absence of said headmistress and the presence of his two brothers, Gabriel and Henry.

“Good heavens,” James said as he closed the door behind him. “Are we to have a family gathering so soon?”

He followed his brothers’ example, plopping down into one of the comfortable armchairs that was placed around a large, mahogany desk. 

The room had hardly changed over the many years James had been at Hallow College, and he surprisingly felt more at ease every time he came here. Every book in the rows of bookcases he knew by title and author. Every creaking floorboard he could locate. Every brush stroke of the painting behind the desk had become familiar to him.

“What do you reckon it’s about?” Henry said. The youngest brother lifted his feet onto the desk and leaned back.

“I haven’t a clue,” Gabriel said. He ran his hand over his stubbly chin. “But it better be important. Mr. Pirelli wasn’t even close to finishing up.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Henry said. “Did you truly make father’s barber come all the way from London for a mere shave?” 

“Of course. I don’t trust any other man with the grooming of my facial hair,” Gabriel said, as if such a fact was obvious. 

“You call that bit of fluff on your chin facial hair?” James said.

Gabriel scowled.

James grinned, crossing his arms. “God forbid you’d have to actually shave your own face now that you’re officially on the Board, brother. The world would surely perish if such a shocking event were to occur indeed. Congratulations on your appointment, by the way.” James’ tone was exceedingly playful, yet Gabriel’s brows dipped into a deep frown. 

“Father never went a day without calling on Mr. Pirelli. The man is an artist.”

James sighed. “Do your ambitions reach no further than following in father’s footsteps?”

“No,” Gabriel said, raising his chin defiantly. “I plan on bedding a lot more women, before stumbling into a loveless marriage of convenience as he did.”

His younger brother, Henry, pulled up his nose in disgust. “How we share blood, I shall never understand.”

James often wondered the same thing. While they all looked quite similar and had been raised together, Henry was the best out of all of them. Perhaps it was because he, as the youngest, had been able to witness and thus avoid their mistakes. Or perhaps all the goodness and kindness his mother possessed had skipped Aurelius, Gabriel and James and had accumulated in her youngest child.

Now that Henry was here, as an undergraduate student at Hallow College and without their mother’s influence, it would be easy for him to adopt the corrupt habits of his older brothers. James hoped he wouldn’t.

“You’ll learn the ways of the Knightleys soon enough,” Gabriel said with a wink.

“Do not listen to him,” James said. “He’s full of horseshit.”

“Language, please.” The voice was deep and cold, and all three of the brothers straightened in their seats immediately. James’ heart contracted painfully, then relief washed over him as he realised it hadn’t been his father’s voice.

Aurelius George Knightley, their eldest brother, strutted into the office. His stern countenance, his thick brows, the same horned pair of spectacles, even the way he slicked his hair back and was growing out his moustache screamed that Aurelius was very much planning on following in father’s footsteps. When and if the old man would ever give up his seat in Parliament and as head of the Occult Council, at least. In the meantime George did exactly what father had done in his younger years: reign over Hallow College. Or at least settle for the position of tenured professor and President of the Board, until the headmistress’ seat would become vacant.

“You gave me a fright there,” Gabriel said, huffing a laugh. “For a moment I thought you were father.”

Aurelius didn’t reply, nor did he sit down in the fourth chair on their side of the desk. Instead he walked over to the bar in the corner, poured five glasses of whisky and passed them around, leaving one on the desk.

“Already acting as if you own the place then?” James said.

“Mrs. Hawthorne wouldn’t mind us indulging in her collection,” George muttered. “She will be right up.”

“Just call her aunt Emma, you twat,” Henry said. 

James grinned at his younger brother. He was still so free of inhibitions, without a care in the world. James would give his right arm to not feel the weight of his own responsibilities.

As if either Henry’s mention of her name or the use of a vulgar word had summoned her into existence, Miss Emma Hawthorne entered the office. Aunt Emma was their mother’s sister, and shared her olive skin tone, slick black hair, and flair for the dramatic. The most notable thing that differed her from their mother, was a streak of bright white that shot through both her hair and her left eye. A manifestation of a blood rite gone wrong in her youth, according to the rumours. As a young boy, James had once made the mistake of mustering up the courage to ask aunt Emma about it. Her gaze had been cold enough that James hadn’t dared to speak to her for three full months.

Aunt Emma unclasped her monstrously large, burgundy cape, only to reveal a matching blouse and skirt combination underneath. Not a hair lay out of place. Every button, her many rings and her cameo necklace gleamed in the firelight as if polished only this morning. She hung up her cape and walked over to them, her movements brisk and strong, until she floated down into the statuesque chair behind the desk. 

“Thank you for your patience, gentlemen.” She rearranged some notes on her desk, noticed the glass of whisky, and took a quick sip from it. Her lipstick left a deep red stain on the glass. Then she folded her hands and looked up at them. “Gabriel was already informed during the preparational week.” Her razor sharp gaze shifted to James, reminiscent of a hawk’s. Did the woman even ever blink? 

“Your presence was also required at the meeting, James. You too are a student representative at the college´s board after all. Yet you… weren’t there.” 

James had anticipated the reprimand. “I wasn’t feeling up for it, aunt.”

“Within these walls you shall address me as Headmistress Hawthorne, as you are well aware. And why ever not?”

James smiled faintly. “Those meetings are rather dull. Especially with Gabriel as a Research student spokesman. No offence.” 

“None taken,” Gabriel said with a shrug.

James stretched out his arms lazily. “I thought London might offer more diversion in the meantime.” He thought of the many nights out on the town. “And it certainly did.”

“Your parents were worried sick when you left for Hallow College a week ago and did not turn up here.”

The corners of his mouth turned into a grimace. “I’m certain they did not lose any sleep over it.”

“You ought to take your studies more seriously. Your research—”

“Will be impeccable,” James said. 

“And your lectures—”

“Will be breathtakingly interesting. As they were last year. And the year before that.”

“Not due to the effort you put into your work.”

“Not everyone can be as naturally gifted as I. It would make for a tediously perfect world.”

She narrowed her eyes, ready to lash out. But then she clicked her tongue, as she decided against it. “I’ve informed Gabriel and the other board members about the shocking events that have taken place. They have promised to keep the entire awful business hush hush for the time being.” 

Shocking? What could it possibly be? An unmarried couple discovered to be intertwined in the rose bushes? A lady without stockings? An afternoon tea that commenced before four in the afternoon? Please, whatever exciting thing ever happened at Hallow College? 

James was now commencing his third year as a research fellow at Hallow College, but had decidedly spent more time in the university buildings than any man of his age have ought to. He was practically born and bred here. He’d often accompanied his parents and older brothers when they had lodged at the college, and its walls no longer contained any secrets for him. He had learned to walk in its corridors, had grown up with his nose in between the many books Hallow Library housed, had played on top of the statues that decorated the quads here until his father had barked at him to behave. 

The Knightleys owned multiple townhouses in London, one in Edinburgh, a large estate in Hertfordshire, a modest estate in the Scottish highlands, and some smaller homes on the continent, yet Hallow College was the only one that felt somewhat like a home to him.

But despite that fact, ´exciting´ was not how he would describe Hallow College, no.

James tapped his foot on the floor, eager to get out of here. Boring. This room, this conversation, it was all too boring.

“A young man was found dead, James,” Aurelius said.

James’ head snapped up. It was as if the room suddenly was crisp and clear again. He felt his blood pulsing eagerly through his veins.

“Who? Where? How?”

“Along Main Street,” George said. “He was found just this morning, his body completely drained of blood.”

James felt the gooseflesh on his arms. Not out of fear or horror. Exhilaration. No mortal creature would busy itself with the draining of blood. This murder must’ve been occult in nature.

“Who was he?” James asked.

“An occult student,” George said.

“Julius Redwood,” aunt Emma added. “A second year student.”

“That’s horrible,” Henry said softly.

“Yes, yes…” James traced his bottom lip with his thumb. “I must see it. The body.”

“Consider it arranged,” aunt Emma said.

“And the students should be allowed to study the body for academic purposes.” 

“What?” Henry said. “That seems in poor taste, even for you.”

James shrugged. “The occult is hardly ever tasteful.”

Aunt Emma’s gaze flicked to Aurelius, then back to James. “If you want a second pair of eyes to study the corpse, James, it can be easily arranged.” 

“I am of the belief that the entire class could benefit from it. A death caused by an occult creature is hardly a frequent event in Oxford. It’s an excellent research opportunity.” 

“Look at our brother,” Gabriel said with a wide grin. “Sticking up for the commoners. I hardly recognize him.”

“Perhaps he prefers to have an audience as he makes his deductions,” Aurelius said dryly.

James barely heard their teasing. “We might have use for his organs as well,” he said. “For incantations, alchemy, the works.”

“And there he is again, our stone-hearted one,” Henry said.

“We’re not stealing his organs,” aunt Emma grumbled. “Not before his family has seen him, at least. And I am unsure whether exhibiting the body during classes is advantageous at all. Imagine the panic it might cause among students.”

“We won’t inform them the body was a student, obviously,” Aurelius said.

Finally someone was seeing sense.

James nodded. “And if they cannot handle a dead body, then perhaps they shouldn’t be occultists in the first place. Besides, you can hardly call yourself a research university if you won’t encourage research opportunities like this one.”

“It still feels exceedingly insensitive and tasteless to me,” Henry said.

Aunt Emma sighed. “Alright. You win, James.”

“Where is he now?”

“At your favourite spot. The catacombs.” 

James crossed his arms and leaned back into his armchair. Then he jolted forward again with such vigour, his three brothers jumped up. Aunt Emma didn’t budge.

“Have you informed the Occult Council yet?”

More specifically, had she informed his father?

Aunt Emma tilted her head ever so slightly. “I have not. We wish to solve this inconvenience within our own walls, if at all possible. Which is why I desire your discretion, James.”

“Naturally,” James took a deep breath. “I shall require all the belongings that were found on his person. And no one is to disturb the body in any way.”

“Aside from you, you mean?” Gabriel said with a raised brow.

“Precisely.”

“Excellent.” Aurelius nodded.

Aunt Emma didn’t seem as convinced. “I expect you to make serious work of this. The culprit must be found. I will not tolerate any scandal to mar this institution’s reputation, which our bloodline has meticulously been constructing over centuries.”

James slowly rose from his seat, the chair legs scratching noisily over the wooden floorboards. “And of course there is the threat to our students to think of as well. But I’m certain you would not lose sight of that, auntie. Miss Hawthorne.”

“Of course not,” she said matter-of-factly.

James buttoned his suit vest and turned to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when his aunt called after him.

“James?”

He looked over his shoulder towards his three brothers and his aunt, all their eyes filled with something akin to doubt. No, not doubt. Suspicion. 

“Yes?”

“If you attempt anything stupid with that pile of human bones you have lying around in your room, I will know of it. And I shall have to confiscate them.”

James fought a smile. “Certainly, headmistress.”