Edith intellectualizes her emotions rather than feels them. They must be too overwhelming, so she tries to repress them, just as she tries to repress what she witnessed as a child. She gets uncomfortable anytime it’s brought up or something triggers a memory. I strongly suspect she has post-traumatic stress disorder.
Edith seems to be doing much better with her new foster family. She’s focused on her grades, on getting into a good college, and doesn’t drink or use drugs. Her foster parents are concerned about her, though. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t too.
She continues to experience debilitating migraines. Theycould be caused by PTSD or by suppressing her berserkr nature. I can only hope it is the former. If she inherited her father’s ability, then…
I squeeze the papers, wishing I’d read this before I confronted—no, I can’t let myself think like that. It doesn’t matter who she is or what she’s been through. A killer is still a killer.
Looking up from the page, I realize I’ve already reached Father’s office. He needs to see this as soon as possible. I snap the file shut and push open the door.
Father is seated at his desk, reading through some reports.
I drop the thick file in front of him with a heavy thud. “It’s done.”
Father looks from the papers to me. “What is this?”
“Edith’s file.”
He steeples his fingers. “Did I ask you tostealit?”
I stiffen at his tone. “No, you asked me to break into Helga’s office to look at them. Before I could finish, she returned. I had no choice—”
“You had no choice?” His voice rises with each word. “Now Helga will realize her file is missing.”
Once again, I can’t do anything right. I clench my hands into fists. Not only that, but Nils and Edith saw me outside the headmistress’s office. It won’t be hard for Helga to figure out who took it. “Should I return the file?”
Father gives me a disbelieving look but doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, he reaches for the file and begins to flip through it.
He frowns. “Her surname is Holden?”
“That’s right. Her younger sister, Beatrice, is here as well.”
The crease in his forehead deepens. “So Henry is their father.”
“Was,” I correct. “Did you know him?”
“Henry Holden attended Skallagrim when I did,” Father says. “Hewas one of the berserkir involved in the Tragedy. He left the school not long after.”
Right. There was something about him among Helga’s files. A complaint that the Holdens lodged with the school, saying their son Henry was worse off after he returned. If he witnessed—or worse, took part in—the Tragedy, that would explain why. But if Henry killed someone while berserk, what does it say about him that he was still able to transform back? Most berserkir can’t.
“I see.” I can’t help but glance at the portrait of Uncle Trygve on the wall. If Edith’s father was involved with the Tragedy thirty years ago, maybe it’s not a coincidence she’s returned now.
“Henry’s daughter enrolls right before Helga reinstates the Unity Celebration, and the night after she arrives, someone winds up dead, with her at the scene? That’s no coincidence.”
Once again, we’re on the same page. “I agree,” I say, leaning forward and tapping her file. “Not only that, but look. She was sent to Skallagrim because she attacked a classmate at her previous school.”
“Apparently, she takes afterherfather.”
He sounds almost… disappointed. But the words also seem barbed, directed at me and my brother. Like wedon’ttake after him enough.
I clear my throat. “Her transformation only began recently. She clearly can’t control herself. Our victim must have caught her by surprise, and Edith snapped.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t bring any of this to Helga.” Father leans back in his chair, flipping to the next page of her file. “Speculation won’t be enough. We need something concrete. Something she can’t ignore. Keep a close eye on Edith in the meantime. We cannot let her kill anyone else on our watch.”
“I know,” I say, thinking of Nils.
I drop into my chair with a thud. At least my first class today is one I took last year but didn’t pass. Since Reading the Runes is required for graduation, I had to retake it.
The classroom fills with students. Hunters, witches, and berserkir alike take their seats, but no one wants to sit next to me. I’m the oldest in the class. One of the few students to not pass it the first time. I would be embarrassed, but I’m too exhausted to care.
