Maris comes back in in gloves the next day. They don't look like traditional gloves, in fact, they're fingerless, and they're made out of a gray material that looks like someone managed to turn sheet metal into a fabric. Maris doesn't say anything about them, no one asks, and she does her work with her head down, all the light and fury gone out of her. Mikayla passes her on the way in and they stare at each other for a long time, saying nothing, before Mikayla situates herself at the back of the class.

As for my part, I've been doing an intense amount of nothing all week. Professional nothing. Winter's setting in, so I can't really go outside, either, which should leave me more time to study what's going on in the town, but what it really does is make me go stir crazy. I can't focus on research for more than twenty minutes or so no matter how involved I am in it, and Mikayla's suggestions for what to Google include things like 'crossed out eye' or 'anomalies' and it's honestly so vague and unhelpful that I wonder if she's ever used Google before in her life. Then I usually get angry at myself for deciding to help Mikayla after the shit she pulled on me and restrain myself from throwing my mouse across the room.

Inside the classroom, a similar amount of nothing takes place. People dip out whenever possible, and since Arthur and Brittany have both been cleared, the classroom is looking leaner going into the winter months. In fact, Alya is always out at NASA and Hoshi is in the clearing process (I've seen her walking around with the kid who came to her impromptu performance, talking about it-- d'aww) so it's bad and getting worse. I spend a lot of my time pretending this doesn't bother me or not paying attention in class, so actually, I'm doing enough nothing to keep me booked.

Congressional Medal of Jack-Squattery. I'm calling it now. Catch me on the candidate list, clinking wine glasses with rich people-- Mikayla slams her hand on my desk. "This is where normal people say 'hello', Mikayla," I announce to her with a winning smile.

"We've got a lead." Mikayla tells me. Her fingers draw back together from their former splayed position atop my desk. "I've been negotiating with Endina and Lilith to let me come along while they go back to one of their own haunts and fuck with it."

I get up, cracking my knuckles. "Shit, why didn't you just say so?" Class is practically over, anyways, as Ms. Shinke is talking with Olive individually in a corner. The half-barren classroom is made even more desolate by the absolute lack of interest that accompanies the final quarter hour of school.

Mikayla holds me back down. "Alright. I need you to sit back down. Just meet us outside behind the school. You get eight minutes to convince your..."

"Can we just call them parents?" I ask.

"Whatever." She storms off. The bell rings and she stands on the side of the happy couple, who are impeccably dressed (well, depends on your definition of impeccable, but I want to believe those cuts are a fashion statement), practically dragging them out the door through the ancient female tactic of Walking Uncomfortably Fast While Still Keeping Up Conversation. I'm about to follow when I catch Maris's eye.

When we exit into the hallway, she swings the wrong way, towards the cul-de-sac where the hall turns in on itself. "Why did you do it?" I ask.

Maris shrugs. "Mikayla."

"Oh." I mumble. "Of course."

Maris puts a hand on my shoulder. "Wait." We stare each other down in the abandoned hall, the single dusky light casting an ominous glare down on the both of us. Slowly, she says, "Okay. You have to follow me out on a limb, here." Her eyes are full of that old lightning, but this time, it's more sadness than anything else. "So, I may have... erm. Seen my father."

"What?"
"Not my mortal father. The god. I was having dreams of being in his court again. He asked me why I'd given up." She threads her hands together. "It really was just a dream, but I couldn't help but feel hurt. I almost burned down the house afterwards. It was hard to convince my parents that I was just trying to make breakfast, but fortunately, I'm a lousy cook." She laughs hastily, "Sorry. I know you're cagey about your experience, but I can't help but miss it."

"See, I'm sympathetic, but you know I can't get behind that sentiment."

"You've made that very obvious, Derrick. No one is asking you to get behind it." she says. "Good luck, by the way. Please hold me out of this."
"Until you get those gloves off, or for good?" I ask.

Maris flexes one hand, the fabric constricting the motion. "Well," she begins.

"Oh." I respond. "Hey, I need to go."

She nods. "Well, get out of here, then."

With that, I take the hall back up, following a speed that would make Mikayla proud. When I'm out the door, I catch my limo, sitting practically alone in the pick-up lane, and past that, a sea of slowly dispersing cars. I swing around the corner, just to confirm, and find that no one is behind the school. Wrong behind, maybe? Another glance around the area confirms that no, no one is here at all.

That couldn't have been eight minutes. My head spins.

Mikayla's text leaps out at my face when I pull up my phone: Don't bother. Doing girl things.

Suspicious. With my shoulders sagging, I enter the limousine and emit a long groan as I settle myself into the seat. Ms. Haven and Frederick turn around as Ms. Haven turns the car on. "Is there an issue?"

"Not really. Some of the other kids in my class are doing something without me, but you know, whatever." I shrug.

"Sorry to hear that, bud, but you can't win them all." Frederick says.

"Which kids and what are they up to?" asks Ms. Haven. Her brows furrow in the front of the car.

"Endina, Lilith, and Mikayla." I say.

Ms. Haven raises one eyebrow. "Did they specify which haunt?"

"No, they didn't tell me anything." I say, pressing against the back of the seat.

"Frederick. Phone the Renards." Ms. Haven says. Frederick dials my parents up and throws Ms. Haven the phone, which she catches in midair. It strikes me as a needlessly dramatic gesture but I'm also panicking too hard to think about it. "We'll be back with your son later. We have another urgent mission to attend to."

"Shit. It's not that big of a deal." The car revs up and they turn the corner. Under my breath, I whisper to myself, "Did I narc them? Shit. I'm a narc now."

"Thank you, Derrick." Ms. Haven says. "I assure you this is no big deal but we have to keep an eye on those two in particular and that one in particular." Her eyes narrow as she keeps her foot on the gas, the car jerking backwards each time she stops at a red light. I can see the frosted glow of the stop signs glimmering in her glasses.

"Did they tip you off about Mikayla or something?" I ask, tentatively, as we sink out past the suburbs, cutting out into neighborhoods that have forsaken the routine perkiness of the innermost buildings and have stead turned to downcast cottages up on hills and rows of building whose chipped paints and faint natural smell evidence this area belongs more to the trees than the people. We're bordering a park of some kind, such that the car is stuck between woods and driveways.

Ms. Haven pulls to the side of the row and Frederick gets out one of his doohickeys from his jacket. His expression is almost professional, save for a slight smile as he whips out the device. I can't see his eyes under his jacket, but his head is turned towards Ms. Haven, who elbows him. "Harring. Get a grip on yourself."

"It has to be better than the last dozen missions we've been on," he says. "We're busting some kids. We don't even know this is the particular haunt they went to. No one has to die today."

"Can no one mention death? Please?" I ask. "You're already making me nervous."

"Stop shaking, Renard." snaps Ms. Haven.

"A-a-actually, what if I just waited in the car?" I suggest. "Yknow, so Mikayla doesn't... murder me."

"Is she that dangerous?" Ms. Haven asks, looking to Frederick, who pulls out a taser, regretfully.

"No!" I snap. When both of them stare back in my direction, I flinch beneath the harsh light of the taser. "She's... she's not dangerous. I'll come in with you. It's fine."
"You can wait in the car if you need to, Derrick. No one is forcing you to do anything. We're already just happy you felt safe enough to inform us of potential wrongdoing. Your compliance is very much appreciated." Ms. Haven puts a hand on my shoulder.

I dislodge it. "Okay. What if we reworded that a little and said I was 'forcefully interrogated into revealing possibly incriminating information about my fellow student'? Because I would never narc someone." I laugh nervously. It sounds about as hollow as I feel right now.

"Well, in your defense, you didn't say very much. We were just on the lookout for something and we overheard you being... Derrick."

"I like almost all of that. Let's go with 'overheard'." I raise my fingers, but they're shaking too hard for finger guns. (I can think of no situation more dire than one that leaves you shaking too hard for finger guns.)

"Let's go inside," Ms. Haven insists. "This is ridiculous." Before I can grab her coat or anything equally desperate, she's inside, shining her flashlight around in an empty house. The floors are covered in dirt and ivy grows through the windows, wreathing itself through the remains of furniture. Despite how seemingly overwhelmed the area is with foliage, there are embers crackling in the fireplace. Ms. Haven's face twists. "Definitely the place."

"What are you looking for?" I ask. I almost fall sideways as I take another step-- the whole building is tilted slightly on its foundations. Ms. Haven puts a foot onto a rickety stair, moving her boot around to reveal white paint. When it holds, she follows the steps up into an attic, which she pushes open. The hatch holds unexpectedly well, given that the wood is a dark, rotten color.

There is a quiet scuffling upstairs, which prompts Frederick to follow, and I poke my face in, still as close as I can hold to the floor while getting a good view.

"You come up or you stay down, Renard." Ms. Haven says.

"Damnit, Derrick!" calls Mikayla, and I hear a thump and look up to see Mikayla level with me. I get up onto my own feet to have a look around while Ms. Haven holds Mikayla back by the arms.

The room up top is well furnished-- there's a sofa, where Endina and Lilith lie with a variety of paints and... plants (what were you attempting to do here), the two of them practically frozen in shock, as well as a few reclining leather chairs and a lamp plugged into nothing. It almost seems like someone's grandfather's house, with mounted animals and a nice rug. There's no electricity, sure, and the room smells like rotting wood and cigarette butts, but besides that? Very cozy.

"We're like, totally fine. It's not like we were performing rites or anything." complains Lilith, brushing some leaf residue under the couch. "Or taking psychoactives. We like, come here, all the time, and it's not even a problem? So... I don't really understand why we're in trouble."

Ms. Haven raises Mikayla's arm, which is almost visible in the dull light, and Frederick shines a flashlight on it. "Sure. For 'not performing rites', you've made some very interesting, elaborate patterns on Ms. Ahlam's arms."

Mikayla tries to jerk out of her grip, managing to pull a hand free, and Ms. Haven has to forcibly subdue her again, this time handcuffing her. Mikayla manages to stick up a middle finger in my direction. "How's that for an elaborate pattern, Derrick?"

"Okay, so, we might have been performing a little witchcraft." Endina says.

"It was henna." complains Lilith. "They're not the same thing."

"I know magic when I see magic. That's not henna. You're not using henna dye." Ms. Haven says. "Really, I think I speak for all of us when I say I'd appreciate it if you didn't lie, so we didn't have to waste time sneaking around to get to the truth. Alright?"

"How did you know we were here?" asks Mikayla.

"This is one of the few dens in the area still in service for the local shapeshifters association. By 'association', we mean illegal fighting ring for various factions including werewolves, vampires, and the like, but after you two, it seemed to die down." Frederick says. "Spectrometer's not giving me much, actually. For a place this spooky, it's remarkably unhaunted."

"You're telling me." Mikayla sighs. "Well. No big deal. We can just... l-leave." She strains against the cuffs. "Right?"

"Well, I suppose we'll have to call the police now," says Ms. Haven, matter-of-factly.

"Holy heck, no. You can not call the police." Mikayla drops onto her knees. "I'll do whatever community service you want. I'll stop sneaking around. You can not call the police."

"What? The worst they'd probably do is impose some kind of fine for trespassing--" I begin.

Mikayla is actually sobbing.

Ms. Haven looks down at her, her face framed by her gold halo of hair, and she takes in a long breath, her heels making a desolate noise against the wood of the attic floor. It is the only sound that gives evidence to the true nature of this room, situated atop the ugliest house in the world.

Endina hops off the couch, nonchalantly, and strides right up to Ms. Haven. "If you want information, we can give you that and then pretend we were helping you investigate the house. Those shapeshifters get up to things, you know."

"Totally. Awful. Shapeshifter. Things. Like, this vampire took me into a dark room and--" Lilith pauses. "They're awful and we've been defacing their houses ever since we ditched them, so, we're all on the same side here."

"Are you bribing an official?" Ms. Haven asks.

"Yes," Endina says. "That's what we're doing. We're bribing you. Right now."

Ms. Haven and Frederick share a look.

"They're not going to keep their word." Mikayla says, her breath coming out as an angry shudder.

"No matter what you want to believe, Mikayla, we're all on the same side here." Frederick says.

I twitch so hard it might qualify as a convulsion. My heart is wracking my chest with continuous, violent thrashing, and all the while Mikayla watches me from the floor, expression dark with hatred. Fuck. I'm such an idiot. I literally walked right into this.

"We're not doing this." Ms. Haven says, firmly.

"We are doing this." Frederick says. "And you're going to file the report to headquarters."

"Why?"
"Because of extenuating circumstances on the part of all of these kids." Frederick says. "Because someone was there to help us when we did stupid things and if there's anything they would ever say to us, were they still around, it would be to pay it forwards, Ana."

"What do you kids have that you're so sure is of value?" asks Ms. Haven, turning to Endina and Lilith. She tilts her glasses down so we can all see the whites of her eyes, and the others stare defiantly back at her, while I shrink into my skin a little further.

"There's a corpse in the basement." Endina says.

"Frederick. Take those two down, bring your devices. I'm going to deal with these two."

Frederick nods and Ms. Haven bends down to Mikayla. "What were you trying to do, Mikayla?"

Mikayla looks up. Light passes in through the open window, dwindling away to a brilliant orange as the day wears on into nothingness. "I wanted the Sight."

"It's not real." Ms. Haven says, holding her hand up. It's covered with crossed pink scars. "Faeries associated with more fantastical ground-classes can be seen by any mortals, whether or not they've burned their own hands or attempted to seal runes on them."

"There are sources that claim otherwise. There are other sources that provide resources for those looking to portal back to their otherworld and this was my best option."

"Reputable sources, Mikayla?"

Mikayla holds herself up, hands still behind her back, and raises her face so that she and Ms. Haven are entirely even. Her breath is practically fogging the glasses. "Give me one good reason to trust 'reputable sources' any more than things that aren't fed to me with a silver spoon. Give me one good reason that you wouldn't lie to me."

"Those sites have agendas, Mikayla."

"Everyone has an agenda."

"Can you come down here?" Frederick asks from the basement. I hear a distant clicking of a flashlight. "There's a body alright."

"Yeah, well, sorry, it's not like we didn't say so." Endina calls. "It's a real corpse. Er, sorta. Usually these disappear by now."

Ms. Haven helps Mikayla out of the cuffs, and Mikayla looks to the door. I follow her gaze, flashing her an expression that says something along the lines of whatever you think you're about to try isn't going to work, Mikayla, and she looks back at me distastefully. She brushes against me as she passes me to the basement, lips crinkled together and eyes fixed straight ahead. She turns the stairs down towards the basement, which definitely smells like something besides nature-- probably weed. Lots of weed. There's an undercurrent of something worse, though, and fox nose doesn't like it in the slightest.

My senses recoil as I follow them, still wordless, and I'm greeted by the white fluorescent lighting shining on a corpse. The walls are stained with bloodied, crude patterns, and the blood on the body leads up towards them, as if someone smashed the body against the wall and drew with it.

"Fighting ring," sighs Ms. Haven. "Heard a twenty year old got taken recently, but they're so old... you don't usually get these."

Frederick holds his flashlight on the mangled body. It is a cluster of wolf and human features, something past Olive and I that isn't quite wolf or man. "That's an Extra."

"Uh, what else would it be?" Endina asks.

"They hold a lot of these, don't they?"

"We're not involved in that anymore. We only come here on days they don't use it. They've like, come to my house once, but Endina managed to kill a few of them, and then the bodies were..." Lilith looks up, a sudden understanding crossing her face. "Gone."

"They can disappear?" Mikayla asks.

"Yes." Frederick says. "If there was ever evidence that the universe was solipsistic, it would be the ghosts."

"Woah, did we go over this in class?" I ask. "Because uh, sorry to inform everyone, but I have no idea what's going on right now."

"You generally don't, Derrick, so I wouldn't worry about it." Mikayla snaps.

"Ghosts. As in people who appear during ground-class missions and disappear afterwards. As if they never truly existed at all. Manufactured threats to be taken out by teenagers, but... we have no clue why, to this day." Ms. Haven says, taking hair samples from the body and swabbing the area.

"What about portal-classes? Are all of those otherworlds just designed for you? Are you seriously telling me that there are whole pocket universes that just exist for our sakes?" I ask.

"It would explain why no one has ever gotten back to an otherworld, wouldn't it?" Mr. Harring says. His glasses gleam with his own light against the black background, and I feel revulsed for a reason I can hardly explain.

"They're real," Mikayla whispers. "That's not true."

"Well," I begin. "I guess it is a little strange you'd be able to get into another world with your mind. What would you possibly be doing, astral projecting? It doesn't make much sense."

"Yeah, neither does your fucking dead girlfriend. How do you know she's not a ghost, Derrick? Are you sure she's real?" Mikayla crosses a dark line of blood, turning to face me with that horrifying fire in her eyes. I breathe in the weed smell of the room as Mikayla and I stand abreast from each other.

"No." I say.

"Well, how do you know?"
"I've seen her grave. I saw her family." The faces in my memory are blurred--those days where they laid her down. All of those shimmering figures in the rain, their faces like smudged paint. I can remember them vividly, but only in the sense that I feel the color and noise and smell pressed up against the sharp edge of my mind.

"Mhm." Mikayla says. "Has anyone at the school put up a memorial of any kind? Have you seen any of her friends? Has anyone mentioned her ever since you came here?"

I shake my head slowly.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't make much sense, either."

That's when I punch her.

I come to in the car. There's no blood in my hands but my ears are still ringing and my mind hurts nearly as much as my muscles, which are in pain more intense than if I'd run all the way home. "You fucking tased me," I attempt to say, but my mouth is barely moving-- my teeth are grit, although I have no idea if this is a fox thing or a being tased thing. Regardless, I don't give them the satisfaction of a response as they chew me out about hitting someone, hitting a girl, endangering a mission, stooping to the level that is undoubtedly expected of me, whatever. I'm thinking of you and the white-faced shiny strangers in the rain. All of my memories of the last year are blurred like that. They're chalk that's been out for weeks, succumbing to the weather.

My head stings again, and I realize just how much adrenaline I've invested into the last half of an hour or so. I look out the window, the soreness slowly residing, and watch the forests. The deer are at it again, this time, practically coming up to the road. They hold me for seconds, both of us enthralled in each other's presence, and I feel a great wrongness rise through my body. All of me, fox and human, is one massive mistake, and they know it.

My parents don't even bother affirming this when I walk in the door, so I go to my room and stare at the ceiling, thinking about what a pain in the ass it'll be to deal with Mikayla tomorrow morning.

Ghosts.

I lie in my room, staring directly up into the defiant eye of the ceiling, which stares back in all its white glory. It's not like the sun, where you could burn your eyes out, but if there was ever a time I felt like doing that, man, it would be right now.

"This sucks," I say to no one in particular.

"Do you want to talk about it?" says a voice in the corner, and holy hell, I'm going absolutely mad.

There, lingering like the light now throbbing in my still-functional eyes, is the ghost of you, cutting a pretty, phantasmic shape in the corner of the room. It's you after the incident for sure, with the wings you always wanted to grow in, legs and arms crossed into a casual, understanding position. I do not move for the sake of breaking my own delusion.

"You're not real," I tell you.

"Really? That's unfortunate." you say, back. "But I mean, unless I'm going crazy, you're not real either."

You flicker out as soon as I blink. I scream and throw myself across the room, synapses and instincts and chaotic hope all firing in my mind like a thousand guns going off in tandem, but nothing I do will bring the illusory image back, so I end up just hyperventilating in the corner, not moving from where you were until it dawns on me that lying down might do the trick. Nope. Can't fall asleep. Nope nope nope.

Hope rips down all my walls that night. The room extends far out into the woods, suddenly exposed to the elements, and I breathe in all of it with the lack of sleep. "Derrick Renard," I tell myself, "You're teetering on the edge of the deep end."

The moonlight bouncing off the walls and furniture freaks me out so much I draw my drapes closed. Even then, I don't sleep well that night.