Dying Is The Easy Part

Chapter Four: January 4th

Quinn was at the lake again. They couldn't remember making the conscious decision to get up and leave their room; they'd just gone, following the call of the water, and found their feet carrying them into the woods.

Somehow, they could never stay away for too long. Rhia was always close to the earth and the trees and Valerie could conjure a fire within seconds, but Quinn's source of magick was different. They couldn't produce it themself, and the water that ran from faucets or rained from the sky didn't seem to be enough. No matter how much they tried to resist it, some part of them needed this: an expanse of water untouched by men, a sparkling mirror that, moments before dawn, belonged to no one but them.

Upon their arrival, it rippled gently in greeting; when they sat down near the water, it whispered Come closer.

Quinn hated it. The way it calmed them. The way it frightened them. The way it dragged their magick to the surface and made them ache.

The water loved them all the same.

It was six in the morning by now. Earlier, they'd managed to doze for all of eighty—ninety?—minutes before the sound of footsteps and bickering voices in the corridor had woken them.

They were children's voices.

There were no children in the dorms.

Quinn had pulled on a heavy woolen sweater and their shoes and left the campus behind without looking up from their feet even once.

Now they were sitting where they always sat, their knees drawn to their chest, their breath forming clouds in the crisp night air. They felt chilled from the inside out, probably more from the lack of sleep than the temperature. Their eyes itched. Their head felt so heavy.

Maybe, Quinn dimly thought, they could fall asleep here. No one ever came to the lake at this time—the morning joggers and people walking their dogs didn't stray this far off the path. Another voice in their head (it sounded a little bit like Valerie, or maybe their mom) argued that it was stupid. It was cold. They were vulnerable, alone in the woods with absolutely no one near. They should just wait until Valerie was back and take a nap between classes. With her in the room and in the daylight, they might even get two hours in. It would be a record in terms of uninterrupted sleep—real sleep, not just dozing fitfully and startling wide awake at every little noise. Quinn couldn't remember the last time they'd dreamed.

They were ripped out of their thoughts by a loud snapping in the underbrush. They turned to squint into the dark woodwork, jumping when it sounded again: a loud rustling, faint at first but quickly getting louder.

With their heart beating in their throat, they sat paralyzed, eyes fixed on the dark tree line—until a wheezing sound made their shoulders sag in relief.

Quinn wasn't sure what abilities ghosts had, but breathing didn't seem like one of them.

Sure enough, the trees soon gave way to a cursing, puffing Deloris Greenbrook. Rhia's grandmother wore a long green dress and a heavy brown jacket that blended in with the trees. Unlike Quinn, who hadn't stopped to grab anything other than their sweater, she was bundled up in a knit scarf and thick mittens; her natural hair was hidden beneath a woolen cap that she had pulled down over her ears.

In Quinn's sleep-deprived state, there was something incredibly surreal about seeing the old woman stomping towards them with a basket in her hand and a look of exasperation etched into her wrinkly features, as if Quinn had personally called her to tell her to get out of bed and come here.

"Tea?" was the first thing she asked, sitting down heavily next to Quinn in the damp grass. She didn't pretend to be surprised to see them; in fact, she had probably known she'd find them here before they'd even decided to go.