The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious, #2)(64)

Stevie shook her head, indicating all was fine, even though all was not fine, and moved quickly along the line. She grabbed a portion of melon as a breakfast gesture so that no one would ask her why she wasn’t eating, and started the long walk back to the table.

She had not done anything wrong, she told herself as she looked up at the judgmental faces of the carved pumpkins that sat on the eaves above. She sat with David in his grief. Then she told him the truth. That was all.

Did she do it in a kind of mean way for no reason she could work out after he bared his soul?

Stop, she told herself. Just . . . stop. It’s fine. Just sit. It’s fine.

The space between her and the table loomed—stretching and shrinking. People turned and glanced up at her as she passed, some still with traces of their costumes of the night before present on their skin and hair. Glitter here, smudged eyes there, colors in their hair.

Stevie was about halfway back to the table when the cafeteria doors opened and a small crew of faculty came in, including Call Me Charles, Jenny Quinn, and Larry. There was the school nurse, the counselors, Pix, a few other teachers. They cleared a bit of space. They gave Stevie just enough cover to sit down next to Janelle and start shoving melon into her mouth.

Charles, today dressed in somber gray pants and a black shirt, stood up on one of the chairs. Jenny Quinn stood beside him, quietly surveying the room. She was also wearing gray and black—black crepe pants, low black shoes, and a massive, thick cardigan of gray wool that swept down to her knees. It was the kind of wild, magical thing that looked like it had come from one of Stevie’s Nordic Noir shows. She had pulled back her hair into a perfect bun that sat on the crown of her head like a doughnut. Her face was firmly set, and she ticked her gaze back and forth across the room like a scanner. She was looking for something, but what, Stevie had no idea.

“Everyone, everyone,” Charles said, holding up his arms. “Could I get some quiet for a minute?”

The cafeteria settled in a moment or so. Stevie turned to listen. She could feel David looking at the back of her head.

“As I think most of you know by now, we suffered a terrible loss. Last night, Element Walker was found. She was not, I hate to have to say, alive.”

The air-sucking quiet in the room said that everyone did know this, but hearing it was another thing entirely.

“I want to tell you what we know and what will happen next,” Charles went on. “It appears that Ellie suffered an accident and became trapped in a tunnel—a tunnel we did not know about, a tunnel that will immediately be surveyed and sealed. One building, Minerva House, was affected, so we will be working with Minerva residents on accommodations . . .”

He shifted a bit and put his hands in his pockets. Jenny’s attention was now pointed in the direction of the Minerva table.

“. . . the last few weeks have been a time of such sadness. What you need to know, what you must know, is that your safety, your health, your emotional well-being is what matters the most. We are going to be here for you. We’re going to have . . .”

“Counselors,” Nate mumbled under his breath. “You get a counselor and you get a counselor, and you get . . .”

Janelle reached over and took Nate’s hand and he stopped.

“. . . every available resource. Some of you may need some time to visit home. We’ll work to arrange that, if you need it. You can come and speak to any of us, at any time.”

Charles continued burbling about procedures and feelings. Stevie shoved another square of melon in her mouth and chewed it slowly. Her mind decided this was nowhere to be and took a little trip back to anatomy class. Dis means apart. So many dis words. Discover. Dismember. Distance.

All of it applied to her life.

Charles relinquished the chair. Order was returned, and the cafeteria began buzzing gently again, everyone conferring about what they had just heard.

“So is the school going to shut down or something?” Nate finally asked.

“We hope not.” This was from Jenny Quinn, who had approached their table. Though she had seen Dr. Quinn many times, or overheard her several, Stevie had never really been part of any face-to-face discussion with her. Dr. Quinn was one of Ellingham’s most formidable academics. She was on more committees and was a member of more institutes than she had fingers and toes. Think tanks courted her. Harvard still missed her and was waiting for her to call. She was second in command to Charles, which seemed unlikely, until you remembered that Charles was a guy. Even at Ellingham, the patriarchy reared its shaggy head. She was also the first person Stevie had ever seen who was clearly wearing fashion. Not just things that were cool. Things that had been on runways.

“Nathaniel,” she said. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Nate visibly gulped.

“Fine?”

Jenny’s eyes were still tracking, going from face to face. She glanced at Nate, glided over Janelle and Vi, paused a beat when she caught Stevie’s glance, and then landed on David. David got a hard, long look before she looped back around to Nate.

“If this causes problems with your book . . .” she said. “Just come to me.”

She did the track of the table again. Whatever Jenny Quinn had come over here for, it was not to see how Nate was doing in the worlds of feelings or dragons. She had some other agenda she had decided not to share, and that agenda had something to do with David, who was now looking down at his plate and stabbing at his food.