Part 31 (1/2)

”I found it.”

Pus.h.i.+ng a volume of old admissions tests back onto the shelf, I jumped off of a step stool and ran over to him. Noah was trying to extricate a thick book from its neighbors. Giving the book a firm tug, he stumbled back, and it fell to the floor with a thud.

We set the book on a windowsill and flipped through it. The paper was thick and brittle, the words written in a small, slanted hand. Each page contained nothing but a long list of names and their corresponding room numbers. And it went on for hundreds of pages. No wonder no one came up to this section of the library.

And then we found it. The year 1732, the same year that dated the letter in my pocket. Using my finger, I scanned the list until I found it: Hart, Ophelia. Room 22.

”Room 22. Do you know where that is?” Noah asked.

It was on my floor. Closing my eyes, I mentally counted off the doors, starting at the stairway and working down, down, down...and then I stopped. It couldn't be.

I counted again, this time from the other direction, but I was right the first time. ”Yes,” I said, opening my eyes. Noah was bent over the book next to me, his face inches from mine.

”Who has that room?”

”No one,” I said, amazed that I hadn't realized it earlier. Anya's room was number 21. And Arielle's room was 23. The room in between them was Ophelia's. I must have pa.s.sed it dozens of times this year without giving it a second glance. Except I never knew it had been a room. ”It's a broom closet.”

Just to make sure, I flipped ahead to the next year and found her name. And then to the next year. Ophelia had lived in the same room for the entirety of her stay at St. Clement.

But strangely, in the years that followed, room 22 wasn't listed at all.

”She was the last one to live there,” I said, turning to Noah.

As if reading my thoughts, he said softly, ”We found it, then.”

Picking up our things, we hurried down the stairs and through the double doors into the cold February night.

The warm lighting and rose wallpaper of the girls' dormitory greeted us as we burst through the doors. We quickly composed ourselves when we noticed a group of girls staring. Once upstairs, I peeked around the corner to make sure the hallway was free of Clementine and her friends. And after waiting for a girl to disappear into her room, Noah and I slipped through the corridors until we were standing in front of Anya's room, number 21.

Just beside it was the broom closet.

I had been right. Beneath the thick layers of paint that coated the door, I could barely make out the raised metal of the number 22. Noah ran his fingers across it. ”Amazing,” he said. ”I never would have noticed this.”

The paint was so thick that it filled the seams between the door and the k.n.o.b, sealing it shut. Still, he tried the k.n.o.b. It wouldn't turn. After watching him try it a few more times, and giving it a series of firm, frustrated pushes that made more noise than I would have liked, I grabbed his arm.

”It isn't moving,” I said. ”The only way would be to break down the door, which would probably arouse some suspicion.”

Noah wiped his brow, looking dejected for the first time today. ”So now what?”

I bit my lip, trying to think of some solution, but I was all out of ideas. The room had obviously been sealed on purpose, which meant that someone didn't want anyone getting in here.

From somewhere behind us, I heard the m.u.f.fled sound of things clattering to the floor. Noah and I exchanged puzzled looks and turned around. It had come from Anya's room. Beyond the walls I could hear her cursing at something in Russian.

Abandoning the broom closet, I knocked on her door. Something shuffled inside, then stopped. The door cracked open, and one large eye peered out at me, its lashes thick with mascara.

”Oh, Renee!” Anya said.

”You're okay,” I said, relieved.

”I got them to tell me their names and where they lived,” Anya said proudly. ”I think one of them might have even liked me-” but she cut herself off when she saw Noah behind me.

”Can we come in?” he said. ”We need to use your bathroom.”

Dozens of candles were lit about her room, making the atmosphere hazy. Noah tripped over a box of incense and knocked a set of metal charms as he steadied himself on the bedpost. They clinked together like chimes.

”What do you need the bathroom for?” Anya asked, picking up a pile of dirty clothes.

”Ophelia Hart hid the first part of the riddle in her dorm room-” I began to say, when I noticed that Anya's closet door was ajar. A worn wooden handle was sticking out from between her clothes.

”What is that?” I said, gazing at the handle, and then at Anya.

Her face seemed to grow pale. ”Just a broom,” she said quickly, and ran to shut the closet door, but I made it there first. Gasping the handle, I pulled it out of her closet, knocking the hangers from the rod.

”This is my shovel,” I said, and turned it around to inspect its rusty head. Baffled, I turned to Anya. ”Did you take this from my room? Did you go through my things?”

Anya backed against the wall as I held the shovel up, not even realizing I was shaking it at her. ”Did you-did you put that parsnip beneath my radiator?”

”It was for your own good!” Anya said quickly, staring at the tip of my shovel as it hovered inches from her face. ”If you put one beneath your window, they're supposed to keep the Undead away. I accidentally knocked your water jug over on my way out,” she admitted. ”And it's bad luck to use a shovel that belonged to someone whose soul was taken. I couldn't let you use your mother's shovel, but I knew you wouldn't believe me if I told you, so while I was there, I took it.”

I felt my mouth move as I tried to form words that would express how equally disturbed and relieved I was to discover that Anya had been the one who broke into my room.

”You're angry,” Anya said, fidgeting with the end of her braid. ”I know. I shouldn't have lied to you-”

Before she could finish, I jumped toward her and gave her a hug, her bony shoulders relaxing beneath my grip. ”Thank you,” I said, giving her an understanding smile as I stepped back. ”But please don't ever do that to me again.”

”I won't,” Anya said. She began to twist one of her earrings. ”There's one more thing.”

My smile faded.

”I never told you my fortune.”

Slowly, I lowered the shovel and waited for her to continue.

”For my past, Zinya told me that I had thought myself worthless because I never had any Monitoring talent. For my present, she said that I was developing a new rare skill that a friend would bring out in me.”

”You're a Whisperer,” I murmured.

Anya nodded, but didn't meet my eyes. Her face grew somber.

”And your future?” I asked. ”What did she say about that?”

Anya fidgeted with her fingernails, unwilling to meet my gaze. ”That I was going to lose that friend.”

I lowered the head of the shovel to the ground. ”But -what?”

Her words hung in the air between us as I stood there, unable to move. ”Did she mean me?”

Anya's eyes drooped. ”I don't have any other friends.”

”But it can't mean that,” I said. ”Zinya told me that I would meet life and death at the end of my search.” And then it dawned on me: maybe I would die, and Dante would live. ”Maybe she meant that I would just go away,” I said. ”Lose doesn't necessarily mean death.”