Clapping a palm over my mouth to stifle a scream, I stumble backward before realizing the voice belongs to Sunny—that the phrase is from the movie Casablanca.
I trip over Diable, who’s hissing at my heels, and plummet into the stack of petals and thorns. Little droplets of blood ooze through my sweater sleeves at my elbows where I catch myself. The sting from the punctures clears my head enough to recognize the “Phantom” is a life-size 3-D cutout from the movie.
Jax curses and shoves aside the cardboard outline. Quan and Audrey rush into the room behind Sunny, and Diable darts between their legs to make his escape.
“Bless your heart!” Sunny helps Jax lift me out of the mire of vicious potpourri. “Quan, go fetch some bandages.”
Rolling his eyes, Quan steps out again.
“What’s he in a grind about?” Sunny asks no one in particular as she helps me straighten my clothes.
“Probably that we all told you it was a stupid idea to wave that thing in her face,” Jax scolds as he and Audrey pluck stems from my now crimson-dotted sweater.
Sunny sighs. “I was hoping to impress you with my resourcefulness, Rune. Last night you said you wanted your own Angel of Music to help with your songs. Remember? I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.” She hands me a bag filled with Halloween candy that fits the Red Death motif. Her mournful expression looks like a fairy who misplaced her wings.
I force a grin. “It’s all right.” The truth lumps in my throat: that I managed to find the real angel of music all on my own. “I’ve had a weird day. Otherwise, I would’ve been impressed. He’s actually pretty hot.” I gesture to the phantom’s back, a flat brown-paper shadow on the floor, although he holds no candle to the real man I met earlier. There was an undeniable sensuality and grace in every move he made.
“Darn right he is.” Sunny nods at her cardboard boyfriend. “So, about this weird day . . . do we get deets?” She drags her boot’s toe through the petals. “Let’s start with the roses. Are you making a rug?”
“Maybe that’s how they garden in Texas,” Jax teases. “Bringing the great outdoors indoors. Kind of like Bouchard does, with her hobby.” He grins at me, releasing my arm and dropping the last stem to the floor.
I smirk conspiratorially—a fa?ade to hide my jittery insides.
“Where’d you find these?” Audrey interrupts, her soft voice barely audible as she picks up a two-toned petal. “I’ve never seen any roses like this in the garden here.”
Before I can fabricate a response, Sunny’s blurting another question. “What happened to your clothes?” She’s halfway over to the muddy dress and tank top in the corner. I’m fidgeting—worried she’ll find my bloody shirt—when she pauses beside my bed. “Oh my gosh, your uniforms! What happened to them?”
My brain spins like a top over all the questions flung my way.
“Sunny’s a little amped up. We let her have too many espressos on the outing.” Jax mimes taking a drink.
Sunny scowls at him over her shoulder, lifting up a stocking. “Shut your pie hole, Jax. If that were true, I’d have the backdoor trots. Caffeine tears up my tummy.” Eyes narrowed, she turns to me. “We all know who did this. If it weren’t for our pact with Tomlin, she’d get expelled for sure. Then Audrey would have Renata cinched tight.”
Audrey paces over to my chaise lounge and sits down, a strange expression on her face. “Did you any find proof it was Kat?” Her question is directed to me, but her smoky-eyed gaze bounces between the rose petal in her hand and the stocking flapping out of the top of Sunny’s fist.
“Who else is devious enough to do it?” Sunny retorts.
Jax snaps his fingers. “I got it. It’s Jippetto. Pretty sure he secretly wants to be in the spotlight.”
Quan chuckles from the doorway. “Well, there’s a week’s worth of nightmares. Old Jip in a ball gown on stage, twittering soprano with his bird whistle while his mannequins dance in tutus around him.” He lifts to his tiptoes and pretends to dance ballet.
It’s a disturbing image. I know firsthand after the closet scare that Jippetto’s mannequins are old-world and exquisite—made of soft white pine and painted to realistic perfection. Jax and Quan, along with some of the other senior guys, once spied on the old man in his forest cottage and swear he has a shed filled with naked pieces of the eerily lifelike figures—arms, legs, torsos with red hearts imbedded in their white chests, and heads—caked in spider webs.
Strangest of all, he had three completed, fully dressed mannequins—the ones that often accompany him around the school—posed inside his house around the kitchen table. He sat having tea with them, as if he believed they were real. The idea is unsettling, but more than that, sad. He must be so lonely out there.