The cafeteria exploded into cheers. Students rushed the salad bar, which was now a literal garden of candy-tasting flora.
"Eat the flowers!" someone chanted.
Marrow walked in at the exact moment a freshman threw a chocolate-tasting rose at a friend.
He froze. He looked at the ducks waddling past the window. He listened to the faint sound of yodeling coming from the library. He smelled the overwhelming scent of chocolate and pollen.
He looked at me.
I was standing on a table, holding a bouquet of edible tulips.
"He tried to make us miserable," I said to the room, my voice carrying over the cheers. "He tried to make us turn on each other."
I took a bite of a tulip.
"But he forgot one thing," I said, pointing a flower-stem at the Dean. "We're college students. We know how to make a party out of anything."
Marrow turned purple. He opened his mouth to yell, to summon the void, to dosomething.
But then, his phone buzzed.
And then another phone. And another.
The wifi was back.
A notification popped up on the giant screen usually reserved for announcements.
CAMPUS NEWS ALERT: Dean Marrow's car found in duck pond. Police suspect fowl play.
The room erupted in laughter.
Marrow didn't yell. He didn't fight. He just turned around and walked out, defeated by puns and pastry.
"Cozy war?" Rhett asked, hopping onto the table beside me and stealing a chocolate daisy.
"Cozy war," I agreed, leaning into him.
The terror was gone. The fear was broken.
We hadn't just survived the lockdown. We had turned it into a festival.
22
The sub-basement of the Archives was designed to survive a magical apocalypse. It was lead-lined, reinforced with titanium, and shielded by runes so old they predated the written language. It was impenetrable. It was safe.
It was also, essentially, a concrete box that smelled like dust and 1950s government paranoia.
"I am not sleeping on that," Amelia said.
She was standing in the center of the room, pointing a manicured finger at the inflatable mattress Arthur had just laid out on the floor. Her expression suggested that he had just offered her a bed made of live snakes.
Arthur adjusted his glasses, looking defensive. "It's high-grade vinyl, Amelia. It has a built-in electric pump. It was the top-rated model on Amazon."
"It's a pool toy," Amelia countered, crossing her arms. "I am a Vance. My family has slept on silk sheets since the invention of the silkworm. I do not sleep on pool toys. I require lumbar support. I require a thread count higher than my GPA."
"It's a war, Princess," Stone grunted from the corner, where he was unpacking a crate of MREs. "Comfort is secondary to survival."
"Comfortissurvival," Amelia shot back. "If my back hurts, I am cranky. If I am cranky, my aim with a hex bag slips. Do you want me to miss and accidentally turn you into a newt?"
