The absence of a weapon must be bothering the detectives, and it’s haunting me now. There wasn’t anything in that bathroom that shouldn’t have been. It all looked so… normal. It’s what shakes me to the core. That a girl could be killed in a bathroom, such a mundane, ordinary place, without fanfare. That she could be left there, her head lax and eyes glassy, like a macabre life-sized doll. There should have been signs on the walls that said things like, “Something terrible has happened here,” or, “Watch out! Murderer on the loose.” But there were none, and that’s causing the police to circle in on the wrong suspect: me.

  “Thank you for your time,” Detective Cahill calls as Ms. Cain escorts me past the bathroom, where the crime scene tape still hangs over the doorframe. The red seal is still in place, unbroken. With the secrets of Na’s killer locked inside.

  18

  The eatery is buzzing with speculation about the police. And once again everyone is staring at me. It was hard to miss when I came in. The question hung in the air. Did the new girl kill Na?

  Gul slides an empty chair toward our table and pushes it in between Asif and Genevieve. “So, what did the police ask you about?” Her eager eyes are wide as she runs her fingers through her silky black hair.

  “You don’t have to answer that. Butt out, Gul.” Charlotte takes a pointed bite of her shawarma.

  Gul laughs, a surprising tinkling. “Relax, Charlotte. I’m just curious.”

  “And whatever she tells you will be all over the school in less than five minutes.”

  Gul’s eyes lower in mock humility. “It’s not my fault your stepsister’s arrival at the academy has begotten some juicy goings-on.”

  “Juicy is right.” A god-awful screech rends the air as Ricardo drags over a chair of his own and shoves it between Mikhail’s and mine.

  Mikhail grunts in annoyance, but Ricardo ignores it. His eyes dance as he looks at me.

  What a flirt.

  Genevieve puts on a brighter smile, sitting up straighter in her chair. She whispers something to Asif, who reaches up to touch his dark waves.

  Charlotte glares at the newcomer. “This table is invite only, Ricardo.”

  “Adrienne invited me, didn’t you?

  “Er, yes, yes I did.”

  “Now, what were we talking about?” Ricardo winks at me.

  I ignore it.

  “It’s rude to interrupt,” Gul says, but Ricardo seems unbothered by her harsh look. “Adrienne was just about to tell us what the police wanted. Weren’t you?”

  Suddenly I wish Mikhail were still sitting next to me.

  “Actually, they didn’t have a lot to ask. Just a couple of questions. Nothing important.”

  Gul lets out a huff. “Come on. They had to have said something interesting, or they wouldn’t have come here at all. Can’t you give us anything to speculate about?”

  My eyes dart to Callahan before falling to my own plate. “Sorry. There’s nothing to tell.”

  In my peripheral vision, I can see Ricardo watching my stepbrother. Gul may not have caught my glance at Callahan, but I’m betting he did.

  “If she doesn’t want to say, leave her alone,” Genevieve puts in. “Please go.”

  “Fine,” Gul says, abandoning her chair and drawing to full height, an unimpressive five feet even. “I was just trying to set the record straight, but if you won’t help me out... Well. Don’t blame me if you hear some nasty rumors over the next few days.” She stalks to her table and starts whispering furiously to the girl seated next to her, glancing over at me.

  The rest of the meal is quiet as we eat.

  I’m having trouble focusing. My brain keeps returning to the painting we saw in the studio the other night. And then Callahan. Was it really his painting? Does he know more about Na’s death than he’s letting on? I have to know.

  Callahan pushes back from the table and heads toward the desserts.

  “Wait up,” I surprise myself by saying. Scrambling out of my chair, I jog to catch up with him.

  I can feel Mikhail’s watchful eyes on us, though I don’t look back.

  I fall into step with Callahan, and he glances at me. “Steer clear of the trifle,” he says finally.

  My eyebrows scoot together. “Why?”

  “They make it with leftovers from the last couple of days. One day we’ll have pound cake with whipped cream, and the next day it’s trifle with squares of pound cake with whipped cream and fresh fruit. It’s day-old dessert.”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Sure.” He saunters up to the cookie bar, eyeing his options before using the metal tongs to snatch up three snickerdoodles with a deft flick of the wrist. “These are the best.” Then he turns to go.

  I pause, gathering the courage to ask the question lodged in my throat. It’s now or, I don’t know when. “Callahan?”

  “Yeah?” He turns toward me and ducks his head. “What’s up?”

  My heart is pounding, but I have to ask. I have to know. “Did you do this?” I whip my phone out of my pocket and find the photo I want to show him, holding it up so he can get a good look.

  Callahan freezes, and his expression shutters. When he lifts his gaze to mine, his eyes are cold. “Where did you get that?” His voice is low, tight, angry.

  I recoil at the hot current in his words. I glance toward our table, but no one seems to be paying attention to the two of us. “I followed you. You were sneaking off campus, and I wanted to know where you were going.”

  “You what? How dare you. You had no right.” His finger jabs inches away from my face. “This is none of your business.” Snatching the phone out of my hand, he deletes the photo before handing it back. “Just stay out of my way.” Then he stalks out.

  I gape after him, relieved that he’s gone. Angry Callahan is intense.

  I jolt awake, my eyes popping open in the dark. My skin is clammy with sweat. Heart pounding. The nightmare felt all too real. I’d been standing over Na’s broken body, a knife clutched in my hand, slick with blood.

  With my pulse racing in my ears, I lay back against my sweat-dampened pillow. Flip it over to the cool underside. My curls billow out around me, the sweat making them frizz and coil tighter.

  It was only a nightmare.

  The police will find out that I didn’t kill Na. They’ll uncover the truth. Right?

  When you were in the bathroom, did you see anything that might have been used as a weapon? A letter opener or a pen, perhaps

  A pen. My pen!

  Throwing off my comforter, I leap out of bed and snatch my backpack off the floor. With trembling fingers, I rummage through the large pocket. Front zippered pouch. Side pocket.

  It’s not here.

  My bag hits the ground with a gut-wrenching thud.

  My pulse picks up a notch. It has to be here somewhere.

  I run my fingers over everything on my desk, careless of the noise I’m making as I overturn my school-issued tablet, notebooks, and laptop. No sign of it.

  My entire body starts to quiver as panic curls icy fingers around my spine. I swallow, trying to wrestle control from the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

  When was the last time I saw my Wood View Laboratories pen? I’ve used it in the past couple days, haven’t I?

  But in an instant I know that isn’t true. The last time I remember using it was the first day of school, in Professor Rook’s class. I had used it to write a reminder in my notebook. Then I had set it on my desk. Had I left it there, in the calculus classroom?

  With shallow, rapid breaths, I stuff my feet into my fluffy slippers and pull on my favorite hoodie. The air in the dormitory is chilly tonight.

  The door creaks as I open it, making me freeze in the dark. Pausing, I wait for my eyes to adjust. Dim light filters up from the foyer below, where the security guard stands near the door, reading something on his phone.

  I’ll have to wait until he leaves on rounds to sneak downstairs.

  Taking deep breaths, I get my haywire emotions under control, occasionally peeking over the balcony railing to check the guard’s position.

  After what seems like an hour but was probably only ten minutes, the guard pockets his phone and begins the ascent up the stairs. His keys jingle as he moves. He reaches the third floor and pauses. My heart beats a jagged rhythm in my chest. I should have known he’d check our floor first, but he’ll definitely see me if I try to slip back into my room.

  I exhale in relief as he continues up the stairs.

  Once he’s out of sight, I scurry down, not daring to look back.

  My slippers scuff over the floor as I run through the freezing glass corridor toward the classrooms, past darkened doorways that gape like cave openings. I imagine a flurry of bats screeching after me, flapping their leathery wings and calling for my blood.

  I pass one door. Another. There are no weary souls sleeping behind these portals. Instead, antique desks and chairs stand sentry against the night.

  I dart into Professor Brook’s classroom and press my back against the wall.

  The hallway is silent.

  Methodically, I look over and under each of the wooden tables and chairs, but find nothing.

  It occurs to me that whatever cleaning staff the academy employs have been through since that day, and if my pen is here, it won’t be on the floor.

  Approaching the professor’s desk, I spot a cup full of pens and pencils. I rifle through it, but don’t find mine. Writing utensils scrabble over the wooden surface as I dump the cup’s contents. One hits the ground and rolls, making me cringe at the sound.

  My pen isn’t here.

  Rounding the desk, I open the top drawer. Middle drawer. No pen.

  My fingers close around the pull for the third drawer, but it won’t budge. I tug at it, but it’s unforgiving. Then I notice the tiny keyhole in the wooden drawer front. It’s locked. He must keep tests or something in there.

  Straightening, I scan the classroom. There isn’t anywhere else I can see that he might have put an errant pen.

  I peek out into the hallway to make sure the guard isn’t anywhere nearby, then tiptoe over the ancient wooden planks of the floor. They creak under my weight, but I keep moving.

  There’s no one around the next corner.

  A soft rippling reaches my ears. The crime scene tape is waving softly in a draft from the AC.

  I step up to it, my eyes tracing the black letters on the yellow tape. The intact seal.

  My heart gallops behind my ribs, even though I know there aren’t any cameras inside the academy. The privacy some of the diplomats insist on has made the police’s job more difficult, but just now it’s making mine much easier.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, I reach for the doorknob.

  “I would advise against doing that, Miss Lewis.”

  My stomach plummets into my slippers. I’ve just been caught, looking guilty as sin.

  19

  “You look highly suspicious with your sweatshirt pulled down over your hands like that. Almost as if you were considering breaking into the crime scene, and were trying to avoid leaving fingerprints. Despite the clear warning on the police seal that to do so would be tampering with evidence in a criminal investigation.” Headmistress Morgan asks, looking pointedly between me and the cordoned-off bathroom door.

  “I, um, I was just… I couldn’t sleep.” I stammer, my cheeks ablaze and my heart slamming against my ribs in terror.

  “You do realize the police have asked me to keep them informed of anyone who seems overly curious about what happened there, and finding you standing here… Surely you’re smarter than that, Miss Lewis.”

  My skin lights up as if she’s dowsed me in gasoline and struck a match. Her implication is clear; I’m a complete and total brain case. I’m not smart enough for her school. She made that obvious to me at our earliest meeting.

  “Please don’t tell the police. Or the senator,” I beg, worrying my lip between my teeth.

  Despite her velvet house robe and hair curlers, Headmistress Morgan looks as formidable as a judge as she looks down her nose at me. “I think you’ll find, Miss Lewis, that your fate rests on your actions, not mine. Do try to think before you act. Your impulsiveness might have had more repercussions than you can possibly understand.”

  A shudder runs through me, and I pull the lapels of my wool coat tighter.

  “Who peed in your coffee?” Charlotte studies me, eyes narrowed, and then takes a sip of her drink.

  I swallow a gulp of the steaming, sand-colored liquid, willing it to warm me down to my bones, but the chill of being caught by Headmistress Morgan just outside the crime scene has woven its icy strands through my very cells, making it impossible for me to fight off the cold that has settled in my marrow.

  I lean back against the glass wall, letting my gaze go soft as I look out over the courtyard. The leaves on the trees are blood red, floating to the ground at uneven intervals. A pack of guys is goofing around with their lacrosse sticks despite the fact that first period starts in less than five minutes. “No one. Just didn’t sleep well, is all.”

  “Hmmph. I hope you took the extra time to do something productive, like homework. Or cleaning your room.”

  “Not everyone has your energy, Charlotte,” Genevieve says in her silky voice. She gives me a pat on the arm.

  “You look like you need a nap,” Dali says, low.

  “That sounds amazing,” I draw out, wishing my brain would stop looping the events of last night. Even if I didn’t have classes today, I’d be too wound up to sleep.

  “What’s with Headmistress Morgan, anyway? Is she always so, so mean?”

  Charlotte’s expression screws up. “Ugh. I don’t know what her problem is. She’s awful. She never outright says anything mean to me, but I can tell she doesn’t like me. Or anyone else, for that matter. Last year, Mom and Daddy took Cal and I out of school for a few days, and she practically growled. We were only missing three days. It wasn’t a big deal, but to hear her tell it we were jeopardizing our entire future, all for a diplomatic trip to Puerto Rico. Honestly.”

  I stifle the snort, wondering if Charlotte hears herself when she talks.

  Dali catches my eye, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips.

  “That reminds me,” Charlotte says, leveling her focus on me again. “Come get ready in my room before the dinner tonight. I’ll help with your makeup again.” Giving a firm nod, she takes her bag. “I’m off to class. See you all at lunch.”

  She scoots along the glass walkway and into the far building with more pep in her step than she’s had in several days.

  Mikhail looks after her before meeting my eyes. “Will you be all right?”

  “I’m fine. Go ahead.”

  Nodding, he follows my stepsister. She’s the one he was hired to protect originally, after all, but watching him go after Charlotte ignites an uncomfortable twinge in me.

  “Someone is in a very pleasant mood this morning,” Genevieve says, watching them go. “She must have had a good talk with her boyfriend.”

  “Kenneth finally called her back?” Dali asks.

  Genevieve smiles demurely. Sometimes I wish the girl was a little more forthcoming, like Gul. No, no, that would be bad. One gossip queen at the academy is enough.

  I glance down the way to where Callahan and Asif are leaning against the glass. My stepbrother looks especially thrilled to be awake this morning, his head lolling to one side as he mindlessly stirs his coffee with a tiny red plastic straw.

  Asif must catch me watching them, because he whispers something in Callahan’s ear. When he looks up at me, Callahan glares so hard it makes me want to duck and cover. Then he drains his coffee cup in a long drag, scoops up his backpack, and retreats to the safety of the building beyond.

  So, he’s definitely still mad at me for asking about the painting.

  Asif goes after him.

  “I wonder why he’s so huffy this morning,” Dali muses, pulling her braids up into a cool twist at the back of her head and securing it with a black clip.

  I don’t answer. There’s no way I’m telling her about Ricardo’s and my nocturnal adventures in stalking.

  Charlotte comes up beside Dali, Mikhail at her back.

  “I thought you’d left,” I say, confused.

  My stepsister holds up her cup. “Ran out of coffee. Don’t mind Cal. He’s probably in a mood because of the event tonight,” Charlotte says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what his problem is. It’s not like Daddy pushes him aside whenever someone interesting comes over to chat.” As if she’s just realized what she said, Charlotte’s expression goes blank. “Never mind. Have you practiced the talking points he gave you?” Her eyes pierce mine, churning up nerves in my gut.

  “I knew I was forgetting something.”

  Charlotte groans. “It’s bad enough that I have to harp on Cal. Now you too? Come on, loser. I’ll quiz you before class.”

  A warm hand on my shoulder makes me jump.

  Ricardo tries to apologize through his laughter, but his grin belies his words. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but that was hilarious. Why are you so wound up? I can call my masseuse.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

  “Eww,” Charlotte spits, pushing at him. “Go away, Ricardo. Adrienne does not want your help.”

  Ricardo isn’t swayed, but remains smiling down at me.

  I try to referee the situation. “No thanks. I’m fine. Thanks.”

  He gives an amused huff. “Then will you accompany me to the pastry counter? I could use your expertise in choosing something to take to class.”

  Ignoring Charlotte’s displeased glare and Genevieve’s frown, I follow him back into the eatery.

  It doesn’t escape my notice that Mikhail is right behind us. I’ve noticed he doesn’t seem to like Ricardo.

  “Class starts in two minutes,” Charlotte calls after us, annoyed.

  Ricardo leans an elbow against the pastry case. “Now that I’ve got you alone, I want to know what you’re going to do about Callahan’s art. Are you going to tell anyone? Keep smiling, so everyone thinks we’re flirting.”

 

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