“Thomas.” Andrew’s voice cracked. “THOMAS.”
Thomas hovered for a heartbeat longer, his hatchet raised and his chest moving ragged and fast. Then he let his arm fall dully to his side.
He turned, slow and hesitant, blood beading on his face, in his hair, a glossy coating on his lips. He wiped his mouth and smeared crimson in a vicious arc.
Silence settled, thick enough to step in. The vines had stopped growing—they turned brittle and gray. Bloody roses disintegrated to ash.
Andrew let out the smallest sob and sagged down the wall.
Thomas forced himself away from the ruin he’d made of the monster. It crumbled to autumn leaves, ribs like old sticks. Thomas crouched by Andrew and used the hatchet to cut him free. He went slow, his fingers light on Andrew’s wrists and even more careful as he peeled the vine from Andrew’s ear. The vine came free in a clump of blood. Thomas tossed it behind him.
Then he tilted Andrew’s chin up.
They stared into each other’s eyes. Thomas was breathing hard, his bloody shirt stuck sloppily to his chest, but he felt solid and firm. He’d break down over this later, Andrew knew—but right now he was the glorious fairy-tale prince come to save them all, while Andrew was nothing more than a thing made of skeleton leaves needing to be cupped between safe hands before he blew away.
Deep within the school, more shouts rose. The fire alarm went off.
Andrew’s world spun slowly, sick and sticky. “Clemens…”
“He’s dead.”
“N-n-n-no, you don’t understand.” Andrew’s voice scraped over each raw word. “You’re the one covered in blood. Holding a weapon.”
Understanding bloomed in Thomas’s eyes, wretched and terrible.
EIGHTEEN
They didn’t speak. Words had turned to mud in their mouths, and if lips parted, who knew what would come out. All they could focus on was this:
disappear
Andrew dragged his sweater off, and Thomas copied. He wrapped up the hatchet, while Thomas used his bloodied shirt to mop his face and arms. The feral blaze of war faded from his eyes and he started to tremble. He was all unsteady fingers, fumbling movements, his eyes darting to the leafy remains of the monster as if it might rise again.
Neither of them looked at Clemens’s skinless face.
But Andrew did spend a few seconds scuffing about under the vines for his phone and pocketing it. No evidence could be left.
They had to know nothing about this. They had to havenot been here.
Andrew slipped downstairs first, the hatchet bundled to his chest so tightly he could feel the bite of the blade against his skin. He deserved that, though. Pain. Punishment.
What… what had hedone?
A group of teachers ran past, and the boys ducked into an empty classroom. Somewhere, screaming had reached a crescendo. Thomas jimmied a window and they climbed downinto the garden. Rain beat in a steady rhythm, and they’d never been so grateful for the way it washed the blood from Thomas’s bare skin and kissed away evidence of Andrew’s tearstained cheeks.
It was chaos outside. Half the students had dashed through the rain for the sports field like this was a normal fire drill. Others tangled in the garden in confusion while teachers yelled at everyone to go back to their dorms.
“Please calmly make your way to your dormitory!” A professor had snatched a megaphone. “Remain in your room until otherwise instructed!”
Andrew looked for Dove, terror leaving claw marks in his guts until he saw her filing toward the girls’ dorms. She was safe—breathe, Andrew, goddammit.
Thomas sneaked them around the back of the boys’ dorm so they wouldn’t have to explain his lack of shirt or the bundled hatchet. As soon as they’d climbed the trellis and tumbled into their bedroom, Andrew slammed the window shut and Thomas started pacing.
“Shit shitshit, they’re going to blame me. They’re g-g-going to—I’m not a murderer. I’m not—” Thomas jammed fists against his head. “I’m not, I’m not—”
“Shut up.” Andrew snatched towels and clothes, and wrenched their bedroom door open. “We have to get rid of the blood. Shut up,shut up.”
With everyone bottlenecked downstairs, they still had the second floor to themselves. They sprinted for the communal bathroom and locked the door. Thomas peeled off his clothesand left a trail of muddy footprints as he stumbled into a shower stall. Tiny green shoots bloomed from his jeans, soft and delicate. Andrew smashed each with his fist and flushed them down the drain.
