The Book of Miranda | gxg | ❖

(21) A Face Badly In Need Of A Fist

"I love being fodder for a messed-up demon with a score to settle," snaps Exie, pacing back across the room. She's been at this for minutes already, and she's nowhere near slowing down. "It's my favorite thing. Even better that my brother came before me; maybe we can both be demon-food together."

"He hasn't eaten anyone," says Clarice, seemingly oblivious to the metaphorical nature of the statement.

"The monster sucks people's brains out. Big difference."

"He doesn't—"

"Do we know if he takes everyone who comes here?" I cut in. "Or is he choosy?"

Exie spins around again. She'll wear a track in the floor at this rate. "I'm sure he at least judges everyone. That's kind of his thing. How many does he take?" She flings both hands up. "Hell if I know. How do you deduce these things before it's too late? Wait to see if he claims another Colson? Tell everyone to lock their doors at night? Can he pass through doors? Was Colson even in control of himself when he left his room to follow us?"

"He may not have been following," I say. "We might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Does it matter?"

It doesn't, really. But I'm grasping at straws, fighting the wretched hole hollowing itself out beneath my ribcage with every question Exie spins off. I can't even hazard a guess at most of them. It feels like we're sprinting in circles with too many clues and nothing to tie them all together—some lynchpin piece that will bind everything else together and make it all make sense. Maybe it's the red book. Maybe it's the water we haven't found. Maybe it's something I missed in the bible, or Clarice missed in the hymnal, or Mrs. Hardwork said in class... maybe it's in a part of the church that we haven't explored yet, but may not even know exists.

I hate the count of possibilities, and even with the magnitude of what we might be dealing with, I can't shake the temptation to just call it safe when no one except Colson seems to have been taken yet. Maybe the judgment has already passed, and the rest of us were deemed unworthy. For what, I have no idea. That seems to be what's sending Exie into a spiral even as we speak.

"We need to catch him in the act," she says. There's a slightly unhinged look in her eye. "We could stake out beside that staircase, if we assume that any other student victims will be taken there. You said the dove was a book page, right, Des? Maybe that's from the books in the stained glass. Any page might lead us back to that. We can figure out what's written in it. If it's another bible, or the same one, or... I don't know. Something useful to us. More useful than anything we've already found."

I personally think we've made appreciable progress already, but I guess the existence of a cult or the knowledge of who it follows doesn't really matter to someone trying to find out what, exactly, happened to her older brother here. Or maybe Exie just needs to blow off steam. She doesn't seem to want responses to her propositions, which is good, because I don't think a stakeout is a good idea. Knowing what we're up against, I doubt daylight will make much difference to our survival chances. But it'll make a world of difference for my nerves.

"We need to contact someone," says Exie, and stops pacing in the middle of the room.

There's a long pause as both Clarice and I realize she actually expects a response to that proclamation.

"Who?" I venture.

"Someone who'll suspect something if we all go silent. Someone on the outside. What contacts do we have who might actually care enough to raise the alarm? We're up against this school's reputation, but I think I could convince my parents that there's something shady going on here. What about you two?"