The Book of Miranda | gxg | ✔︎

(19) Hymns With Wings

When I slip on my skirt the next morning, I am pleased to find that yesterday-Des already had the hang of this whole school-survival thing. There are matches in my pockets. I put them there yesterday, I'm pretty sure; I have indistinct memories of stocking up before Exie and I snuck out to scrutinize willow trees, though sleep deprivation fogs those recollections whenever I try to retrieve them. I hope we took at least a moment to watch the stars.

It was cloudy out. There were no stars.

I heave a deep sigh and flop back on my bed. The sun is up and the sparrows have set about their morning symphony, but Clarice is still dead to the world. I'm possessed by the urge to prod her awake just to check that it's still her at home in there, and not some creepy replica with Colson II energy. That experience in the stairwell hasn't stopped wearing on me.

"Clarice?" I whisper.

She doesn't move. I lean across and poke her. She startles awake, blinks sleepily, and gives me a look far too innocent for what I know of her and her daytime activities.

"Is something the matter?" she says.

"No. Just checking."

Clarice doesn't reply as I retreat to my bed again and pull my knees up, hugging them. There's a protracted silence. Then Clarice moves to her main suitcase—she's somehow acquired a second bag since we arrived here—and begins digging around. The unwavering normalcy of her movements reassure the part of me that still jettisons all rationality when remanded of that night.

Clarice turns to me again, hand extended. "Here."

I blink back into focus and stare blankly at her. There's something thin and silver twined about her fingers. I offer my hand, and she drops it in my palm. It's a necklace. I have never been able to stand jewelry. When I uncurl my fingers, though, my hand stills. It's a cross. A little silver one like Exie wears. I furrow my brow at Clarice. "Where did you get this?"

"It was my father's."

I note the past tense. "I'm not taking a family heirloom."

"Oh no, it's not that. He got it when he started to believe a demon had possessed me. He got quite upset when it disappeared. I enjoyed watching."

It strikes me in that moment that if there are students in this place with a good relationship to their parents, I could probably count them on the fingers of one hand. I wonder how many tragedies there are among their stories. I'm sure even me and Exie's are comparatively tame.

"Anyway, you can have it," says Clarice. "It would make me happy if you took down an actual demon while wearing it."

It takes me a moment to process the implication there. "I doubt we'll end up taking down any demons here."

"Then I hope it protects you. Please?"

She's asking me to take the necklace. I accept it with a diffident hand and fasten it about my neck, taking care not to flinch as the cold metal slithers over my skin. I drop the cross beneath my shirt. My brain takes a moment to tell me that me and Exie match now. It sounds altogether too pleased about that, so I chuck a mental pillow at it and nearly bungle a thanks for Clarice as she returns to her bags again. There something like relief in her expression. I wonder if I have any artifacts from my parents that I could find that kind of closure for. For all their meddling in my life, though, I have remarkably few of their possessions. Both here and in general. I've been too good at ridding myself of those in private when my mother's not looking.

Clarice and I both prep for the day in silence. My mind is occupied enough that it takes her voice to draw me back to reality again.

"The bell hasn't rung," she says.