Emilía fidgets with her hair. “A bunch of students died, but no one really knows the details. It was a long time ago.”
“No one goes to that part of campus anymore,” Nils adds with a frown.
“Why not?” Bea asks.
Emilía leans closer and whispers, “Because it’shaunted.”
I squeeze the handle of my luggage tighter. “Yeah right.”
“Well, that’s what I’ve heard,” Emilía says with a shrug. “A few students have snuck in there on dares, or to break the rules, but after they’ve been once, none of them have ever been willing to go back. They said there were flickering lights, even though the school hasn’t had power in years, or that they heard voices and saw students’ ghosts wandering the halls. All harmless. Mostly.”
Before I can ask whatthatmeans, Nils heads down the right walkway.
“Unlike the hunters,” Nils says as Emilía and I rush to catch up. “This is their campus. Over there is the training grounds.”
The hunters, dressed in leather armor, are lined up in front ofarchery targets. With a wave of their instructor’s hand, they unleash a barrage of arrows, each one finding its mark with athunk. My stomach flips as I look over the line of students. All of them are dedicated to hunting—and killing—people like me.
And I unknowingly interacted with one earlier.
Thankfully, I don’t see Amund among them.
“Generally a good idea to steer clear of hunters,” Nils adds quickly.
“Yeah, I can tell.”
Nils smiles. “I knew I liked you.”
Emilía claps her hands together. “Now, let’s go tomyfavorite campus, the witch side.”
I breathe a sigh of relief once we’re out of the hunter area. This side is almost all girls. Unlike the hunters, they’re wearing normal clothes—jeans, skirts, dresses. Some carry ancient-looking books, while some younger girls are drawing elaborate symbols with chalk on the walkway.
“What are those?” Bea asks excitedly.
“Staves,” Emilía says.
“Magic sigils, basically,” Nils adds.
I know Helga told me magic exists—I’ve been struggling to accept it the past few weeks—but actually seeing it? A sense of awe fills me. I can’t help but think about my favorite childhood fairy tales full of magic. Witches, werewolves, huntsmen. At Skallagrim, they’rereal.
“Both of you are witches?” I ask, looking between Nils and Emilía.
Nils laughs, but not unkindly. “Most practitioners are women, but there are a few guys like me, too.” He must mistake my stare for disbelief because he adds, “Odin himself was one.”
I shake my head, feeling a stab of sympathy for Nils. He seems so defensive. “No, I think it’s really cool. I’m just surprised to hear you talk about magic so openly. Spells? Whatever. All of this is still new to me. It’s a lot to take in.”
“I think you mean totallyawesome,” Bea chimes in.
Something in Nils’s expression softens, and a smile spreads across his face. “Of course. I’ve grown up with it, so for me it seems natural.”
“You grew up here?” I ask him.
“Ah, yeah. I’ve lived at Skallagrim all my life, actually.” He sighs. “My whole family is here.”
I frown. Clearly, it’s not something he wants to discuss.
Speaking of family… I turn to Bea, kneeling before her. She’s been surprisingly quiet for most of the tour—I’m used to her chattering the ears off anyone who will listen. “How are you doing?”
“Awesome.” Her eyes gleam. “Skallagrim is even awesomer than I imagined.”
