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Cameron Mayer—or rather Golvath—steps out of the shadow, wearing a smirk that could easily curdle milk. He’s dressed in the faded leather jacket she’s seen him wear so often; his jeans are ripped at the knees, and the biker boots are scuffed up at the toes. Other than his familiar appearance, though, something about him is definitely different.
“It’s the ears,” he says, answering her unasked question before pushing his hair aside to reveal his elongated ear, which ends in a sharp tip. “I got tired of hiding them.” He releases his hair and walks up to her, taking Orion’s space. “Now why would you think about a prince when you are in the company of a king? Honestly, Rachel, stop being so mediocre.”
“I’d much rather be mediocre than homicidal.”
“He’s not getting back in,” Golvath says, rolling his eyes. “He’s not coming back to save the pretty damsel, because he’s not strong enough. Woe always you.”
“What’s your deal?” she asks, mentally placing one brick atop the other to protect her thoughts from his probing mind. “I’ve come up with countless theories and none of them really fits, so seriously, like, what’s your problem?”
“You are m—”
“No, no,” she interrupts, wagging her finger. “Don’t put this on me, Golvath. From what I’ve heard, you’ve been pulling this same exact stunt for ages. You see a girl you like and then you build her up in your mind until she’s some pure, untouchable goddess. Then—and please correct me if I’m wrong—you throw a hissy fit and turn the entire village into mindless minions because you’ve convinced yourself she’s out of your league.” Rachel drops her arms to her sides. “What is that about? I mean, you didn’t even give me a chance to respond, and I’m actually not that hard to impress.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Rachel Cleary; you’re no goddess,” he says. “If anything, you’re Fae-bait.”
Fae-bait?
“Well, screw you, too.”
Golvath flinches, astonishment blanching his face.
Rachel pushes away from the stone archway and walks up to him, incensed and unafraid, until she’s in his face. “You’re pathetic.”
The crack is as unexpected as the force behind his slap. Rachel stumbles back, covering her burning cheek with her hand. The glare she shoots him could easily penetrate Kevlar, but the maniacal laugh bubbling out of her throat is far more effective in unnerving the Fae than any weapon she could’ve wielded.
She moves back to her original position, unable to keep her sneer at bay. Rachel narrows her eyes and releases her cheek. “Do it again. I dare you.”
Instead, he asks, “Who are you?”
“If Mrs. Crenshaw was around, she’d say you sound like a broken record,” Rachel replies.
Golvath sneers. “Nancy Fraser? The same Nancy who dubbed me The Bone Carver? Oh, I showed her.”
“You put Mrs. Crenshaw out of commission for a couple of weeks at most. Be thankful you’re dealing with me instead,” Rachel hisses in defiance.
Golvath’s eyes bulge, a throbbing vein appears on his forehead. “Who are you?”
“I am your worst nightmare.”
As if summoned by her words, Ziggy flies into Golvath’s face, effectively blinding him. Rachel seizes her opportunity and runs down the hallway as fast as her legs can carry her, forgetting all about pacing herself. Golvath bellows, his outrage making the entire building tremble.
“Ziggy!”
Ziggy flies to her side, flashing bright gold as he keeps up with her. His glow fades the farther he travels. The golden sphere dims and entire patches diminish. Soon, Ziggy fades to gunmetal.
Rachel can’t bear to witness the Fae light lose its vibrant coloring or blinking out of existence altogether. “Are there any Sluaghs nearby?”
One flash.
“Close enough to the school?”
Ziggy flashes once more.
“It’s not an entire horde, beca—”
Two flashes interrupt her.
“Bring it here as fast as you can,” Rachel instructs.
Ziggy glides a few feet ahead before making an abrupt U-turn. The Fae light shoots back the way it’d come, quicker than she’d ever thought it could possibly move.
“Nobody outruns me,” Golvath screams, his feet pounding the floor behind her. “Nobody escapes me.”
“Go see a therapist, you creep.” Rachel readies herself to slide into the upcoming hallway leading into the more modern parts of the school.
Golvath’s rage turns feral as he roars obscenities, the thunderous sounds bouncing from one bare surface in the hallway to the next. His hatred catches up with her, slamming against the brick walls she’s built around her mind. Parts of her wonder if he’s right, if his vitriol is justified. Maybe she did treat him unfairly by not giving him a real shot. Perhaps she does deserve—
Without slowing down, Rachel squashes the weird thoughts—none of which belong to her—and mentally fixes the crack in the wall.
“That won’t work on me again,” she screams without glancing back.
His heavy footfalls slow ever so slightly as another enraged temper tantrum ensues.
Rachel puts out her hand to grab onto the wall. She propels herself around the corner and into the adjoining hallway.
You’ve successfully goaded a serial killer into chasing you, so now what? What’s the plan? She has no idea what comes next. All she can think to do is to stay out of Golvath’s reach until Ziggy lures a mythical creature back to her. Whether a Sluagh is any match for Golvath is a whole other story, one she prefers not to worry about while she’s running for her life, but the concern is real. There’s also the possibility of making a bad situation worse.
“You can’t go anywhere.” His voice sounds fainter, farther away, as if he’s stopped running after her. “Eventually I’m going to find you.”
“Bite me,” she mumbles, passing the girls’ bathroom where she had found the bone carving of Mercia. How long has it been since then? Two weeks? More?
Think about the plan.
Nothing forthcoming is feasible in the long run, but—
She turns into the main hallway, slowing down considerably so as not to stumble when she rushes over the debris. One misstep is all it’ll take to give Golvath the upper-hand. Rolling an ankle, spraining a foot, even breaking a toe can become a death sentence.
She won’t give him the satisfaction of making it any easier.
Her phone vibrates in her pocket.
She runs away from the smell of the cafeteria, the decomposing body in the pantry, all while hoping Holland and the other two townies who’re searching the school have preoccupied themselves somewhere else.
Rachel slows as she comes to the administration office’s open door and slips inside. She walks around the receptionist’s desk and into Principal Hodgins’ office, before gently closing the door. Finally, Rachel pulls her phone out of her pocket and reads the messages sent from Dougal’s phone.
R U OK?
Rachel slides down onto her haunches, leaning her head against the wall. She closes her eyes for a minute, catching her breath, before she musters the strength to respond.
Hiding in Hodgins’ office. Could use help.
She moves as soon as the message is sent. Back to the Black Box in search of a weapon—she’ll throw Golvath with a Gameboy or one of those really old Nokia 3310s if she has to. Maybe, if she targets his head, he’ll get a concussion or something. Luckily, she remembers seeing some knives in there earlier. Rachel finds a makeshift shiv and places it on the cabinet’s surface before spying Mercia and Dougal rushing toward the window.
“Hold on,” Mercia says when she closes in, her voice muffled, like she’s separated by water instead of glass.
Rachel nods, keeping herself from making too much unnecessary noise.
“Orion’s trying to break in through the cafeteria,” she continues. “It won’t work, he knows it, but—”
Rachel points to her phone before quickly typing: Stop talking. He’ll find me. She sends the message to Dougal, who shares it with Mercia.
She mouths, “Oh.”
Rachel types again, telling them about sending Ziggy to find a Sluagh and how she and Dougal shouldn’t be anywhere near here when it arrives.
Sluagh don’t kill witches, Mercia’s message reads.
Rachel raises an eyebrow and points to Dougal, mouthing, “Not a witch.”
Mercia’s shoulders drop as she says out loud, “I’ll keep him safe.”
Rachel looks at her phone again to begin her response when a sound just outside the principal’s office catches her attention. She glances to the door, listening for a discernable sound, while locking her phone and slipping it back into her pocket. Blindly, Rachel picks up the shiv and hides the long hilt—made from a toothbrush’s handle—against her wrist. With a quick glance at the window, she gestures for them to leave and takes slow, calculated steps toward the door.
Her heart races as she clutches the shiv for dear life. Adrenaline pumps through her body, making her want to run, fight, or both. Logic tells her not to do anything stupid.
Wait, think, outsmart the enemy and use his weaknesses against him.
The intercom crackles to life overhead and screeches in that hollow, deafening way. Rachel grits her teeth as she stares at the door.
“Rachel Cleary, Rachel Cleary, please report to the office immediately,” Golvath announces, keeping his voice level. “Or ...” There’s a sigh on the other side of the door. “Or I’ll have to debone your mother and make a spice rack from her spine.”
The crackling intercom system dies, lending finality to his words. Rachel, however, doesn’t move, hardly breathes. She simply listens to the on-goings in the administration office, waiting to make her next move.
Rachel has no idea what her next move is yet.
Survive. That’s the plan.
The receptionist’s swivel chair moves across the plastic floor protector while something heavy slams down on the wooden surface of her desk. There’s a disgustingly loud slurp, followed by an equally loud gulp.
Rachel glimpses back at the window, but finds herself alone. She turns her attention to the door again, listening and waiting.
Golvath clearly doesn’t hear as well as Orion does, otherwise he would have heard her moving around by now. This certainly works in her favor. Rachel is also sure he can’t glisser. If he could, he would’ve caught up with her in the hallway. So, what can he do other than use human bones for his macabre art projects and dig around in peoples’ heads?
He can cause accidents, can’t he? Or is that just a byproduct of his intra-canter abilities?
The plastic wheels of the swivel chair roll against the non-slip plastic protector, pulling her out of her thoughts. The chair exhales as his weight disappears from the seat, before the intercom screeches to life once more.
“I’m growing tired of these games,” Golvath’s voice booms overhead, the calmness gone. “If I have to drag you out of whatever hole you’re hiding in, you’re going to wish you’d come out when I said. Don’t make me punish you, Rachel. You won’t like it. Not one bit.”
The announcement ends.
Those heavy biker boots walk one way across the tiles then return to the other side, all while he’s speaking under his breath. It sounds almost like he’s talking to someone else—probably to one of the people under his influence—but a second voice never joins in on the conversation.
It’s just Golvath ranting to himself.
And although Rachel can’t make out what he’s saying, she’s pretty sure he’s not doling out praises for her hide-and-seek skills. The one-sided argument goes on for a few minutes, before he walks with purpose across the administration office. Soon, his footsteps fade completely, his rants going with him.
She waits behind Principal Hodgins’ office door for a few more minutes, expecting him to return, thinking it may be a trick. Eventually, when it becomes apparent that he won’t come back, Rachel decides not to tempt fate by staying in one place. Besides, the idea of being trapped in a confined area without an escape route doesn’t sit well with her.
Rachel reaches for the doorknob and slowly turns it until the lock springs open. Inch by painstaking inch, she opens the door wide enough to look out. A steaming half-mug of coffee stands on the reception desk. She scans the rest of the area, before making her way to the next door. Rachel peers around the corner, looks down either side of the hallway and finds it empty. Quickly, quietly, she makes her way out of the administration office.
Hiding will only help her for so long. She needs a proper plan, one that doesn’t involve rotting away in a pantry while Golvath plays with her bones for however long it takes him to find his next victim. Maybe it’ll be years, perhaps centuries even. Who’ll help her? Rachel is lucky to have allies, but the next girl might not. Cameron’s next victim could be alone, confused by what’s happening and helpless to save herself from this monster. Rachel can’t let that happen. She won’t.
Rachel walks down the hallway, glancing over her shoulder now and then to make sure nobody is sneaking up on her. She keeps the shiv ready, in case someone jumps out of a classroom. Rachel doesn’t want to use the shiv on anybody, but she will if things spiral out of control.
Voices come from somewhere ahead, babbling on about how the vents are magical portals, because people disappear in them.
Rachel pauses then darts into the nearest open door just as Holland’s tousled head comes into view and hears the three townsfolk under Cameron’s influence coming closer. She glances at the interior of the room, where ruby red lockers are lined up against all the walls, and loose-standing rows fill the floor space. Long, slatted wooden benches are positioned between each block. Here and there lie dirty towels, some draped across the benches, while clothes are strewn about, and contents spill from a few open lockers. There’s dampness in the air and shadows linger, made worse by the absence of artificial lighting. A faucet drip, drip, drips an eerie song.
“I’m telling you, those two are somewhere in the vents,” the woman says.
Rachel slinks deeper into the locker room.
“They are not,” the man exclaims. “You looked for them up there, didn’t you? So, if they’re not up there and they’re not down here, they must’ve vanished by magic.”
Holland giggles and says something incoherent, making the other two laugh along.
Rachel slips behind a block of lockers, out of immediate sight, and waits for them to pass. However, the three loiter in the hallway for some time, their voices carrying a hint of madness. They seem to move closer, seem to want to search the area. Holland says as much, though her intermittent giggling makes it hard to discern the true purpose of her exploration.
To avoid capture, and due to sheer desperation, Rachel backs up against the farthest wall of lockers, until she’s cast in shadows.
Holland’s tittering grows louder, her footsteps sound nearer.
Rachel navigates the shadows one step at a time, inching toward the showers. She breathes slowly, keeps calm, and tries not to bump into anything. Making the slightest noise now, with Holland creeping about, could spell the end of her journey.
“I’m so bored,” the woman says, sounding almost as melodramatic as Holland sometimes does. “Let’s go do some science.”
“Ooh. Let’s blow something up,” Holland agrees, clapping her hands.
Rachel peers out of the shadows just as the woman grabs Holland’s hand and basically drags her back to the hallway, their humor already improving. She hears them sprinting away, gives it another minute or two, before she begins her own trek back to the exit. With a quick scan of the area, she determines she’s alone, and swiftly heads in the direction opposite of the laughter.
Past the water fountain, the football coach’s office stands in ruin. Beyond that, several more classrooms are situated on either side of the hallway—some have been in use since the additions were made to Ridge Crest High, while others have become nothing more than storage rooms. Forgotten objects from years past have taken up residence in some of those classrooms, becoming lost in time.
Another turn comes up, where the back staircase is located. Only the music room is up there, on the other side of the school, while the rest of the second story is practically wasted space.
Her cell phone vibrates and Rachel pulls her lifeline into the open.
Go back 2 bell tower – M.
She returns her cell phone to her pocket and thanks the heavens for the labyrinth-loving architects, all of whom had decided quantity was better than quality when it came to building this forsaken school. From her current location, Rachel has plenty of options on how to get back to the hallway that leads to the old schoolhouse.
She eyes the staircase, wondering if she should take that route. Too many variables at play. There are other ways, none of which pass by the science labs. Paths you know better. Rachel changes course, retracing her steps.
By the time she gets back to the girls’ locker room, she feels her energy levels fluctuate as her adrenaline wanes. Still, she doesn’t stop. She keeps walking until she comes to a narrow corridor that leads back to the cafeteria. There are no doors here, no features whatsoever. The reason for its existence is merely to serve as a shortcut to the other side of the building, yet no student has ever favored this route.
She stares at the end of the corridor, which inspires a bout of claustrophobia. From her perspective, the walls and ceiling close in bit by bit, until the opening on the other side looks barely big enough for a child to crawl through. She hesitates momentarily. There are other ways, longer routes, more treacherous paths, but time is ticking and Golvath has had centuries to hone his craft of hunting down victims.
Rachel sucks in a lungful of air and steps forward.
