Chapter Thirty-Three
THIRTY-THREE
IT’S BEEN NEARLY TWO WEEKS since an unnamed student found Fiona Beaumont’s remains tucked into the northern edge of campus, bones half submerged in murky, silt-thick creek water.
Days and days of silent commutes from one class to the next. Of oscillating between the vivid memory of being attacked and the harrowing knowledge that it could have been so much worse.
The bruises along my ribs have yet to fully fade, but I’ve gotten accustomed to the pain.
Sometimes I stretch a little too hard, just to make sure it’s all real, that I really did face an endless abyss.
That I’m really still here, somehow, after everything.
But I don’t need bruises for my friends to know something is wrong.
Maybe it’s my yellowing skin or the deep purple circles beneath my eyes, or the scabs covering my fingers where I pick away the skin until it bleeds.
I don’t deserve Lucas, who forgave me without a second thought.
Who, in a time of grief, has become more protective of me than ever.
He follows me from class to class, he eats when I eat, goes to the library when I do, and because I know what is right for me, I force myself to staunch the memory of pin-striped sheets against my bare legs and a heartbeat matching the rhythm of my own.
For as easy as it would be to fall into Lucas’s arms and let his orbit snatch me up, to lean in to this budding… something between us, I think neither of us knows quite how to take it there. There’s too much that’s still being left unsaid, too much history, too much healing yet to be done.
But still, I can see it. In a way I never thought I would. How we could maybe slot together like puzzle pieces. Evident in the ease of us, the simplicity of the love we could have under a different sky, in a different world.
Somewhere deep deep deep inside me, I am hopeful for that sky. That world.
Because even though I should have known that night with Malachi meant nothing, it’s hard to reconcile that with the near-constant buzzing over my skin, the feeling of his eyes boring into me from the shadows.
Lucas’s touch is the only thing strong enough to calm the static that builds and builds and builds until I’m on the verge of combustion.
One to ruin me, one to save me.
Neither quite enough to tip the scales toward damnation or salvation.
No history, no love enough to rescue me from the liminal hell of Black Mountain Academy and the secrets that devour girls and spit them out as ghosts.
The questions that Daisy and Sam hurl my way are easy enough to dodge, although I often find myself wondering if that too is a mistake. Denying myself the comfort of being comforted. Of admitting that I’ve been hurt.
At night I lie awake counting the tiles on my ceiling, afraid to close my eyes and revisit the terror that nearly broke me, the only thing my brain can conjure once the sun goes down.
One hundred sixty-five. One hundred and sixty-five tiles keep me anchored to the ground, keep my mind from turning in on itself, separating who I was before from who I am now.
When I’m lonely, the whispers keep me company. A constant susurration to drown out the chaos in my brain.
One thing my mind keeps circling is how it all felt.
Like drowning.
The true pain point isn’t the wounds on my body. It isn’t the gravelly “little witch” that’s kept with me. It’s the blind fury that barreled through my chest, the true, genuine desire to obliterate that monster off the face of the earth, and yet, I could do nothing.
If I think about it too much, nausea begins to roil up my throat.
I know, I know, it’s wrong. I know I don’t get to decide who lives and dies. I really do wish I felt remorse for the rage that coursed through me. I wish that I could say I’m not a killer. That I could never.
Maybe that used to be true.
But I’m not so sure anymore.
Because I am certain that the only things that saved me from becoming a monster of my own accord that night were the stars and the dead witches. And I hate them for it.
Today my fingers are coated in a multicolor landscape of fall leaves and bitter, rotten fruit; my pastels piled beside me. On my lap is a dying forest split down the middle with a rushing stream, the water stained red, shadows drifting in the background.
Daisy’s black buckled boots slam against the bleachers as she paces back and forth, pinky nail perpetually between her teeth.
“Is she always like this?” Lucas leans against my shoulder, whispering through the side of his mouth.
I nod.
Sam’s head is buried in their phone, finger obsessively refreshing news sites for updates about Fiona. We all know it’s pointless, but I don’t have the energy to stop them.
Daisy’s voice rings out against the silence. “I think we should do a séance.”
“I’m sorry?” I say, coughing as I choke on a tapioca ball from Beantown’s new foray into bubble tea.
Lucas slaps me on the back. “A séance?”
Morning dew dampens the bleachers, and Daisy almost slips as she turns to face me, hands on her hips.
She nods firmly. “A séance.”
I lift my hand, shielding my eyes from the light as I consider her.
“Explain.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, trying to expand my repertoire of spiritual abilities, but ever since Fiona… I just think… maybe we should try to contact her. See what she has to say about what happened.”
Lucas kicks his feet up on the row below us and leans his elbows on the one above.
“But you don’t think that would actually work, right?”
Daisy side-eyes him, and I can tell from the stubborn set of her jaw that there’s not going to be any arguing about this.
“We could maybe invite Missy to join us. Four people is a nice, round number,” she says. I gesture around at the four of us on the bleachers, but Daisy shakes her head. “Sorry, Lucas, but your energy isn’t really a good fit for this kind of… activity.”
I bristle. I don’t know if she’s just stressed or what, but Daisy has been more irritated lately, especially with Lucas around. She says absorbing too much masculine energy is draining.
“No problem,” Lucas says, as breezy as ever. “I’d rather not participate anyway. Seems kinda like you’re going to conjure a demon or something.”
Daisy rolls her eyes.
“Sam?”
Their eyes are blown wide. “Don’t you think that might be a little…” They tap their chin as though they’re thinking of a nice way to put it. “Unhinged?”
“No! A girl’s body was found in the woods, and they’re calling it an animal attack? And we’re supposed to just believe it? After what we found in the—” Daisy cuts herself off, remembering who I’m sitting next to. “Haven’t you seen any paranormal media ever? It’s literally never an animal attack.”
“Paranormal?” I ask, my voice pitched higher than I want. “Whatever happened to good old-fashioned murder?”
“But what did we find, really?” Sam wonders. “Some genealogical research for the school’s history? It’s hardly evidence of foul play. Besides, don’t you think the police are investigating the administrators anyway?”
“Wait, what are you guys talking about?” Lucas finally asks, our ability to keep the heist under wraps apparently nonexistent.
“There’s something weird going on at this school, and we think it has something to do with what happened to Fiona, so we broke into your dad’s office and found this paper that had these weird names and lines on them, and Fiona’s name was on there, so maybe they know what happened to her and they’re covering it up and this séance will give us answers since no one seems to care that there’s a dead girl!
” Daisy spits all in one breath, her chest heaving up and down.
I groan, putting my head in my hands, and Sam stands and stalks to the end of the row.
Lucas hums, his shoulders tensing. “Okay.”
I slide away from him and turn to study his face. It’s relaxed except for the corners of his eyes.
“Okay?”
He shrugs. “Just wish you’d told me sooner. Might have been able to help.”
“You’re not mad at us for wondering if your dad is a murderer?”
“Or an accessory to… a murderer… maybe?” Sam adds as they pace back to their seat.
He laughs. “I mean, he’s not. A murderer. So no, I’m not mad. You’ve got to rule out all suspects.”
“Well, what do you think happened?” Daisy finally asks him.
The rumors have been inconsistent. Some say Fiona was attacked by an animal.
Others think she drowned in the creek after tripping and hitting her head on a rock.
Or perhaps it was both of those things or none of those things given that no one at this school besides my friends can be trusted, and none of us saw the body for ourselves.
Lucas looks down at his lap. “I think she took her own life.”
We’re quiet for a moment after that, like we’re really considering it. But I can feel Daisy buzzing beside me.
“No,” she finally says. “That’s not it. I know it’s not. Harper knows it’s not. Missy knows it, too.”
At the mention of Missy, Lucas rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else. Just scratches at his chin and looks out over the field.
Missy has been pretty much MIA since Fiona’s body was found, like nothing matters anymore now that we know she’s dead.
“Sam, what do you think?” I ask, turning to them as they pull at the laces of their Converse.
“I—uh…” They tilt their face to the sky. “I think she’s dead, and there’s nothing we can do to bring her back.”
Daisy scoffs. “So we should just leave it?”
“Yeah, maybe we should just leave it.”
“You don’t even believe any of this is real. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Their face turns red. “I don’t believe in it, but I don’t believe in the Candyman either. You don’t see me in the bathroom saying his name five times!”
I sigh.
They have a point.
Daisy plops down in front of us, her bottom lip pushed out. “We can’t give up now. Fiona deserves to have her voice heard. She deserves justice.”
Daisy has a point, too.
“I know that Fiona’s not the first one to go missing from campus,” I say. “And she’s not the first to die. What if… what if there really is something sinister going on at this school? What if we could save other people from meeting the same fate?”
Daisy’s eyes brighten just a little. How did I not notice the dark circles beneath them before now? I suddenly realize she’s looking as drained as I’ve been feeling.
Lucas reaches over and squeezes my hand. In fact, he’s the only one of us that doesn’t look like he’s been deeply traumatized.
“Please?” she screeches as she turns to Sam, her pitch several times higher than usual. “I’ll even take one for the team and ask Missy myself.”
“Uhh…” Sam looks at me, eyebrows raised.
I look at Sam.
“Seriously?” they squeak.
I turn back to Daisy. To be honest, accidentally awakening some sort of Paranormal Activity-style demon is not at the top of my to-do list for today, but for some reason, Daisy needs this. “Okay, well, I mean, how would the séance even work? Where would we do it?”
“You can leave the details to me. Just meet me in my room tonight at eight.”
Sam and I exchange another look, but in the end we both agree. Because we love Daisy, and because we still want answers—and I for one am willing to do just about anything to get them.