TWENTY THREE
RUELLA
Itoss and turn for what feels like an eternity but as I glance at the clock on my side table, I realise it has only been two hours since I ended the call with Asher and decided to put myself to bed.
“Argh,” I huff as I sit up and lean against the headboard, pulling the thick covers up to my chin to try and battle the chill in the air. The moon shines through the windows making those pesky shadows dance around the room, they usually make me a little nervous and twitchy, but not tonight. Tonight, I lose myself in their dance as clouds pass over the silvery circle in the sky. It’s beautifully haunting.
Despite my exhaustion, my brain can’t seem to relax.
A thought clicks in the back of my mind. The text from Corden with his discovery of the wings. He said it could be for any building, but I am almost positive Marlowe was using it for this main structure. I quickly hop out of bed and slip my feet into my Ugg’s by the bed, then grab the Marrowton sports jumper that was given to me on my arrival here. I put my phone into my pyjama pants pocket and quickly pull the invisible ink pen from the desk drawer. If I know Marlowe, she has left little drawings or clues in the corridors. It has always been a little rebellion for her. She has a better relationship with my father than I obviously do, but all thatcontrol he holds over her has to have an outlet. Hers was always graffitiing over expensive objects and her parents being none the wiser.
I quietly open my door, but the creepy creaking of the old hinges makes me wince.
“Shhhh,” I whisper to the inanimate object like it purposely pissed me off.
The freezing breeze that whips up the stairwell and hits my face has me reaching for the dark green beanie from the back of the door and pulling it on as I tiptoe down the stone stairs.
“It’s cold as shit,” I shiver as I make it to the common room.
I peak around the corner, but I already know at this hour on a Monday night, that it will be eerily empty.
As expected, there isn’t a soul in sight, so I rush forward and through the Hasting house entrance and slowly shut it behind me, not letting the lock click as I release the handle.
“Phew,” I don’t know why I feel so nervous, there aren’t any rules against leaving your room at night, just guidelines in the handbook. A warning almost. To not roam the grounds at night and to stay away from the forest surrounding the grounds. But they never said anything about the halls or the main building.
As I make my way down the silent hallway, grabbing my phone out of my pocket and holding the invisible ink pen in my hand like a weapon, I can understand why no one ventures out alone. I feel like the dumb bitch in the horror movies that walk straight towards danger alone, while knowing there is a killer on the loose.
“Ah crap,” I whisper. I forgot my fucking knife. I never leave my room without it. My tired brain isn’t firing like it should.
I look behind me and debate whether to turn back, but I am too far away now.
I glance around the space for the wing signs and when I pass under the North Wing I start to slowly shine the UV light on all the surfaces I think Marlowe would leave her essence on.
Sure enough, there are little doodles, flowers and hearts, some moustaches drawn over oil paintings.
“Jeez Marlowe,” I whisper, and it doesn’t echo like it should. It falls to the ground, heavy and thick.
I shake my head as a shiver works its way down my spine. I scan behind me, but I am still alone.
I crack my neck before continuing down the space. At the far end of the hallway, nearing the lecture rooms, a mirror catches my eye. It looks like it was once bright gold but is now more of a dirty brown. The intricate swirls and vines identical to those on the grotesque gates at the entrance to the academy.
It somehow calls to me. Stands out even though there isn’t anything extraordinary about it as it sits alongside other objects with the same rich history.
My feet take me forward until I am stood looking at myself in the reflection.
My stomach rolls with anticipation as I bring the UV light to the surface.
At first, I don’t see anything, but then as I pass over the bottom right-hand corner, letters start to appear.
What we claim, we keep. What we keep, we consume.
My eyes widen.
“What the actual fuck,” I feel my brow furrow in confusion as the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. The writing doesn’t appear to be Marlowe’s, and the wording doesn’t sound like her either. But if she didn’t write this one, who did.
I glance around the mirror for something more but come up empty. I am almost ready to carry on down the corridor, but as I take a step past the mirror, something metal catches my eye from the side of the frame. Something hidden from everyday attention.
I bend down and run my fingers down the ice-cold metal and a celebratory smile stretches my mouth.
