Page 108 of The Witch They Fear

"Mostly. And Shandy. Third-year, divination. Don't let her touch the cards yet, she's been waiting."

The third witch is on the rug in front of the coffee table, cross-legged, the tarot spread laid out in front of her. She gathers the cards together without looking and looks up at me with an expression that's careful and warm at the same time. She has fair skin and pale-blonde hair cut short around her ears and grey eyes that look at me the way a person looks at the answer to a question she's been holding for a long time.

"Hi, Cal."

"Hi."

"It's nice to meet you in person."

In person. I file that one and put it away. I have a hundred questions about what Shandy may or may not have been Seeing in those cards, and exactly zero of them are first-meeting questions.

"What are we drinking?" Nellie says.

"Cider," Margo calls without looking up. "Already poured. On the counter."

"You're the best person in this dorm."

"I'm the best person in this building."

"That's also accurate."

I sit on the other end of the couch from Margo because Nellie is patting the cushion at her, and somebody—Tess, I think—passes me a glass of the cider, and I take a sip on autopilot before I remember I'm not drinking anything tonight. I drink it anyway. It's sparkling and tart and there's rosemary in it, and the bubble of it on my tongue startles me.

"It's just cider," Tess says, watching me. "Nellie said no fun for you tonight."

"I appreciate the no fun,” I say as I take another sip.

"I know you do. It's annoying. We respect it," Nellie assures me. She rolls her eyes so hard I think she might get a headache.

I almost laugh.

I'm in a room with four women who aren't paid to be near me.

God, what a depressing fucking thought. I shove it back down before it can do anything to my psyche.

"How was class?" Nellie asks.

"Midus is annoyed I'm not yet hitting people."

Tess snorts into her teacup. Margo, without looking up from her textbook, hums her agreement.

"Midus gets annoyed about a lot of things," Nellie says, tucking one foot under the throw blanket. "It's his core personality trait."

"He told me as soon as my arm clears the sleeve he's going to run drills with me himself."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes." I nod, scrunching my face into a frown.

"Cal." Nellie's eyes go wide. "That's genuinely terrifying."

"I know."

A beat. She bumps her knee against mine.

"You'll survive."

"Probably. Hopefully."