Page 26 of Tempest

Clover leans forward, whispering conspiratorially. “That’s where it all started. You remember the true story of TFU’s foundations, right?”

“How could I forget? It’s all you’d talk about. Mila threatened to—” I swallow my words.

Clover blinks but doesn’t miss a beat. “Can you imagine if I actually find the ritual room? I’m convinced Sarah Anderton’s grimoire is hidden in there.”

“It’s also believed there are cat skeletons in the walls,” I say, “And the skulls of the children she helped execute.”

“I don’t remember telling you that.”

I pull my lips in, then pop them out. “I’ve done a lot of reading lately. You don’t have to protect me anymore, Clo. I’m okay hearing this stuff.”

Clover squints at me like she’s not entirely convinced.

I sigh, disappointed in myself. My confrontation with Tempest has only convinced Clover to treat me like a fragile eggshell again. “Sarah Anderton, born 1790. She built her covenstead on the highest point in Titan Falls, where she would cater potions, poisons, and abortions to the American elite. She also had a daughter, greatly deformed, probably because she imbibed in her own potions from time to time. Her name was never written down and remains unknown. That daughter became her apprentice. They operated under the radar until three prominent women were arrested for poisoning their husbands, and it was traced back to her. Sarah and her daughter had their tongues and fingers cut off before their hanging because of all the elite clientele they’d accumulated. If they spoke or wrote a word, those elites would have to be executed, too.”

Clover regards me with owlish eyes. “Dude. You said that so smoothly I kinda want to start a coven with you.”

I shake my head, laughing under my breath. “I’ve had a lot of time to read and do my research.”

“And you still came here, despite TFU’s gory history. Even after experiencing so much violence yourself.”

I could always rely on Clover not to beat around the bush, and I was grateful for it. Too many people handle me with kid gloves. I’m convinced that’s what made me so vulnerable and stupid that night. So open to execution myself. I vowed never to be like that again.

I suppose, in a way, I’m grateful for Tempest’s handling of me, too.

“You came here, too,” I say. “And Tempest has been a TFU student for four years.”

She nods. “This place calls to us. Tempest doesn’t talk much about his boarding school days, but he’s lasted into post-grad, so the hauntings can’t be that bad.”

“Or he just yells at the ghosts to shut the fuck up or to make themselves useful and read him the final exams.”

We both laugh.

I sober. “We’ve all come from violence in some way or another.”

Clover follows suit. “I have a confession to make.”

I perk up, all ears.

“Tempest thinks I’ve come here like a good little sister so he can keep a close watch on me while I study English lit and become nothing but a light fixture like our mother, but I’m tired of paying for the consequences of his mysterious trauma. Really, I want to major in occult studies. Walk in Sarah’s footsteps and understand what made her so drawn to dark magic.” She snorts. “What do you think my brother will have to say about that?”

“I won’t tell. If you don’t tell him that I’m here to discover my own truths, too.”

A chill falls over the common room, filled with scarlet velvet, ornate golden frames, and paintings of the forested Titan Falls landscape and the Victorian era elite. Bookshelves line our backs with a large window between us, and we both look out at the afternoon sky. The sun shines its rays through the glass and over our skin, but Clover’s arms carry goose bumps the same as mine.

“Are you still convinced you saw a murder that night?” she asks quietly.

The night Mila died comes to me as mismatched puzzle pieces my brain has trouble managing. Flashes of cruelty and the slick smell of blood. The flash-bang of a silencer and one too many broken skulls.

“No,” I say to Clover, despite the image of a crumpled man appearing on the backs of my eyelids sometimes when I blink. “I’ve long since accepted that it was all in my head. He wasn’t real.”

Clover’s answering grin is relieved and bright. She reaches a hand out, and I clasp it.

“We’re going to have a great freshman year together,” she says over our connected fingers. “Reunited at last.”

I squeeze back a little too hard.

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