Page 73 of Bound By Fury

I return to the sinks to brush my teeth, busy balancing my products and shower caddy as I pack up. Steam still clouds the room, and as I lift my hand to wipe away the coating on the wide mirror, my mouth falls open.

Someone else has been in here.

And they’ve left me a message.

Crudely written against the glass, water dripping from the bottom of each letter like blood, another layer to the mystery.

RUN

TWENTY-SIX

THE MESSAGE IN THE MIRROR clings to me like a shadow. It brushes against my ankles like a needy cat, begging me to pay attention to it. Run.

Runrunrunrunrunrunrun.

From what? From whom?

“So let me get this straight,” Daisy says, her words muffled by the clip she holds between her teeth as she twists her black hair and cinches it at the crown of her head. “You’re working with Missy to find Fiona, and you need our help to break into the headmaster’s office so you can snoop through his files because you have a feeling that the school is somehow covering up the truth about what happened to her?”

Sam’s jaw hasn’t left the floor since I recruited them for help.

“Yeah,” I laugh, leaning on my elbows and tipping my head back, letting the unseasonably bright sunshine warm my face. “That about covers it.”

“But that’s insane!” Sam finally erupts, rocketing to their knees and casting me in their shadow.

I level them with a look. “What’s insane is the fact that this girl completely disappeared last year without a trace, and every single thing of hers? Gone. Her social media accounts? Gone. Meanwhile the administration talks a big game about security and wanting to bring her home, but the police were on campus for, what, twenty-four, forty-eight hours? If y’all don’t think this place reeks of something sinister, then I’m not sure what to tell you.”

I don’t know why my chest heaves up and down like I’ve just run a mile, but I look between them and take in the conflict on their faces. Well, on Sam’s face. Daisy is absolutely beaming like this is the most exciting thing she’s ever heard in her life.

“But I guess I don’t understand why it’s our place to do the investigating…,” Sam says, their voice quiet against the bustle of campus.

I check my phone for the time. We were let out of English early, but I’m going to need to start heading toward history in a minute.

There is so much I’m keeping locked away, it’s a wonder that I don’t burst wide open, that I don’t corner anyone who will listen and release it all—free myself of the weight that’s constantly sitting on my chest. Crushing me.

I can’t tell them about the witches, the dreams, the power, or the history that snakes between myself and Earnest, Malachi and Lucas, and maybe even Fiona. I can’t tell them about the static that is eating me from the inside. The whispers. The cardinals that follow me around campus.

The glowing red eyes in the woods.

The haunting wailing at night in the dorms.

The ghosts.

So instead I say, “Fiona was a brown-skinned student invited to this campus on a full scholarship, and when she went missing, they put the bare minimum into finding her. What should we do? Cut our losses? Let her go? Trust the goddamn police? A brown girl is missing, and this school might have something to do with it. Look me in my eyes and tell me we shouldn’t try to find her. Tell me you think brown girls aren’t worth getting in trouble for.”

Crimson blooms across Sam’s cheeks, and guilt turns my stomach. Deep down I know Sam is right to be nervous. They’re also brown, and they’re trans; it’s not like justice doesn’t come at a cost. That’s the reasonable reaction here. I’m probably the one being unreasonable.

But I’ll be that.

Because yeah, maybe I’ve never met Fiona, and maybe I have no idea what happened to her. But I do know that she doesn’t look that different from me.

What if something happens to me? What if the dread I’ve been feeling since I got to campus isn’t all in my head? The message swiped into the foggy mirror makes it pretty clear it’s not.

If the worst happens, will they look for me? Or will they erase me like they tried to do to Fiona? Will I be another cautionary tale? Fodder for ghost stories one hundred years from now?

“No, uh, you’re right, I’m sorry, you’re right.”

They rub their hands against their pants over and over, and I reach out to stop them. “Hey, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”