She vanished again. At once the skull lurched forward and a crunch was heard.
The three watching girls winced and closed their eyes, but when they opened them again, the little skull was still intact.
Anne laughed long and hard as she reappeared. “Just cracking my knuckles.”
Daphne stormed up to her. “Stop it, Anne. Stop it right now. Get your foot off that bone and sit down. You’re upset, fine—who wouldn’t be after the Red Room—but you know you wouldn’t dare crush that bone on purpose! We’ve had enough stupid accidents after last night, haven’t we?”
Shirley lowered her head at the reference to her own fit the night before. Her fingers rooted nervously through her hair. Anne wondered if the red-haired jitter-ball had finally realized it was her yowling that had brought the Headmistress in the first place.
Daphne continued. “We’re in a bad spot, that’s all. Things happen. I’m sorry about my part in it. Come back to earth and we’ll all decide together what to do next.”
Just then Shirley’s fingers found what they were looking for. They yanked a strand of hair free from her skull. She hugged herself, seeming to take pleasure in the sharp, sudden pain. “Maybe Anne’s urge isn’t so crazy,” she said quietly. “Maybe it’s just who she is.”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Kid, you’re not helping.”
“No. Let Kid talk,” Anne said. “I’d like to know what Kid thinks.”
When Daphne fell silent, Shirley smiled nervously. “Well, it’s just that right now you remind me of an old Russian folktale. God comes to a peasant and asks what she’s praying for. ‘My neighbor has a fine cow that gives great milk, and I have none,’ she says. ‘So,’ God says, ‘you want a cow like hers?’ ‘No,’ the woman answers, ‘I want her cow to die.’”
Shirley’s eyes flashed, revealing a glimpse of the deeper darkness that throbbed beneath her skittish exterior. Anne snickered in appreciation.
“Anne,” Mary said softly, “forget about us a moment. Don’t you realize we’ve no notion of how the bones work or why? Crush it, and who knows what you might unleash? It could make the Headmistress and her Red Room seem like a fresh spring day.”
“Like it could really be worse than the Red Room.” Anne’s face twitched at the memory.
Daphne’s face softened. “You’re right. We should’ve been there for you. But we’re human. Or at least we were. The night was young; there was time for another story. With the Headmistress busy, we had to take the chance.”
Mary turned to Anne. “Look in your heart. Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have done the same?”
Anne scowled. “You bet your phantom-ass I would have. But if it’d been any of you locked up in there screaming, the other two wouldn’t have let me.”
Daphne met her eyes.
“You’re right,” she said evenly. “We’re sorry.”
Anne twisted her head to the side and smirked. “That and a dollar gets me a cup of coffee.”
“You make it so difficult,” Mary said. “We’d already planned to give you three turns in a row.”
“Oh?”
“It’s true,” Shirley said, nodding. “Three turns. It was Daphne’s idea.”
“Tonight? Do I get these turns tonight?”
Daphne nodded at Anne, whose toe was still on the skull. “Deal?”
Anne lifted her toe and gave the bone a push. It rolled across the dusty floor, leaving a wormy trail. When it came near, Shirley bent over and snatched it. She cradled it in both hands, brought it close to her face, and smiled.
A funny look came over her as she regarded the bone. “Ever wonder what it looked like with the flesh on it? Sometimes I think I see little indentations in the brow, for horns.”
“Enough girl talk,” Anne said with a sneer as she plopped down on the floor. “I get three rolls. Hand them over.”
“Fine,” Shirley said. She sat down herself, scooped the other bones from the floor, and handed them all to Anne.
Anne took them at once and quickly rolled them. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
She grabbed them up in one hand and held them a moment, regarding them with distrust. The bones were cold in her hands. They didn’t feel quite right. Something was off. Had the others done something to them?
I wouldn’t put it past them.
Blasting cool air from her nostrils, she didn’t even bother to shake the bones when she threw the third time. Something in her gut told her not to expect to win, and her expectations were fulfilled.
“Sorry. That’s three turns. Deal’s up. Mary told the last story, so it’s my turn now,” Daphne said.
“Thanks for not cheering,” Anne muttered as she passed along the bones.
Daphne confidently went down onto her knees, shook the bones in one hand, then let them roll palm to floor, as if she were shooting craps. Despite points for style and bravado, she lost.
“Maybe the bones are angry because we were fighting,” Shirley wondered aloud as she reached for them.
Anne leaned back on her haunches and gave her a look. “Whatever. We should stop soon. It’s late, the storm’s long over, and it’s easier for her to hear us.”
Mary tsked. “If it’s late, it’s only because we spent so much time searching for you. No interest in taking any risks now that your three are up? How kind. How typical.”
Anne held up three fingers to Mary. “Read between the lines.”
Shirley cleared her throat. “It’s a good thing,” she said, rattling the bones in her cupped hands, “we’re not fighting over a boy.”
“A boy,” Daphne mused, “would be easier to carve up.”
Giggling, perhaps at the image of a carved boy, Shirley threw the bones. They spread on the floor in a tight pattern. The one that looked like a thigh-bone spun freely, so they couldn’t quite tell what it was until it stopped.
When it did, Anne put her hands behind her back, and clenched them both into fists. The three symbols had come up.
“We have a winner,” Daphne said.
But Shirley didn’t look like a winner. One second, she looked confused. The next, her body stiffened as if she were having a seizure. She moaned, raising her shoulders.
“What is it?” Mary said.
Anne’s eyes narrowed. Usually whoever rolled the winning pattern felt a little light-headed as the story came to her, but this wasn’t that.
“No,” Shirley said, shaking her head faster and faster. “I won’t say it. I won’t.”
She clenched her teeth and pushed air between them. Her hissing mixed with spittle.
Daphne looked concerned. “Shirley, what’s going on?”
“Maybe she’ll explode,” Anne suggested wryly.
“Quiet! She’s fighting the story. She’s trying not to tell it,” Mary said.
“Can you do that?” Anne asked, genuinely curious.
“I don’t know,” Mary responded.
“From the looks of her, I’m guessing no,” Daphne said. “Shirley, stop! Don’t fight it!”
“No, I won’t say it. I won’t….”
Anne watched, seething with jealousy as Mary and Daphne pulled themselves protectively near the shivering redhead, taking her hands, rubbing her forehead, whispering into her ears like nurses.
I spent a night in the Red Room, and none of them ever even touched me.
“Let it out, Shirley. Go on, you can do it. Let it out.”
“I can’t…it’s too horrid….”
“You can, you can!”
“For Christ’s sake!” Anne yelled. “Are we doing Lamaze for the dead now? Leave her alone. If it has to, it’ll come out. She won’t be able to stop it.”
Mary turned from her ministrations to look at Anne with that puzzled expression again. “Lamaze?”
“Forget it,” Anne said, shaking her head.
In an instant, Shirley pitched out of Daphne and Mary’s grasp. She flopped onto her chest and raised her shoulders up by pushing on her hands. Her eyes were fixed on a spot in midair, the way a cat’s eyes are when it seems to see what no one else can. All the fear—and for that matter, all other expression—vanished from her face as she began to speak.