The Thief

I look up at the wide staircase curving up from both sides of the atrium, railings all twisted in iron vines. I heave a sigh. This is going to take all day.

A flash of yellow catches my eye at the top of the staircase. I stare, unbelieving, but I swear I see a flash of pink tongue before the shadow darts away down the second floor hall.

Why that little...

I sprint up the stairs after it.

“Mac?” Destin calls in shock.

“It’s taunting me!” I yell back, tearing down the hall, catching sight of it zipping into the upward stairwell.

And it was not going to get away with it.

Jul

We descended the stairs to the basement in silence.

There weren’t any visible bruises on Camille, and the color was back to her face, but she held herself gingerly, almost wincing as she took each step down. I remembered that most of the beating she’d taken last night had been to her torso, hidden now by her signature oversized red hoodie. I didn’t think I’d even be vertical after the fight she’d had.

“You look a lot better,” I said.

“I feel like crap,” she said lightly, as we crossed the door into the basement level.

“I-I’m sorry - ”

“Did you hit me?” she asked.

“N-no!” I stammered, staring at her.

“So why apologize?”

She was grinning at me, and it was infectious. The corners of my mouth quirked up as well.

“You really believe Mac?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I’ve seen too many weird things lately to rule out a...what was it...catbat?”

She just shook her head. “I don’t know.”

I look up at the long line of lights running down the ceiling. “Well, if you want to start at this end I’ll go around the corner,” I told her.

She snatched up one of the dusters, gave it an expert twirl, and stretched up towards the first light.

I hefted up the other duster and started off down the hall. I was glad she seemed to be alright - and selfishly, more glad that she seemed to like me even better now. Strange that an event that ought to have been traumatic had left me with a smile on my face.

Turning the corner of the L-shaped hall, I went down to the end, hearing my footsteps echo on the tile floor. Half of these labs weren’t even used as classrooms, and stayed locked up. The school had a lot of unused classrooms, presumably expecting that someday they’d have the students to fill them. I looked up at the circular recessed light at the end. Maybe if we got done quickly Tailor would let us leave early?

“Hiya,” said a voice.

I turned around and came face to face with Kei. I stifled a gasp. Where on earth had he come from? The school was supposed to be empty!

“Kei, what are you - ”

He pressed a finger to my mouth, smiling like the Mona Lisa. His flat black eyes glinted. Then he pulled back, opening his hand as he did so. Something cool and metallic fell down the front of my shirt and I yelped.

“Jul?” I heard Camille call.

“I’m here!” I said, an octave too high, turning towards her voice. She came around the corner, a look of puzzlement on her face.

“My ears aren’t working again,” she said, worriedly. “Not since I got here. This building is wrong.”

I turned back around, sure Kei would react, but he wasn’t there. I spun, looking for him, but there was no trace of him.

“What are you looking for?” Camille asked, next to me.

“It was Kei, he was just...”

Immediately she was on alert. “What? Where?”

I reached a hand down the front of my shirt. The metal item had caught in my bra. I pulled it out and found that it was a key. B4 was etched into the top.

Camille was looking at me curiously. “Jul...”

I flushed. “He dropped it down my collar and vanished! What do you want me to say?”

She shook her head. “Not him. Please, not him.”

“Oh, god, no!” I exclaimed, realizing her meaning. “I mean, I thought...but that was...”

She sighed and took the key from me, inspecting it. “So what is this?”

“A key to one of the classrooms down here, maybe?” I said, glad for the change of subject.

“B-4,” she pointed to the room next to Ms. Miller’s chemistry lab. “Empty, I thought?”

“I’ve never seen anyone go in there,” I admitted.

She fitted the key into the lock and twisted; the door popped open.

There were several tables scattered throughout the room, all with wide apparatus pinning down old, flaking pieces of parchment. More were tacked to the walls, like pale ghosts hovering. But despite the care with which each piece of paper was fastened, every single one was blank.

The table at the center of the room held a series of beakers, flasks, and bottles in a range of colors. Hastily scribbled annotations on sticky notes and lined paper were strewn near. I perused them while Camille stared up at the empty parchment.

“These formulas,” I said, looking closely at the bottles. “They remind me of our science experiment.”

“Invisible ink?” she said.

“Someone wants to know what’s on this paper,” I said.

“Umino.”

“And Ms. Miller, I think.” The swooping handwriting on the notes was familiar. “There’s so many of these pages. Where did they come from?”

Camille shrugged, and sniffed the paper. She shook her head. “My nose, my ears, still aren’t working right. Here, they never do. I hate this school.”

I peered closely at one of the pieces of parchment tacked to the wall. It was yellowed, with frayed edges. The unmistakable feeling of something hidden flowed through me as I looked at it. My mother’s journal all over again.

The rainy day in the orchard flashed into my mind. My hand on the tree trunk and wishing for home.

Barely knowing what I was doing, I pressed my hand against the parchment.

Show me.

Lines furled away from my touch. I sprang back, but they continued to crawl across the page, some jagged, some curling. Slowly an image took shape - a portrait, composed of flowing black brushstrokes, except for the eyes. They had been painted in a vivid emerald green. It was a man with long, straight hair, and a handsome face twisted in a wicked grin.

“Uwaa,” Camille murmured. “Nanda- what did you do?”

“Apparently all you have to do is ask,” I said. Hand shaking, I pressed my fingers to the next one. “Show me,” I told it. Same as before, lines drew out from my touch, the faintest shadow dissipating as I took my hand away.

Excited, Camille pressed her hand to the next one. “Show me!”

Nothing happened.

“You have to concentrate,” I told her.

“I did,” she said. She looked at me curiously. “Maybe it’s just you?”

I looked back at the second parchment, black ink settling into the shape of a castle with twisting turrets and furling banners.