I met Ethan and Chris on the commons just before noon. The boys stood beside one of the fir trees next to the admissions building—a squat log-cabin-style hut linked to the main academics concourse—and didn’t seem to notice my approach. I was still too wrapped up in what Mom had said to really register that their chatter meant they got along, which meant Ethan would most likely later try to hook Chris and me up with renewed zeal. Reaffirming my no-romance stance was the last thing on my mind, however. What was Mom holding back?

“Hey brosephs,” I called as I neared. They both turned to me and smiled.

“Brosephs?” Chris asked, looking to Ethan.

“Ignore her,” Ethan replied. “Sometimes she says things.”

“And usually you laugh,” I said. “What’s that tell you?” I stepped up to him and wrapped an arm over his shoulder.

“That I’m a good friend,” Ethan replied. “And a martyr for the cause. Keep a careful eye on this one, Chris. She’s wittier than she sounds.” Chris just chuckled.

Ethan hugged my waist as we walked to his car, scratching his light stubble with his other hand. It was easy to fall into this moment, to forget Mandy’s suicide and Mom’s silence and the crows that seemed to be following me everywhere. What have the crows said? So far, nothing. But their presence was enough to set me on edge. Especially since the worst was supposed to be over.

They only appeared when I needed protection. So what was I being protected from? Memory flashed with the image of the crystal Mom sent. There was one way to find out. I just really, really didn’t want to have to take it.

It had taken me so long to close those doors. Opening them again would be disastrous. And that’s why this is your fault, Brad said. Just like his final words to me.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Ethan asked as we neared his car. It hadn’t snowed hard since the last time we left, so blessedly we didn’t have to scrape off the windshields or—even more fun—push the car from a snowbank. “I’m getting hungry and don’t fancy pulling an all-day affair at Nanni’s.”

“Sushi?” I asked, stepping into the backseat so Chris could ride shotgun. Hey, I could be chivalrous too.

“You trust Michigan sushi?” Chris asked.

“I’m sure I can find something that will suit your West Coast sensibilities,” Ethan said. He turned the keys in the ignition and began backing out. “Three-Two-Six it is.”

We drove without conversation for a while, because it’s hard to think of topics when you know you’re just killing time . . . which I suppose was a horrible analogy, given the circumstances. I watched the clouds and the crows roll past, but it wasn’t relaxing. Brad’s voice kept getting louder, and it took all my control to keep it shoved down. I really, really needed a break. Before I cracked. Finally, the music got particularly abysmal and whiny, so I leaned forward and reached between the seats to turn it down.

“So,” I said, resting my elbows on the armrest and staring at Chris. “What brings you all the way from . . . well, wherever the hell you came from.”

His grin never left his face, but it did seem to slip just a little bit. I knew that look; guess I wasn’t the only one hiding from something. Unlike Ethan and me, Chris had transferred in just this year. A lot of people did, but I always felt like they didn’t get the full experience. It sure as hell took me the first year to finally understand what this place actually was.

“Well,” he said, “my parents worked in tech development back in Seattle. They were transferred out here to help set up a new branch for the company.”

“But there’s nothing out here,” I said.

Chris’s smile definitely slipped off then. He sighed and looked out the window.

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing. They moved to Detroit. I was looking into schools in the area and found Islington. I think my parents were actually sort of relieved when I told them about it. Meant they could focus on their job. Not like that’s any different from life before.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “But, on the plus side, you got in. So there’s that.”

He grinned. “Yeah. I’m still just hoping they admitted me for my portfolio and not because my parents bribed them.”

Ethan glanced over. “Don’t worry—lots of rich celebs try to send their kids here to no avail. Money doesn’t mean anything to the admissions panel, at least not on the faculty side. Though I’m sure charitable donations never go amiss.”

“Thanks, I think. I believe that was comforting.”

“That’s Ethan,” I said, patting Ethan on the shoulder. “Our man’s good at emotional support.”

“I thought gay men were supposed to be the comforting types,” Chris said.

Ethan shook his head. “I do not know where you guys are getting that idea.”

I just grinned and kissed Ethan on the cheek, then sat back and tightened my seatbelt again.

We didn’t really talk after that, but we didn’t turn the music back up, either. There was a comfortable sort of silence as we drove the rest of the way into town, watching trees thin out and become houses and gas stations and, eventually, the lakefront downtown. The lake was slate gray and stormy—it never froze, not fully, though chunks of ice floated like scattered shipwrecks. Whitecaps rode the waves, and the shore was thick with debris and tide. Above, the sky was just as tossed and frigid as the water.

“Looks like another storm,” Chris muttered.

“Yeah,” Ethan said. “Luckily this thing has four-wheel drive. Oh wait, it doesn’t.”

He parked in the lot beside the restaurant, and I was pleased to note that there weren’t many cars. Wind swept around us as we made our way into the swank sushi bar.

326 was one of those upscale restaurants that charged extra because they had a lake view and giant glass windows from which to enjoy it. In the summer, apparently, the place was always crammed with tourists. During the fall and winter, though, when no one in their right mind wanted to venture to the upper wilds of Michigan for cold fish, the place was dead. Especially on a Tuesday.

“You could have warned me,” Chris whispered when we stepped inside, waiting beside a perfectly pruned bonsai on a black marble stand. “I would have dressed up.”

I shrugged and unzipped my coat, half-flashing him my paint-splattered T-shirt so he could see that I wasn’t classy by any stretch of the imagination.

“Don’t worry, they’re used to us by now.”

By “us” I might have meant Ethan and me, who came here practically every week, or Islington kids in general. Not many high-schoolers went out for sushi on weekday afternoons, and even less did so while covered in whatever art they’d just pried themselves away from. We were easy to tell from the crowd, especially in a place like this: long sleek leather benches and shiny black granite table tops, everything black and crisp white, from the white linens and snowy orchids on every table to the mirrorlike ebony tile floor.

Save for two couples seated near the back bar, the place was entirely empty. Looks like we were the few dumb enough to brave the upcoming blizzard.

A waiter came out from behind the back curtain, saw us, and smiled. It was Jason, a local college kid who worked here pretty much every weekday. He was gorgeous in that high fashion cover model sort of way: short brown hair slicked back, black pants and white shirt, and tight black vest. You could tell he worked out from the way his sleeves caught on his arms, and a hint of tattoos peeked out from under his cuffs.

“Hey guys,” he said, stepping up to us. “How’s it going? Day off?”

In normal situations, at any other restaurant beside this and T’Chai Nanni, I’d just smile and be polite and say things were great, how are you? But this was Jason. Jason, who would spend his slower days sitting at the table with us and talking about his dissertation on gender roles in comic books and, occasionally, moan about his boy troubles. Surprise surprise, backwoods Michigan wasn’t teeming with gay men.

“Yeah,” I said. “We . . . we lost a student this weekend. So campus is pretty much closed down.”

Jason’s face immediately switched from charming server to normal, concerned friend. “What do you mean? Dropped out?”

“Suicide,” I whispered.

“Shit. I’m sorry, guys. I hadn’t heard.”

“It’s okay. That’s why we’re here—trying to get our mind off things. Anyway,” I said, shifting into a lighter tone, “this is Chris.”

Jason held out his hand and introduced himself, then handed us a few menus and let us choose a table. We sat near the front windows, as far away from the other customers as possible. I didn’t intend to talk about Mandy, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come up on its own. Chris sat first, and I sat across from him. Ethan didn’t even hesitate when sitting beside Chris; he probably didn’t want the poor guy to feel like the third wheel. Jason disappeared behind the back curtain and came out a few minutes later with a ceramic pot of jasmine tea and four tiny cups.

“Just in case,” he said, putting the fourth cup in the empty spot beside me. Which, I knew, translated to, Hopefully, these other guys will leave and I can sit and drink tea with you.

Ethan poured the aromatic tea in each of our cups, starting with me and leaving himself for last. He raised his cup between thumb and forefinger and held it out to us.

“To Mandy,” he said. We all held up our teacups, clinking the black ceramics delicately.

“To Mandy,” we repeated.

Outside, the snow began to fall.

•  •  •

The place emptied out a few minutes later, halfway through our appetizers of edamame and fried tofu and miso soup. And yeah, I felt a small note of pride at the condescending looks we got from the well-dressed patrons as they left, as if we were the ones intruding on their sacred space. Little did they know it was quite the opposite, as proved by Jason, who went over and flipped the door sign to CLOSED the moment the last table left, giving us a conspiratorial wink. When he returned, he bore eight different maki rolls, only five of which we’d actually ordered.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said as he set them down. “You guys look like you could use something positive today.”

“You have no idea,” I muttered. Jason smiled again, then went to the back to grab a fresh pot of tea before returning and sitting down beside me.

I glanced to Chris, who watched the whole exchange with a strange sort of fascination, like he wasn’t used to people acting like, well, people around him. Must have been part of coming from money.

“Thank you,” Ethan said. He was trying very hard not to stare at Jason as the guy poured us tea. He’d had a crush on the waiter since day one, but had always deemed Jason “too old.” I think he was just scared of putting himself out there. At least now he had Oliver to hold his attention.

“No problem,” Jason replied. He poured some soy sauce in a dish and began mixing in wasabi. “Are you guys doing okay?”

I shrugged and took a sip of soup, looking out at the lake.

“We’re managing,” Ethan said.

“So . . . Chris, was it? What are you studying?”

“Art,” Chris replied. “Painting, more specifically.”

“Very cool. How’d you all meet up?”

I looked to Chris then, wondering what he’d say, but it was Ethan who answered.

“We’re presenting our theses at the same time. Solidarity in insomnia, you know.”

Jason chuckled. “I know that one.”

Conversation drifted into the usual small talk as we ate the sushi—how were classes, how are your projects going, plans for the summer, etc. The entire time, I was acutely aware of Chris’s glances over. But he was sly about it, never quite making eye contact, passing it off as looking to Jason. No one mentioned Mandy, though it was clear from the stretch of silences that that was what everyone was thinking about. I could practically feel her, watching. Every time I looked out the window I expected to see her hovering there, translucent, begging through silent lips to—what? She’d committed suicide. That was that. There wasn’t any avenging that needed to happen.

I didn’t have anything to do with it.

A crow flew past, and I knew, in that moment, that I probably, somehow, did.

“Still unhappily celibate,” Jason said, and I realized I had no idea what the start of the conversation had been. I glanced over while he talked to Chris. “What about you? How’s the love life?”

Chris had the decency to blush. But he also had the indecency to look my way. I know Jason caught it, but he at least was able to hide most of his grin.

“Single,” Chris said. He took a sip from his tea and didn’t say anything else. Ethan’s smile would have given the Cheshire Cat’s a run for his money.

“I see,” Jason said slowly. Thankfully, he didn’t let the moment linger. “So what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day? I can’t imagine you guys just lounging around all afternoon.”

“Dunno,” I responded. It felt more honest than anything else I’d said today. “Maybe wander a bit. Just don’t want to be back on campus.”

“I don’t blame you.” He paused, considered his words. “Did they tell you what happened?”

I shoved down the images that flowed through my mind like pumping blood—red on white, blood on concrete, crows of shadow—and took a sip of tea. It was cold, and it tasted like raven feathers.

“No,” Ethan answered for me. “Just that she . . . yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

I stared into my teacup and my reflection stared back, ripples distorting my face, making me pale. Wavering. Ghostly. The room tilted.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked, putting his hand on my shoulder. But it wasn’t his voice.

I looked over as if in a dream. Blond hair, brown eyes, tan skin, blood dripping from his lip, smeared on his hand. Brad.

I screamed. Legit, top-of-my-voice screamed, the teacup falling from my grip and shattering on the floor. The moment it hit, it was just Jason staring at me. Kind, gay Jason, his hand quickly darting from my shoulder to his lap.

“Kaira, are you—”

“I’m fine.” Too quickly. My blood pulsed the lie through my veins. “Just . . . on edge. Sorry. I shouldn’t . . . I’ll be right back.”

I pushed out of the chair, nearly toppling it over, and ran to the bathroom.

“It’s okay, he’s gone. You’re just stressed. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.” My words were a furious whisper the moment I pressed my back to the bathroom wall and squeezed my palms to my eyes and tried to block out his words, his laughter, the feeling of his hand on my shoulder, the memory of the cold stall door against my back. I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t stop the tears.

“Kaira?” someone asked. Not Brad. Of course not Brad. He’s gone.

Ethan opened the door and stepped inside, but I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t move as he walked over and slid down next to me. He didn’t touch me. I could feel the static of space between us.

“Kaira?” he asked again. “Do you need to talk?”

I didn’t answer. He didn’t move.

The silence stretched, but no one else came to check on us. The tears stopped. Finally.

“It’s just stress,” I whispered finally. “I don’t know. Too much at once, you know?”

“I do,” he replied. His voice was grave, like he knew it all too well.

“What happened?” he asked.

I took a deep breath. It felt like coming up from drowning. When I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around me. It didn’t feel like Brad. Ethan never felt like Brad. Ethan felt like safety. Like home.

“Too many ghosts,” I finally whispered.

He sighed.

“And in times like this, they just get louder.” He squeezed me and went silent. He didn’t tell me to pull myself together or that everything would be okay. He knew better than to lie.

“They’re going to think I’m crazy,” I finally said.

“No,” he said, just as stoic. “We’ve always known.”

I laughed, and it was almost a sob, but I nudged him in the ribs anyway. He kissed the top of my head.

“I love you, Winters,” he whispered into my hair. Tears welled up again, but I forced them down. Down to where Brad waited, along with the blood and the raven feathers. Down where I shouldn’t see or feel or hear them.

“I love you too, Davis,” I said. “Even if you are an ass.”

•  •  •

“So,” Chris said from his seat beside me. We were in T’Chai Nanni, which was pretty much the antithesis of 326’s empty interior. The teahouse was swamped with patrons, Veronica and the other waiter flitting between wicker tables and rocking chairs and sofas with trays of mismatched teapots in their hands.

“So what?” I asked. We hadn’t even opened up our portfolios to work; Ethan’s and my usual table was taken by hipsters talking about Foucault or something like that, so we nabbed a bench in the corner. At first I had no clue why the place was so crowded, then I saw a band starting to set up in the corner. Great. Acoustic shows always meant a crowd, even if—or especially if—the music sucked balls.

“So tell me about yourself, Kaira the Conundrum.”

I laughed and sipped my tea—Russian caravan t’chai, which was dark and earthy and reminiscent of woodsmoke—as I peered at him over the thick cup. Ethan was on the front porch, chatting on the phone with Oliver, though I don’t know how being outside in the wind and snow was quieter than being in here.

I think he just wanted Chris and me to be alone.

“I’m a conundrum, am I?” I asked. Well, I suppose that’s better than being a freak.

“At the moment,” he said. He gave me a grin, like he was totally okay waiting for my puzzle to complete itself, however long that took. Neither he nor Jason had said anything when Ethan and I came out of the bathroom, Ethan holding my hand like he could keep all the shadows at bay. I’d felt embarrassed at first, until Jason began talking about his latest failed date that involved learning he was seeing the ex of a guy he’d almost hooked up with last year. That was the blessing of artists—everyone had their demons, and they knew not to press when yours were becoming too loud.

Being in here made me feel better. Safer. T’Chai Nanni smelled familiar. In here, surrounded by so many strangers, it was easy to drown out the words that whispered in the silence.

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“Where you’re from, for one. And why you came to Islington. I’m doubting you’re one of those celebrity kids Ethan mentioned.”

“Wouldn’t you feel like an idiot if I was? I could have my secret service off you in the bathroom.”

“Are you?”

“Nope,” I said. There wasn’t much space on the bench, even without Ethan there. My arm and hip brushed against Chris. My gut clenched at the thought of leaning in closer, at how it would feel if he put his arm around me. Brad’s face shot through my mind, that grin he used on me time and time again. It’s okay, he’d say, we can go slow.

I leaned away and took another sip.

“Well,” he said after a moment. He must have noticed my move; he sounded a little sad. “Where are you from, then?”

“Outside of Minneapolis,” I said.

“Ah, is your family still back there?”

“Adopted family,” I replied, maybe a little too quickly. “But yeah.”

“Gotcha.” He didn’t, of course. But I appreciated the attempt at empathy. “And why did you come here?”

“I enjoy being a workaholic.”

“Seriously,” he pushed.

I sighed and looked at him. That was a door I wasn’t going to open. Not here, not now, and not with Mandy’s shade hovering over my shoulder and Brad’s sneer behind my eyelids.

“Because I wanted to be here,” I said. And then, because he looked like he was going to push the subject, I added something I hadn’t even really told Ethan. Ethan knew when not to ask for more. “Because I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

“I know what you mean,” he replied.

“Not to be rude, but I kind of doubt that.” It came out a lot bitchier than I’d intended, but this wasn’t an area I wanted to tread through right now. Not with Brad’s touch still lingering on my shoulder.

“Everyone has a past, Kaira,” he said. His eyes didn’t waver from mine when he said it. His face was so close, I could smell the cardamom on his breath, feel a tinge of static. “You’re not the only one with ghosts.”

“Sorry,” I said. I looked down to my cup. “It’s just . . . it’s been rough. This sort of thing hits a little too close to home.”

“I know,” he replied. “It does for me too.” He paused, sipped his tea. When he spoke again, he seemed unsure. He didn’t look at me at all. “Thanks for taking me in,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I’ve only known you a few days, but I appreciate how kind you guys have been. Especially in light of . . . I mean, it’s been really nice. I like you. Both of you.”

I’d never met a straight boy who was willing to talk about emotions. It was a complete one-eighty from Brad. Everything about him is a complete one-eighty from Brad. And then I looked at him—really looked. The strong profile, the scruff, the hazel eyes so intently fixed on the table of chatting college kids. That, and the little things I hadn’t noticed before: the slight slump to his shoulders, the way he bit the inside of his lower lip, the lithe fingers wrapped around his teacup. He wasn’t stoic and distant and attractive in that self-assured way.

He’s not like Brad, I realized. And he never will be.

I don’t know why I wanted to open up then. Maybe I was too raw from the breakdown. Maybe I just wanted the idea of comfort. Or maybe Ethan was right—maybe Chris was my type. Maybe I just hadn’t let myself see it.

“You’re not too bad yourself, kid,” I replied.

He laughed. His eyes darted to me, and yes, my chest felt warm as my stomach flipped and I had to look down to my cup to keep from blushing.

“You say the weirdest shit,” he said.

“I know,” I replied. “You’d better get used to it.”

“Already am,” he replied. I looked over, caught just the edge of his grin, and I knew that look—that tentative slight lean.

And I don’t know why I wanted to lean in, to close that gap, to connect to the gravity. Maybe it was masochism or something else, but I felt the desire take hold, snaring me somewhere behind my heart, pulling me forward . . . at least until Ethan came over and sat down on the cask we’d reserved with his portfolio.

“It’s real shitty out there,” he said, either oblivious to or ignoring the way Chris and I quickly leaned back from each other. “In case you were wondering.”

“How’s Oliver?” I asked.

“He’s all right. I mean, okay, he’s panicking about his upcoming solo performance. In his words, he’s ‘worried he isn’t interpreting the piece the way his composer expects.’ Whatever that means.” He sighed and picked up his mug of tea, which was still steaming. “Sometimes I swear my conversations would make more sense if I was dating another visual artist.”

His eyes flickered between the two of us, not at all discreet. I could have slapped him.

“Then you gotta worry about artistic competition getting in the middle of things,” I said. I couldn’t tell if I was trying to snub whatever potential Chris had or what, but the situation was suddenly way too awkward for my liking. I need to have a talk with that boy.

“I dunno. Could be kinda hot,” Ethan said with a grin. He looked at Chris. “What do you think? Date within the field or no?”

I knew Ethan was just trying to heal things the way he worked best—by making light of them. He knew I’d dated back home, knew that it had gone horribly wrong and that was why I wasn’t dating anymore. And he knew that was why I had the panic attacks, the moments of sheer terror. This was his way of saying he understood and it was okay. But he didn’t fully understand. I couldn’t move forward—I couldn’t pretend it was okay. All I could do was try to ignore it. Brad had burrowed his way deep inside me, and the memory of him wouldn’t let go. Now that the strange moment between Chris and me was over, I couldn’t believe I’d actually almost leaned in and tried to kiss him.

Rule number one: Never fall in love.

“I dunno,” Chris said after a moment. “Guess it just depends on the situation.”

Ethan nodded sagely over his cup at me.

“Love is strange,” he finally said. “I hear it heals all wounds.”

“That’s time,” I replied. “And that’s also an outright lie.”

He was so lucky the place was crowded. Otherwise, he’d have a bruise to explain to Oliver.

•  •  •

The rest of the evening was spent chatting about school and faculty and what we missed about being a normal teenager—mainly, being able to leave the house after ten, and not having your Internet shut off at eleven. And not always being stressed about homework.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a very short list.

Unsurprisingly, no work got done. We kept waiting for a table to open up but, like us, no one seemed to want to leave and head out into the storm. So we stayed there, at our little bench in the corner, chatting about normal high school things for a few hours, and it felt . . . well, it felt nice. It reminded me of the life I’d given up in coming here: afternoons gossiping and talking about teachers or students, trips to cafés that didn’t involve work. And yeah, there was something nice about sharing a bench with a boy who wasn’t also interested in boys.

We headed back to campus at seven. I made sure to drop by the drugstore for cookies and popcorn and a case of cherry soda I knew Elisa would say I shouldn’t have gotten because she was cutting back on sugar but would drink anyway. It was one of those days, and I had a feeling it would be one of those days for a very long time.

I parted ways with the boys to head back to my room. Chris lingered when I hugged Ethan good-bye, but I just patted Chris on the shoulder and told them I’d see them both at breakfast. I was too distracted to give much thought to the apparent disappointment in Chris’s eyes when I walked away; I couldn’t focus on anything besides the birds. Even in the snow that whipped nearly sideways, crows lined the power lines like onyx sentinels, all of them silent and still and watching. It made me shiver worse than the cold.

Having a bodyguard is one thing. Having one when you don’t know why you need protecting is another.

Elisa wasn’t in the room, so I left the snacks on top of her bed with a little heart scribbled on a Post-it note. As had been drilled into my head the first day here: Presentation is everything. But I didn’t take off my boots or coat. There was an hour left before sign-in and the very idea of sitting in here and doing homework or staring at a wall made me claustrophobic. Going outside was worse, though. I glanced to my pillow. The crystal sat there, like a key to a large and imposing door—one that might hold a sack of gold or a vicious chimera. I knew, deep down, that I needed to take it, but the very thought made my entire body clamp up, constricted in a terrible vise. That crystal was keeping the nightmares at bay, but maybe that’s precisely where I was supposed to venture.

After all, hadn’t the darkness always been my second home? I’d spent the entire day trying to ignore the shadow hovering behind my shoulder. Mandy was dead. Suicide. Nothing strange beyond the fact that it was sudden and unexpected, and wasn’t that how all suicides were? Always the ones you least expected—always the ones who seemed the happiest on the outside. It was human. Horrible, but human.

So why couldn’t I force out Brad’s image? And why were the crows so adamant about making themselves known?

I wished I could lie and convince myself I didn’t already know the answer. That this was all just in my head and I was insane and that was perfectly fine. Because being insane was better than this alternative.

Munin wanted to talk.

And if he wanted to talk, I needed to listen. Never ignore an omen. Especially not from him.

A crow fluttered past the window then, and that was enough to tell me I needed to get out of here. I didn’t want to sit around and think until Elisa came back to distract me. I didn’t want to wonder if I should put the crystal on my altar so I could dream. I didn’t want to be toying with these thoughts—I wanted to be normal, to be focusing on work and graduation and maybe even Chris. I didn’t want to let my past catch up with me. I grabbed my coat and headed for the arts building. I’d been doing enough sitting around for one day and I wanted to see the new senior thesis show. I wanted to see if Mandy had left her mark, and if it would lend any clue as to why she’d taken her own life. Mostly, though, I just didn’t want to be alone with myself. Art was a good enough distraction, even if I wasn’t making it.

I wandered through the empty dorm lobby and out into the snow. In the five minutes I was inside, the weather had gotten worse. Snow whipped up the drive and turned everything an apocalyptic grayscale. The few kids who were out were huddled and running from one building to another. Everything was a shifting mass of black and white—even the buildings looked like they were moving through the flurries of snow. The only still objects were the crows on the power lines. They sat silently the entire walk up the drive to the visual arts building. When I opened the front door, they exploded out into the night in a black cloud, their caws lost to the whistle of wind and torrent of snow.

As usual, stepping into the visual arts building was like stepping back home. The warmth, the scent, the lighting . . . it made it easier to forget the crazy shit happening outside. This place was like a womb for creativity, a safe haven. It was my church. Though there was something eerie about entering it tonight. Home was haunted.

There, in the entryway and all down the hall, were Mandy’s ceramic origami birds.

They hung from fishing line in beautiful clouds along the ceiling; others rested on pedestals in flocks. Some even squatted along the floor, these ones with broken wings and bits of clay shattered along the tile.

It took my breath away. Literally.

I paused in the entry and stared at the hundreds of birds and felt tears well in the corners of my eyes as my breath caught in my throat. This was beyond beautiful. And hadn’t she said she was only making a hundred? How had she produced so many, and to such a beautiful extent? There had to be at least five hundred in here.

I walked slowly, examining every corner. The birds dangled and spun and stared into space, each folded wing a wish, a prayer. They seemed to whisper to one another in the emptiness, filling the space with her final thoughts, her devotion.

Whether intentional or not, she had created her own memorial. And it was more perfect than anything we could have done in her honor.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I looked over to where Jonathan was walking out of a side hallway, holding Helen’s hand. I’d never seen the two of them together, but there had been rumors they were dating. I couldn’t blame them. Jonathan was hot in that young-tattooed-professor sort of way, and Helen would always be the most beautiful badass painter I knew.

“Stunning,” I replied. Helen smiled sadly.

“She was a prodigy,” Helen said. “It’s such a shame.”

“But oddly poignant,” Jonathan said, staring up at the birds. “In Egyptian mythology it was believed there were three aspects to the soul: the akh, the ka, and the ba. The ka was what we’d traditionally see as a soul, but the ba was seen as a little bird with a human head, and it could leave the tomb and wander the world. It was the soul’s messenger, in a way, but it always needed to return to the body. There’s a sort of beauty to this being Mandy’s last piece. Like she was creating a fleet of vessels for her own eternal flight.”

“I don’t know if that’s the way to talk to her about this,” Helen said.

Jonathan looked at me, considering. “Something tells me Kaira’s not one to shy from the darker sides of life. It’s healthy. It reminds us of the power of beauty and light.”

“Did . . . did she finish all this herself?” I asked, gesturing to the birds. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of their lover’s quarrel, and I both agreed and disagreed with Helen. It didn’t seem right to talk about Mandy’s suicide in terms of art, but then . . . maybe it helped place it in a larger context. Maybe it put meaning to something that seemed so terrible. Or maybe thinking about it like that was disrespectful. I didn’t know her well enough to say.

“She did,” Helen replied. She cast one last disapproving look at Jonathan. “Was in here all weekend working on it. I brought her coffee a few times.”

“And she never mentioned anything?”

Helen shook her head. Jonathan wrapped an arm around her.

“Are you doing okay, Kaira?” he asked. His voice wasn’t the reserved, aloof tone of the teachers I’d had back in public high; he sounded like he actually cared, and the look in his eyes said the same.

“Yeah. Just still in shock, I think.”

“Understandable. It’ll be a while before life returns to normal. Or, well, its new version of normal.” He looked down at his feet, then to me. “If you need to talk, ever, you know how to find me. I don’t know if us advisers are also supposed to work as counselors, but I’ll always be here if you need someone to listen. And I promise not to bring up the Egyptian afterlife again.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Same goes for me,” Helen replied. “You know I’m always here for you, espresso machine and all. And seriously, if you need extra time to get your thesis done, don’t stress, okay? You can always put it off. We understand this is a trying time.”

“Thanks,” I said again. The real thankful part came when they walked by me. As great as they were, I didn’t want to be talking about death or homework or mythology, which felt like some strange mix of the two. I wanted to have a few moments with Mandy’s work. Jonathan put a hand on my shoulder as he passed.

“I’ve put together a little study group,” he said. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to think about right now, but I’d love for you to join. They’re a good group, very supportive—you might find having a group of like-minded peers helpful in these rough times.”

I looked from the cranes to him, wondering why in the world he’d mention studying right now.

“You don’t need to decide now. Just think of it is a second family opening its doors. Standing offer.”

Then, with one more glance to the birds, the two of them walked out into the night, hands held and coats flapping in the snow. I turned back to the display and let the rest of the world fall away.

Thoughts of Jonathan’s offer vanished into clay dust. I felt like I was floating, surrounded by clouds of paper and ceramics. It didn’t make sense. None of this. It was all one giant knot on the verge of unraveling, but there was nothing I could do or say to make it happen any faster. All I knew was that Mandy was dead and Munin was back and Brad wouldn’t shut up and my life—so carefully constructed, so perfect in its detail—was derailing. I wasn’t supposed to be falling for someone. I wasn’t supposed to remember how Brad’s hands felt, how the blade felt. I was supposed to be past this. I had moved on.

I fell to my knees.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I didn’t know if I was talking to Mandy or myself.

The birds turned slowly. Maybe it was the breeze, maybe it was her ba drifting on to the land of the dead. Or maybe, like me, she was stuck here, mingling in the shadows, tethered to a past that wouldn’t quite let go.