I head inside Helga’s office.
My senses are immediately assaulted. Grim daylight filters inthrough large windows, the brightness burning my eyes in the otherwise darkened room. The reek of dust and mold stings my nose, making me sneeze. Loudly.
“Bless you,” Helga says, but then I realize her mouth hasn’t moved.
A raven ruffles its feathers on a wooden perch and repeats, “Bless you.”
Helga has a pet raven. Because of course she does.
Everywhere else I look, I notice something new and strange: a massive stone tablet etched with runes covering an entire wall; a creepy-looking portrait of some bald, bearded white guy; stacks of ancient books teetering on top of her desk; a candle held by… is that ashriveled hand?
I grimace.
“Have a seat,” Helga says, waving toward one of the ancient carved chairs in front of her desk. It’s hard to believe only a few weeks ago, I was sitting before Principal Matthews in a plastic chair.
As I approach her desk, the man stares at me from the portrait behind Helga, his skin ruddy and weathered. He’s bald, but he has more than enough beard to make up for it. His nose is twisted to the side like it’s been broken multiple times. EGILLSKALLAGRíMSSON, the plaque below him reads.
The wood groans as I lower myself into the chair.
Helga places a steaming cup of tea in front of me. “You wouldn’t know who was responsible for the attack, would you, Edith?”
“No,” I say, staring down at the dark liquid.
I bite my lip, cutting off the rest of the words. I want to tell her it wasn’t me, but… as much as I try to, I still can’t remember everything. Would she even believe me? No one at my old school did, even though I was a straight A student and one of our best runners. Helga doesn’t even know me. If I mention the symbol or my nightmare, who knows what she’ll think?
We sit in silence. Hot steam curls in the air, filling my nose with the tea’s herbal aroma.
Helga nudges the cup closer. “Tell me about last night.”
I take a slow sip to buy myself some time. The blend tastes strange, unlike any of Patricia’s teas. Earthy, with a harsh, bitter taste, but there’s something almost coppery about it too. Shuddering, I set the cup down quickly and tell her what I do remember.
By the time I finish, my mouth feels bone-dry. “I’m sorry, that’s all I can recall. I must have gone into shock, because everything is all jumbled.”
“I see,” Helga says, leaning back in her chair. “Agnar mentioned your hands were bloody. Tell me, why is that?”
I take another sip to wet my tongue before continuing, “There was something drawn on her chest in blood.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “While I was trying to make out what it was, I accidentally smeared it.”
The teacup trembles in my hands. What am I even saying?
I shake my head. “Sorry, I don’t know why I—”
“The tea,” Helga says simply. “It’s a special seiðr blend.Truth-teller. You cannot lie right now even if you wanted to.”
I quickly set the porcelain cup down, splashing some tea. “Youdruggedme?”
“I needed to know the truth” is all she offers. No apology. Nothing.
It feels like a violation. Claws cut into my palms with a sharp sting, but I do my best to hide them in my lap. “How long does it last?”
“With the few sips you took? No more than twenty minutes. Probably.”
I sit there, silently seething.Calm down, Edith. Breathe.
This isn’t the time or place to lose my temper.
“Let me ask you this.” Helga pauses for a long moment, letting theweight of her words settle over me. “Did you kill Emilía?”
“I don’t think so.”
