I caught Maritza before she left. I touched her shoulder, and she spun, giving me a sharp look. I drew my hand back quickly.
In recent days, I’d stopped visiting her cottage. I was becoming increasingly aware of the way she looked at me. She had a distrustful eye, like she knew I was seeing things I shouldn’t.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said. “Would you know who was in my room last?” I wasn’t sure who to ask. Maritza was one of those people who, if she didn’t know, would know exactly who would.
She frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean. Before you attended the school? I would have to look at the records.”
“No, I mean recently. I assume someone’s used it since I left.”
“Room 22 has been empty for several years. There were a few boards that needed to be replaced after you left, so a crew was lined up to replace them, but they never showed up.”
“So no one was in there after me?”
“No.”
I hesitated. I almost asked if she could check the records; there had to be some sort of mistake. I couldn’t have been the last one, but she nodded quickly.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to be getting back.” She spun back toward her cottage.
I started to think I was losing my mind. Shadows danced in the corner of my vision, just outside my reach. I noticed more of the symbols on the cattle skulls above the dorms, now on nearly every building on campus, each with the dot-triangle inside a circle and a different number inked on them: 46 above the Science building, 12 above the Arts hall. Tons of numbers that had no rhyme or reason to them, they didn’t correspond to the number of rooms in the building nor number of doors, windows, lights. I even counted the fire sprinklers. Even more concerning, I was seeing words written on the walls—though these, I’m sure, were hallucinations.
The fact didn’t bring me much comfort.
I stopped drinking coffee. I’d read that caffeine could spark hallucinations, and I’d always been pretty sensitive to anything stronger than tea. It made sense that it would affect me now, after the long hours I was putting in at the library. But even as I stopped drinking caffeine, I made up for it with more books.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
When I came back to my spot in the library from the bathroom, my things were scattered across the table. Stuff was everywhere, books strewn open, pens all over the floor. Even blood. Sheets of notebook paper were smeared with it and stuff ed in my backpack. I took a step back.
The sheet on top bore a message written in black ink.
If you’re smart, you’ll keep your mouth shut.
A shock of cold ran down my back. A threat? Someone was threatening me. My mind shot to one person: Grant. But why would he do such a thing?
Well, that was at least less opaque. To stop me from looking into him, from tarnishing his reputation. From telling the council that he had something to do with Maya’s death.
My nerves were shaky and on edge. I went for a walk to clear my head but, on returning to the library, promptly fell asleep at a table. I woke with a start.
Hours later, when I saw Max again, I dug in my bag. “I want to show you something.”
But the notes weren’t there.
Max’s brow raised. “What is it?”
I shook my head, digging deeper into the bag. “They’re not … they’re not here.” I shook my head. “He must have taken them back. Stolen the evidence.”
“What do you mean? Who stole what back?”
“Grant.”
At once, every muscle in Max’s body seemed to tighten. “What did he do? Did he threaten you?”
“I’m not … I’m not sure it was him.”
“Who, then? Basile?”
I shook my head. Was I even sure it had happened at all? What was happening to me?
