inane thing about Camus. But it’s hard not to be inane about Camus. I’m not sure why I
expected better—he has a Rumi quote framed beside his desk. It pains me. Darling Colin, please make sure we always have white and red at hand?” She held up an empty bottle and
Colin’s face went ashen. “It’s all right, love. Grab a bottle and come join us. Alex and the
others can keep things under control here, yes? Did you bring something to read?”
“I … yes.” Colin drifted from the kitchen as if his ankles had just sprouted wings.
“Meringues,” commanded Isabel.
“Meringues,” repeated Alex, walking over to the mixer and handing the bowl to Isabel.
She snapped a picture of the kitchen for her mom and texted, At work. This was the way she wanted Mira to think of her. Happy. Normal. Safe. Everything Alex had never been.
She texted Mercy and Lauren too. At Belbalm’s salon. Fingers crossed for leftovers.
“I cannot believe Colin gets to read tonight,” Isabel complained, piping the meringue onto a baking sheet. “I’ve been with her a semester longer than he has, and I aced her Women and Industrialism seminar.”
“Next time,” murmured Alex, brushing melted butter over the tiny apple tarts. “Was it
this crowded last week?”
“Yes, and Colin bitched the entire night. We were here cleaning up until after two.”
Then Colin’s alibi was good. Alex felt a rush of relief. She liked Colin, liked sour Isabel, liked this kitchen, this house, this comfortable space. She liked this piece of world that had nothing to do with murder or magic. She didn’t want to see it disrupted by brutality. But that didn’t mean she could cross all of Scroll and Key off her list. Even if Colin hadn’t killed Tara, he’d known her. And someone had taught Lance portal magic.
“Did Sandow stick around for the whole salon last week?”
“Unfortunately,” said Isabel. “He always drinks way too much. Apparently he’s been going through some kind of awful divorce. Professor Belbalm tucked him away in her study with a blanket. He left a ring of urine around the powder room toilet that Colin had
to clean up.” She shuddered. “On second thought, Colin totally deserves to read. You have
so much to look forward to, Alex.”
Isabel had no reason to lie, so Dean Sandow’s bad aim had just earned him an alibi.
Dawes would be glad. And Alex supposed she was too. It was one thing to be a murderer,
quite another to work for one.
It was a long, late night in the kitchen, but Alex couldn’t resent it. It felt like working
toward something.
Around one in the morning, they finished serving, tidied up the kitchen, packed bottles
into the recycling bins, accepted air kisses from Belbalm, and then floated into the night
with platters of leftovers in hand. After the violence and strangeness of the last few days,
it felt like a gift. It was a beautiful taste of what life might become, of how little the
societies mattered to most people at Yale, of work that asked nothing of you but time and a bit of attention in a house full of harmless people high on nothing more than their own pretensions.
Alex saw a Gray in Rollerblades ahead of her, weaving her way between the lampposts,
drawing closer. Her skull and torso looked like they’d been crushed, a deep dimple left by
the wheels of some careless driver’s car.
Pasa punto, pasa mundo, Alex whispered, almost kindly, and watched the girl vanish.
A moment passes, a world passes. Easy.
Alex didn’t have classes the next morning. She got up early to eat breakfast and to try to do a little reading before trekking up to Marsh, but as she was finishing her pile of eggs and hot sauce, she caught sight of the Bridegroom. His expression turned disapproving when she followed up with a hot fudge sundae, but ice cream was available at all meals in
every dining hall, and that was not an opportunity to be squandered.
After breakfast, she ducked into the bathroom off the JE common room and filled the
sink. She wasn’t eager to talk to him; she wasn’t ready to discuss what she’d witnessed in
his memories. But she also wanted to know if he’d had any luck finding Tara.