Page 108 of Bound By Fury

I’m on my knees, shaking Daisy, begging her to snap out of it, and just when I think things can’t get worse—the smoke triggers the fire alarm. It blares in time with the bright flashing lights. Disoriented, I stand, kicking the board aside.

At the piercing sound, Daisy’s eyes focus, and she grabs on to my calf.

“What’s going on?”

Behind me Sam scrambles to their feet. “What the hell?” they ask, Missy clutching their arm. She’s looking at Daisy in awe.

I’m hoarse as I search Daisy’s face for answers. “Dude! What the fuck was that?” She looks at me, but I can tell from her expression that what I fear is true. She doesn’t remember.

“Did we do it?” She sounds stubborn. Scared.

I don’t know what to say.

I help her stand, and we join Sam and Missy who stare ahead in shock. We exit the building hand in hand and find the rest of the students on the lawn.

We should have told Daisy not to use real candles, but I can’t care about the trouble we’re going to get into right now, because I know—despite all reason, despite every voice in my head saying it’s impossible—that we just contacted someone, and it wasn’t Fiona.

Whoever it was had a message only I could understand.

Later, when Daisy asks me what the spirit spelled, I tell her the truth. But as I suspected, the letters mean nothing to her. Sam, like always, explains it away, says that we saw what we wanted to see, that we had some sort of shared delusion. Missy is angry. Angry that the message didn’t reveal anything to her. Angry that we’re all going to get in trouble. Angry at the world.

And tonight as I lie in bed, I think about the last letter the planchette landed on before I ripped my hand away.

Something I should have thought about a long time ago.

A single word.

A name.

M.A.U.R.E.E.N.

THIRTY-FIVE

HEADMASTER MATSOUKAS’S OFFICE LOOKS TOTALLY different during the day. In the dark I hadn’t noticed the intricately woven brass cross centered between the two windows, a mirror of the one hanging around his neck.

Now light floats through the paned glass, watering my eyes as I sit in front of his desk. My fingers dig into the armrest, the black leather lined with steel studs. In the corner of my eye is the cabinet.

I let loose a shuddering breath.

“Harper?” Alastair asks, his fingers are steepled at his lips. “Where did you go?”

I flick my gaze to him. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He leans back in his chair. “I’m sure you understand why I’ve called you into the office. After the incident the other night, I wanted to meet with the four of you individually, to see if there’s anything I could be doing to better support you during your time here.”

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

“You know,” he says, “your DA, Kate, has come to me a couple times about you. She’s concerned. Says you seem to be struggling here. You’re becoming more withdrawn. You’re up all hours of the night pacing the halls…,” he trails off like I should deliver him an explanation for my actions.

“Okay.” I shrug.

He chuckles, leaning forward. “What’s with you, Harper? We’ve known each other a long time. I know what you’re normally like, screaming in the woods with the boys…” He puts his chin in his hand. “This isn’t you.”

I pick at my cuticle, wiping the ensuing bead of blood against the hem of my pleated skirt.

His eyes are round and sincere, and maybe a few months ago, I would have confessed. I would have opened up, desperate for any amount of parentalish attention. But today I jut out my chin.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about. I’m fine.”