“Okay, so, after tonight, we’ll figure out what the puzzle of addresses and numbers mean, but”— she tosses my jacket at me— “for tonight, can we pretend girls aren’t being brutally murdered and attacked on our campus?”
“What if what’s in that notebook is linked to something on campus?”
“What are you thinking?” She pierces me with a knowing glare.
Reed’s empty, bloody dorm room was the beginning of strange occurrences on campus. Three other girls presumed dead and one murdered. One too many for comfort have disappeared, only to return with dead eyes. One still missing. My own personal attack. None of this can possibly be a coincidence.
The walls are closing in on the academy, and tonight feels like we’re being herded to the middle of campus.
“I’m thinking there are people here at Glass Heart who know, participate, and are complacent to the horror of what happened to my sister.” I shudder at the thought.
“Okay, and let’s say that’s true. What do you think the two of us can do about it?” She shrugs, knowing it will be damn near impossible, no matter what our last names are, to dig our way to the bottom of this.
Glass Heart Academy isn’t the first to have this happen. A school over the border of Maryland, a mere fifty miles away, may not have had murders and assaults like us, but rumor has it their female population is fearful of walking alone at night. When families pay large sums of money to further their child’s education, they expect safety for their daughters. It’s been two years of these rumors, and no one has investigated.
“We aren’t going to do anything right now. We’re going to go to this thing tonight, act as if everything is normal, keep our ears to the ground, and see if someone slips up. If there’s something happening on campus, someone has to know.”
“Marek would know,” Delaney says blatantly.
“You think I haven’t thought of that?” I button my coat, locking the door behind us.
Thoughts of Marek being involved loom over my head like a dark storm cloud the whole way across campus.
A larger-than-life bonfire is visible from hundreds of feet away. In the opening of the main courtyard, groups are gathered, and students mill around as if nothing is out of the ordinary. Careless and free is what they are. That’s the rich and elite for you. They’re completely unaware or troubled by things they believe will never touch them. I’m proof that’s not true.
A freshman girl stands at the entrance, flanked by two large planters of black dahlias. Glass Heart Academy is nothing if not theatrical and dramatic. Her silver mask is beautifully detailed with gems and enough sparkle to startle a blind man.
She hands Delaney and me a glass heart. “May you rid your soul of what troubles you.” The girl gestures for us to put our masks in place.
I drag my best friend forward. She tries her hardest to stifle the laugh she and I both know is coming. “Jesus! Is it just me, or do you feel like we’re being led to our slaughter?”
“It’s not funny.” Except it kind of is.
I tie the silk ribbon of my black mask behind my head. It was Reed’s from last year. She’d said she’d fallen in love with the shimmery, detailed stitching, which is invisible to most unless experienced up close. She never got the chance to wear it. It only seemed right that I would this year. Any link to make me believe she’s still here.
“So, what are we writing this year?” She taps the heart in my hand. “I’ve got to tell you, it’s been three years of this, and none of mine have worked, so this feels like a real crock of shit at this point.”
“I’m not sure yet.” I sit down on one of the many seats scattered in the area.
These things are the same. Every year a staff member, usually a beloved teacher, steps in front of us, gives the same tireless speech, and then the festivities begin. We go by class, seniors first, followed by the succession of the others. By the end, almost everyone has cleared out to their respected destinations.
Crowds of beautiful people continue to filter in, each wearing unique masks, hiding their identities. At close to eleven o’clock, a prickling sound rings from the speakers hidden around the garden, catching everyone off guard and silencing the conversations.
“Good evening, Glass Heart Academy students.”
A shiver runs up my spine at Byron’s voice. I shift in my seat, avoiding looking up at the stage.
“We are so happy to have you here tonight to celebrate The Festival of Beginnings.” The tone of his voice is inviting and has me curious enough to turn my stare to him.
His full mask covers most of his face. It’s silver, adorned in the same details as mine, but the swirls are spun with metallic black thread, making them easy to see. I swallow the lump in my throat when his piercing brown eyes melt into mine. His words halt, leaving him standing in front of a microphone with nothing to say. The crowd is forgiving, watching as he crafts something in his mind worthy of speaking.
“Tonight, we will embark on a new journey. Ending all evil we hold in our hearts and minds. Whatever is keeping your spirit hostage, let it go. Whoever has done you wrong, release them.”
This is some real rich shit coming from Byron.
“The glass heart you hold in your hand is your means of escape. Choose your words wisely. Choose the story you wish to tell the world. Once your heart meets the flames, there is no going back.” Byron’s golden specks flicker from the flames of the fire, pulling me in. “You will live these words.”
The last part sounds more like a threat, and less an encouragement for a brighter future.
His spine straightens, and there’s a physical shift in everyone’s demeanor. The mood of the crowd changes. Low whispers dance like leaves around the yard. Knowing damn well no one cares about anything I do, I turn in my seat to see what has caught their attention.
Large, warm hands settle on my shoulders, holding me in place. I look at Delaney. Her eyes widen as she stares behind me.
Byron drones on, but his words don’t register. I’m too consumed with the hands on me.
Delaney leans in to me. “All of their masks match yours,” she whispers.
“What?” I lean my head back, and sure enough, their masks are identical to Byron’s, the male counterpart of my own. Reed’s.
“Step in line. Announce your word and declaration,” Byron declares, raising his hands in the air like some sort of emperor to his people.
“You first, Palmer.” Marek’s hands skim up the sides of my neck before they leave my body.
I hate admitting how much safer I feel with them there, and yet, when I turn, I know my reality is quite the opposite. I’m not safe under his watch, and he hates it.
Delaney walks in front of me, her steps uncertain. “They’re seriously psychopaths.”
Maybe so, but there’s something in each of them, a collective reaction when any of the four look my way. There’s no way to explain it, my response or theirs, but it’s there for us to try to unwind and figure out.
Fear and understanding. Honesty and hatred. Everything we experience feels natural for us. They consume me. I’m not anything special, though.
I walk down the path to the bonfire. On the opposite side of where we stand, a couple of steps lead to a short platform. One by one, those in front of us make the trip to the top, holding tight to their heart. Their words don’t reach us, muffled and hidden by the crackling fire.