Page 61 of Bound By Fury

“You don’t know her,” Missy says harshly. “She’s not even from here.”

“Oh. Where was she from?”

Her gaze drifts out the window and toward the hedge maze that sits behind Biltmore. “Technically she is from out of state. South Carolina.”

“Technically?”

Her head snaps back as if she hadn’t noticed that she’d started talking out loud. “What’s it to you?” she sneers, her hand gripping the side of the table like she’s gearing up to bolt.

“I’m just, uh, doing a project on… um…”

“Don’t lie.”

I stare into her critical, hazel eyes, and she stares right back. We’re at an impasse. I don’t trust her, but I want to figure out what’s going on with me, and as a byproduct, what might have happened to Fiona. I’m not too proud to realize that I need her help.

“I think I might be able to help you find her.”

There’s a change in her posture at this. She sits a little straighter, her eyes narrowed as she regards me. I wait, unblinking, unbreathing.

She barks out a laugh before scooting out of the seat. “Fuck off, Harper,” she says, turning.

“I’m serious!” I shout at her back, shrinking a little when the people closest to us turn their heads in our direction.

She pauses, her shoulders rising before she faces me again.

“I know there’s something fucked going on at this school,” I say. “And I think it has to do with what happened to Fiona.”

She turns slowly before planting both hands on the table and leaning down until I can see the slim, golden ring around each of her pupils.

“Why do you care so much?”

She has a point. Why do I care about some girl I’ve never met? But I’ve also never met the witches from my dream. I don’t have to know them to know this is right. This is why I’m here. I can feel it even if I can’t explain it.

Besides, she hasn’t talked about the girl in past tense once. It pains me to think we may actually have something in common.

I take a deep breath. “I know what it feels like for someone to go missing and have no idea where they went, or why.” I close my eyes against the echo of my father’s scribbled words in my head. I’m sorry. But this is the only way to save her.

She twirls the ends of her hair around her finger while she considers me, her head cocked in thought. “This doesn’t make us friends.”

“Of course not. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’ll have to do what I say.”

I roll my eyes. “We’ll see.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Later, when I finally shove my stuff back into my bag and start making the trek to my dorm, I hum along to the soft chanting that plays in my head, and when I pass the fountain, two beady-eyed cardinals watch me until the doors shut at my back.

TWENTY-TWO

IT’S FRIDAY, AND DAISY, SAM, and I are grabbing lunch in the cafeteria. The sun shines through the large wrought iron windows as we share a giant plate of cheesy fries.

Daisy is taking out her tarot cards.

“Okay, like I said, this is practice, so some divination that seems like it may not apply to you is to be expected.” She’s wearing a cropped, black graphic T-shirt over her school-issued button-down, the points of the collar laid over the ribbed hemming. A long-sleeve fishnet shirt peeks out from the wrists of her blazer.