But there are also glyphs that look like music notes, unlike anything I’ve seen before. And there’s a small wooden carving of a raven. “How about those?”
“I don’t know. Nothing I immediately recognize.” She glances at Ever, who’s been walking around the room. Not following me. Definitely not following me. “Right?”
Ever comes to stand beside us, resplendent in their green cloak, wearing a scheming smile and fully in game-master mode.
“Right. You don’t know much about the nature of these glyphs,” they say. “You’ve studied the arcane, of course. But this is different. Older, perhaps. Or more recent. Clearly magical in nature, but it’s outside of your realm of knowledge. What it is exactly is up to you to discover.”
Liva’s eyes flick from Ever to me and back again. “Rogue magic?”
Also known as devouring magic, the type of magic that would destroy all others. “It seems likely. But if you want to know more, you have to spend skill points.”
Liva frowns. “Not yet. Unless Finn wants to…?”
“Nah, not yet.” I keep my eyes on my paper. With my crutches leaning against my hip, I make a rough sketch of Joanna’s body and her position with regards to the arcane markings, and wait for the heat of Ever’s body to disappear. “What about the raven?”
“It’s new. You’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Is there anything else of note we see?” I ask.
“Councilwoman Yester’s body has lain here untouched since it was found. As you go through her clothes, you notice the body seems to be unharmed. There are no obvious wounds, whether by sword or rifle, and you see no scratch marks or any other traces of wounds,” Ever says.
In other words, unless she was scared to death, this could only have been poison or magic, and my money is on the latter.
“What’s her facial expression? Can we still see it?” Liva crouches near the “head” and gently pushes at the cloth with one perfectly manicured nail. It’s almost as if she brushes a strand of hair out of a face. “Was she shocked, surprised, at ease?”
“Hard to tell,” Ever says. “The state she’s in now, her expression seems to have mostly disappeared.”
Exactly.
“Any discolorations? Anything in particular about the color of her skin? Her lips? Her nails?”
While Ever shakes their head, I poke through the fabrics that make up the body. They’re fleece. Simple square pieces in different blues and greens, with one moss-green piece signifying her cloak. As my hands follow the curves, I can almost imagine a real body lying underneath the cloth.
“As you go through Councilwoman Yester’s clothes, you notice what fine quality the silk is. The stitching is exquisite. Her braided girdle, with a copper model of the council’s seal, lies limply to the side. She wears a simple golden necklace with a tiny cogwheel at the center.”
“Her pockets?” I ask.
They lean over me, and my breath hitches. “Her pockets are empty. It appears there are no clues to be found here.”
Only when Ever moves to the other players, do I breathe again.
Liva glances up at me. “You know, you could tell them how you feel.”
I tense my jaw. “Was there any particular reason why you think I’d value your opinion?”
It’s cruel, I know that.
Liva flinches. “Finn…”
I shake my head. Anger is so much safer than feeling. “Don’t pretend you care too much, Liva. We both know it’s a reach.”
Something like anger rushes over her face too. Hurt, but deeper than that. We used to be such good friends. It’s evident still in the way she designed my overcoat. Not just in terms of the design—comfortable with or without binder, with enough movement not to impede my crutches—but in the style as well. Compared to my usual wardrobe of thrift-store goth, the bright red overcoat is by far the most colorful thing I own. But it’s a bloody red, and it matches well with the crow skulls decorating my crutches, my pale skin, and my faded silver hair. There are leather straps on my back for my crutches. A long, black leather belt wraps around my waist several times, complementing the look. It lets me be the chaotic queer disaster I missed so terribly. It stands out. She did that, because she knows me.
And I thought I knew her too.
I always considered the possibility I’d get beaten up one day. It’s par for the course, isn’t it? Stardust High can be misconstrued as fairly modern, and even fairly liberal—especially by Arizona standards. But that doesn’t mean people like me—people like us—can fly under the radar. Most teachers and students are good about my name and pronouns, but I don’t pass as a cis guy yet, no matter how much I want to. No matter how much I thought I did, the first time I wore a binder. (I realized soon enough there was far more to it, but those first couple of days, I’d smile every time I saw my reflection. I finally found clothes that fit, and I found pieces of myself. Mrs. Akashi at the thrift store started putting shirts and coats aside for me, once she realized how much joy it gave me to be able to present the way I felt.)
Still, Ever and I were two of the only openly trans kids at school. And we weren’t just not cis enough, but also not wealthy enough—or abled enough. There were always a few people who thought it was edgy to taunt, and insult, and spit at us. Of course, by that same narrow-minded worldview, to those same people, we were at least white enough. We had Liva’s friendship. We never bore the brunt of the bullying.
But I never really thought it would progress past slurs and pushing us around.
In a way, it didn’t. They didn’t
