Going to the lab wasn’t something constantly on Jane’s mind. In fact, whenever she thought about it, she immediately wanted to stop thinking.

  And she did. That was how she ended up running.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” Jane said. The breath was suppressed inside her throat before it could turn loud.

  Ms.Kelsey didn’t say anything. She was looking down at a folder. By her feet sat a big travelling bag. It wasn’t hard to guess that she had just returned from somewhere; there was the smell of dust and wind on her jacket, and a tiredness settled in her blank expression.

  “Sit here,” Ms.Kelsey replied. Her eyes stayed fixed on the paper. Under the harsh light, the wrinkles between her eyebrows became more prevalent.

  She kept reading, closing the pile of paper just as Jane took her seat.

  “How are you feeling recently?” Ms.Kelsey asked, a professional face returned when she looked at Jane.

  “I’m doing well. Mentally and physically,” Jane added, realizing how short the first answer was.

  “Do you see any side effects from the pills?” Ms.Kelsey asked again. Her pen had already clicked.

  Jane didn’t answer right away, afraid she might give them more than she intended to.

  There were three different kinds of pills, and to each of which she had different experiences.

  She looked at Ms.Kelsey with a puzzled expression, hoping she would elaborate, but Ms.Kelsey stayed silent, patiently waiting for Jane’s answer.

  “No, I don’t.” She gave up. What’s the point of lying anyway? “The first few times I ate them, I had some… reactions, but they eventually went away.”

  “Be more specific.” Ms. Kelsy put her pen down. “What were those reactions? And how long did it take you to get used to the pills?”

  “The iron pills are fine. I only had a slight stomachache when I first started them. The other… uhm,” she hesitated, not knowing the professional name for it, “the one that changes my blood taste. That one gave me a hard time. The symptoms were very similar to one of my low blood pressure episodes. Vomiting, sweating. All the bad combo.”

  Honestly, that was what Jane thought was happening at the time—a bad episode. She was crying, throwing up while sitting on the toilet, promising she would eat more.

  “Did you faint? Or did you experience a drop in temperature?”

  “I did. My hands and feet turned cold and numb, but I didn’t faint.” They were the color of corpses, blending in with the white bathroom tiles as she crawled across the floor.

  But it had all passed, and there was no need to make the situation sound more serious than it was: “It’s better now. I only get a slight stomachache, which goes away after I sit on the toilet for a bit.”

  Ms.Kelsey’s mouth parted, and she let out a quiet sigh before pressing her lips together: “Inform me, or Elly, the next time something like this happens.”

  “Yes,” Jane replied, her eyes darting briefly to the ground while she bit her lips. Guilty. She didn’t mean to hide; she was scared they would take the pills away.

  But Ms.Kelsey didn’t. She even gave Jane more pills, ones that supposedly had fewer side effects.

  Ms.Kelsey let her go shortly aftertaking her blood, saliva, and everything else required. Jane’s folder was getting thicker and thicker by the day.

  If only she could get a peek at what was written inside. Jane thought as her feet glided across the campus pathways.

  Could she do it like in the movies? Broke into the lab at night, rifling through the cabinets, when suddenly flashlights’ beams swept through the windows.

  Jane shook her head with a small smile. “You’re a coward.”

  She wouldn’t be able to handle the adrenaline. Or maybe she could; she had cheated on tests before, but she never enjoyed the cold sweat and the constant fear of getting caught.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The imaginative heist entertained her enough on the walk back to the dorm.

  Jane sat in her chair, half her upper body draped over the desk, using her left arm as a column to support her head.

  Creating an outline was turning out to be much harder than it sounded. At this point, Jane almost wished she had chosen the other roles. The original story was too short, and she needed to add so much more in order to stretch it to an hour-long play.

  She moved her pen, her forehead resting against her hand.

  Start from the beginning. The meeting between the magician and the princess.

  A young, handsome magician met a princess while wandering in the royal garden. They fell in love. Then the King hosted a massive competition to find the princess a husband. The magician entered, won the thing. They could do some easy sword-fighting choreography to represent this.

  But then that wouldn’t justify the part where the King objected to the winner of a competition he himself had organized!

  Her nails scratched across her temple, tracing an arched line over her eyebrow, searching for the dried patch of irritated skin. Nothing. Her hand slid to the back of her neck; it was freezing, like splashing cold water on the face in the middle of summer.

  Alright, again.

  A young, handsome magician fell in love with the princess when he wandered into the royal garden, and she was hiding from her suitors.

  Basic, but she couldn’t think of anything better, and her free time was running out.

  So, they secretly fell in love, got caught, and were rejected by the King. From there, the magician began his journey into the Tenth Aethyr to gain the power he needed.

  If the first act was a matter of imagination, the second act required real knowledge. How could she stage his journey, his encounter with the demon, the deal they made, and such.

  Jane let herself fall backward onto the bed. Her hair bounced once before landing all across her face.

  The bed here was softer than the one at home. A soft bed, though heavenly at first touch, became mundane and achy when in contact for too long. Maybe that contributed to her sleepless nights.

  Her mom used to say harder beds were better for the back. She was right. What is she doing right now? Jane wondered. Is she mad that I never call?

  Jane moved the hair out of the way and closed her eyes. Her head was a mess, split between scripting the second act and figuring out when to call her mother.

  She forced herself up, placed the diary into her backpack, and got ready.

  The sun had set. Nighttime had begun.

  ***

  The first lesson belonged to a nice teacher whose name Jane still didn’t remember. That was what happened when the teacher was too nice; they left no impact.

  Jane pulled the diary out and pressed it open on the desk. She kept her face angled toward the front of the room, her head slightly lowered, allowing her eyes to scan her surroundings without looking suspicious.

  She hadn’t thought it through when she decided to bring the book to class. Her intention was simple: she wanted to be productive, which wasn’t something admired by the students here.

  No one openly picked fights with the weird kids, but the truth always slipped out in daylight. Like that time she walked past a group laughing at a few students who were reading books and having a small picnic near the benches.

  Were they weird? Yes. Would she ever join them? Never. Would she make fun of them behind their backs? No.

  Still, she couldn’t be caught dead reading Lucien’s diary. Who would be bored enough to care about the founder of this school?

  Her, apparently. And if she had taken the risk, she’d better find something usable before the bell rang.

  Jane dug into the text. Her goal was clear; she wanted to find a ritual in this book, one that could be performed on stage.

  This goal, however, was not easy. Another teacher had entered, another page had been left empty in Jane’s notebook, and she still hadn’t found what she needed.

  Frustrated, Jane lifted her head, resting her hot cheek against her palm. From her peripheral vision, she noticed Rose looking in her direction.

  “Are you working on the play?” Rose asked.

  Right. Rose had joined too. Jane hadn’t figured out a character that would fit her yet, but maybe she could add a Queen to stand beside the King during the rejection scene.

  “Yeah. I’m trying to write it, but I can’t find a ritual to put in the script,” Jane whispered back.

  “You won’t find one in that diary,” Rose said.

  “You have read it?” Jane looked at her in surprise.

  “No, I haven’t. But I have seen you flip through the pages.” Rose smiled, her hand reached out to fix a loose strand of hair behind Jane’s ears. “You don’t have to be accurate. No one would care…”

  Rose's words slowly blurred into background noise as an idea struck Jane. She was right! Couldn't find a ritual? Fine, skipped it, no one wanted to see that anyway. The second act could just be a visual metaphor. Climbing a mountain, crossing a river, and then entering the Abyss. The stage crew could turn off all the lights, leaving only tiny dots shining like galaxies...

  “... it’s not the main event anyway.”

  “What?” Jane looked up, snapping out of her daydream. The sentence was familiar, delivered in the same voice, the same tone.

  “Yeah, the main event is the next day,” Amelia repeated. She had overheard their conversation, and as a member of the play, she had waited long enough to speak up.

  Jane froze in her chair.

  Everybody knows the main event starts at 12. The ball, the hunt, Ryan.

  If the first day wasn’t the main event, then what did they do on the second day?