Then she spotted a part of the cathedral behind him, and the stones with engraved writing around her, and a shovel close by, discarded.

  She screamed and desperately pushed her feet against the dirt to gain some traction in getting them out. Worms wriggled here and there, one close enough to climb her hand once she yanked it up.

  She stumbled and fell like a baby deer learning how to walk, staining her hands black with mud no matter how quickly she wanted to get out. Tychon’s ghost frowned at her and remained silent. A single tear ran down his cheek.

  When she finally stood, knees weak and panting, she looked back at where she laid, and the stone read

  VEAER ROSELL. DEAD AT 18.

  She knelt down and grabbed the stone, running her hand up and down just in case her eyes were really playing tricks on her, as if this were an illusion Tychon put up to scare her. But it was etched in deeply and permanently.

  Two warm hands grabbed her shoulders and lifted her to her feet. She could hear the golden rings spinning around Tychon’s head right in her ears.

  “Run,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Run, as fast as you can.”

  And she ran towards Miriam Manor, guided by Tychon’s light before he disappeared from her vision and in place was a crowd of students in the distance. Her legs pumped beneath her even while straining and sore from being held a prisoner of the graveyard, and her mind swirled in confusion. How had she ended up by the cathedral? Who dug her grave? What was happening?

  As she got closer, the muttering grew louder and she watched someone heave forward with a hand clasped over their mouth before running towards the forest, their friends following close behind. Someone wailed and pointed. Someone was demanding others to get the teachers and the principal. Another, a student council member based on the band around their arm, was struggling to contain everyone and move them away.

  She joined the outskirts of the group and looked upon the centre of their attention.

  She froze, the world’s sound drowned out by high pitched ringing in her head.

  A giant painted mural covered the side of the manor, from the balcony at the top to the bricks at the bottom. Imagery of butterflies and flowers flooded her vision, skulls in the mix and bones crossing beauty. Stretching the five floors were sprinkles of feathers.

  And then she noticed.

  Hanging in the middle of the breathtaking masterpiece was Tychon Alastor Galacia’s corpse.

  Acid climbed her throat and the land she stood on tilted on its axis. Everyone turned around and faced her, wide eyes and black irises. She stumbled back and clung to a tree. She looked up again and stared at the rotting body, dripping with paint and dirt. Then she looked down at herself, almost a perfect rendition but with a beating heart.

  In the bottom right corner of the piece was script writing that read

  VEAER ROSELL’S ART FORM CAN REFLECT THE ARTIST’S MIND PALACE.

  She burst away from the crowd as they screamed and scattered, some reaching for her and pulling her blazer off, some barely missing her short hair with gripping hands. She circled around to the front of the manor and pushed past those who were oblivious to the chaos, heading for the stairs.

  But the barriers threw her away and mocked her. She wasn’t welcome, she didn’t belong. Her place was at the bottom of the stairs.

  She cried and slammed her fists on the floor. Distraught students started coming through the front door and so she did what she knew best to do. She crashed into her room and threw open the window, climbing outside and making her way up.

  She needed to get to Elise’s room. She needed to get Tychon away from everyone and work out what to do. She didn’t do anything wrong. She couldn’t have done this.

  But with each lug up the manor, she was met with her hands covered in incriminating dirt and paint. Her arms ached and her fingers threatened to slip on each hold, but she blinked through the tears and let the adrenaline in her body course through until she made it to the fourth floor.

  The trip from there was easy, familiar in her mind as she planned weeks ago. It only made her more uncertain that she wasn’t involved, but how may she have carried another being with her if she couldn’t cross the barriers? And even then, dragging someone else up flights of stairs…

  On the fifth floor, she listened out for a peep of sound. But Izot wasn’t here, and she assumed Elise would be in class. The clamouring crowd outside was still loud, growing louder. She didn’t like how their words weaved into the folds of her mind.

  The princess’ room was unlocked, and she sprinted into the room on the search for however the artist had hung Tychon’s body from the top floor.

  Then she paused, slowed down.

  Elise was sitting in a chair on the balcony, far enough back so that those downstairs wouldn’t see her, but clear enough for Veaer to walk in on the girl reading a book.

  The princess rubbed her eyes and ignored her. Perhaps she wasn’t really there. Several ropes were tied to the bed frame and hanging off the balcony railing. Veaer went for them and chose one to begin pulling, but gravity worked against her and she didn’t trust herself enough to look over the edge to determine if pulling the ropes one at a time would do anything.

  “That won’t work,” Elise said, taking a sip of tea.

  “I know that!” Veaer snapped, her gaze following the motion towards Elise. “What are you doing here? Why are you letting this happen?”

  “Just like you allowed what happened to Tychon?” Elise placed her cup in her lap and held the book up again. Veaer swallowed. “How am I to interrupt an artist’s creation?”

  “You need to help me, please.” Veaer held two ropes together and pulled with her entire being, but she barely made progress before her hands burned and her legs gave out.

  “I thought you loved me, Veaer.”

  “What?” She rubbed her hands against her shirt, the white disappearing with every wipe. “I do love you—I do.”

  “You did something you shouldn’t have. I told you I have precautions.”

  “But I—”

  Elise turned around so her deep brown eyes lit with sunbeams met Veaer’s. A smile was set on her pink lips. “Tonight, I am ascending. I will complete myself and the order.”

  Veaer’s blood turned to ice, and she rushed to Elise’s side, kneeling on the cold ground. “Wait, what does that mean? What are you going to do?”

  “Harq is so wise. He understands what it means to love and be loved, so well.” Elise’s gaze left Veaer and went to distant places where Veaer couldn’t follow. The gears in her mind turned and whirled but nothing came to mind except sacrifice.

  “No, no, no. Tell me what’s going to happen. Where? When?”

  “Tonight, Veaer. Tonight. The full moon.” And then she fell silent and went back to reading her book.

  Veaer shook Elise’s shoulders until the cup of tea fell and shattered into pieces. A stampede of footsteps took up the fourth floor.

  “Don’t do this, please.”

  The door burst open behind them and solid, coordinated footsteps piled into the room. Following them was one another, with a voice she had the unfortunate fate of knowing.

  Izot Excava stood among officers armed with weapons. He held his arm up and pointed to Veaer.

  “Arrest her.”

  CHAPTER 40

  AN INTERROGATION

  “What was your relationship with the victim?” the detective repeated, folding her hands in front of her.

  Veaer stared at the butterflies that watched her from the corners of the room. They came in all sorts of colours and sizes. Some of them had eyes on the back of their wings that made her look away if she focused on them for too long. A butterfly with red and black wings landed on top of the detective’s head as she looked at her interrogation partner.

  Veaer swayed in her seat and smiled as the butterfly climbed down the detective’s face. “Can you let me go?” The butterfly opened its eye-filled wings again, and so she turned to the window and then looked at the dark wooden door on the opposite side.

  They sat in one of the admin building offices, upstairs and away from everyone else. The desk was pushed against the wall and a new table with a lamp was brought in, fitting right in the centre of the room.

  “Ms Rosell, you aren’t authorised to leave until you answer a few questions for us,” the officer sitting next to the detective said. “This is a very serious situation about a peer of yours.”

  She looked out the window again. It was approaching late afternoon. She needed more time. She couldn’t leave Elise by herself. She needed to be there. But these officers didn’t know what they were talking about and blamed her for nothing.

  “I didn’t do anything.” A butterfly climbed onto her hand, and she swatted away.

  The detective’s gaze followed her hand. She furrowed her brows. “Okay, how about this. Can you walk us through what you did that Monday? Your classmates have told us they saw you during homeroom and your morning class, but they didn’t find you during lunch time and a little while after that.”

  Her eyes grew tired, and she swayed to the left before catching the table, making herself jump. When she steadied herself again, her mind spun, and a yawn emerged from her throat. A shining light appeared out of the corner of her eye and she noticed Tychon standing silently next to the police officer, whose expression grew more irritated by the second.

  “Is this boring to you?” he demanded, slamming a fist on the table. Veaer shook her head. A yawn didn’t necessarily mean she was bored. It was only a natural response to a desire for air. “Why don’t we cut to the chase?” With another question? “We’ve found evidence incriminating you as the prime suspect of Tychon Alastor Galacia’s murder.”

  “Now, now.” The detective held a hand out. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be jumping ahead. We don’t want to scare her.”

  “Scare her? She’s scared the whole damn school! My entire unit!” He grimaced at Veaer with a sidelong glance and then yelled a name at the door. Someone else dressed in an officer’s uniform came through with a manilla folder. As though he was excusing his words with an attempt at trying to hide them, he continued under his breath, “What sick person hangs… and then forces…”

  The officer passed the manilla folder to his partner who shook the contents out and arranged them on the table. Veaer frowned and batted the butterflies covering the table away.

  A little plastic bag with a lock of silver hair. “We had conducted several searches of Tychon’s room when he was declared missing,” the officer explained in a low tone. “Yet somehow upon a recent search, your hairs—many of them—have been found on the premises.”

  Elise stepped closer, still staring into the mirror, and started playing with Veaer’s silver locks in one hand.

  Then a distinct snipping noise snapped her to a more diligent state, and she flinched this time, only to meet Elise’s confused expression in the reflection and no other noises than their breaths and beating hearts.

  “You may consider that we’ve spoken to your headmaster, and you’ve been reported to have broken into his room recently too, not for any reason other than emotional distress. Except that we found…”

  He pushed forward a picture of Tychon’s personal journal and tarot journal on her desk. “If you entered and left Tychon’s room without any possessions, then how did you get your hands on these?”

  Elise pulled Tychon’s journal out of her pocket and held it towards Veaer.

  “Hold onto this for me. I don’t know when we’ll need it again but I find it an ill reminder to keep it.”

  The officer laughed and pushed another plastic bag forward, holding a used handkerchief. “And this, well. I wouldn’t know how you got one of his handkerchiefs but…”

  As Veaer rubbed the tip of her nose with her palm, Elise held a handkerchief up.

  Another bag, and it held the manor’s master key. “A true method for how you got into Tychon’s room, twice over! Maybe even more and we wouldn’t know!”

  Veaer walked over to the desk and opened each drawer, pressing at the bottom of each until the third one budged and moved to reveal a key.

  A master key to Miriam Manor, she could get into any dorm room she wanted.

  “You have no excuse for your little stunt today.” The officer slammed the final photo on the table, the giant mural but without the hanging body. “You killed Tychon Alastor Galacia and made a mockery of his existence!”

  Veaer cried as she held her head and bent over the table, shutting her eyes so that she didn’t have to face everything set before her. Every nice gesture, every strange moment. Every casual action that went towards protecting the princess only endangered herself more. Elise was right, she was telling the truth. She had taken precautions from the very start and now it was time to pay the price. As long as Elise was covering her tracks, she was creating new ones that led back to Veaer.

  Even with the darkness behind her eyelids, a kaleidoscope of butterflies didn’t let her escape. She had to get out, she had to do something. Why did Elise do this? Had she really planned this all along or were these simple coincidences? Were Elise’s feelings for her true or all a ruse to get away?

  “That’s enough, officer!” The detective stood up and her chair screeched against the floorboards. Veaer’s gaze snapped up to a bright orange butterfly circling the detective’s head as fire crackled in her eyes. “Badgering our suspect will do us no good. This is an interrogation, not a court. You are an officer, not a lawyer. If anything, you should be dismissed from this room. Your misconduct will make this case void if your bias continues to do harm.”

  Veaer blinked her tears away and watched as the detective escorted the officer out of the room. Just as he grumbled and left, and the detective returned to her seat with a sigh, Veaer bolted up and grabbed the detective’s arms.

  “Ah! Hey, no.” The detective pulled her arms away and dusted them off. Veaer shrunk back into her seat and counted the butterflies in the room on her fingers. “You are still under custody. We just need… a recess, to sort this out.” Her eyes hovered between the laid out evidence and Veaer’s face. “And please, don’t let his words prevent you from answering the questions. We need your help to understand this situation.”

  Veaer shook her head furiously. “I can’t. I don’t know what happened.” As clever as she thought she was, perhaps she was not. Elise did everything right in front of her and she was the one sitting with a detective right now. “I need to go. Let me go. I need to find her and stop her and… and…” She needed answers, right now. But the butterflies swarmed her vision, and she swung her arms to scare them away. They didn’t listen to her. “These stupid butterflies…” Tychon sat where the officer had, staring at her with little to say. “And you! You aren’t doing anything to help! This is all wrong, all wrong—”

  “We can’t let you go,” the detective reiterated firmly. “And…” Creases in her forehead seemed to age the detective by decades. She placed a hand flat on the table, reaching but not touching. “I have some concerns about your behaviour and statements. A psychological evaluation may be helpful before we proceed.”

  CHAPTER 41

  OVERTHINKER

  Veaer didn’t like this shade of brown.

  Coating the walls and seeping into the floor. Creating a sky that faded into an ill colour from too much sun. And suddenly, when there was a notable enough change to cause panic, they drew the curtains together and darkened the room forever. But the pigment won’t return; the brown will remain sick forever.

  They gave her a little stool in the office next to the interrogation room. The desk was removed from this one, and nothing that was considered a weapon was left. She didn’t even get a paper and pen.

  “Paper causes paper cuts,” the detective had explained as she picked up a pile sitting in a shelf that was removed, too, moments later. Veaer didn’t mind the detective and the fire she had, but her words only made her want to prove her wrong. Investigate this! Paper didn’t always cause paper cuts. Sometimes it was the person holding the paper that mattered.

  The curtains remained and Veaer asked about them. The officers believed the risk of choking on thick velvet curtains was less than the risk of looking out the window and watching students. They didn’t want her to get any new ideas.

  It didn’t matter to her anyway. The students that gave her the suspicious uniform looked like any other but part of her theorised their involvement with the order. Or they could’ve been the circle of underclassmen Elise kept around. She couldn’t tell. Just as she couldn’t tell the spiders in the corner of the room from the butterflies that started weaving cocoons between the folds of the curtains. Which were real and which were a play on her eyes in the dim light?

  The detective gave the room a once over, sending a wary look to the wooden stool, before closing the door. The click of a lock resounded past her ears and into her skull.

  When she heard footsteps fade away, she felt safe enough to bend over and run her finger down a leg of the stool. It was sanded down in production. There would be no splinters today. The detective didn’t have to worry.

  “Worry about what?”

  Someone’s voice, but not Tychon’s. Tychon hadn’t returned since the interrogation ended. This voice was familiar but fuzzy in her mind. Unpractised and needing water to wet their throat. Young and probably a student. Even the detective, while a young woman, had a distinct voice of age and experience.

  But every student was partying or doing homework or relaxing by now, and they wouldn’t help her. She scared them all. She had to stay in the other room.

  She missed her community work today. If this investigation didn’t suspend her, then the headmaster would do so himself. Perhaps this was a good time to practise her entrance interviews for her last semester before university. She didn’t have paper to record her notes but if she repeated her answers to herself enough, she wouldn’t need to write anything down.