Chapter Ten Amund
Standing outside Helga’s office, I look to my left and right.
If I’m caught, it’s over for me. Ever since my parents separated, Helga has no patience for me or my father.
I know she would expel me for this. I pull the helm of concealment Father gave me out of my pocket.
He assured me that once I activate it, I’ll be invisible. So why am I still on edge?
I have plenty of cuts on my hands from training. It’s not hard to wet the stave with my blood. Now no one should be able to see me. The long hallway is empty, but I feel as though someone is watching me as I try the door.
Locked. An unlocking stave would work best here, but it would also be obvious. My fingers are too large, too clumsy, for written spells requiring such care. Galdrar are the only things I’m good at. Unlike Nils. He’s always had an exceptional talent for spoken and written spells.
I check over both my shoulders again and lower my voice as I say, “Brjóta dyrr.”
The handle gives and the door opens.
My galdr worked.
I’m lucky there were no stronger protections to deal with.
It’s not like anyone in their right mind would break into the headmistress’s office.
Maybe I’ve gone mad. But I cannot return to Father empty-handed.
I need more information on Edith. More important, I need proof that she did this.
So I slip inside quickly and close the door behind me.
I’ve never even had any reason to set foot in Helga’s office before.
Few do. And even fewer stay at Skallagrim afterward.
The room is dark, thick curtains obscuring the daylight so only a sliver shines through. Dust swirls in the air as I step forward, the light cutting across me like a blade. It seems like a warning. I need to find the files and get out quickly.
Her desk is covered with books and loose papers, as messy and chaotic as I’d expect from Helga.
Great. I have no clue how I’m going to find anything in this place.
Especially with so little light. Three melted candles burn low, the wax still dripping like tears.
I reach for one—and my fingers brush a hand.
A human hand.
I immediately pull back. Grimacing, I inspect the base of the candle more closely.
A severed hand grips the candle. Its skin has been dried and pickled, giving it a withered appearance.
Swallowing my revulsion, I move the candle aside and rifle through the piles of paperwork, which is challenging while also holding the helm of concealment.
Transcripts. Letters from students’ families—grievances, actually.
Clearly, your program doesn’t work. I flip through, unable to resist reading more, but I’m careful not to let go of the lignite.
These date back a long time. There are numerous complaints about students sustaining gruesome injuries while studying at Skallagrim.
There’s an especially long tale from the parents of someone named Henry Holden, who apparently returned less in control than when he left.
Emilía’s body flashes in my mind.
At least Henry returned alive.
I set the letters down and scan the desk for anything that might be useful.
My attention snags on a framed photo of the three sisters.
The Helgas are much younger, their faces barely touched by wrinkles.
But that isn’t what arrests me. With a shaking hand, I reach out for the picture to examine it more closely.
Mother stands between the Helgas, smiling alongside her two sisters. Her dark hair is in a braided crown with loose tendrils framing her heart-shaped face. Her green eyes sparkle with mischief. She looks happier than I’ve ever seen her.
This must have been before she met Father.
Before she gave birth to me and then Nils.
Before all those unfortunate events unfolded.
As I study her face, I can’t remember the last time I saw Mother smile.
Not since the separation. Seeing her laughing takes me back to a time before then. When we were still a family.
Sadness pierces my chest like a spear. I set the photo down quickly and turn from the desk. I’m not here to reminisce about something that’s gone forever.
When I check the lignite in my palm, it’s already crumbling.
Not much time.
I have to get Edith’s file quickly and get out of here.
I scan the shelves behind the desk and then… the filing cabinet. I work the drawer open slowly so the metal hinges don’t squeal and grab a handful of folders.
A loud squawk startles me. I grip the folders tighter.
“Helly,” a voice says.
I turn quickly, surveying the room and all its curiosities.
The door is still closed. No one else is here, except…
A raven sits on a wooden perch in the corner of the room.
It flaps its wings, cocking its head to the side as it stares at me with oily eyes.
Well, shit. In the lack of light, I didn’t notice her bird there.
Helga keeps two ravens—Huginn and Muninn—but I can’t tell which this one is.
She must’ve left it here to guard her office in her absence.
Can the raven see me?
It sure feels like it can. Father didn’t say if I’d be invisible to animals, too.
I return to the student folders, flipping through them until I spot a familiar face: my brother’s. Nils Agnarsson. Classification: seiemaer. Witch. Seeing it stated so plainly is jarring. It’s the thing that tore our family apart.
I remember when Father found Nils had stolen Mother’s book of staves. How Nils ran to me, crying. How I held him tightly as he sobbed until snot ran down his nose. How I told him everything would be okay. He would be okay.
But I lied.
Father could never accept that he would rather practice magic than hunt.
I knew that, but I didn’t know how far he would go.
How he took all his anger, his frustration, his disappointment out on Nils, trying to make my brother more like him.
As bad as Father is with me, it’s nothing compared to how he abused my brother.
And I had no idea.
Not until it was too late. As soon as Mom found out, she took Nils and left. I could have gone with them. Should have. But when I thought of what it would do to Father to lose both his sons, I couldn’t leave.
I still can’t.
Burying that memory, I flip through more of the student files.
Emilía Jónsdóttir, the witch who was murdered.
I skim through her file. Born and raised in Iceland.
She was the same age as Nils and was on the student council.
Emilía lived in Freyja Hall with her roommate, Irina Orlova.
Nothing else here is particularly useful.
At least now I know these are the right files.
I skip ahead to the berserkir. Isaac Allen. Kristín Briem. Beatrice Holden.
Edith Holden.
Her face isn’t one I would ever forget, and her short white hair is unmistakable. In this photo, she wears a bright smile. She looks friendly and open, just like when we first met. Staring at her photo, I have the strangest, most unwelcome thought that she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
Sometimes the most beautiful creatures are the deadliest. I keep reading, devouring every detail I can find. For some reason, I want to learn more about her. Even if she could be a killer. Even if I might have to hunt her. No, especially because of that. I need to understand my prey.
Edith Holden
Classification: ulfheeinn (unconfirmed)
They don’t even know if she’s a wolf or not? She must not have gone fully berserk yet. So she was telling the truth about that at least. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t the killer. Something bad must have happened if she transferred here mid-semester. She clearly has no control of her ability.
Her younger sister’s file is in here too. Beatrice. The little girl who wanted to pet my horse but was too shy to ask. When I think of how kind and caring Edith was toward her sister, it’s hard to imagine her killing anyone.
But she’s a berserkr. I have no idea what she’s capable of.
My stomach drops as I continue reading.
Their father murdered their mother and then himself in front of Edith. She was only seven years old. My throat constricts. Wait… Holden. I saw that name mentioned earlier. Henry Holden was their father. A berserkr. An abusive one, as so many of his kind are.
Recently, Edith began to show signs she inherited her father’s abilities.
She attacked one of her classmates.
That’s why she was sent to Skallagrim. She slashed someone’s face with her claws, and in front of other students, no less.
The other Helga, who uses social work as a guise for finding recruits, had no choice but to use magic to cover up the truth.
She arranged for Edith to attend Skallagrim, as she has quite a few others, hoping Edith could learn to control her abilities before it’s too late.
Except… it already is.
I think of Emilía lying there, shredded by claws.
Of Edith standing over her, covered in blood.
She’s a killer, like her father was. Like my father has molded me into his image too.
I spread my hand over the page, fighting the urge to crumple it in my fist. Between my fingers, Edith stares out at me from her photo.
She also—
Footsteps. Not far.
I glance up as the knob starts to twist. Shit. No time. Quickly, I grab the flap of my messenger bag and stuff the file inside. The door opens and I duck behind the nearest bookcase instinctually. I don’t dare exhale as Helga steps inside the room.
From around the corner of the bookcase, I watch as Helga heads straight for her desk. A low, ancient sound resounds through the office. I stiffen. An alarm. I’ve been caught. Of course I—
A raven pops out of a clock, chiming the hour. My body relaxes a little as I flatten against the bookcase. Not caught. Yet.
I dare another look at Helga, hoping she’ll get whatever she came for and leave, but instead she takes a deep breath, picks up her phone, and dials a number.
She stands for a minute as it rings, and then: “Hello, Jón, this is Helga, the headmistress from Skallagrim.” She turns her back to me.
“I apologize for calling you at such an early hour, but… well, I need to share some heartbreaking news.” A heavy pause.
“I know this is going to be incredibly difficult to hear, but there’s been an accident at school, and Emilía… Emilía has died.”
Helga falls silent. Even without my heightened hearing, I would still be able to hear the awful cries of despair on the other end. All because of me. Because I couldn’t protect their daughter.
“I’m so, so sorry, I know this is devastating… No, it wasn’t another student. It was an animal attack. One of the wild ones must have gained access, and your daughter was the victim. I know, I know. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”
My hand tightens into a fist. How can Helga lie to them like that?
They deserve the truth. Everyone does.
“Well, because of the nature of her death, you understand why we have to cremate her as soon as possible. The existence of berserkir cannot get out. I understand, but I was actually calling as a courtesy, since you already consented when Emilía was admitted. Skallagrim is dedicated to protecting seier—”
On the other end, I hear a man screaming. “What about protecting our daughter?”
The call disconnects.
Helga sighs heavily, rubbing at her temples. “I suppose I’ll have to pay them a visit after all.”
I tense.
The lignite is already breaking apart in my palm. Now that I have what I came for, I have to get out. Immediately. Moving as quietly as if I’m on a hunt, I slip around the shelves and pad toward the door. I’m almost there when the raven lets out a shrill cry.
I stiffen, holding my breath.
“Oh, quiet, Huginn,” Helga snaps. “I’ll feed you soon.”
I give a quick glance over my shoulder. The raven is looking right at me, ruffling its feathers in displeasure, but Helga hasn’t bothered to turn around. She pulls her shawl tighter and starts to boil some water before setting out two teacups.
I slip outside, closing the door with the quietest click. Just in time too. The helm of concealment is nothing more than crumbled dust in my palm. My shoulders sag as I glance down at my messenger bag. I did it.
Now I can review the files more carefully and take my time learning about Edith. The killer, I correct. I can’t let myself forget why I’m investigating her or what she’s done.
What she still could do again.
I hurry down the hall when a familiar voice makes me freeze.
“Amund?”