Capitulum VII

T he following morning, I had to rouse Rigel from his spot on the hallway floor on my way to Fundamentals of Transformation.

Walking through the doors of Corporeality Hall was soothing and saddening, reminding me of the last time I'd been there. Even Professor Faun's room, with its familiar arching windows and towering blackboard, did little to soften the blow.

Despite my desperate attempt at mental preparedness, my heart still seized when I saw Professor Faun waiting at his desk, unmoved by my presence. Though I was almost certain his eyes settled on Rigel, who'd walked in with me.

Once the shuffling of feet and creaking of chairs settled, Professor Faun rose and cleared his throat. "It's nice to see you all again," he began, not sounding remotely convincing. "I trust your summers were enjoyable?"

It was an empty question, thus everyone remained silent as he walked around his desk. "This year will be a little different."

Gazing at my hands, I tried not to think about how different this year would be.

"This will undoubtedly be your hardest class. Transformation isn't like Transparency. It's complicated and taxing." He paused to allow the chorus of groans to subside. "Even working graduates struggle with it occasionally."

"Why is it so much harder?" someone to my left asked.

"Becoming invisible is a smooth linear motion, like sprinting down a hallway." He twisted his head off with a wet pop, holding it out. "Transformation, however, is like winding your way through a labyrinth."

Even I had to look up and watch as his face warped, swelling like he was being pumped with air. His eyes and teeth disappeared into empty holes. His glossy hair sucked back into his follicles as his skin grew hard and, oddly enough, orange. It wasn't until the coiled brown stem popped through the top of his skull that I realized he'd turned his head into a jack-o-lantern.

He waited for gasps to settle before returning to his regular form. "This is one of the most important skills you must master before graduation. No matter which path you take, you will only be as effective as possible if you can fully embody whatever role you're given. More than likely, anyone you're dealing with will have no personal affiliation with you, so seeing you as you are would have much less of an effect as something tailor-made."

He paused to press his head back onto his shoulders and secure it with the ribbon. "Don't feel too intimidated. No one expects this type of thing from you all immediately. For the first few lessons, we'll focus on simple tasks."

Once his head was securely positioned again, he went to his desk and picked up a box that jangled as it shifted in his grip. He sauntered around the room, setting small ovals on each desk.

"Hand mirrors?" someone asked, flipping theirs open.

"Your job for the rest of the class period is to try and change the color of your eyebrows."

"To what?" a student next to me asked as he handed them their mirror.

"Whatever appeals," he said, keeping his eyes pointedly away from me as he set my mirror on the farthest corner of my desk. "If you manage it early, you're free to go." The room hummed with excitement until he added, "Though I expect most of you to use those extra free minutes to finish a quick assignment for this week, three hundred words on the value of Transformation."

I held up my compact mirror, trying to resist the urge to watch Professor Faun through it as he passed out the mirrors to the students behind me.

As each student around me exclaimed in delight, quick to show off their new fluorescent-yellow and caterpillar-green eyebrows, I got the oddest tickle of excitement. The more the room emptied, the more Professor Faun's begrudging attention crept to me.

As the final student paled their brows to a taupe and were given the green light to go, it was just the two of us with minutes to spare.

He sat deftly at his desk as though trying to keep as many physical barriers between us as possible. I was still trying to convince myself that I was concentrating on my eyebrows, but I wasn't fooling him.

"Agnes," he said quietly as the clock struck the hour. "In the future, I suggest working harder to focus on your assignments in my class."

I sighed, shouldering my bag and pressing myself to my feet with my cane. "Apologies, Professor."

"I expect you to keep up this year," he said, voice icy with warning. "It would be a shame if I had to report a failing grade to Ephraim."

I narrowed my eyes at him, stepping toward the door before glancing over my shoulder. "That would be a shame. Especially if the good chancellor assumed that you were failing in your duties as a teacher."

His jaw twitched, and he nodded toward the door, body so stiff the action threatened to crack him down the middle.

I hurried out, only to be met by Rigel, who was waiting just around the corner.

"Looking for extra credit?" he mused as I clutched my chest in shock.

I glowered at him. "I had to adjust my foot."

"Convenient."

"What? You think he bent me over and had his wicked way with me in the handful of minutes after the last student left?"

"No, but I'm titillated by the picture you're painting."

I curled my lip before circling him, pinning my eyes on the stairwell at the end of the hall.

"Just because your girlfriend isn't currently fucking you doesn't mean fantasizing about me is suddenly acceptable."

Out of the corner of my eye, he fell into step with me. He always affected this curious sort of swagger when he walked alongside me.

His hands went into his pockets, and his steps became slow and long. It might have seemed like a performance had I not known it was the only way for him to accommodate my glacial pace.

"I'm not the one holding the paintbrush, Tits. That tableau was all yours." He rubbed his nose and sniffed. "Don't be too distraught. Even if someone were to seek out such mental images, you don't provide an abundance of material."

"Any such material is no one's business."

"I'm just saying it might help dissuade a few potential rumors if you seemed remotely interested in anyone."

"I tried that once, remember? Tom? It didn't go great."

"Oh, come on, you didn't actually like him."

"I let him play with my nipples," I scoffed. "Is that not good enough for you people?"

He laughed. "You have a way with words, but your face is picture-book easy. Anyone who thought you were genuinely interested in that guy simply wasn't paying any attention."

"This has been very illuminating. Thank you so much." I shook my head. "I never thought I'd be so desperate for Lindy to reemerge."

"With any luck, your wish will be granted shortly."

We made our way across campus with the rest of the second-year students and filed into the stadium.

I had suspicions regarding the change in scenery, which was quickly confirmed when an array of random mortal objects awaited us on the field.

"This way, everyone!" Professor Algenette called, hopping onto the bleachers with surprising precision despite her pointy kitten heels. Her perpetual towering beehive hairdo quivered in the wind.

We all wandered her way, collecting into a horseshoe around her. I spotted Arlie on the opposite side of the crowd.

"Is everyone here? Close enough. Anyway, welcome to Mortal Object Manipulation 201. Can anyone guess why our class is being held outside this year, as opposed to my regular classroom?"

"Are you going to throw a car at us?" someone asked, making everyone laugh at the memory of the upperclassmen clinging to the side of the flying wreckage to rescue a hapless dummy.

"You're not terribly far off, though it will no doubt take many of you a while to do anything quite that masterful." She dipped into a small bow for dramatic effect, creating another wave of laughter over the group. "This year, you will learn to move mortal objects without touching them."

The crowd filled with excited mumbling.

"Now, as you can probably imagine, this isn't going to be quite as easy as moving things with touch."

Groans echoed against the bleachers.

"Oh, don't be dramatic. School would be boring if it were easy," she said, snapping her fingers to reclaim the group's attention.

"How are we suddenly supposed to be able to do telekinesis?" someone asked.

"The same way you suddenly move things despite not existing on the same plane as them. When you touch mortal objects, you're not touching them like the living do. You're moving them with your will, similarly to how someone might move things with telekinesis, but your brain has to attach the motion to physical touch because it can't conceptualize the ability any other way. This year will be about breaking those mental boundaries."

"If we can already do it, why must we spend a whole year learning?"

"The mind is stronger than you think. It wants everything to make sense. You've got to teach it the new rules." She bent down, digging through a bag next to her. "Until then, we have these to help bridge the gap."

She pulled out a long, gossamer scarf, winding one end around her fist to whip it around. "When you get your objects, you will use these to help your brain bridge the gap between your body and the object." She nodded down to the bag, and everyone filed forward to grab their supplies.

We had to spread out pretty far from one another to have enough room. Once again, I tried to gravitate toward Arlie, but she was still clearly distracted, so I didn't bother.

I set the fuzzy tennis ball down on the grass. Stepping back, I shook out the strip of cloth to wrap it inside my fist as Professor Algenette had.

"All right," she called once we were all in our places. "Now, I want you to strike at your objects, imagining this fabric as an extension of your arm. The goal is to smack the object as far as possible."

"What if we hit someone?" asked the student standing beside her.

She shot him a pitying look and patted him on the shoulder. "I appreciate your optimism."

Once she gave us the all-clear, I coiled my arm back before striking out. The shift of material brushed lightly against the ball before sagging limply into the grass.

Glancing around, I found much the same. Some people had taken to slicing the fabric down through the air like they were cutting firewood. Others wiggled their fabric as if the swishing material could build up enough power to force the thing into action. At the very least, I wasn't alone in looking silly.

When class was over, she assured us it was to be expected, so I decided not to be too tormented by the lack of progress.

Leaving the stadium, Arlie fell into step next to me, and I fought to contain my relief.

"I think I figured out what's making you impossible right now," she added, sinking my heart into my stomach. "You're jealous that I have a lot of other friends."

Taken aback, I laughed.

"What?" she asked, looking almost offended.

I wondered what it might be like to tell her exactly how much I wished my problems were that petty, but I was mostly relieved.

"No, yeah, sorry. You're right."

She eyed me, and I must have projected pity because her voice softened. "I'm a commodity now. You're going to have to come get me while I'm hot."

"Are you hot enough to go to the library with me for a bit, maybe get a jump on that Transformation paper?"

She scoffed. "You're a terrible negotiator."

"If you think I'm a downer now," I began, sighing dramatically, "imagine the state I'd be in if you got kicked out for being a shit student."

"Ouch. Point taken."

The Library, a proud turret on the other side of campus, was bustling with students. The interior was primarily one large room with a catwalk coiling all the way up to the skylight overhead and a shallow turquoise pool in the center of the floor. We just about snagged one of the curved tables around the rim as the splash of a lime-green eel caused a dancing wave pattern to reflect onto the catwalk overhead.

I volunteered to fetch the reference books while Arlie ripped up bread and tossed pieces into the water to watch the tiny colorful fish dart for the prize.

I walked around the stacks, finding the Transformation section tucked in the corner next to the archive entrance. I searched the spines for a tome that seemed entry-level enough for our purpose, but I stopped when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

A familiar willowy silhouette ascended the stairs next to me.

I spun as her sheet of dark hair disappeared around a teetering stack of books being nudged by a massive Sulcata tortoise. By the time I rounded the lumbering creature, I had confirmed my suspicion.

It was Lindy.

"Did you find a book?" Arlie called, jolting me from my concentration.

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

I backtracked and picked up the book, trying to gather myself before returning to Arlie.

Hidden below my relief was a note of anxiety.

Although it was good that she'd return to normal sooner rather than later, part of me didn't relish the inevitable discussion about Last Hope.

Returning to Arlie, I plopped the book down on the tabletop. My feigned casualness backfired when the loud slap of the leather binding echoed, prompting the librarian, who was skimming insects from the pool and setting them on a metal tray to dry out, to hush me.

I raised my hand in apology and slid into my chair with a sheepishly tipped chin.

Arlie snickered at me, and we tried to look like we were working until most of the insects had recovered from their dip in the water and flown off, leaving the librarian to carry on with different tasks.

"So, some of us considered joining the Mortal Media Society," Arlie whispered once the coast was clear.

"Okay," I said, eyes on my paper while I tried to think of a synonym for reshape I hadn't used.

Any interest I might have had fell to the wayside under the assumption that the bunch of people in question were the Reapers.

She sighed, assuming I was unaware of her implication. "I think you should come, too."

"I'm busy that day."

"You don't even know when it is."

I chewed the inside of my cheek. "Friday?"

She made a buzzer noise and rolled her eyes. "What is up with you? The antisocial routine isn't cute."

"Sorry," I said, skimming blocks of text in the book.

She shook her head. "Like, I get it, the end of the year was a lot for you, but—"

"Yes, it was a lot ," I grumbled, even though it would only make her more angry.

"I'm not trying to be a dick, Agnes, but you can't just rely on only hanging out with me. You need to learn to play nice."

"I don't mind Blair," I corrected.

"You know what I mean."

I did.

It wasn't fair for me to make some claim on her if she wanted to have a large circle. Perhaps it would have been better if said circle didn't despise me, but I wasn't about to pick at that wound.

"Fine," I said with a sigh. "I'll go to your movie thing."

"That's the spirit," she said. "And you'll make an effort not to be a hermit so I don't have to feel like I'm abandoning you, and—?"

"I get it. I'll make some friends, so we're evenly yolked or whatever."

She smacked me playfully on the shoulder blade, which made me smile, even though my stomach was twisting.

"That's the spirit."

She seemed satisfied, but I couldn't staunch the gnawing longing for how things had been the year before.

~

Lindy's room was silent the whole night, and I assumed she'd gone to make up with Rigel. But then, the next day, on the walk between Transformation and Collaboratory Interpersonal Exploitation, Rigel appeared at my side, matching my pace.

"Did Lindy do anything last night?" Rigel asked, not waiting for me to acknowledge him.

I scrunched up my face. "You mean, while she was in the library?"

"Library?" He stopped in his tracks, face falling. "She was out? Why didn't you tell me?"

I stopped, turning and lowering my voice as students circled us on the walkway. "I assumed she'd already talked to you."

"Are you completely sure you saw her?"

"Yeah, it was definitely her."

He pointed himself away from the cathedral and walked toward the Iudex dorm, but I caught his earlobe and yanked him down, hissing in his ear, "We have class, dummy."

He jerked out of my grip, stroking his ear as he glared down at me. "Why didn't she come find me?"

"I don't know, Rigel, but there's nothing you can do about it right now."

His eyes flicked between me and the cathedral over my shoulder. My mood grew stormier with each glance.

Despite myself, I couldn't help but sympathize with him. While I'd been confident about Lindy's true intentions with him, he wasn't about to be persuaded so easily. It was hard to imagine what he would be like once the reality sank in, but it wouldn't be pleasant for anyone.

I led Rigel into the cathedral, checking how to access the courtyard. An odd choice for an interpersonal manipulation class, but I wasn't about to argue.

"It's a little creepy that they just lost a student in here," I said, hoping to distract him from his reverie as we wove through the corridors.

He only grunted.

"Like, if you take a wrong turn down one of these halls, would you just get stuck until someone found you?"

"Do you think I should bring her something? Flowers?"

I stopped in the hall, grabbing Rigel's jacket sleeve and yanking him behind a pillar so the passing students wouldn't hear us.

"You need to pull it together."

He leaned his back against the stone, crossing his arms defiantly. "Says you, sniveling after your little mousey friend, who doesn't even like you that much."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Then, you're the last to know," he said, smirking before pushing off the pillar and continuing without me.

Hot blood flooded my cheeks as his back disappeared down the hall. When I hurried after him, I smacked the tip of my cane into the stone floor as hard as I could, making each step echo.

"Just because your shitty girlfriend does not—"

The courtyard door opened, and Rigel dove through it without so much as a glance back at me.

"Penis weasel," I grumbled as I followed him outside.

The courtyard was a square of greenery framed by tall stone walls, each craggy brick seemingly being held in place by browning vines.

It didn't look to have been used until very recently, with broken, faceless statues and a crumbling fountain still somehow dribbling water. On the other side, a cluster of chairs had been set in the overgrown flower beds, and a rolling blackboard was balancing precariously on uneven path stones.

Students wandered toward the desks, taking in the odd sights. Many of the neglected plants in the flower beds were unique.

As I followed Rigel down the winding stone path, we passed a bush that hung with blooms that looked like Valentine hearts and venus fly traps with jaws the size of my fist.

We paused by the fountain as we passed, peeking in.

The shallow pool revealed an interesting sight. Copper and silver reflected from the bottom like the scales of a large fish, but underneath the little familiar presidential faces, different coins emerged.

Some were crude, thick slabs of iron and bronze chiseled into palm-sized discs. Others were exaggerated and unfamiliar, ringed in dead languages and cored out in the center. They appeared to have been perfectly preserved under the shallow layer of water, like vellum over a photograph.

Someone to my right extended a hand. As their finger and its reflection touched, causing a small ripple, Professor Beck appeared. Her hair was messy, and she was clutching books, one of which she used to swat the student on the shoulder.

"I'd recommend you keep that finger if I were you." She nodded into the water, and when the students leaned in closer to inspect, they leaped back in shock.

Everyone who'd witnessed the exchange gathered around just in time to catch the flash of two of the circles, which had appeared to be coins at first glance, blink .

The group shuddered with nervous giggles as Professor Beck shooed us toward the desks. "All right, that's enough curiosity for today." She shifted her attention to other students who were stooped over plants. "I wouldn't recommend eating anything either. This isn't the dining hall."

Everyone dispersed into their seats as Professor Beck stepped carefully over the foliage to her desk, muttering in frustration.

I busied myself trying to pull my chair back without accidentally flattening a small coiled fern. Sitting, I felt my weight press the chair legs into the soft earth, making me unsteady.

I was so distracted that I only looked up when a loud, rusty screech reverberated. Just ahead, past the blackboard, was a keyhole-shaped passageway in the stonewall, filled with a swirling iron door. But on the other side of it was the outline of a woman, pressing it open and causing the abrasive sound.

Professor Beck swallowed back her grumbling, and suddenly, her face was pasted with an overly exuberant grin.

The woman slipped through the narrow opening in the gate and pushed it closed, head down, no doubt feeling the weight of all our attention.

Head lifting, the face I was met with was sickly pale and vaguely owlish, with circular, rheumy eyes and a small sharp nose. She had her hair pinned up in a tight plait on the back of her head. Her bodice was structured, and her long, rippling skirt moved like water as she sat in the empty chair next to me.

"Everyone here?" Professor Beck asked, eyes skimming faces as if she were trying to avoid leering at the new student. "Okay, welcome to Collaborative Interpersonal Exploitation. You all learned how to do studies individually last year, but that's only half the battle. You must also learn how to work with others."

"What does being outside have to do with that?" someone called.

Professor Beck cleared her throat, eyes flicking to the student beside me.

"This class would usually be held inside, but we've decided to make some accommodations." She stretched her smile even wider, as if afraid of what it might reveal if it faltered. "But isn't it a wonderful opportunity to get some fresh air? I've always thought it was quite lovely back here. It doesn't get used nearly enough."

So, that was who she was, then.

Everyone exchanged looks, the memory of the professor's annoyed grumblings still too fresh. She clapped, bringing attention back to the topic at hand.

"Once you're out there working, you'll be expected to collaborate with others effectively. So, this year, you'll pair up with people weekly to tackle a new assignment. For today, I just want you to do this practice question with someone in whichever pairing you want, no pressure."

Rigel eyeballed me, probably excited for another ruse to further interrogate me about Lindy.

So, I quickly turned to the one person who hadn't gotten up. "Do you want to be my partner?" I asked the woman next to me, not missing her jolt of surprise at my acknowledgment.

She blinked at me, eyes so huge the action seemed almost taxing. Based on the blankness in her expression, I wondered if I needed to harken back to my Shakespearean play phase and try translating the question into ancient garbled English.

Luckily, she nodded.

"What's your name?" I asked, relieved.

"Contentment."

"That's fun," I said. "Kind of a mouthful, though. Can I call you Connie?"

She blinked once more, head swiveling to the desk in front of her as though she might find the answer written there. The movement was interesting, aquiline, like she allowed her neck to lead each movement. When she spoke, her voice was small and distant, as though she were somehow speaking from much further away.

"Nothing actually matters."

"Fair enough." I looked up at the board to read the practice problem. "What house are you from?"

"Ultor."

I pointed the end of my pencil toward the blackboard. "And how would an Ultor choose to deal with someone who did something like that?"

Connie sighed, head tipping back until her eyes met the sky. "Morality is an illusion."

I clicked my tongue. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but I feel like that wouldn't earn an excellent grade, so I might not write it down."

She paused. "Maybe we should convince everyone in town that she's a witch."

"I admire the creativity, but I don't think that would really work anymore."

"Why not?"

"Burning people at the stake is a bit passé these days."

She sighed warily. "I was afraid of this. That was always a favorite of mine."

With Connie's impassive assistance, I parsed out something decently intelligible by the end of class.

As we packed up, I spotted Rigel over my shoulder, who was gearing up for another interrogation.

When she rose, I pointed to the gated exit and asked, "Can I go out that way with you?"

She hesitated. "It's not quite as simple as leaving in the regular fashion."

"Why? Are the hinges, like, really rusty?"

She made a face that looked dangerously like an amused grin as she nodded for me to follow. At the door, she pulled the key out of the pocket hidden in her dress and jammed it in the keyhole. Her face curved under the strain of opening the door, but she raised a hand before I could walk through the gap.

A thick coiled rope rested just outside the door, tied to a loop that protruded from the wall. Connie handed it to me, but I only looked at her blankly.

"In case this... place"—her lip curled around the word—"decides to change."

I looked out onto the stretch of grass just a few inches away, unsure exactly what she could mean by that, but deciding to take her word for it.

I took the rope and walked forward, feeling my stomach plummet. The ground shot away from me, recoiling like I'd stung it. Suddenly, I was hovering in midair, time slowing down just enough for me to scream before gravity took hold of me once more.

The rope caught me with a jolt, and I swung in a long arc before smacking into the side of the cathedral and falling the last couple of feet.

I blinked to clear my swimming vision as the rope recoiled back to the archway, which had returned to being inches from my head once more, like a spaghetti noodle.

Connie took the rope, but when she stepped off the stone ledge, her leather boot nestled easily into the grass. Her shoulders sagged in relief as she was able to release the rope.

"Wicked," I breathed. But when her eyes widened, I added, "That's a term of endearment now."

She shot me a dubious look. "My belief is hampered."

I sat up with a groan, brushing crispy leaves from my hair.

"Well, unhamper it and take my word on the matter."

"Agnes." Arlie and Blair approached hand in hand. "Why are you lying on the ground?"

"It's a long story," I wheezed, pushing to my feet and nodding to Connie. "Anyway, this is Connie. She's my new friend."

"Contentment," she elaborated, extending her hand to the two of them.

Blair took his hand out of his pocket and squeezed her fingers.

"Oh, cool," Arlie said, and I wasn't sure if she was processing Connie's appearance or that I'd miraculously acquired a friend in less than a day.

Connie gave the two of them a small curtsy before deadpanning. "My family ate me to survive the winter."

"Okay," Blair said, shooting me a glance.

Her big eyes bounced between them. "Are you two married?"

I decided to cut that off before it started what would surely be a very long, uncomfortable conversation.

"Connie is coming to the movie thing, too."

I shot Connie what I hoped was an apologetic look, hoping that subtly was something people used from her time period. Thankfully, she met my eyes and nodded, though her brows creased together in confusion.

"Really?" Arlie asked, sounding almost suspicious.

I was about to continue when Connie spoke up.

"What's a movie?"

I waved away her concern. "You're going to love it."

"Oh, okay. Well, we were just going to get a bite to eat." Arlie looked at me as if trying to silently beg me not to bring Connie, the only person with less social currency than me, to meet up with her awful friends.

I smiled, more for Connie's sake.

"You guys go on. I might catch up when we're done."

"With what?"

"We have to work on our joint assignment."

That time, I didn't even need to look at her to prompt her hum of agreement. By some miracle, Connie leaned into every piece of bullshit I spun. I wasn't sure if she was just confused beyond measure or devious at heart.

We parted ways from Arlie and Blair, and I went to my room, trying to hide my surprise that I couldn't hear any talking from Lindy's wall. I'd expected that even if they weren't back to normal, they'd, at least, be discussing things.

"You're quite diligent with your coursework," Connie mentioned as I gestured for her to sit at my desk.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I mostly just wanted to avoid them."

"Why? They seem nice."

"It's complicated." I sank onto the corner of my bed. "I guess I just don't know how to be around them anymore."

She smoothed her hands over her skirt, and I sensed it was a nervous habit. "I understand. I'm not sure how to exist around anyone anymore."

I immediately felt like an ass. Of course she would be dealing with far more than I was.

"I can't imagine."

"Any misery is overwhelmed by the shuddering relief of being free of that place." She shrugged. "The unpleasantness of strangers feels comparatively minor."

"They'll get over themselves."

Her head turned, twitching up and down, as her eyes scanned me.

"Would you help me look more modern? I'll probably be less offputting if I dressed like you."

"Do you actually want to dress like me, or do you just want people to stop being dicks?" I asked. Though I had to elaborate, "A dick is a rude person but also male genitalia," before her eyes lit with mingled comprehension and disgust.

"The latter is my intended goal." She shivered. "I'd prefer to avoid that aspect of human anatomy in every possible capacity."

"Then, fuck 'em." I shed my coat and chucked it at my open wardrobe. "Dress the way you want. They're just being—"

"Male genitalia?"

"You're a fast learner."

She smiled.

Stomping feet rushed past my door. Then came the slamming, followed by Rigel's voice.

"Lindy! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Is he all right?" Connie whispered.

I feigned disinterest, picking up a discarded pajama top and folding it in my lap. "Domestic drama, no doubt."

Just as I thought I'd gotten away with seeming clueless, my door flew open. It banged against the wall before Rigel caught it in his shaking fist and slammed it.

"What the hell is going on with her?" Rigel yelled before freezing in surprise when his eyes fell on Connie.

She was on her feet in a flash, the business end of a fountain pen extending from her fist in a curiously practiced way.

"Agnes, why is there a pilgrim in your room?"

She scoffed, lowering her makeshift weapon. "Humorous, coming from a human birch sapling."

He put his hand up to silence her, eyes still on me. "I need to talk to you alone."

I crossed my arms. "I'm not humoring that request until you apologize to my friend."

He blinked at me as if I'd spoken in a foreign tongue, asking, "Who the fuck even is she?"

"She is Connie. I've only known her for two hours, yet she's already proven to be a million times more tolerable than yourself."

He huffed a long breath and finally turned to her. "Connie, I am very sorry. Can you please go away now?"

"Rigel!" I snapped.

"I said please—what else do you want from me? A blood offering? My firstborn?"

"I think I will go, actually." She slowly approached Rigel. Her posture changed from meek to almost feline, and she looked at Lindy's wall before slowly turning back to him. "Children don't usually stop crying until someone takes it upon themselves to clean their linens." She turned back to me, eyebrows jumping. "I don't envy your position."

"Con, you really don't . . ."

She waved away my pleas. "We will see each other at that—what was it called? Movie?"

I sighed in resignation. "Okay."

She shot Rigel one last glare before walking out of my room.

He waited until her footsteps receded before chuckling. "What a bitch."

"I like her."

"Of course you do." He grabbed my newly vacated desk chair and lowered himself into it. "Anyway, we need to figure something out."

"You're right. I need to figure out how my room keeps letting you in. I think my door is broken."

He ignored me.

"There's got to be some reason she's avoiding me like this," he said, foot tapping so hard it was making my floorboards rattle. I pinched his kneecap until he stopped. "I did what she asked me to do, and now I feel like I'm being punished."

"Maybe it's not about you. Have you ever considered that?"

He sighed. "What do I do, then?"

"Your other interests, perhaps you could learn all our coursework too fast and then gloat about it."

He smirked, a little of his familiar spark lighting his eyes. "What should I do with the other two-thirds of my time?"

"Practice patience?"

His jaw flexed. "Will you at least try talking to her?"

"Please leave," I said, uninterested in watching the conversation backslide.

"Do you want me to beg? I'll do it."

"You're being obscene. Just relax."

"I can't relax," he said, slouching and resting his head against the back of the chair. "I feel like I've done something wrong. I just want things to go back to how they were."

His words came out small, eggshell fragile, and suddenly, it was as though he shapeshifted before my eyes, appearing young and needy.

"Everything's going to be fine," I sighed, even though what I wanted to say was that I yearned for the same thing almost every day.

~

When it was time for Advanced Transparency the following day, I made my way to the outbuilding. I'd never really understood the purpose of the outbuildings, much less why one would be needed for a class that seemingly belonged in Corporeality Hall.

Everyone else was gathered around the door of the small building, looking at each other in confusion.

"It won't open for us," someone said to their friend.

But before anyone could give up, an upperclassman I vaguely recognized shoved through the group and pushed the door open, allowing us to pour into the room.

The inside of the building wasn't anything significantly interesting. It resembled the Object Manipulation classroom. Though, instead of the tub that caught errant items from the mortal world, a large iron cage sat in the center. Inside the cage sat a desk and chair overflowing with books and papers. It took up about half of the floor space, leaving only enough room for a single row of tables to sit along the perimeter of the iron bars, facing inward.

Everyone hesitantly wandered toward the desks, setting bags down and exchanging confused looks.

Just as the clock struck the hour, there was a quiet pop, and a man appeared inside the cage as though struck into existence like the flame in a lighter.

He was older, with a hunched back and wispy white hair. Despite being otherwise normal, something was wrong with him that I couldn't put my finger on. He looked... desaturated, almost grey. It made him pop against the normal classroom walls, as though he was being projected on the floor in front of us.

He turned in a slow circle, taking us all in before smiling. "Well, no screamers this year. That's a relief."

Nervous whispers flared about, but no one was brave enough to ask the question.

"No guesses?" he asked, setting his things down on the desk.

"Professor, please," the upperclassmen said with a long sigh, opening the iron door and setting a box inside the cage.

Despite trying to hide his reaction, the strange professor tensed at the door's squeal. Only when it was securely locked did he calm. On the other hand, the upperclassman didn't seem phased as he sat in the far corner and pulled out a book.

The old man waved him off. "Let me have my fun, Samuel." He then cleared his throat. "Hello, class. I am Professor Arnold, and this is Advanced Transparency."

Finally, a student raised their hand. "I thought we learned about Transparency last year. What else is there to know?"

"Excellent question! So, your first year, you learned how to achieve the four stages of transparency in general. That much is true, but there is a very special caveat to this that will come in handy once you're out in the field."

He got up and paced the room. "At this moment, when you become invisible, it's true for whoever is around you, be they living or dead. But you will learn how to separate the two this year."

"So, we can become invisible to mortals but still see each other?"

"Exactly." He grinned slyly. "This is why this class is so unique. It can only be properly taught by someone still alive."

"Are you . . ."

"Yes, I'm currently alive." He pointed over his shoulder to Samuel, who didn't even bother to look up from his book. "That's why I have to have my charming assistant here at all times. Samuel worked with me last year and has agreed to fill in today for my regular TA."

"What would happen if one of us touched you?"

He laughed, but he stepped back, almost like he was nervous. "I will use your question as an opportunity to talk about the number one rule in my classroom." He gestured to the metal bars separating him from the class. "I'm going to request that everyone, unless under the improbable circumstance that I've specifically requested it, does not enter my cage. Not even just to reach inside. I will stay on this side, and you all will stay on the other side. It's a safety precaution that the school and I have agreed upon. Am I understood?"

Everyone nodded, though I could see students exchanging curious looks among themselves.

We started by running the same drills we'd done in Intro to Transparency the year before. Though, this time, we had to become visible to our fellow ghosts without the professor being able to see us. I failed instantaneously, and I got the sense it would be a long year.

"Do you want to get something to eat before Mortal Media?" Arlie asked as we filed out of the outbuilding after class ended.

"Sure—" I looked around for Connie.

"If you're trying to prove something, you can drop it, okay? You don't have to replace me out of spite," Arlie said.

"I'm not. You have other friends. I have another friend. We can all hang out and be merry."

Her eyes flicked to Connie, who was approaching fast, before she hissed, "It's different."

"What? People aren't allowed to like me without your prior approval?"

"No, she's just creepy, and you don't bother making friends unless there's a purpose, so I'm trying to figure out what it is."

I stopped, nearly colliding with the group behind us. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I wasn't about to let her off easy.

Her shoulders sagged, and regret etched her expression. "I love you, okay? But you can't say you don't pick people for a purpose."

"You're making me sound robotic."

"No, just... particular." She looked around. "And she's a bit particular as well."

"How charitable ."

"You know I don't mean anything by it, Ags."

She softened her voice, clearly trying to deflect the tension.

"Do I?"

Thankfully, for her, Connie interrupted us, looking more relaxed than the previous day. Her clothes were the same, but her hair hung in a loose braid instead of the tight updo.

"I apologize if I'm intruding, but I don't know where this movie event occurs."

"It's in a few hours, but you can come to the dining hall with us until it begins," I offered, doing my best to wipe any trace of irritation from my expression.

Her eyes lit up with relief, and I led the way, not even bothering to look at Arlie.

The dining hall remained one of my favorite places on campus. It was a collision of nature and architecture where students and animals mingled openly. Songbirds overhead dove from the rafters to pluck bread crusts from unwatched plates, while other students perched on each other's shoulders to harvest fruit from the vines that wove in from the outside.

When we found our regular table, we were greeted by a hefty monitor lizard sunbathing along the curve of the booth conveniently aligned with the window.

"Do you want to risk it?" asked Arlie.

"Let's not bother the poor guy," I said, scanning the room.

"Oh, here we are," Arlie announced, beelining for a table half full of Reapers.

I tried not to look too defeated when I noticed a few of them exchanging looks upon my approach.

It was packed tight as Connie and Arlie took the last two seats. Part of me was almost relieved, though the food spread they'd gotten looked pretty nice. They'd nicked a whole loaf of sourdough, with crust so crispy that the long bread knife stuck upright out of the top. Surrounding it was a litany of jams and cheeses that made my mouth water.

"Here," Arlie said, pulling up a chair beside hers.

I tried to look appreciative as I slid into the narrow valley of space and lowered myself into my seat. The Reaper on my other side shifted uncomfortably, and I pretended not to notice.

"Who's this?" one asked, motioning to Connie.

"This is Agnes's friend. She's going to Mortal Media as well."

More looks were exchanged, and grins suppressed.

"Oh, right, the one they found wandering around the cathedral," the person across from me said, ushering in grins from their audience.

"Contentment," Connie added, distracted, eyes scanning the room. Then, out of nowhere, she leaned across the table and yanked the knife free of the bread loaf. "So, do we all take turns slaughtering the animals? That was always my job at home, but I'm willing to share."

Everyone flinched away from her as she held the knife threateningly outward, though her face remained innocent and curious.

"Do the faculty do it, then?" she asked after no one answered her first question. She then sighed and jammed the knife back through the bread, the table shuddering as the blade embedded into the wood underneath. "What a shame."

She plucked a small square of orange cheese from the tray and popped it in her mouth as she slouched back in her seat. No one spoke for a moment, as if afraid any sudden noise would prompt an attack. But when I glanced at her, she shot me a lightning-fast wink before returning her attention to the dining hall.

"Charming," a Reaper muttered.

Despite Arlie's many hopeful glances, I was content to stay quiet until Mortal Media. I wanted to beg her to stop trying to pass me a torch I wasn't going to carry, that no one wanted me to carry, no less.

When the sun set, we made our way to the stadium, lit up from the inside. On the field, I found a collection of blankets on the grass in front of a large projection screen erected at the far end. One of the opening frames for The Sixth Sense was displayed, waiting patiently for someone to hit play.

The snacks were set up on long tables near the perimeter. Bowls overflowing with yellow popcorn drizzled in chocolate and caramel and seasoned potato chips cut so thin they were nearly translucent. But the real standout was a cooler filled with long red popsicles and adorned with a hand-drawn sign that read Icy Dead People . The words dripped with cartoonish blood droplets.

Arlie looked at them curiously, but I dove right in, picking one up and pressing it to the tip of my tongue. It was rich and tart, making me salivate.

"Pomegranate," I announced, licking the juice from the curve of my lip as a chill went down my spine.

That seemed to relieve the rest of them, and soon, everyone had their snacks and were headed to blankets laid out on the grass.

Professor Algenette appeared before the projector, thanked the two upperclassmen who'd selected the movie, and organized the snack selection. Everyone clapped for them, and the lights around the stadium extinguished.

I quickly learned the club's purpose wasn't simply to watch the movie. It was almost encouraged to jeer at the people on screen. Students threw popcorn at each jump scare or would yell out a rating whenever a ghost appeared.

It was so fun, even the Reapers lost interest in terrorizing me for the moment. I felt an awful twinge of dread at every scene of the child interacting with the ghosts, but I made a point of pushing the feeling down.

Unsurprisingly, the only other person struggling through it was Connie. She vacillated between staring, awestruck, at the screen and pressing her head between her knees like she was feeling sick.

I tried silently offering to help her out of the stadium, but she only shook her head like I was being absurd.

By night's end, everyone was in good spirits. It was a relief to feel normal—almost, dare I say, happy?

I returned to the Iudex dorm, feeling worn out. But just as I was about to round the corner of the building, a familiar shape walked across the lawn toward the maze.

Lindy was finally out of her room.