And Rafe? Dez can’t even pick him out from the shadows on the far side of the room.
Intuition quickens Dez’s pulse. She tries to remind herself this is a celebration. But it’s an Acheron celebration, so who knows what lurks around its edges.
“What are we looking at here?” she whispers to Simon.
“I’ve heard nothing,” Simon says.
“You always hearsomething,” Dez says.
“Not tonight.”
“When I was getting dressed,” Esther leans over to whisper, “my mentor sent me a dozen dead roses with a card that readmemento mori.”
Dez swallows. As if any of them needed that reminder after what happened to Alice Quinn.
“This season has been a difficult one,” Director Moriah says, her snake slithering around the microphone. “We are grieving a profound loss.”
“Hear hear!” Jet calls from across the room.
The spotlight sweeps up from the director to light the wall behind her, where an oversized portrait Dez has never seen before now hangs on the wall. It features a strikingly handsome young man with curly russet hair and intense green eyes. She reads the gold plaque under the painting:
Samael Sophus Abbadon
Applause rises from the last-years’ side of the room. Moriah silences it with a wave.
“The sudden retirement of Dr. Abbadon marked a significant change for us all,” she says. “We have strived to continue our essential work, while maintaining our institutional integrity.
“To the first-years,” Moriah continues, “you may be wondering, what is this night really about? What is thisplacereally about? You know it holds secrets, but you don’t know what they are.”
Dez leans forward in her seat.
“Tonight,” Moriah continues, “you’ve earned the right to know the truth.” She places both hands on the table in front of her. “So here it is. You are not here to make movies.”
Dez turns to glance at Simon, at Esther. They stare at Moriah, eyes wide.
“At least not in a traditional sense,” Moriah continues. “Acheron is no ordinary film school. What you produce here is neither for the art house theaters nor the festival circuits. Instead, you are makingthe most important films that have ever been.”
Dez wishes she could see Rafe’s expression right now. But he’s either hiding in the shadows, or he’s left the party early.
“Mark me,” the director says, now looking straight at Dez. “Though I am speaking plainly, this is hard to understand. My words are not hyperbole. I will repeat them: Each of you—be you Visionaries or Scribes, and regardless of the genres you’ve been assigned—are makingthe most important films that have ever been. They are called Life Reviews.” She pauses, looking all around the room, until she has everyone hanging on her words. “Their purpose is to separate the living from the dead.”
The last-years pound on their tables. Dez hears confused murmurs all around her on the first-years’ side. She’s watches Simon whisper to Esther, sees the way the two of them clasp hands. Goose bumps rise on her skin as she turns the director’s words over in her mind.
How can a film separate the living from the dead?
Dez knows art makes people feel alive, that a life without art wouldn’t be life at all. But if Moriah’s statement about them making the most important films that have ever been isn’t hyperbole, whatisit?
“Mr. Mayhew,” Moriah calls out, suddenly making Simon snap to attention.
The spotlight finds him as he nervously straightens his tuxedo jacket. “Yes, Director Moriah?”
“When speaking of death,” Moriah says, “have you heard the phrase ‘his life flashed before his eyes’?”
Simon nods. “I have.”
“And you, Ms. Rae?”
Dez is in the spotlight now. She blinks, looks around, but she’s blinded by the bright light flooding her face. “Yes, I’ve heard it.”
