Spellhacke- M. K. England Page 0,53

it went—Remi would have turned on Jaesin and reamed him out as quietly as possible, Ania would have stepped in to defend him, and the whole thing would have devolved until they all went to bed early, everyone too pissed and too proud to be the one to close the window. A tiny smile tugs at the corner of my mouth as I picture the scenario, perfectly clear in my mind. I know them all a hundred times better than I know myself, so their edges are sharp and defined, their voices practically audible. I need to hear them all again for real.

With a quick glance around, I sit on the still-wet ground and stick my feet through the window opening, bracing my hands on the expertly masoned brick exterior of the house. Hips next, then boobs (ow), shoulders, and finally my head as I fall to the couch beneath the window, smearing the delicate white fabric with the caked mud from my boots. I got way messier than usual in the haste of my uncoordinated escape, and Ania’s couch is paying the price.

The room is silent, peaceful and still. They’re probably all still asleep, nestled in among Ania’s soft, expensive bedsheets and pillows. Good; that gives me a minute to pull myself together and figure out how to tell them everything. I wipe my sleeve over my eyes, the fabric coming away smeared with the grime of the sewers and some of the cheap makeup disguise I applied. I probably look an utter mess, but they’ve seen me at my worst. Besides, priorities.

I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and let it out as I walk over to the spare bedroom.

“Remi?” I whisper, gently pushing the cracked door open. “Jaesin?”

I stop dead in the doorway.

The bed is made. The pillows look untouched, undented by sleeping heads. There are no discarded clothes, no vials of maz, no traces of habitation at all.

Nothing.

My breath comes in burning gasps as I stumble back out of the room and burst through the door to Ania’s.

A handwritten letter lies atop her perfectly made comforter of purple and blue flowers, the barest edge of lavender sheet folded over the top. My eyes sting, and my legs are wooden as I make my way over, lifting the expensive plum-edged stationery off the bed.

Mom and Dad,

I tried to get in touch with you, but couldn’t get through for some reason. Morning rush hour, maybe? Anyway, I’ve been second-guessing the choice I made for college, so I’m going to visit the University of Jattapore. I’m taking a tour of their campus and meeting the head of the department to see if I want to go there instead of Lon Flaum, just to make sure I made the right decision. Sorry for ditching you at the last minute! I should be back in a few days. I’ve got everything I need and will call you when I get there. Have a great time at the gala on Firaday, if it’s still happening after that horrible accident. I emailed this same message to your secretary, too, so I hope you’ll get it today. See you soon.

Love,

Ania

I let the letter fall from my fingers and drift back to the floral bedspread.

They left me.

They really did just leave me behind.

They said they would, but some part of me apparently didn’t believe it, because my chest feels like a black hole, caving in on itself with a swirling mess of shock and pain. And fear. Total, petrifying fear.

I really am on my own now.

I sit down hard on the edge of the bed, heedless of the mess I must be making, and hold my head in my hands, burying my fingers in the longer portion of my hair. The strands feel greasy and disgusting between my fingers, and probably look just as bad. Dirty tears slide through the grime on my cheeks and drip onto my stained pants, leaving little dark circles. I’m disgusting, a mess, inside and out. Ruined.

Why did I ever expect anything else?

I haven’t truly cried in years, which I’ve always considered a point of pride for some reason. In the last day, though, I’ve cried more than I have since my mom died. Yet another thing gone. Another thing I’ve held on to that’s lost, over, ended, gone in the span of one heaving sob.

Fuck absolutely everything.

Filthy droplets splash onto Ania’s pristine wooden floors, pooling where they fall with not even the barest gap between boards