chiaroscuro

19

So that's why Camrice wasn't here.

"Isn't there any security in this place?" I ask, cross-legged on my bed.

"I don't know," Emery spits, pissed. "To be honest I forgot Gray even existed."

The article only said that Gray escaped with the help of an accomplice. The blurred picture showed the outline of a shadowed figure, which, if you look closely, was definitely Camrice. Apparently everyone at the Academy already knew that.

"So, now what?" I blow a breath. "We just gonna sit here and wait for them?"

"I mean, yeah," Emery says, looking out the window. "They've already escaped. It's not like I can do anything about it. Dumbass."

"We can help hide them," I offer. "It's not like they can go back to the Academy."

She scowls. "I'm sure Camrice already has everything planned out. She might mess it up–like she always does–but I really don't give two shits."

Her phone pings with a message. "Oh god, kill me now."

"What?"

Emery starts rummaging through her clothes underneath her bed. "Date night." She grabs a red dress and a pair of heels. "With Lev. And I'm late."

"Of course."

I'm surprised the door isn't broken after Emery slammed it so hard I think something fell in the room next door. I was going to go check–seeing I have nothing else to do–until an idea pops into my head.

Emery's gone. I can search through her stuff for clues. And for her magic spellbook. If she has one. Damn, magic spellbook, what am I, five?

The first thing I do is go through the stuff under her bed. Clothes, clothes, more clothes, a tampon–not used, thankfully.

Next up, her desk. Books–mostly manga. In the drawer underneath, a book. Emery's diary, it reads. It refuses to budge when I try to pry it open, as if super glued together. Must be another fucking magic spell.

The bathroom we share has two cabinets on top of the mirror. Mine is unlocked, filled with toothbrushes of different shades of blue, toothpaste, towels, and flossing string.

Emery's is, no surprise, locked. There's no lock, but, similar to the book, there's A FUCKING MAGIC SPELL that makes it super glued shut. Good job, Emery, good fucking job.

As I try to pry it open once more, something gets knocked off the counter–lipstick. Pink lipstick.

"Did they take the bodies?"

I must look like a lunatic, barging into Mrs. L's office, a lipstick tube between my fingers. I'm also in my socks–my cat socks that I recently found the other day in my backpack.

"No," Mrs. L says blinking. "It's nearly time for bed, what are you doing–"

"Thanks!"

I dash outside, opening the bags till I find–

They're the same shade.

The exact same shade.

Which means Emery is the murderer.

Or, at least, an accomplice. But she could very well be the murderer.

You need more proof than this, I tell myself. I need to crack open that damn diary.

I pocket the lipstick. The only place I know that may contain a spellbook is the Academy's library. Guess that's where I should start.