She’s nervous.
We’ve been missing each other even though we both live here. After our trio—the full Oneiric Society—bonded over Raven surviving the Rosette explosion, it felt like we were back to normal. But I’m still a little wary. The past few days, she’s always busy, and now it’s like there’s a wall of TV static between us, electric, tangible. And I’m afraid if I poke it, I’ll get shocked. So I don’t pry.
“Are you still up for the party tonight? St. Ad’s? Aspen?” I ask instead of the questions that are really on my mind:Do you hate me? Are we good? Are we still friends?
Raven nods. She notices that I’m holding a box. “What’s that?”
“Special delivery,” I say. “I gave Dorian his when I ran into him leaving Old Bones.”
“Our masks?” she asks.
“As Oscar Wilde once said, ‘Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.’ ”
Raven doesn’t react like I hoped she would, with barely a smile. It stings a little.
She comes over to the table where I set the package down. It’s the size of a shoebox, the contents neatly wrapped in red tissue paper.
“Oh, will you look at that,” Raven says as I pull the wrappings away.
“Plaster and papier-mâché, just like the artisans in Venice,” I say. “It took me ages to smooth everything out, but I think they came out beautifully. Yours is a full mask in the volto style.” I hand it to her. The plaster face is pale with red lips and touches of gold on the cheeks, courtly and striking, just like she is. I wanted to capture her as best I could.
Mine, I painted black and gold with a curling filament sculpted around the eyes and lips. It will stand out spectacularly with the black robe I found at a thrift store.
“You truly outdid yourself,” Raven says.
I press the mask to my face and try to read Raven’s expression. Her eyes are bright with excitement as she puts on her own mask and strikes a little pose.
“How do I look?” she asks.
I want to say she is beautiful, that I’ve always found her beautiful, and that I will always love her but can’t be her lover, but the words get stuck halfway down. I swallow thickly and manage to say, “Great.”
—
When the hourarrives and it’s time for the party, we walk side by side to the old cemetery, passing Arches and all of its mysteries. A yellow plastic tape prevents anyone from going too close. I make sure we keep our distance, but I’m nervous and my senses play tricks on me. As we pass, I think I hear a screaming howl coming from inside. I stop walking.
“Did you do that?” I ask Raven.
“Do what?”
“Make that noise.”
“Um, no,” she says, furrowing her brow curiously. “Freaky.”
I stare at Arches, scanning for movement, and hold my breath, listening.
There’s only the quiet sounds of the campus and the soft rustling of leaves, and a part of me thinks I must be imagining things. It was probably just the wind slicing through the tower. There’s no one in Arches; no lights illuminate the interior, just as it should be.
The tower is empty, but I’m left with a troubled feeling in my gut. This has been happening to me more and more. I’m hearing things that don’t seem to be there.
Raven doesn’t seem bothered, or maybe she’s just lost in her own thoughts.
Campus is mostly empty, and there’s a crispness that makes it feel as if the air could bite you. The breeze nips at our cheeks and sends brown leaves skittering like rodents across the cobblestones. The clouds passing overhead blot out the moonlight, and the air grows colder. I lift my shoulders toward my ears, wishing I’d worn something a little warmer. “I hope the party isn’t outside.” This black robe is thin cotton. I should have tried to find a wool cloak.
“I wouldn’t worry. If it is, this is a school of magic—right?” There’s a twinkle in Raven’s eye. That’s the Raven I know. Maybe she’s forgiven me fully.
“Right, magic. I’m sure everything’ll be perfect. We’re just slipping into a party with all of the kids who did the one thing we couldn’t do—they were admitted to Sibylline.”
“Right, those wizards.” She snorts. “Not one of them could banish that fire demon…” She trails off, and the aura around her head glows an angry red.
