The Book of Miranda | gxg | ✔︎

(10) The Staircase

I wrench the door open faster than Bloody Mary can shout boo. If a teacher sees me now, at least I can plead innocence and say I tracked the scream. I'm back at the staircase, then halfway down it when footsteps that aren't mine duplicate my own. I stop dead. Someone slams into me from behind, and we go down together in a tangle of panicked limbs. It's a miracle I don't scream. The person behind me spits sacrilegious curses. Then their voice jumps back up to a range I recognize.

"You!" gasps Exie. She shoves me away. "Get off me!"

I skid down several steps on my tailbone before catching myself. My legs shake as I scramble up again. "You're the one who ran into me."

"Keep going before the teachers find us!"

Teachers, not hall monitors. She's noticed it, too.

Of course she has. She's the one who duped Mrs. Hardwork into showing her this upper floor, then snuck back to investigate the rooms there. Exie secret-stairwell Quinnell is just as delinquent as I am if we actually tally up our respective infractions. She just masks it better.

She shoves me again. "Go! You'll get us both caught!"

"Don't push me if you don't have a light!"

She swears in reply. I'll take that as my victory. I face the darkness again, glad I didn't trip on the screamer while thundering down here like a one-woman herd of elephants. I'll admit it, I panicked. I resume my descent at a baby elephant's pace instead. We're almost at the bottom—by my absolutely unfounded estimate—when my foot lands on something soft. I leap back and crash into Exie. She swears again. My father would scrub my mouth with soap and horsetail for that one.

"Light," I say.

Exie fumbles in the darkness. Her shove from before might have my ass looking like plum stains for a week or two, but I can forgive the bruises if she brought fire-making implements with her. A strike on the wall confirms it. The match flares to life. Exie lights a stub of candle in a portable holder, then lifts it. Her eyes widen like she's seen a ghost.

I spin around.

Colson is sprawled on the staircase below me. He's motionless, limbs askew and eyes fixed on the ceiling above us. Fixed, but empty. I stepped on his face. He didn't make a sound. I drop to the stairs and press a shaky hand to his neck where his pulse should be. Only my own heartbeat throbs against my fingertips. There's no sign of injury on him—no blood, no weapons, no maimed limbs or missing appendages. He's just gone.

"Des!" gasps Exie. "They're coming! Go, go, down, run!"

In that moment, in her candle's frantic light, I see something else. Perched on Colson's chest is a paper dove. Or at least, I think it's a dove. Exie propels me over the body and down the stairs before I can get a better glimpse of it. She snuffs her candle as we flee. Hushed voices gather at the top of the staircase, where I mentally curse myself for leaving the door open. We need to get out of here.

I'm dearly glad now that I eschewed shoes for this nocturnal recon. Exie did, too. Both our steps fall silent as we forge back down the stairway like fugitives through a midnight swamp. My brain keeps telling me I've stepped on another body. The feeling is branded on my consciousness; the stairs remain firm, cold, and stone beneath my feet all the way to the lower doorway. My heart trips in my chest. This door had a secret mechanism on the other side. I fumble for its handle. It has none. My hands judder over the wood like spiders as the voices descend towards us, footsteps echoing, the march of soldiers approaching the gallows on which we now stand.

"Just push," hisses Exie.

I press a shoulder to the door and shove fiercely. It gives way—it's just heavy. We tumble through. I have the presence of mind to grab the door handle and ease it shut behind us before it slams. We're a long way from the nearest statue. Exie takes off along the wall instead, and I follow close behind her, glad I wore night camouflage. We reach the crossroads together and practically dive around the corner. Not a moment too soon. Behind us, hushed voices spill from the staircase into the hall outside.