THIRTY-FIVE | OF DEMONS AND DARKNESS

There was someone coming up the stairs.

I flipped the book back over. I could feel the faint pounding of my heart as I stumbled out of Kathrena’s room, the words of the chapter’s title branded into my brain. She knew; she had to.

I’d just closed the door behind me when the footsteps came to an abrupt halt. I turned slowly, wanting to drag out the time before I knew, for certain, that I’d been caught. I felt like Schrodinger’s poor old cat: simultaneously alive and dead, and I listened to the silence in much the same way that I imagined the cat would watch the light seeping in as its box was opened.

Kathrena’s eyes were wide and sparkling, and her cheeks looked flushed. No: she was wearing blusher, over a light coverage foundation. Her thin lips looked plump, too, and they were gleaming with a clear sheen. She was wearing lip gloss.

Our eyes narrowed in sync. I would have found it amusing, had my decrepit heart not been pounding against my ribs. Her hair was blown back, too, as though s