Could I really be responsible? I cover my face, trying to block out the images.No, no, no. I didn’t do that. I reached out for the symbol, trying to decipher it amid all the blood.Thatis why my hands were bloody. Not because I killed her. Right?
A loud knock on my door makes me jump.
“Leave me alone!” I shout. The last thing I want is to see Tala right now.
The door opens, but it isn’t her.
Nils stands there.
“Edith?” he asks, his brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
I don’t know if I’ve ever been okay—or if I ever will be—but I’d sooner choke on the words than say them out loud. So I swallow past the lump in my throat and say, “Sorry, I had a bad nightmare. I’m still shaken up.”
“I know what that’s like,” Nils says slowly. “I used to have night terrors when I was younger.”
I frown. Even if he did, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be turning into a beast. But I can’t tell him that, especially not after what happened last night. Hopefully word hasn’t already spread through Skallagrim that I could be a killer.
“Anyway, sorry to barge in here like this,” Nils continues, looking a little sheepish. “I tried knocking, but when no one answered, I got worried and used a spell to open the door. Sorry again. Aunt Hel asked me to bring you to her office right away.”
“Did she say why?” I ask nervously.
Nils shrugs. “I’m sure it’s just new student stuff.”
At least Nils doesn’t seem to know about what happened last night. He was close with Emilía. If he knew, he wouldn’t be so calm. But Helga must. Why else would she want to see me? I nibble on a nail as questions start to swirl. Am I going to be expelled? Arrested?
What the hell am I going to tell Helga?
CHAPTER TENAMUND
Standing outside Helga’s office, I look to my left and right. If I’m caught, it’s over for me. Ever since my parents separated, Helga has no patience for me or my father. I know she would expel me for this. I pull the helm of concealment Father gave me out of my pocket. He assured me that once I activate it, I’ll be invisible. So why am I still on edge?
I have plenty of cuts on my hands from training. It’s not hard to wet the stave with my blood. Now no one should be able to see me. The long hallway is empty, but I feel as though someone is watching me as I try the door.
Locked. An unlocking stave would work best here, but it would also be obvious. My fingers are too large, too clumsy, for written spells requiring such care. Galdrar are the only things I’m good at. Unlike Nils. He’s always had an exceptional talent for spokenandwritten spells.
I check over both my shoulders again and lower my voice as I say, “Brjóta dyrr.”
The handle gives and the door opens.
My galdr worked.
I’m lucky there were no stronger protections to deal with. It’s not like anyone in their right mind would break into the headmistress’s office. Maybe I’ve gone mad. But I cannot return to Father empty-handed. I need more information on Edith. More important, I needproofthat she did this. So I slip inside quickly and close the door behind me.
I’ve never even had any reason to set foot in Helga’s office before.
Few do. And even fewer stay at Skallagrim afterward.
The room is dark, thick curtains obscuring the daylight so only a sliver shines through. Dust swirls in the air as I step forward, the light cutting across me like a blade. It seems like a warning. I need to find the files and get out quickly.
Her desk is covered with books and loose papers, as messy and chaotic as I’d expect from Helga. Great. I have no clue how I’m going to find anything in this place. Especially with so little light. Three melted candles burn low, the wax still dripping like tears. I reach for one—and my fingers brush a hand.
A human hand.
I immediately pull back. Grimacing, I inspect the base of the candle more closely. A severed hand grips the candle. Its skin has been dried and pickled, giving it a withered appearance. Swallowing my revulsion, I move the candle aside and rifle through the piles of paperwork, which is challenging while also holding the helm of concealment.
Transcripts. Letters from students’ families—grievances, actually.Clearly, your program doesn’t work.I flip through, unable to resist reading more, but I’m careful not to let go of the lignite. These date back a long time. There are numerous complaints about students sustaining gruesome injuries while studying at Skallagrim. There’s an especiallylong tale from the parents of someone named Henry Holden, who apparently returned less in control than when he left.
Emilía’s body flashes in my mind.
