Chapter 22
“YOUR MENTOR IS ONE TWISTED fuck,” Yael says, fixing her hair in her phone’s camera as the three of them ride the quiet chair lift down the steep cliffs of the mountain.
“Come on, he’s lugal,” Simon says, leaning into the viewfinder of Yael’s camera like they’re posing for a selfie. “Which is Sumerian for ‘big man,’ or ‘king.’”
“You don’t know him like I do,” Yael says, elbowing Simon away. “And you can drop the drunk act. That was just our out from the party.”
“I think he’s actually drunk,” Dez says. “Why did you make us leave?”
“Because the two of you are unequipped for the after-hours scene at Acheron.”
“So what?” Dez says. “It’s an orgy. Big deal.”
Part of her wishes she stayed, to keep an eye and maybe a hand on Rafe.
“It’s more than that,” Yael says. “It’s … impossible to explain. Just trust me. I saved your asses.”
“I didn’t know you cared,” Dez says under her breath.
“Well, I do. Because if either of you gets in trouble tonight, it fucks me over, too.”
“What does it have to do with you?”
“Are you trashed, too?”
Dez only had a few sips of Eri’s cocktail, but she’s definitely feeling looser, lighter, and like none of this makes sense. “What’s in those drinks?”
“Secrets,” Yael says as the ski lift deposits them back on the path behind Acheron’s dining hall. “But I think I know just the place to sober you losers up.”
“The kitchen?” Simon suggests, hopeful. “There’s leftover fried chicken in there.”
“Better,” Yael says, leading them across the east side of the tri, around the perimeter of Goliath. Dez knows of only one thing on the far side of Goliath. She’d flown over it on her way here that first night with Rafe.
“Are you taking us to the labyrinth?” she asks.
“I am,” Yael says, “and you’re welcome.”
They stop at the narrow entrance to the topiary maze. The starlit hedges stretch above them, twice as tall as Simon. The snow’s stopped falling, but it’s gotten colder, and Dez’s body feels stiff with vigilance.
“This is going to be deeply invigorating,” Yael says quietly. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
From the sky, the labyrinth had looked beautiful. From the ground, there’s something strange about it. Something Dez can’t put her finger on.
“The labyrinth is the oldest part of Acheron,” Yael says. “It’s where I feel most at home.”
Wind rustles the boughs of the maze. A lonely owl hoots high above. Dez gazes into the labyrinth’s shadowy depths, sensing a dark, indescribable energy emanating from within.
“Don’t be scared,” Yael says.
“I’m not scared,” Simon announces, propping an elbow on Dez’s shoulder.
“You’re barely upright,” Dez says. “You don’t count.”
“Stick with me and you’ll be fine,” Yael calls over her shoulder as she strides inside.
“Yael, why didn’t you take Alice with you when we left the bar?” Dez asks, following Yael and helping Simon not trip over his feet. “She’s your protégé. Aren’t you supposed to look after—”
“That festering dipshit will be fine tonight,” Yael says.
“Harsh!” Simon says.
“I love Alice,” Yael says. “Obviously. She’s just … not exactly what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” Dez asks.
“I thought we might have developed more of a … bond by now. Like you and Rafe,” she says. “Or Simon and Jet.”
Dez and Simon meet eyes briefly. After tonight, she’s definitely curious about his dynamic with Jet, but if she asks, she knows they’ll ask her about Rafe, and she doesn’t want to go there.
“Why would Alice be okay at Eri’s orgy and Simon and I wouldn’t?” Dez asks instead.
“The biggest thing a first-year has to fear at a party like that is their mentor,” Yael says. “Did you not see the look in Jet’s eyes?”
“What exactly do we have to fear from our mentors?” Dez says.
Yael sighs. “You would probably have been fine. Lord knows Rafe’s not letting anything happen to you yet.”
Yet?
“What does any of this mean?” Dez says. “And just so we’re clear, Rafe’s not exactly a dream mentor.”
Yael snorts. “I’m sure not. But at least he’s not Jet.”
“You guys have Jet all wrong,” Simon slurs. “He’s a fount of knowledge. Rizz for days.”
“He’s a fount of something.” Yael rolls her eyes. “He’s not even really a Scribe.”
“Then why is he mentoring me in screenwriting?” Simon says.
“He had an accident over break,” Yael says. “Before that, he was a Visionary.”
“What kind of accident?” Dez asks.
“One that made it impossible for him to remain a Visionary,” Yael says. “There was a minute when we thought he’d have to leave the program, but they figured it out.”
“All I know,” Simon says, “is I couldn’t write a script to save my dick before I got here, and with Jet’s help I’ve written two—”
“Wait,” Dez says, “you’ve already finished two scripts?”
“No biggie,” Simon says.
Yael turns to Dez, points, and starts to laugh. “I heard something about you being slow. At least Alice isn’t the only one.”
“We’ve only been here a couple of weeks,” Dez says, her cheeks aflame. “I’ll finish it before the midterms—”
“Sooner or later,” Yael says, “Rafe will crack the whip. And not in the fun way. He’s fucked if you’re fucked. Last-years don’t graduate if their protégés don’t produce. It’s called DNF: Did Not Finish.”
Dez walks in silence and thinks. She doesn’t want to consider how far ahead of her the other first-years may be.
She’s barely making it through each day.
She’ll get the O’Rourke film done before the deadline.
And so what if Mo’s film takes her longer?
She’s not working on Lazarus to pass midterms. She’s working on it because her brother needs to see it, to know Dez didn’t abandon him. To feel inspired to carry on.
Dez needs time to get it right.
She needs to find that scene of Moses and their dad at the hockey game.
“There are things I don’t understand about the Vault,” Dez says.
Yael is quiet, waiting for Dez to go on.
“There’s a missing scene I want to use—”
“Nothing’s missing from the Vault,” Yael says quickly, firmly.
“Okay, but I can’t find it, and before you say I haven’t looked, I have.”
“Then it doesn’t exist.”
“It exists.”
“Typical first-years,” Yael says. “It’s not your job to wish a moment into being. It’s your job to make sense of what already is.”
A long, rumbling moan from the other side of the hedge—a sound like something being dragged against its will back into consciousness—stops Dez in her tracks.
“What was that?” she asks.
“Hard to say.” Yael sounds undisturbed.
Dez’s heart pounds as she moves toward the noise. “It sounds like someone’s hurt.”
“Or they’re coming,” Yael says. “Can you still not tell the difference?”
Dez thinks of the ravenous mood at the bar this evening, how all the last-years seemed so primal in their pleasure-taking that it bordered on violence. She thinks of Jet’s hand massaging Simon, and Yael saying the biggest thing the first-years had to fear at a party like that is their mentors.
The moan sounds again, higher this time. Feminine, piercing, and more desperate than before. But it’s coming from a different part of the maze, far from where Dez heard it just a moment ago.
“What is happening?” Simon says.
“We should go see if they need help,” Dez says, but she can’t even figure out where the sound is coming from. She peers around a hedge corner and sees a lumbering, black shadow advancing through the topiary.
“Would you relax?” Yael says, tugging Dez back. “Most things are none of your business.”
“This is why you like this place,” Dez says, “because it’s violent and scary.”
“I do like horror,” Yael says.
“Not in my actual life, thank you,” Simon says.
“I like it here because …” Yael starts to say, coming to stand close to Dez. “Doesn’t it remind you of anything?”
“The Shining?” Simon says.
Dez reaches for a dark, red pomegranate growing with the hedges. She fingers a split seam of skin bursting with fruit. She didn’t realize the labyrinth was made of pomegranate trees. She’s never seen the fruit in the wild before. It’s strangely warm to the touch.
“Looks like you found a good one,” Yael says, plucking the fruit off the vine. “Eri makes delicious wine from these.”
The high-pitched, feminine shriek returns, this time followed by a deep and guttural groan of satiated release.
“Sex and death, kids,” Yael says, pocketing the pomegranate. “Everything else is mere entertainment.”