“Oh, my god,” Mila gasped, and at first, I thought she was referring to Lev, but no, she spotted the words on his door. “Die Effer?” refusing to say the swear word aloud. “Should we call the police, I mean, that might be a genuine threat.”
“Oh no, don’t worry about that,” I waved my hand dismissively, while hoping like heck that my lips weren’t swollen and red togive my secret away. “It’s just his stupid friends playing tricks on him.” I quickly covered my own tracks, hoping she’d drop the subject.
Her wide eyes kept staring at the door as if she could see a ghost. “I heard the mystery person last night,” she sighed. “I could hear them talking in the middle of the night again.”
“Oh, so maybe they’re an overseas student with family in a different time zone,” I was pleased for a change in subject and walked toward the stairs as she peeled her eyes away from Lev’s door.
“Maybe,” she said doubtfully.
Then I froze when I remembered something, and she slammed into the back of me. “One day, I saw this guy in a creepy mask go upstairs. I didn’t think much of it and assumed he’d just come to a party or something.”
“What sort of mask?” she asked curiously.
“A creepy old man mask,” I described what I saw the best I could. “He was wearing a hood, and I only saw it briefly, but I did see a warty, bulbous nose.”
She scrunched up her face in disgust. “Yuck.” Several moments passed as she drifted away, then she added, "So weird..." before stopping, as if she was at a loss for words or didn’t want to say what was on her mind aloud. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her, since the image of the creepy old man mask she was imagining might keep her awake at night.
As we passed the kitchen, I was reminded of something Mila had said the night before. “Did you ever find out who the stray bowl of food belonged to?”
She snorted as we approached the front door. “No. I have no idea what he was going on about?” I opened the door, and we stepped out together, but my lips were still prickling from Lev’s kiss. He was a great kisser. That kiss almost knocked me out.
The subject of the mysterious bowl of food faded to the back of my mind as we walked to the dining hall for breakfast, but I could still taste and smell Lev, and I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, but it didn’t seem to help.
Crowds of students were walking in the same direction as the population had increased over the past few days, and with that, the vibe had also changed. Pre-class parties have been going non-stop for days, and everywhere I look, I see people. Yet, Morgana was still empty.
That strange feeling that I was being watched crept up on me, and I glanced behind to see a group of students in their own little world. Then I looked toward the window on the third floor of Morgana, expecting to see someone there—the mystery man—but I was too far away and at the wrong angle.
That unsettling feeling didn’t disappear until I entered the dining hall and smelled the coffee. The buffet table was lined with large bowls of different cereals, plates of bread to toast, and jars of spreads. My stomach still felt heavy from the beef casserole I had last night, so I grabbed a piece of wholegrain bread and slipped it into the spare toaster, ready to spread a thick layer of peanut butter. Mila, meanwhile, spread strawberry jelly on her toast. After eating, we headed toward Ashthorn Castle.
“The razorblade incident is being investigated,” Mila said out of the blue as we stepped inside the shadowy hall of the castle that led to Dingle Street on the other side, where the cafes and restaurants were.
I fell silent because I still felt guilty about it.
“Those cupcakes were made in one of the campus kitchens,” she told me as we walked under the creepy fawn statue peering down at us.
“Oh, gosh, so…was it an accident or…” I swallowed as that cupcake was meant for me, so finding out that it might bedeliberate was a disturbing thought, even though I shouldn’t be surprised considering who my father is.
“The police investigating haven’t told us yet, but they have identified the bakers and spoken to them,” she sighed as nausea churned in my stomach, and I quickly lost my appetite for the peanut butter toast, dropping it into a trash can.
“And what did they say?” I asked expectantly as my eyes kept finding those cuts on her lips that her fingers naturally gravitated to as she spoke about it.
“Well,” she exhaled heavily, as if to relieve the stress bearing down on her. “Let’s just say the police have concluded that the razor blade would’ve most likely been inserted after the cupcakes left the kitchen.”
“Oh,” my heart thudded aggressively against my ribcage, “so it was meant for me.”
She shook her head, making a face. “The police have to follow the trail from when the cupcakes left the kitchen, packaged, and then delivered out to the dorms.”
“So, who delivered them to Morgana?” I asked as it was getting dangerously close to solving a very distressing mystery.
Mila shrugged those narrow shoulders, “They haven’t told us, either, because they don’t know yet, or they want to keep the details a secret until they’ve spoken to them.” She sighed again as it seemed to weigh down on her. “We’ll get there one day, and then hopefully they’ll be arrested and removed from Castlehill.”
We exited onto Dingle Street, lively with students like us who preferred a good coffee over the dining hall's options. Seeing the Scholars sign on a sandwich board on the sidewalk, I remembered I had a midday meeting with James York, and I wasn’t eager about it.
I needed to think of an excuse to get out of it, as I wasn’t in the mood; in fact, I didn’t think I’d ever be in the mood to sit across the table with James and make nice. I mean, I had nothingagainst him, but my instincts were screaming that something was off about him wanting to go on a date with me. I suspected I was being used as a mule to piss off the Warwicks after seeing the fight in the dining hall between the Warwick crew and the blond York crew; they’re not exactly friends.
“I’m going to head to class,” Mila said when she groaned at the lines streaming out of the cafes.
“Okay, see you later,” I waved out as I joined the line not at Scholars, but at the café beside it called Bastions.
