I stumble inside my suite.
Thankfully, Tala’s door is closed, and I can still hear her steady snores.
“Don’t even think about leaving,” Amund repeats from behind me,his voice a low rumble. And with that, he shuts the door to the suite.
Leaning my back against the door, I look around the dorm in disbelief. The bright plush sofa. The wooden table. The coats hanging by the entrance. Slowly, I slide down until my tailbone hits the floor. Realization finally sinks in. Emilía is dead. Murdered like my mom.
I stare at the empty white wall in front of me.
Tears won’t come. I can’t even cry.
What’swrongwith me?
I look down at my trembling hands. My palms are still smeared with blood. So is my tank top. My joggers. Did I kill her? I… don’t know. Even if I didn’t, who would believe me? This time I won’t just be expelled. I’ll definitely get thrown in jail. Patricia and Jim will never adopt me. I’ll never see Bea again.
Maybe it’s already starting. Maybe I’m already losing my humanity.
Clean.I need to getclean. Stumbling into the bathroom, I rip my clothes off, tearing through fabric in my desperation to get rid of them, and stuff them into the bottom of the trash bin, hoping no one else will find them.
I scramble into the shower.
With a squeal, ice-cold water shoots over me, making me gasp. I scrub my body until all the red swirls down the drain. No matter how hard I scrub, there’s blood in the cracks of my palms, staining my skin. Emilía’s blood. I can still see her lying there. Her mouth open in a scream. I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw and red and painful.
When I finally finish, I hesitate to look in the mirror, afraid to meet my own eyes. Afraid what I’ll find reflected there. Slowly, I take in the slope of my shoulders and the slight swell of my breasts. I run a hand over my skin, making sure it’s stillmine. Like I’m afraid that my flesh itself is something I can shed.
I’m still just a girl. Not an animal.
Not yet.
CHAPTER EIGHTAMUND
Ileave only once I’m certain Edith isn’t going anywhere else tonight.
As I head back to Father, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Edithliedto me. Not just tonight, either. She let me believe she was a witch. A hunter is only as good as their instincts. My hands curl into fists. How could I have been sowrong? She was calm when I found her standing over the student’s body. Cold. Remorseless. She struggled when she had to explain herself only because it was plain what had happened.
Edith isn’t just a liar.
She’s a killer.
What other explanation could there be?
By the time I reach the witches’ section, Father is in a heated discussion with Helga. One of her ravens must have informed her of the attack. The dead girl lies by their feet. Father’s dark cloak is draped over her like a funeral shroud. My guilt is overwhelming. She died on my watch. I shoulder some responsibility for this too.
“I know a berserkr attack when I see one,” Father says, his voice cutting.
“Don’t be so hasty.” Helga shakes her head, careful not to disturb theraven perched on her shoulder. “We have to at least consider it.”
“Wouldn’t you know if one was on campus?”
“Youare a fine one to talk, Agnar.” Helga sighs. “Skallagrim still holds plenty of secrets. Not even I know everything that goes on within these walls. All I’m saying is we can’t ignore—”
“Amund,” Father says, turning toward me.
The raven ruffles its feathers and Helga purses her lips.
“What were you discussing?” I ask, joining them.
