Page 63 of Inextricably Tied

Her eyes narrow. “Still pulling that shit?”

Poe readjusts the fabric she’s working on. “Sometimes you need it.”

It’s a trick they learned a long time ago. A way to force Harbinger to examine her feelings, walling off their emotions with a mirror that amplifies Harbinger’s own emotions back to her. In the early days, it was the only way to get Harbinger to acknowledge what she felt.

“Is it working?” Omen holds out his hand with the rolled Seelie Bark. Harbinger takes it and presses it to her lips. She inhales, staring across the expanse of her feelings until she takes one slow step into their depths.

“Maybe.” She exhales smoke, shivering even with morning light through the windows. Omen tugs a woven blanket off the back of the couch. She bunches it around her. “You live like fucking bats here.”

A laugh trickles from Omen before he reclines against the arm of the couch, crossing his ankles in Harbinger’s lap. “So above it now, huh, Big Shot?” He plucks the joint back from her as Poe inspects her fabric. This is how it was in the years before Harbinger left — smoking things they weren’t supposed to, talking shit and laughing about whatever new rules the Diviners initiated.

Poe’s eyes flick over the seams of her garment. Her voice is low, like she’s trying not to spook an animal. “They’re good for you, Harbinger.”

“And how would you know?”

Poe doesn’t rise to the bait. Harbinger’s frustration reflects off of them until she’s forced to recognize who she’s actually upset with.

Like looking in a mirror.

Poe wets the end of a thread between her lips. “Flint watches you like he’d lay on the ground and let you walk across him if it would make things easier for you.”

“That’s the problem.” A pang drives deep into Harbinger’s stomach. “And Agony would try to kill me.”

“And you still look at him like you want to see what else those handcuffs are good for.”

Omen takes another hit from the joint. “Freaky bitch.”

Poe snips a thread with her scissors. “You always liked to live on the edge.”

“Oh my gods…” Fingers massage into Harbinger’s eyelids. Despite her best efforts, there’s still a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Poe’s room decor is the same, but there’s more now. Shitty paintings by Omen, clippings from contraband magazines, photographs Harbinger wasn’t present for. She can’t get comfortable here, not just because of the cold. The Convent is full of such contrasting feelings, warm and cold fronts clashing until they whirl inside her.

A chill follows the Diviners wherever they go, guiding students through dark corridors, ushering them into deeper rooms, and locking them in the Veil Chambers…

But then there’s this: the warmth of Poe’s smiles. The weight of Omen’s legs across her lap. The same things Harbinger clung to back when they tucked into matching beds, legs stretching toward footboards as they giggled in the dark.

Now, those memories stretch over her like an old favorite shirt, worn and soft, but not somewhere Harbinger can fit again.

“Why couldn’t I be happy here?”

The sewing machine clacks, but they’re listening. They always are.

“You were never meant to be here, Harbin.” Poe slows the pedal. “Not forever. You were never gonna stay.”

“How do you know?”

Poe taps the Veil marks around her eyes before she extends both middle fingers, dragging them down to kiss. She raises them proudly in a bastardized version of the holy motion. “So fuck the Oracle.”

Omen and Harbinger follow suit, the way they have a thousand times. “So fuck we all.”

Rolling back in her chair, Poe drapes the garment over a flat surface. “You told me not to tell you,” she reminds Harbinger. It’s an agreement that’s withstood the test of time, sworn after the first vision Poe had of her.

You should eat something light today. Poe leaned over Harbinger’s shoulder in the dining hall. You’re going to be sick later.

Harbinger was surly then. Well, surlier. Don’t tell me anything you see about me. Spitefully, she reached for the greasiest thing she could find. Even if I’m dying. Especially then.

She spent that night vomiting after another banshee accidentally knocked against her bare hand. Poe held her hair back, careful not to touch Harbinger’s skin, even though they were already connected.