Chapter 12

By Monday morning, I was practically desperate to go to class, even though I really didn’t want to see Professor Faun. Being locked inside my dorm, doing homework, and plugging my ears against the crashing from the other room had been tantamount to torture.

When I got to class, I didn’t look at the professor as I hurried to my desk. Class continued on as usual. Since I was ahead of the group lessons, avoiding Professor Faun’s eyes during class was easy enough. And when we did drills, he didn’t come by my table to give me any pointers.

I doubted he would bother tutoring anymore. But on my way toward the door at the end of class, I stopped when I heard my name.

“Agnes?” he called. When I turned to his desk, his head stayed down. “I’ll see you at six.”

I nodded, not that he was looking, before hurrying to Object Manipulation. It remained unclear whether I was relieved by this. On one hand, I wasn’t sure I would ever get past the embarrassment. But I’d felt much worse when I thought he’d given up on helping me. Because, if Friday proved anything, it was that I needed to defend myself.

Arlie hadn’t said anything while we were in class since we were busy trying to use our objects, with little to no success. And we had to deal with Professor Algenette holding up a surprisingly good drawing of the cathedral done by Rigel and the art set he’d selected.

I’d only got ahold of my crochet hook long enough to make a little chain, and it didn’t look good. Though I was pretty satisfied that I remembered how to do it.

Once we were free of classes, it was like the floodgates opened.

“I broke up with Blair,” she told me as we walked down the stairs.

“Oh, why?”

“A few reasons. I was mad that he’d said it would be harmless, even though he clearly didn’t know. I was annoyed that he defended Tom.”

“He defended Tom?”

“Yeah. I mean, they’ve been friends since they were yearlings and stuff. But I just thought it was gross that he refused to admit that what he did was wrong. I don’t want to be with someone that can defend a friend who abandoned someone because they’re a pussy.”

A surprise laugh burst out of me.

“Okay, fair enough. Just don’t do it solely on my behalf.”

“It’s no big loss. It’s not like relationships really matter out here anyway. There’ll be someone else who’s willing to amuse me.”

I sensed she didn’t fully believe her words, but I wasn’t about to call her out on it. I was just surprised she would take such a stand, especially with me in mind. They’d seemed so dedicated to one another so quickly I couldn’t imagine it being over so soon.

“So, you forgive me?” she asked.

“I wasn’t ever mad at you.”

Something inside me twisted, still feeling responsible. The situation made me feel negligent, leaving angry people and broken relationships in my wake. I’d kissed someone I didn’t like, disobeyed someone I did like, and been the reason a good relationship had gone bust. It felt like I was discovering something about myself, and I didn’t like it.

“I would have been. I was pretty upset when I thought you’d been expelled.”

“You really thought that?”

“Professor Faun had flames behind his eyes,” she said, shivering theatrically. “So, I’m guessing the tutoring sessions are canceled?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

She didn’t even try hiding her shock.

“That sucks dick.”

“Correct.” I sighed.

We killed time working on a case study for Interpersonal Exploitation in the dining hall, before a large bird stole Arlie’s pen and we decided to duck out.

I had a few minutes, so I walked with Arlie back to her dorm. But a group watching the dorm roof in rapt fascination stopped us.

A pterodactyl had taken up residence on the roof, building a nest out of twigs and stolen school blazers. On the other end was Stacy, crawling carefully across the mossy shingles toward the massive creature as it eyed her with disdain. Armed with a straw broom, she got just outside of biting range and steadied herself on her feet. She waved the broom at it, jabbing it with the business end of the cleaning tool. It screeched, wielding its wing at her, which she expertly dodged.

She then brought the broom down deftly on the animal’s head, and it hissed in rage before lifting off. The burst of wind from its leathery wings nearly blew her over the edge, but she caught herself as the creature disappeared over the horizon.

“I wonder if that happens often?” I asked Arlie.

She grinned. “Maybe she has a special broom just for the job.”

We continued our walk to the building, but when she passed us on our way through the doors, I stopped in the vestibule.

“Hey, Arlie, I actually just remembered I have something I need to do before tutoring, but I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

She seemed confused but didn’t argue as I made my way back down the steps.

People were always giving Stacy such a wide berth that the sound of my approaching footsteps drew her attention.

“What?” she croaked as I matched her pace.

“I’m told you’re the one who made my cane.”

“Who told you that?”

Her pace was so fast I struggled to breathe evenly as I tried to keep up. “I just wanted to say it’s really beautiful. I’ve gotten lots of compliments on it.”

“You’re surprised I’m good at something?” she growled, still not slowing her pace.

“No,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear to keep it from getting in my mouth. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

That made her stop.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s really nice. It makes me feel better about my foot.”

Her beady eyes scanned my face, as if she thought I was hiding something, before saying a hesitant “you’re welcome.”

She then took off again, but I still needed to catch my breath, so I let her go.

When 6 p.m. rolled around, I tucked my tail between my legs and headed to the Transparency room, where I found Professor Faun working at his desk.

He didn’t react to the sound of me closing the door, so I said nothing as I took a seat.

To be honest, I was mostly trying not to think about the way he’d tugged the chair Friday night. But it was back in its usual position, as if I had never been that close to him.

“Are you ready?” he asked after a long awkward stretch of silence, finally looking up, face distant and eyes blank.

If I hadn’t known any better, I would have said nothing had changed since my last tutoring session. But the painful feeling in my gut made sure to remind me.

I began practicing, but it became clear quickly that I was distracted, which frustrated me even further.

And to my utter shock, following my fifth failure, he asked, “Do you like music?”

“What?” I nearly choked on the word.

“Maybe you’ll focus better if it isn’t so quiet in here.”

“Um, maybe, I don’t really remember.”

“Let’s try it.”

He reached under his desk and pulled out something that looked like a thick briefcase. But when he opened the metal clasps, it revealed itself to be a record player.

He propped it open on his desk and turned it on. A record was waiting in the slot, and that’s what he played. I didn’t exactly recognize it, but it was sweet and somber.

“Is this okay?” he asked, finally turning back to me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why are you being nice?”

“This is strictly a teaching technique.”

“I guess I was just expecting . . .”

He let out a long sigh. “Listen. I let my emotions get the best of me on Friday. I regret that. It wasn’t very professional.”

“It’s fine,” I said, wanting to deflect what felt like pity.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness. I don’t resend anything I said, but I do regret the tone I took. I don’t want to risk the quality of our lessons by having you fear that I’m going to fly off the handle.”

“Okay.”

I was surprised to feel the relief mingle with disappointment. Despite how much I hadn’t liked seeing him angry, something had been oddly affirming about how passionate he’d gotten. I hadn’t even noticed it until he’d returned to being strictly business.

“So, just relax. Everything is fine. You made a mistake. That’s not a crime.”

“Well, there was something else on my mind that I wanted to ask you about, actually.”

“Yes?”

His voice stayed neutral, but his expression slipped for a second, revealing the smallest hint of distress.

“What do you know about dreaming?”

He blinked. “Dreaming?”

“I think I had a nightmare this weekend.”

His eyes moved away from me, landing on the desk. “It’s nothing.”

Even though he was avoiding my eyes, I could see the thoughts racing in his head.

“Really? You don’t think it has anything to do with what happened to me when I died?”

“It’s really not healthy to ruminate on such things.”

He was dodging the question.

“I was just curious.”

“Have you suffered any lasting effects from this nightmare?”

“No.”

“Then, I’d say it’s nothing to worry about,” he said, finally meeting my eyes. “Are you ready to try again?”

We continued practicing, and I was surprised to find I was actually performing better now that some of the tension had leaked from the room. The music even helped, even though I’d never heard it. Plus, Professor Faun had answered my biggest unspoken question. He’d tried too hard to seem disinterested, which meant Rigel was right.

When the clock struck seven, I grabbed my bag and my cane and made my way for the exit.

“I’m not going to catch you in any compromising positions now that you’re out of lockdown, right?”

“Compromising positions” made my ears perk up. It was ambiguous, but the image it conjured up wasn’t me out of bounds but instead with my sweater bunched up over my breasts. Surely, I was reading into that for my own benefit.

“I just have to return some stuff to the library, then I’m turning in for the evening.” I stopped with my hand on the doorframe. “And, Professor, I recommend you take it easy as well instead of worrying about my shenanigans. You look exhausted.”

I didn’t wait around for his response, not that he would give me one.

I hurried to the library, where I deposited my books on the return cart and descended into the archive to find an additional history for my Interpersonal Exploitation study. I’d already gotten the ID number and directions for the history I was looking for, so I expected it to be a quick trip. But unfortunately, I wasn’t the only person skulking around the archive.

“What brings you down to my lair?” I heard from a desk next to the fork at the far end.

Since the desks in the tunnels were inherently antisocial, the person using it wasn’t surprising.

My hand closed around the first book I touched. “Just grabbing something. Got to go. Very busy.”

The tunnel lit up, and Rigel approached, clutching a piece of paper. I glanced down, finding a collection of letters written out like a list.

“What’s that?”

He tipped the paper away from me. “None of your business.”

I looked back at the paper. “Is that . . . Are you tracking the mice through the tunnels?”

His eyebrows ticked up. “Lucky guess.”

“You really think that’s going to yield results?”

“I have my reasons.”

I pulled the book off the shelf and tucked it under my arm, accepting I would have to get my intended history the following day. “Whatever. Have fun.”

“You’re not still mad about the cane-stealing thing? I thought we were past that?”

“We exchanged information. That doesn’t mean I like you.”

“It’s close enough.”

I stepped away, and he matched the distance. So, I extended my cane, pressing it into his chest and pushing him back. His hand came up, but instead of removing the cane from his sternum, he ran his finger over the woven texture appreciatively.

“It is lovely.”

“Thanks,” I said, pushing him back another step. “Apparently, Stacy made it.”

“Stacy?”

“The groundskeeper.”

“Oh,” he said. “Impressive.”

“Tell her yourself, though don’t expect her to take it well.”

“Noted.”

“This has been a fun talk. See you whenever you poke your head out from Lindy’s room or whatever.”

“Hey, wait,” he said, backtracking to the desk and grabbing a book from his stack, “take this.”

“Why?”

“It’s the history you came down here for.” He wiggled it in front of my face. “I thought I’d save you a few steps.”

I snatched it, annoyed to discover he was correct. “Why do you care?”

“I’m clearly still trying to butter you up. This shit is hard to do solo,” he said, poking the paper.

“Consider the effort wasted.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, returning to his seat. “See you around, Tits.”

“Whatever.”

Mechanically, I checked out both histories before heading back to my dorm, just as the lights around the pathway flickered to life.

When I arrived, I started on my study, hoping to get it out of the way so I didn’t have to think about it until Friday. I only needed a few details that had been left out of the other person’s history.

The back of each history contains a glossary of basic information: likes, wants, fears, favorites, partners, friends, children, cause of death, et cetera. But it lacks the discerning, important details for a passable case study. It will list the friends but not distinguish the best friend. It’ll include the fears but not how they came about or if they were relevant at the time of death. What I hadn’t expected was how these details about other people might affect us and, therefore, be important for a study.

The next day at tutoring, Professor Faun brought out the music again without asking, which made me breathe a sigh of relief. It fostered an airy atmosphere, even though he wasn’t profoundly more demonstrative than usual.

The real shock came when I got back to my room and found a note in the mouth of my wilting jack-o’-lantern.

Do you like tea? Come to the tree.

At first, I was tempted to read it as a weird threat, but I was almost certain it was an olive branch, so I dropped off my bag and took off for the tree.

I had to knock on the bark in a few places before I finally found the door.

“You’re here,” Stacy said, sounding genuinely surprised.

“I’m here.” I followed her down the steps to find a kettle hanging in the fireplace and mugs waiting on the table.

As I sat, she busied herself, running around and grabbing a mitt to get the kettle out of the fire. She brought it over and set it on a plate between us, opening a tin and sprinkling a handful of little dried leaves.

“No bones?”

“Not for you.”

“What do they taste like?”

“Bad.”

“Really? That sucks,” I said, leaning over and evaluating the little bowl of twiggy bones next to the tea leaves.

She huffed out a laugh as she placed a strainer over my mug and poured the tea through it, followed by her own.

I was wondering if she would forgo the bones. But after sliding the dish of sugar cubes my way, she reached into the bone bowl and sprinkled a couple into her cup.

“Do you like making things?” she asked, walking over to the corner of the small room.

“I think I do. I seem to remember how to crochet, though I’m still struggling to hold the hook.”

She plopped back in her seat before reaching out and setting a tiny wooden mouse in front of me.

Surprised, I leaned in, not sure if I should pick it up. “It’s just like the mice.”

“I stare at them a lot. They’re easy.” She set more in front of me, all posed in slightly different ways.

I reached for one before pausing and asking, “May I?”

She nodded.

I picked up the closest one, feeling the soft, smooth wood. “It’s really nice.”

“I can teach you how if you’d like.”

“Yeah, that would be great, actually,” I said, a smile breaking over my face unbidden of me. I hadn’t realized how exciting the prospect was until she said it. “I could try and show you how to crochet as well, though I mostly need to practice until I find out how much I know.”

“You could practice here if you’d like. I like learning how to do things.”

“Deal.”

My weekday evenings filled up with Professor Faun’s tutoring followed by crafting with Stacy. I’d been slacking on my crochet practice before that since it was so frustrating. But the consistent concentration had me actually making small granny squares with relative ease, though I was properly exhausted by the end of each day.

On the weekends, Arlie and I decided to forgo partying in favor of stealing small jugs of booze and hiding in the Custos lounge. They had a TV, and even though it took us an hour to hit the buttons properly, it was still a great time.

One day, when I descended the stairs in the tree, I found a small pile of new yarn waiting for me on the table.

“Where did you find this?” I asked.

Stacy was bent over the fire.

“They had a bit of extra in the vault, so I thought you could use it.”

“Thanks,” I said, concentrating hard to sort through it all.

I’d used my original roll of yarn to weave a simple scarf, which I’d gotten to show off in class. It was now tied around the back of the chair I usually occupied at Stacy’s table.

We started in on our crafts but then something occurred to me.

“Stacy, do you have access to the vault, like a key?”

“Are you really asking that?”

“Is there any way you could take me?”

“Why?”

“There’s something I want to use for my tutoring with Professor Faun.”

The next day, Stacy met me at the vault entrance, where she stuck in her key, and Wilhelm popped into existence.

“What’dya want, Anastacia?” He yawned.

She nodded to me. “The girl needs something.”

“Like what?”

They turned to me, and I held my hand out, making a large circle. “Music, um, I think they’re called records.”

Nodding, he pushed himself out of his chair, his joints audibly popping with the movement.

We both followed him into the aisles, weaving back toward the wall of instruments. But instead, we went to the far corner, where we found mountains of plastic CD cases and milk crates of record sleeves.

“Have at it,” he said.

I got on my knees on the stone floor and began sorting through the vinyls.

“Are you looking for something specific?” he asked.

They stood over me until I finally found something I recognized.

“Here,” I said, picking up a record. “I’ll take this.”

I checked it out and nearly considered giving Stacy a hug but settled on an enthusiastic “thanks” as we parted ways.

When I opened the door to the Transparency room, I called, “I’ve brought something.”

“What’s that?” he asked from his desk.

The question seemed genuine as if, despite it being right in front of him, he couldn’t see what I was holding.

I set the record in the middle of the paper he was grading.

He blinked. “You don’t like my music?”

“No, it’s not that. I wanted to see if there was anything I recognized, and there was. I don’t really know what kind of music it is, but I thought we could give it a go.”

“That’s . . . inspired.”

“Yes, I’m excited to find something out about myself.”

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” he said with a slight wince.

My face fell. “Why not?”

“What if you find out you’re a person who’s got bad taste in music?”

“Why does it feel like you’re making a hurtful assumption?” I smirked, curious if he’d call me out on the leading question but unsurprised when he didn’t.

Leaning down, he grabbed the record player. “I’d almost rather stay ignorant, personally.”

He slid the vinyl out of the sleeve and popped it in the player, but when it began, we both jumped in surprise. It was loud and angry, the lyrics coming from so deep in the vocalist’s throat they were entirely inaudible.

He instantly lifted the needle and turned to me. “I have some terrible news for you.”

To my surprise, I laughed, exhilarated by the sudden burst of recognition. “Come on, be a good sport.”

“It’s awful.”

“Just because it isn’t strumming and crying doesn’t mean it’s not good.”

“I’m sorry. This is the first I’m hearing about your objections to my music.”

“No, it’s fine. I just want to hear more of this.”

“Do you just want to see my nose bleed?”

“No,” I said, grinning. “But it’d be a welcome bonus to the evening.”

To my surprise, he relented, starting the music up again, though he did turn the volume dial down considerably.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus past my excitement. Despite my best efforts, I could feel a smile wearing into my cheek muscles.

I’m sure I wasn’t effectively disappearing, but he wasn’t scolding me, so I peeked between my lashes to see if I’d brought on some afterlife brain aneurism. Instead, I found something even more shocking.

He was smiling.

The second my eyes popped fully open in surprise, the expression fell, wiped so clean I instantly doubted whether I’d seen it.

“Is something wrong? No more music?” he said, sounding hopeful. He reached for the record player, fingers eager to switch it off.

I nearly leaped out of my seat to bat his hand away before he had the option.

“Don’t you dare,” I laughed, hardly even noticing how close I’d gotten to touching him until I realized how stiff he was.

“Sorry,” I said, sliding back down in the chair.

He cleared his throat. “As you should be. I’m shocked anyone granted this noise with the title of music. I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

“I guess you’re nicer than you thought you were.”

He leveled a look at me. “You do need to try and practice at least a little bit today.”

After a few more days, I arrived at the Transparency room at five and discovered the entire catalog of records waiting for me.

“Enthusiastic, are we?” I asked.

He gestured to the stack. “You need to find something else, for the sake of my general wellbeing.”

I realized he could simply insist on returning to his music. It would have been much simpler. I wasn’t even that bothered. But I liked the idea of him going to the vault in his free time to get something for me. Even if it was in the name of sparing his ears from my chosen genre.

I grinned mischievously. “Really? I thought it was growing on you.”

He grimaced. “Like mold maybe.”

I spent an unacceptable amount of time sorting through the pile, waiting to see how irritable I could make him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just really looking for something that calls out to me,” I insisted, not even bothering to hide my satisfaction.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine.” I huffed, selecting a familiar record I’d found fifteen minutes before and holding it out to him.

But when he popped it into the player and hit play, we discovered it might as well have been the same music as before. He groaned as loud, thrashing noise filled the room.

“I could keep looking,” I said, brows raised.

But he waved me off. “Just start practicing.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to negatively affect your wellbeing.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for that,” he insisted, and I tried not to read too hard into the words.