Chapter One Edith #3
She sounds business as usual, as if this is another one of our monthly check-ins. I can just imagine all the things she’s cataloging about me in her head right now: Violent tendencies. Uncontrollable rage. Risk to others.
Worst of all: Like father, like daughter.
I shake my head. “I know, I know. It’s never acceptable to hit someone.” Still, how come no one cared when Jason kept grabbing me without my permission? Why is that acceptable? I hesitate a moment before adding, “I would never use a knife. Never.”
A corner of Helga’s mouth lifts, deepening the creases of her face. “I know.”
That stops me in my tracks. “You do?”
Of all the people I expected to believe me, my social worker was not at the top of the list. She may have known me since I was seven years old, even longer than Jim and Patricia, but I still expected her to write me off like everyone else.
“They will never find the weapon, will they?” Helga asks.
My knees suddenly go weak, so I drop back into the seat. “Because I didn’t have one. I must have accidentally scratched him.”
Helga gives me a knowing look and reaches for my hand. “With these nails? I think not.” She unfurls my fingers. “Claws, however…”
I rip my hand away. “What?”
“They were claw marks, weren’t they?” she asks matter-of-factly.
I stare at her. How could Helga possibly know that?
She just got here, and I haven’t told anyone.
“I’d hoped that perhaps you would be spared,” Helga continues, pressing her thin lips together. “Most never awaken to their powers anymore. And if they do, well…”
“Most what?” I ask, rubbing my throbbing temples.
“Berserkir,” Helga says solemnly.
“What are you talking about?” I blink a few times. “You mean like… berserkers?”
As I say the word aloud, I realize the way Helga pronounces it sounds different.
Sharper. Berserkers were mentioned briefly when we covered the Viking age in European history.
They’re supposed to be violent, battle-crazed warriors who ran into combat shirtless, wearing wolfskins instead of armor, and biting their shields like wild animals.
But that can’t be what Helga is talking about.
It wouldn’t make any sense.
Her eye contact is unwavering as she says, “True berserkir didn’t just fight with animalistic frenzy.
They became animals. Either a boar or wolf or bear.
” I scoff, unable to help myself, but Helga continues, “The transformation was triggered by intense anger. That raw emotion taps into something primal within all of us, but only berserkir could fully utilize it to turn animal. And those ancient warriors passed down this ability to some of their descendants—including, it seems, you, Edith.”
Is this some kind of joke?
People turning into animals? Has Helga lost her mind?
“You can’t be serious,” I say, staring at her.
Helga doesn’t flinch. “Oh, I most certainly am.”
I glance down at my nails—still round. Not like when I slapped Jason. Impossible or not, I saw pale claws.
I know I did.
Helga shakes her head, still frowning. “Most berserkir remain latent their whole lives—especially women, given that society is always teaching us to suppress our anger instead of expressing it. I wanted that for you, I did. After everything you went through, I’d hoped you’d be able to live a normal life. ”
“What you’re saying, it’s not… This isn’t possible,” I manage to get out.
Not me being a berserkr nor living a normal life.
“Of course, there was always the possibility you’d awaken,” Helga continues, unfazed. “That’s why I took on your case. My sisters and I work to ensure others like you are protected. As part of that, we monitor all the known berserkir bloodlines.”
Berserkir bloodlines.
My hands tighten on the plastic arms of the chair. “Wait, you don’t mean…?”
“Your father was a berserkr as well. A wolf, in fact.”
I shake my head so hard my hair sways. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would remember if—”
Helga leans forward, unzipping her briefcase.
“You wouldn’t.” She pulls out something small and egg shaped that dangles from a long chain. It reminds me of the thurible the priest swings before Mass, trailing incense over the altar, but the one Helga holds is miniature by comparison. “Not after I used seier on you.”
She draws the syllables out, pronouncing the word like sathe-rr.
I blink. “Say what?”
“Ancient magic.” Helga holds the censer in front of me. “It’ll be quicker if I show you.”
She flicks her wrist, swinging the censer back and forth like a pendulum. As I stare at it, red smoke pours out, swirling up my nostrils. The smoke doesn’t smell like myrrh and frankincense, but something ancient and earthy. Strange yet familiar.
My eyelids grow heavy as I breathe in.
“Muna,” Helga says, her voice echoing throughout the room. “Muna langt fram.”
My eyes close.
And then it feels like I’m falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Moments from my childhood flash around me—broken dishes and shouting over the TV. But now, my memories begin to morph. Shattered glass didn’t slice Mom’s hands… Dad’s claws did. As he screams at her, his teeth sharpen into fangs.
Suddenly it’s the night that has marked me like a brand.
Dark liquid covers the carpet like spilled juice. Dad stands over her, knife glinting in the moonlight. But then the knife shrinks, turning into claws, and hair envelops his entire body. Dad transforms into a wolf before my eyes—
Enough. I’ve seen enough.
I jerk awake in my chair, returned to reality. Slowly, I look around Principal Matthews’s office. Helga studies me with a shrewd expression.
I’m back.
But now everything is different.
My memories of my parents have always felt incomplete, like I was peering through a dirty window. There were things I couldn’t recall. Therapists theorized it was because of PTSD. But what I just saw felt like I smashed the window and finally glimpsed the truth.
It was real.
And Helga hid the truth from me. It’s all coming back—she used the same censer on that horrible night ten years ago, only to make me forget instead of remember.
I stare at Helga, at a loss for words. I trusted her. She’s been the one constant in my life since my parents’ murder-suicide, but now she seems like a total stranger. Is Helga even a social worker? Who the hell is she?
“You… you messed with my memories?” I choke out. “How could you?”
“I had no choice,” Helga says. “The existence of berserkir cannot become public. Once, berserking was useful for battle, but now it’s responsible for numerous homicides that need to be covered up.
If not, it would create hysteria like the witch trials of the past. Berserkir would be killed en masse, along with other practitioners of our magic. ”
I shake my head slowly. Nothing she’s saying makes any sense.
Berserkir. Seier. I don’t want to believe it.
Any of it. But… I saw my dad. He was a wolf.
Rage turned him wild and dangerous. And he wasn’t the only one with claws.
I didn’t just inherit his eyes or hair or anger—I inherited this, too.
What other explanation is there for what I did?
An awful pressure builds and builds inside my chest.
Something cracks under my finger.
The chair.
My breathing quickens. I stare down at the bright piece of plastic in my shaking hand. The arm of the chair is snapped in jagged pieces, and small bits are scattered over the floor like broken glass.
“That’s to be expected,” Helga says, unfazed. “You’re going to experience increased strength and other heightened senses. This was your first time going berserk, wasn’t it?” When I nod, Helga adds, “It won’t be the last.”
“How do I stop it?” I ask, finally looking up at her.
“You can’t.” Helga leans forward. “But you can learn to control it. My family runs a school in Iceland called Skallagrim Academy. As far as most are concerned, it’s a place for troubled youth, but Skallagrim is actually a school for seier.
We work to preserve the ancient magic and provide protection to its practitioners.
At Skallagrim, you can be among other berserkir like yourself. ”
My stomach sinks. That’s the last thing I want. I already had to get a new family, a new house, a new school, a new life. The plastic cracks in my hand. I don’t want to have to do that all over again.
“I can make this all go away,” Helga says, “as long as you attend Skallagrim Academy.”
“How?” I ask. “Principal Matthews made it sound like my punishment was all but guaranteed. Not to mention that my foster parents will never agree. And what about Jason and all those witnesses—”
“I can be very… persuasive when necessary.”
The weight she puts on the word makes me queasy. “And if I refuse?”
“This will proceed to court. You’ll be expelled, maybe go to jail.” Helga pauses, looks me straight in the eye. “And then, someday, it will happen again. Or worse.”
I stare at the plastic shards by my feet. How many things did Dad break in his rages? I may not have sliced Jason with a knife, but I did let my anger get the best of me. I reacted physically in a way I couldn’t control or predict. Just like my dad.
What else could I be capable of?
When I say nothing, Helga continues. “We’re running out of time. The principal will be returning with the police any moment.” She glances at the door. “I’m going to need an answer, Edith. Now.”
I am not an animal, I want to insist, but the evidence that I am is right here in my hands. Whether I want to or not, I have to accept it, or else I might lose control and hurt someone less deserving than Jason. Like father, like daughter.
And I refuse to be like him.
“Fine,” I say, voice barely a whisper. “I’ll go to Skallagrim Academy.”