The horrible murder of Danika Lewis gives new meaning to my work, and even on these days set aside for rest and contemplation, I find myself in the library with my own Tarot cards, poring over Mom’s research, comparing my translations, asking the cards for guidance.
Sometimes I wonder if this is how Mom felt, frantically scribbling notes, flipping cards, desperate to to make a connection, to find the single unifying thread that would finally explain all of the crazy visions.
Today, after a quick break for lunch, I return to the archives and lay out the notebooks I’m working on, along with Journey Through the Void of Mist and Spirit, the authoress book I still can’t make heads or tails of. I feel like the answer is right before me, hiding in plain sight among these seemingly unfinished words. But no matter how long I stare at them, they just keep eluding me.
I pull out my Tarot cards, give them a good shuffle. Since I started using this deck in earnest, the randomly vanishing cards haven’t appeared to me. It seems these have taken their place.
“What am I missing?” I ask, then turn over three cards.
Two of Swords, Two of Cups, Two of Wands.
Curious about the repetition, I turn over two more.
Two of Pentacles and the High Priestess, the major arcana whose corresponding number is also two.
I record the reading in my Tarot journal. Two. Something with twos. Balance? A decision? Two pathways? I look at each card in turn. The High Priestess is telling me to look within, to search my own hidden depths for the answer, but nothing comes.
I don’t know how long I’m in there, poring over the cards, poring over the notes, my eyes going blurry. I’ve got my face buried in the middle of the Journey book when a familiar scent drifts to my nose—storms in the summer, clean and electric.
I look up to see Kirin standing at the end of the room, his eyes red, his hair a disheveled mess.
It’s the first time we’ve been alone since that time in the stacks—the first time he’s held eye contact for more than a few seconds.
“Danika’s death… the news… I can’t stop thinking about it.” He comes to join me on my side of the table, kneeling before me, taking one of my hands into his.
My heart runs up into my throat, making it hard to breathe.
“None of us can, Kirin,” I say.
“No, I mean… Okay.” He drops his gaze and blows out a breath, then looks up at me again. His glasses are smudged. I don’t think he’s slept much lately. “I just kept thinking, what if that was me? Or one of the guys, or… or you? What if it was you?” His voice cracks at the end, and despite my walls, I run a hand through his hair, stroking the back of his neck.
“We’re doing everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen,” I say, but I’m not sure he even hears me.
“I just kept thinking,” he continues, “I just kept thinking over and over… what if something happened to me or to someone I cared about, and I never even told them how I feel? I’m running away, I’m hiding, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Where I’m going. Why.”
“Kirin, slow down,” I say softly. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I’m… I’m falling…” He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head as if he’s still trying to talk himself out of whatever it is he’s about to say. Then he looks up at me again and drops the bomb.
“I’m falling in love with you, Stevie.” His eyes glaze with emotion. “And I can’t do that. I just can’t.”
My heart hammers, my mouth going dry, my stomach turning like a clothes dryer. “But… why?”
“Why?” Kirin laughs nervously. “Because you’re smart, and you make me laugh, and I love the way your mind works, the way you question everything, the way your eyebrow does that thing when you’re thinking.” He reaches up, smooths his fingertips over my eyebrow. “I love how you throw yourself into everything you’re learning, and how you devour books, and how you always know how to make the perfect tea blend—I’ve always loved that about you. And you’re beautiful, Stevie. Every time I look at you, my heart breaks, knowing I’ll have to close my eyes at some point and miss your face. I just… I’m falling and…”
“Kirin,” I say through the tightness in my throat, and when I speak again, my voice is no more than a whisper. “I meant, why can’t you do that? Why can’t you fall in love with me?”
He cups my face, his thumb grazing my cheekbone. His smile turns sad, his eyes haunted and pained, and when the wave of his energy hits me, it’s so desolate and bleak it makes me gasp.
A single tear rolls down his cheek.
“Because everything I touch,” he whispers, “I destroy.”
Forty-Eight
STEVIE
The execution is never far from anyone’s thoughts, but by the end of October, a small ray of light begins to pierce the shroud of darkness, and the first few pumpkins are carved and placed on the steps of the main hall. Soon after, the dorms begin to transform, too. Iron and Bone becomes a pumpkin patch, complete with jack-o-lanterns, scarecrows, and ravens perched along the windowsills. Breath and Blade is a haunted house, with intermittent moans and spine-chilling music emanating from the windows. Blood and Sorrow is now a vampire den, coffins popping out of the ground and bats hung from the eves, Count Dracula swooping down over the front door on unsuspecting visitors. Flame and Fury took inspiration straight from the depths of hell, with billowing flames made out of red and orange sheets and demons strategically perched on the rooftop.
