Trax was gone.
* * *
I spentthe next half hour retracing my steps to familiarize myself with the overall layout of the building. The place was a maze, and it would take more than a morning of exploration to memorize the many paths, nooks, and alcoves of this place.
I found a window seat on the first floor, close to the dining hall, and killed an hour sketching the long-limbed, eerie Echoes that had attacked me my first day here. The blank faces, the thin fingers with too many joints—all of it went onto paper. These faceless creatures could morph into any person they wanted to. Change form at will… Wait, there was a critter that could do that, too. I flipped pages until I found the one I was looking for. TheChamaeleontis Vermis, the chameleon worm. It couldn’t make itself look like another insect completely, but it could change color and texture to mimic aspects of other insects and critters. Was there a connection there? I was probably reaching, but I made a note beside my Echo sketch anyway.
I was about to start on a sketch of the mudark when the corridors erupted with the sound of bootfalls and chatter.
Looked like classes were over.
I tucked my journal into my pack and left my cozy spot to head to the dining hall. It was closed, but the Unwoven probably didn’t know that and would be headed there like all the other students.
I hoisted my pack onto my shoulders and joined the flood of bodies.
* * *
The storm broke justafter lunch. Rain hammered at the windows, falling in sheets that blurred the outside world.
“Looks like classes are canceled for the rest of the day,” Clary said, flopping down on the sofa, paperback in hand.
I settled in one of the armchairs and tucked my feet beneath me. “Because of the weather?”
“Storms mean no port travel,” Dori said from her spot by the hearth. She teased the flames with an iron poker, nudging the fire to burn brighter. “Storms tend to mess with the ports.”
Benedict stretched and yawned. “I might take a nap.” He wriggled, getting comfortable in the larger armchair, and closed his eyes.
A languid silence settled over us. Dori stretched out on the rug by the fire, arms behind her head, and Benedict’s breathing slowed and deepened as he drifted off.
I considered getting up to grab my journal, but moving felt like too much of an effort. I peered across at Clary, trying to catch the title of her book. Her gaze shifted off the page and to me.
“Tower of Midnightby Delila Trust,” she said. “It’s my comfort read. Have you read it?”
“I’m not much of a fiction reader.”
“We should do something,” Dori said.
“Oh, I know,” Clary said. “We could do face masks. I made a mixture that will cleanse and brighten our skin.”
“No,” Benedict mumbled. “Sleeping.”
Dori sat up. “I’m in, and you should be too, Benedict. Your skin’s been looking a little dry.”
His eyes snapped open. “Excuse me? I have excellent skin.”
“There’s always room for improvement,” Clary said. “Ana, you in?”
I wasn’t too sure I wanted to put on a face mask, but Clary looked so excited I didn’t have the heart to turn her down. “Sure. I could do with a little pampering.”
“Ooh, we should dye our nails too!” Dori pulled herself to her feet. “I’ll get my dyes.”
The women hurried to their respective rooms.
Benedict groaned, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “It never stops at masks and nail dye, you know.”
“No?”
“Last time, they made up my whole face—lip stain, rouge, eye powder, the lot.”
