Page 45 of A Mastery of Monsters

Corey opens the door to McIntosh Castle and frowns at my outfit.

She insisted on a theme of Victorian nightclothes for our sleepover.

She has on a long white dressing gown that’s somewhat sheer, exposing the shorter white dress underneath.

She’s also holding a gold candelabra that, while a prop, is probably also something that casually exists in her home.

I’m wearing the matching pair of Queen’s sweatpants and sweatshirt that Bailey got me.

The spirit wear was a bit much, but they’re super comfortable, so here I am.

“You couldn’t have at least tried?” Corey asks.

“What if I told you I was filled with deep malaise?”

She examines me for a moment and then nods. “That does help. Come on, we’re in my room.”

I look at the other spaces on the main floor, several of which have their doors shut.

Which maybe I could ignore if I weren’t aware that they’re talking about me in there.

It’s only hours after I made the first cut, and this was Corey’s idea of a celebration, and at the same time, Henry organized a meeting to figure out next steps.

I assume the fact that one of the professors may or may not have it out for me will come up.

Only Bachelors and Masters are allowed, meaning I can’t even attend the meeting that’s about me.

“Margot will update us later,” Corey says, following my gaze. “If it helps, it’s not just about you. They’re going to discuss the election, too. Let’s go.”

Feet trailing, I follow her upstairs. For some reason, the second-floor hallway has carpet instead of hardwood like everywhere else. And it’s only the hall. As if they couldn’t be bothered with consistency. Corey leads me into the first bedroom on the right.

It’s maybe double the size of my dorm room with a strange triangular shape and high ceilings with a small skylight.

The double-door closet is flung open to expose a wardrobe that mostly consists of neutral tones, and an old wooden vanity on the wall beside it with a bunch of books and skin care stuff on it.

Corey’s bed is a simple wood frame with plain white linens, though it does have what looks like a hand-knit blanket.

The desk on the other side of the room is littered with papers both underneath and on top of a bronze MacBook.

And of course, there are a bunch of bookshelves.

For the purposes of the sleepover, there’s an array of pillows and blankets on the floor arranged around a massive wooden slab loaded with charcuterie beside a bottle of wine and some carefully placed glasses.

There’s also a projector screen on the wall playing a lo-fi video of a woman in a Victorian nightgown walking through hallways to piano music.

No one can say the girl doesn’t stick to a theme.

I make myself comfortable on the floor while Corey shouts at Virgil to come over. He leaves a bedroom across the hall.

Virgil has no qualms about the theme, because he’s in his own white dress, though this one has buttons that go all the way down. This man even has a little Scrooge sleeping hat.

I look from Virgil to Corey. “Why do you have these outfits? You do know you gave me like an hour to fit this theme as if I just own this stuff.”

Corey tilts her head. “You don’t have costumes lying around? We’ve done a bunch of fancy dress gatherings. Victorian era—”

“Pirate themes,” Virgil says. “Lets you reuse some of the frilly Victorian stuff.”

Corey nods. “And I already have the peg leg.”

I snort and then flush. “I’m sorr—”

“It’s a joke, you’re supposed to laugh.” She smiles. “Also, both pirates and Victorian stuff can also be used for decade themes.”

“Where are you doing all this dressing up?” I ask. “How many costumes parties could you be going to?”

Corey waves around the room. “We just do it here.”

“You mean you have regular costume parties…” I look between them. “Just you two?”

Virgil opens his mouth and then scowls. “Okay, you’re trying to make this into a sad, nerdy thing only the two of us do—”

“Am I making it into that or is it like that?”

Corey says, “Dr. Liu always says it doesn’t matter what other people think as long as we’re having fun.” She furrows her brow. “Oh my God, was that to reassure us because he thought it was sad?!”

Virgil massages his temples. “Let’s not dwell on it.”

“Right.” Corey nods to herself. She says to Virgil, “Why don’t you give August a tour of your room? I have to get my prosthesis off. I think I stood too long today, as my little leg is swelling. And I’d rather not flash everyone while I hike up my dressing gown.”

Virgil makes a show of bowing at the waist and pointing toward his room. This boy is so cheesy. I ignore that I’m fighting a smile. Once we’re in his room, I ask, “Is she okay? With the swelling?”

“Yeah, it happens sometimes if she does a lot of standing, that’s all. She’s fine.”

Participating in the candidacy fundamentally changed how Corey lives. Corey, who is significantly more skilled than I am. My only saving grace is that I don’t plan to go as far as she did. Ideally, she wouldn’t have had to go that far either.

Virgil’s bedroom is pretty much the same layout-wise as Corey’s—that odd triangle shape and the abundance of bookshelves. Though his bedding is maroon. I spot a stuffed bird on his bed and give it a poke. It’s royal blue and not much bigger than my hand. “I bet you named him.”

“Reginald.”

I pull a face. “You would.”

“My mom named him, actually. My birthday was coming up, and she already had the present prepped. The name was in the card. Henry found it in their things.” He stands next to me, looking at the bird.

“Why a bird? Isn’t a teddy bear usually the childhood stuffed animal of choice?”

“Some of us like to break the mold.” I throw him a look, and he laughs.

He picks up the toy, staring into its beady eyes.

“My mom used to tell me this story. She said that once upon a time there was a vicious little bird. It pecked at any animal or person who came near it, and the songs it sang were off-key. One day, it injured itself. No one would help it, for it had only ever made enemies. All except for a kind human girl. She fed it, even though it pecked her, and bandaged its wounds though it screeched at her, and showed it a kindness that the bird had never given to anyone. When it was well, she asked the bird to visit her daily and sing her a gentle tune. Every day it returned to her windowsill and sang her sweet melodies. Right up until the day it died. She stuffed the bird and immortalized it, keeping it on her sill until the day she died.”

My lip curls. “That’s fucking grim.”

“It’s a fable,” Virgil says, rolling his eyes. “What matters is the message of the story.”

“Which is?”

“That kindness deserves repayment.”

I can’t help the shocked laugh that comes out of my mouth. “And the bird deserved to spend its entire life repaying a debt to a stranger who helped it once?”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it. They became friends. No one liked the bird. It found someone who did despite what it was.”

“Did it? Or was it afraid that if it didn’t do as the girl said, the next time it needed help, she wouldn’t come?

Did you even ask why the bird was so unpleasant in the first place?

Maybe the other animals were little shits.

The girl trapped that bird and made it twist itself into something it wasn’t for her. ”

Virgil stares at me.

Fuck. I don’t know why I let myself get worked up about some silly story his mom told him. I push out a snort. “Your face! I’m not trying to ruin your childhood memory. I’m sure you’re right. I don’t think I’m a fable sort of girl.”

He put the bird back down on the bed. “There was a note with the gift. The last words my parents left me.” He met my eyes. “It said, ‘Fly free.’?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I wonder if my mom felt the way you do. That the bird was trapped.”

“But that’s not what you think.”

“No. We had very different ideologies, my parents and I.”

“So what does that make me?”

“Dangerous, probably.”

I lick my lips. “Do you know why they did it?” Maybe it’s insensitive to ask, but we keep dancing around it. And I’d rather talk about them than me.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“But the Doctorate can control them, can’t he? Or their partners—didn’t they try to stop them?”

“They drugged their partners, so they were asleep. Even the strongest Master can’t exert control in that state. But with the Doctorate… well, they didn’t have a chance.” He shakes his head. “And they were smart people. Anyone could have seen that was a terrible plan, but they still did it.”

“Maybe they thought they could manage somehow.”

“Maybe.” His phone vibrates, and he takes it out. As he stares at the screen, a little smile comes to life on his face. “Look.” He shows me a picture of Isaac and Mia, of all people, in a furniture store.

Right, the stuff for the dinner. I guess Isaac is Virgil’s contact. “Why would he send that to you?”

“He’s been asking for tips.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “For the ladies. He’s basically in love with Mia.”

“Again,” I say, “why is he reaching out to you for that?”

“Funny. I’d like to let you know that my rizz is strong.”

“And that’s my cue to go.” I turn and head back to Corey’s room.

“Don’t deny my rizz!”

Corey’s sitting on the blanket, pouring wine into the glasses.

Her leg is in the closet with her other prostheses, so I guess she’s keeping it off for the night.

She raises an eyebrow at me, and I shake my head and plop down next to her.

I refuse to get into a conversation about Virgil’s skills with women.

Yeah, okay, he’s good-looking, but he’s also a walking, talking sweater vest.

She holds out three bright packages with animal faces on them. “Pick the face mask you want.”

“How is this Victorian-themed?” I ask.

She scowls at me. “It’s sleepover-themed. Pick one.”