“Yeah,” she said. “Ten. I’ll be there.”

“Right then. Good night. I’ll see your stuff is delivered.”

Stevie walked toward Minerva House. The air was biting and cold, her footsteps loud and crisp on the stone pathways. Overhead, the trees made an unbroken canopy that blocked out the moon. She tightened her arms around herself as her head swam a bit. Anxiety again, percolating. So much of anxiety was anxiety about having anxiety. Would it come tonight? Would it suddenly wrap its fingers around her neck and warp the world, now, at the moment when she should be happiest? Would the universe crunch itself into a ball and ping itself right between her eyes?

There was a pleasant smell of wood smoke. There was a fire somewhere. The smell should have warmed her and made her happy, but it reminded her how far this place was, and different, and how much had been loaded on her today. She stopped and took a long breath through the nose and held it. Long exhale through the mouth in a steady plume of frost. She had been doing her breathing exercises every night for half an hour, religiously. They helped her take back some control, helped her body complete the cycle and reset itself. After a minute or so of this, the wood smoke became pleasant again. Or, at least, not as scary. She was going home, to her friends, to the place she loved. There was nothing to be frightened of.

She continued down the path. The tree cover was breaking, and there was a building ahead of her. In the dark, the tower on the end loomed a bit, and the Virginia creeper looked a bit creepier than in the daytime. The blue door was just as welcoming, and there were lights on in the common room and Janelle’s room. Upstairs, all the lights were off but one on the end. Nate’s room. Stevie reached to her pocket for her pass to tap herself in before she remembered that she no longer had one. She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. She was about to go over to Janelle’s window, when the door opened.

“Stevie!”

Pix—Dr. Nell Pixwell, the faculty resident of Minerva—was wrapped in a massive plaid flannel robe. She had allowed her shaved head to grow to the point where there was a faint brown fuzz showing—a winter cut, for warmth. She raised her arms in the air in a cheerful greeting.

“I only got the call an hour ago! I’m so glad, I’m so glad. We missed you so much. Get in here!”

The common room of Minerva was swelteringly warm. There was a fire crackling away in the fireplace, where two smiling pumpkins stood at attention at either end of the mantelpiece. The moose head over the fireplace had been decorated in orange and black winking lights. Enough time had passed since she left that they had started preparing for Halloween.

“Janelle probably has her headphones on or she would have already come out,” Pix said. “She’s going to faint from shock. Go on. Go say hello.”

Stevie walked slowly to the hallway where the downstairs rooms were and knocked on Janelle’s door. When there was no reply, she knocked louder. After a moment, Janelle appeared in blue flannel pajamas covered in pictures of cat heads, and her crafting tool belt at her waist—a handmade blue canvas wraparound with deep pockets full of wire cutters and a variety of tools Stevie could not identify. She had put her hair up in two bunches, and her headphones were around her neck, still playing music loudly. She stood in her doorway for a moment, unmoving. Then . . .

“Ohmygodwhatishappeningwhydidn’tyoutellmewhendidthishappenohmygod.”

Stevie was wrapped in a massive hug that smelled of orange blossom perfume, coconut oil, pumpkin, and a tiny bit of industrial solvent.

“How, how . . .” Janelle stepped back and felt Stevie by her shoulders to take a good look at her. “How . . .”

“It happened fast,” Stevie said. “Like, today fast. They changed their minds.”

“What? WHAT. Oh my God. . . .”

In the next moment, she had Stevie by the wrist and was pulling her along to the tight circular stairs at the end of the hall. Stevie had a moment of remembrance here—on the day she arrived at Ellingham Academy, the first person she met in Minerva was Hayes Major. He recruited her into carrying his stuff up these cramped, twisting steps. She had been profusely sweating, and he looked so cool and crisp. He kept talking about phone calls he was getting or making to people in LA. And Stevie had no idea why he was telling her about his phone calls because she had not asked and did not care. But that was Hayes all over. All talk about his movie deal and how popular he was, getting people to do his work.

These stairs would always make her think of Hayes.

When Janelle and Stevie knocked on Nate’s upstairs door, all was quiet for a moment. Janelle knocked louder, and eventually the door creaked open.

Nate had pushed all the furniture and all of his belongings up against the walls. His desk chair was upside down on his desk, the bed tipped up to make floor space. On the wooden floor, there was some kind of pattern, a spidery form of blobs and lines made from carefully sliced black masking tape. Nate sat in the center of the web, dressed in faded blue flannel pajama bottoms and a saggy green T-shirt that said I’M HERE BECAUSE MY GRANDKIDS AREN’T GOING TO SPOIL THEMSELVES. His room smelled of a spicy clove supermarket air freshener and a general, light boy stink. It was a warm, strangely welcoming smell.

“Look,” Janelle said, pointing to Stevie. “Look. Look! Look.”

Nate blinked at Stevie, then slowly unfolded his long frame from the ground. His hair had not been cut since his arrival at school, so it was hanging low over his forehead and scraping his neck. He was a few hours behind on a shave, and he scratched at the shadow along his chin. Nate had the same expression Stevie had come to love—vaguely annoyed by everything, except maybe Stevie and Janelle. But for sure everything else.

“Is this a trick?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Not a trick, not a trick,” Janelle said. “She just showed up.”

“Poof,” Stevie added.

“And . . . you’re back?”

“From outer space,” Stevie said.

“What’s it like out there?”

“You don’t want to know,” Stevie replied.

“Nate, she is back—what are you doing?” Janelle said. “She’s back!”

Janelle bounced on the balls of her feet a bit.

“I’m hugging you with my mind,” he replied.

“I’m awkwardly accepting your hug in my mind,” Stevie said. “And what are you doing?”

She pointed to the tape creation on the floor.

“Writing,” he replied.

“With tape? On the floor?”

“It’s a map,” he said, gazing around.

“Of Moonbright?”

“No.”

It was best not to make further inquiries.

Stevie looked down the dark hall to David’s room. There was no light coming from under the door, and no sound at all.

“He’s not home,” Nate said. “Or, I don’t know. Maybe he is. I wouldn’t bother.”

“Come on,” Janelle said. “Let’s get her stuff in.”

As Janelle headed for the stairs, Nate slipped Stevie one of his rare smiles.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

Stevie’s mind flickered back to Edward King and her promise not to speak. It would not help her. It wouldn’t help anyone.

“Magic happens,” she said.

Stevie’s sad pile of belongings had turned up in the common room. Pix gave Stevie the key to her room. As she unlocked the door, Stevie was at first shocked by the dark and the cold of this once-familiar space. When she switched on the light, she heard a moth start bumping confusedly against the shade. The walls were bare, the drawers still half-open from when she had dumped the contents so sadly and unceremoniously the other week. The closet door was half-open as well. It looked like exactly what it was—the scene of a person leaving in a hurry, tears in her eyes.

Between the three of them, they made short work of getting the boxes and bags inside. Stevie opened a garbage bag full of clothes and dumped them out, which made Janelle recoil and run for hangers and a fabric steamer. Nate unpacked her books—something Stevie would never have allowed anyone else to do. Tonight was special, though, and Nate was careful with them, putting them into sensible stacks by genre and type.

“So,” Stevie said, testing the waters again. “Where’s David? You made it seem like he’s out, or something?”

Janelle paused, her hand in the pile of Stevie’s crumpled sheets. She and Nate shared a look.

“Oh, he’s here,” Janelle said.

She let that remark hang in the air for a second.

“Okay?” Stevie said, looking at the two of them. “What does that mean?”

“She means,” Nate said, turning away from the books, “that David has gone full weird.”

“He was always that way,” Janelle said in a low voice.

“Yeah, but now he’s completed his journey. Our little caterpillar has turned into a freaky butterfly.”

“Tell her about the screaming,” Janelle said. “Because I can’t.”