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I barely make it to the toilet before releasing the contents of my stomach. I heave a few seconds longer, and then get to my feet, shuddering, coated in sweat.
I move to the mirror and find a furrow around my neck in the shape of an inverted ‘v.’ The marking looks like a deep, bloody mote, and appears to be of the same thickness as the rope the dead girl hanged from. Even as I stare at myself, the blood and markings begin to fade.
Like it was all in my imagination.
The anxiety and fear I’ve had since arriving at Nacoma this morning starts to bubble under my skin, transforming into anger and I tremble with the need to unravel.
Danger, danger, danger.
I ignore the warning going off in my head and leave the restroom, heading outside.
The wind washes over me, cooling my heated face, but stirring smells together: stale air and vomit. I round the corner of the building, finding the dead girl waiting for me, neck broken, the same ligature marks that marred my skin, mark hers. I skirt around her and head for the tree line. If I’m going to confront her, I can’t have anyone watching.
When I’m far enough away and hidden by trees I stop, waiting until the dead girl appears in my peripheral. I twist toward her.
“Stay. Away. From. Me! Do you understand?” My voice sounds raw to my ears, and I curl my aching hands into fists. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen.”
I’ve said what I need and move to sidestep the spirit, but what she says next stops me in my tracks.
“They’re coming for you.” Her voice is guttural, like she’s gargling blood.
“Are you threatening me?” I turn to face her again. There is a familiar prick in my right palm as I take a step toward her. Her eyes trail to my hand—as if she senses what’s unraveling inside me.
“You’ll only lead them to you faster,” she says.
“You know who is after me?”
The dead girl offers a savage smile and turns to leave, but the same hysteria I felt upon seeing her rises inside me again, and the small sliver of control I have shatters as I think—what if she leads them to me? I reach for her, fingers spread wide, and a thread sprouts from my palm, twisting and twirling through the air like spun gold, and, like a needle attached to a long thread, spears the dead girl’s head, weaving in and out of her body, perforating her as easily as paper, until she is covered from her broken head to her toes in a cocoon of gold. Beautiful and disturbing, it constricts, tightening around her form, consuming, growing smaller and smaller until she’s nothing more than a coin on the ground.
I fall to my knees and reach for the coin, scanning my surroundings, ensuring no one—not even the dead—are witness to what happened. Clutching it in my hand, I peer down at it: the familiar image of a raven is raised in relief on the surface of the coin along with today’s date, which keeps a timeline of the souls I have captured.
And there goes rule number three: don't capture souls in Oklahoma.
CHAPTER THREE – ANORA & THE CONFRONTATION
“Anora! Anora!” It takes me a moment to realize someone’s calling my name. I close my fingers over the coin and emerge from the line of trees, finding Shy looking for me.
He stops a few feet away. “You left your things in class.” He unshoulders my backpack and holds it out to me. I take it from him, hugging the bag to my chest, careful to keep the coin clasped tight in my hand as I slip it into the mesh side pocket.
“Thanks,” I whisper, but I can’t meet his gaze. I’m not sure I can handle those eyes, already familiar because they’ve studied me so much today.
“Do you have panic attacks often?”
Now I can’t help looking at him. “Panic attacks?”
“Yeah. I’m assuming that’s what happened in Art...why you ran outside.”
I bite my lip. “No, I don’t have them often.”
We are silent for a moment, and then I take a quick breath. “I’m guessing this will end up on Roundtable.”
“So you’ve been introduced?” he looks down at his feet, and then away across campus. “Let me guess, the ever-so-enlightening Lennon told you?”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you have against her?”
“Nothing. It’s more the app I have a problem with. It’s...ruined people here.”
Not what I want to hear.
