Chapter 5 The Studio And The Attic

“What a bummer,” I muttered, bending low over my easel. Adrian, seated at my right, caught it.

He tilted his head, his voice barely audible. “Ms. Gladys will punish you for that.”

“Painting isn’t my thing. I came here for literature, not painting.”

He gave me a sidelong glance. “It doesn’t work that way in Gravenmoor. You’re slightly off the line. Start with shapes first, palms before fingers. It’s called sketching.”

“Alright then. I’ll give it another try.”

I tore the page free and started fresh. Laying my hand against the canvas, I glanced at Adrian’s work. His was flawless: a pale hand clutching a half-eaten, bleeding apple.

If he was this skilled, why had he been sketching so furiously in class the other day?

“Your art is… amazing,” I said softly.

He scoffed, as though I’d merely stated the obvious.

“Do you normally draw all the time?” I pressed.

“Yeah. Even in my sleep.” His voice was calm, cool, too casual for the darkness in his painting.

I hesitated, then asked, “So… what were you sketching yesterday?”

That stopped him. His head turned slowly, his dark gaze heavy with warning, mine wide with curiosity. He parted his lips to answer—

“Adrian,” Ms. Gladys’ sharp voice cracked across the room. “I will not tolerate conversation during class.”

“Sorry, Ms. Gladys,” I blurted quickly before Adrian could be blamed.

He exhaled, turned back to his work, and I dared not ask again. His eyes unsettled me. He was hiding something. Best not to meddle.

I forced my attention back to my messy sketch. The class will be over soon. My gaze flicked around the room, Julian wasn’t here. I needed to find him. Professor Ashcroft’s forty-five-day deadline was gnawing at me. That man loved giving short time for impossible tasks.

When the bell rang, Adrian was the first out the door, not even waiting for Ms. Gladys’ usual compliments. A girl followed close, auburn hair, flawless uniform. Outside, I spotted them together. She smiled brightly, showing him something in a book, maybe drawings. I guess that’s what Adrian would stand to look at.

But Adrian’s face was unreadable. His jawline rigid, blue eyes distant, neither happy nor sad. Even his beauty seemed sharper when framed by that void expression.

She touched his hand gently. He pulled away with quiet finality and walked off, leaving her smile shattered.

“That’s Naomi,” a voice murmured beside me. I flinched. Melissa had been watching with me the whole time.

“What?” I asked quickly.

“I mean Naomi, she’s Principal Greaves ' daughter," She added.

“Oh, really.” Obviously I had nothing to say.

She studied me, then softened. “Come on. Let’s walk.”

We moved down the corridor, even passing Naomi’s crumbling smile.

“How about I finally give you a tour of the school? You’ve never had the time.”

“Well… I…” She didn’t let me finish.

“It’s necessary. There are some places in Gravenmoor you must never trespass,” she added gravely.

“Melissa, maybe another time. Right now I need to find Julian.”

Her face dropped, serious now. “Julian? What do you have to do with him?”

“Uh… nothing much. Have you seen him today?”

“No. Julian’s… strange. He does things only when it suits him.” She lowered her voice. “He only appears at dusk. If he shows earlier, it’s always under shade. And you know what?”

I leaned closer. “What?”

“I suspect he’s a haint.” She popped her lollipop, her eyes glinting.

I stiffened. A ghost? Impossible. Yesterday was sunny, and he sat beside me in Ashcroft’s class. But then I remembered… we had been under shade. Still, that couldn’t mean…

“Where can I find him now?”

“What do you want with Julian?” she asked again, crossing her arms.

“To…” I caught myself, remembering Ashcroft’s warning. “I mean… I want him to help me finish The Meditations of the Damned.”

“Oh. Your apology work. You’re still not done?”

I shook my head. “So where?”

“Julian’s usually alone. Try the male dormitory… or the tower.” She tapped her chin, thinking.

“Alright, thanks.” I started off, but she caught my wrist.

“No. Check the attic above the library. He likes to read there.”

“Okay.”

Her grip tightened. “Lexie, be careful.”

I covered her hand with mine. “I will.” I slipped free and left.

The library was still busy when I arrived, Mrs. Campbell perched at her desk like a silent warden. No one ever went to the attic but her. I’d have to wait.

I occupied myself finishing Ashcroft’s punishment. The silence deepened as students trickled away. At last, the library emptied.

I stood, glancing around. Empty. My heart drummed as I slipped to the stairwell.

The steps twisted upward endlessly, wood groaning beneath me. Each turn felt like retracing my steps, as if the attic resisted me. By the time I reached the top, it felt like hours had passed.

The attic yawned wide, lined with forgotten tomes. The air was damp, scented of earth, dust, dried ink, and the faint tang of rust from a single narrow window.

How could Julian possibly hide here?

“Julian?” My voice echoed thinly.

No answer.

“Hello… is anyone here?”

Still no response.

I turned to leave. “Probably, he would be in the tower…” I muttered.

Then I froze.

A figure stood in the dim light ahead, uniform pristine, dark hair falling over pale skin. Slowly, he lifted his head. My breath caught.

At the corner of his mouth gleamed a faint stain of red.

Blood.

He took a step forward. I staggered back.

A chill raked my spine, my stomach twisted, and my heart hammered against my ribs.

Was Melissa right?

Was Julian truly… a haint?