Chapter 42: Stay (Part 2: Finale)

"Go and eat, loves. Somebody in this building should."

The comms clicked off as he ducked out of the bathroom, one elbow pinning the flail under his sweater.

Now, back to the crowd before anyone saw him near the bathroom. If Mr. Cald decided he had nothing more to lose, he might just leave Thwaite shouting about scorched earth to the wall and go nail Milo down.

Clink.

He hunched deeper, the head digging into his ribs.

Clink-clink.

His pace faltered.

Clink.

Oh, come on. Did Aldous have some kind of pact with the weapon that it’d start screaming once he was confirmed dead?

But from the staircase came a grunt, followed by a wooden scrape.

"...one more step. Ready?"

"R-Ready."

"Ghhhh!!!"

Krrrrrrk!

Seems the academy’s ghosts varied. Those ones were loud.

Milo edged along the corridor, only to find Rosaline backing down from the second floor. A second later, a block of oxblood leather entered the picture. Both her hands were hooked under the lower end of the couch.

One braid had fallen into her mouth, and she spat it out without letting go.

With each step, their breathing grew louder and more uneven.

"Just a little farther!"

"R-Rose, I don’t think I can—"

"A little!"

He brought a fist to his mouth and glanced back at the bathroom. They might ask why he was here; going back inside would hardly help.

Above the cushions, Grace’s face appeared next.

Every time her knees shook, the keys at her belt clinked together.

The academy had other metal in it, after all.

Just as he thought the two would pass without batting an eye at him, Rosaline spotted him over her shoulder and stopped with one heel hanging off a step.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Milo pointed at the couch with his fist.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Moving this."

While Rosaline braced the armrest against her hip, Grace worked her fingers farther under the upholstery.

"More guests are coming," the girl managed, her face growing red from the exercise. "We’re making ourselves useful."

"Can’t you slide it down? Or call an instructor?"

"And have it run somebody over?" She tried to steady her breath. "Besides, feminine energy’s got this. Right, Miss Grace?"

The keys jingled.

"Miss Grace?"

"I need to put it—"

"Miss Grace?!"

The upper end dropped.

"O-Oh, c-careful, careful!"

Milo flinched, and his left hand shot out. Reaching with the other would free the flail. He clamped his elbow to his ribs as Rosaline’s heels skidded down a step.

"Oh, shit—"

She abandoned the couch and grabbed the banister. Wood banged down the stairs, a cushion flopping out onto the landing before the frame struck the tiles.

CLUNK!

All three stared at it.

Hair now a total mess, Rosaline came down with both hands on the rail and planted a knee in the empty seat.

"Thanks, bitch!"

She leaned over the armrest, the couch rocking against the bottom step.

"What was I supposed to do?"

"Watch me fall down the stairs, apparently!"

"I don’t... feel well."

"Embarrassing." The girl cleared her face of hair and sweat. "Now, help us out."

Milo hunched over more. "I really don’t feel well..."

Not paying attention to him, she bent to retrieve the cushion and shoved it into place.

"Could we put it flat?" Grace asked from the stairs. "Before we discuss anything else?"

As Rosaline tugged one end sideways, Grace lowered the other off the bottom step.

"Hey." Milo followed the girl around the armrest. "What’s your deal? You help me with Cald and spend the rest of the day calling me a bitch."

"He had no right to grab you like that, whether I like you or not."

She crouched to check a wooden foot, giving it a tug.

"The grille, then, was always more important than me?"

"Yes, Milo. And now I have something else to do."

Her braid slipped forward again. This time she pushed it behind her ear and stayed crouched, staring at the couch leg without touching it.

The death had taken a toll on her too. God, was there anyone in this building who wasn’t in despair?

Would she even thank him if he told her he’d saved them? Or would she fetch Mr. Cald and ask him to empty his sweater?

"Go on." Rosaline beckoned. "Help us out."

"I told you, I don’t feel well."

"Can’t be that bad."

Milo gripped his left shoulder with his right hand.

"Can’t be that important, can’t be that bad. Do you ever think of others?"

"Rose," Grace cut in. "It’s okay. I can do this. Only one floor left."

Earlier, Rosaline had been the one holding someone back.

"Exactly." He nodded. "Feminine energy, remember?"

After rolling her eyes thoroughly, the girl went to work alongside the secretary to bring the couch down.

"Fine. We’ll rest it on each step. You take the top again, Miss Grace."

Since they were taking it all the way to the dining hall, Milo volunteered to open doors and warn them about obstacles. There were neither doors nor obstacles. But he also promised to be the last resort, in case the couch did slip from their hands on the stairs.

On the last stretch, he went into the dining hall first to confirm the absence of any benches nearby.

Something sweet scented the air near the kitchen, a creamy smell with a burnt-sugar edge that reminded him of cheesecake.

"Clear!" he said, one thumb raised.

Only as the upholstery scraped its way into the space did he notice Louise.

She sat by the wall, alone among dozens of empty places.

Did she not tell everyone to go eat?

When Rosaline and Grace finished hauling the couch over, the noise settled into the distant hiss of fire back in the kitchen.

The widow looked up, eyes wide, already standing up and tipping her chin at the furniture.

"Oh, loves. What are you doing?"

"It’s for you." Rosaline fought for a breath, resting on the cushions. "For when your family gets here."

"You didn’t have to bring that down! I could have handled it."

"Please." Grace, also breathless and sweating, approached her. "It’s the least we can do."

The two women hugged each other.

Louise’s hands closed into fists before opening against the secretary’s back and giving her a few pats.

They stayed that way, muttering thank you and I’m so sorry to each other. As they parted, Rosaline stepped in and melted into a hug too.

Oh no. Hugging rounds.

Milo retreated behind the couch.

With the backrest between the woman and the flail, he could offer a sympathetic nod without anyone reaching for him.

Louise wiped under her eyes and looked at the two beside her.

"Go and sit down, both of you. You’ve done plenty."

Rosaline smoothed the cushion once more before following Grace between the tables.

In theory, Milo was a part of their team. So he strode toward the exit—

"Milo, love. You stay."

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⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "Burnt-Top Basque Cheesecake (Part 1)" ... ⤵︎ [!]