The air thickens, colder now, pressing against my skin. I spin and sprint back toward the tunnel, branches clawing at my clothes. My heart hammers, a wild rhythm against my ribs. The tunnel looms ahead like a throat waiting to swallow me.
Each breath sears my lungs as I run, like those cross-country days back in primary school, when I begged to stop, and they made me keep going anyway. My legs burn, my vision blurs, but I don’t slow. Not until I’m fumbling with the mirror, typing in the code with shaking fingers, and stumbling headfirst into the corridor at Marrowton.
I collapse against the floor, gasping, pulse thrumming violently in my ears. I don’t even check if anyone’s there. I just sit there, wide-eyed and trembling, the echo of the forest still clinging to me.
What in the ever-loving fuck was Marlowe involved with?
I thought I was chasing answers.
But all I’ve found are more questions and a fear I can’t quite name.
One thing, though, is certain.
The faculty were right about the handbook rule.
Never go into the forest after dark.
TWENTY FOUR
RUELLA
Did I manage to get any sleep after getting back to my room last night. No.
Should I have due to the fact I have a fundraiser in an hour. Yes.
I guzzle down the redbull I picked up from the dining hall while I add the tequila to the huge jug on my side table. Then as I rim my glass with lime, I grimace at the dress hanging from my cupboard door.
The delivery Corden kept reminding me about was a garment bag. And in it was a deep red, figure hugging evening dress with cut outs so bloody large, I am surprised they can call it an actual dress.
It came with black stilettos that I don’t hate and a black clutch so small it will only fit my phone, room card and maybe a lipstick.
I wrap my wet hair up in a towel and pour some of my margarita batch into my glass. I lift it to my lips to take a sip but the knocking at my door has me placing it back down onto the table.
I pull my silk dressing gown tighter and knot it before pulling open the door.
“Please tell me your hair isn’t still wet under that towel,” Corden snaps.
I roll my eyes as I let him in, Deena following silently behind him with a smile.
“I still have an hour to get ready, chill,” I shrug as I pour them a drink. “Hey Deena, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” I pass her the glass as I take a sip of my own.
“I know, I have had so much to do with assignments and then the home. I can’t wait till the Christmas holidays,” She sits down on my bed, her midnight blue dress shimmering in the low light.
“I thought you were going to be getting ready with me, you already have your makeup and hair done,”
She sighs. “I know, but my meeting with Mr. Chapman got changed, so I did my makeup first in case it ran over. Now I have nothing to do, I can dry your hair while you do your makeup?” She smiles.
“Yes, please. I think Corden will have a heart attack if we are late,” I grin.
“Hey, I want to have enough time to get sufficiently shit faced, dance until my feet hurt and then find someone to spend the night with now all my assignments have been handed in,”
“Even if you had an unfinished assignment to hand in at 7am tomorrow morning, the plans for tonight would be the same,” I chuckle.
“True,” he says before taking a sip of his drink. He grimaces. “Is there even any tequila in this?”
I ignore him and go to ask Deena how the meeting went, when another knock interrupts us, this one is soft and timid. Almost hoping I don’t hear it and answer.
“Who’s that?” Corden asks.
