The Book of Miranda | gxg | ✔︎

(18) Willow Witches

I rap a knuckle on Exie's door at moonrise. Actually just after moonrise, but given that my brain doesn't like time with natural measurements any more than time on clocks, I resign myself to being tardy. It doesn't matter anyway. When Exie has unhooked all her traps and tripwires and actually opened the door, I find a rucksack sitting in the middle of her bed, orbited by enough debris to constitute a solar system. She's nowhere near packed.

I eye the bag with a raised eyebrow. "We're not hiking the silk road."

Exie gives me a look, then turns her back on me with a dignified huff. "I just want to be prepared."

A pocketknife and a fistful of matches are enough preparation for me, though I'd settle for a rope if I'd had room to pack any. My parents weren't exactly encouraging nightly escapades when they gave me the smallest suitcase in the house. That was probably on purpose.

I fall back on the room's spare mattress and wait for Exie to finish fussing over what she will or won't prepare for. To her credit, she does have rope. I can overlook the pocket mirror, suspiciously shaped box, and half-dozen little glass bottles—three corked, three empty—for that. It's been half an hour by my absolutely unfounded estimate when she hefts the bag over her shoulder at last. "Ready."

"Did you get divine fire and holy water in there, too?"

Exie frowns. "I already said I don't like burning people."

"That was sarcasm."

"Oh." She pauses. "Were you joking before, too?"

"About what?"

"Burning down the school."

"Good question," I say, and head for the door before she can interrogate that non-answer. To be honest, I don't know, either. Melliford Academy could use a purging. As for whether I could genuinely be the one to light the first match, well, I hope I never have cause to find out.

The hallway outside is, as ever at this hour, empty as a midnight graveyard. Exie and I make it to the crossroads before a dorm door clicks. We dive around the corner. A student tiptoes out and makes tracks for the bathroom, hugging herself like the darkness will attempt to lick her elbows. I remember to breathe.

It's not until we reach the school's vestibule that I think to ponder whether its doors are even open. But worrying early just means worrying twice, so I approach them with only a check for lurking teachers, put both hands against the wood, and push. Nothing happens.

"They're locked," whispers Exie.

"I noticed," I grumble.

"No, look. It's inside."

I lift my gaze. My eyes have adjusted, and moonlight leaking through the lobby's stained-glass wallpaper is enough to make out the aspiring tree-trunk that spans a pair of metal brackets mounted on each door. I stick both hands beneath it and give an experimental lift. I've paid dignity tax on smaller things.

"Here," says Exie at my shoulder. My heart tap-dances, and not just because she startled me. Her shoulder brushes mine as she slips her hands beneath the bar, our fingers almost touching. "Lift together."

I lift immediately, realize I did so alone, and drop the bar in panic just as Exie makes her own attempt. She sighs. "On a count of three."

She counts, and this time we manage to coordinate. The bar could clobber a charging bull if wielded by someone less muscularly challenged than I am. Exie begins to crouch with it, and it slips in my hands.

"Careful!" I gasp.

"Set it down."

"Don't drop it!"