Page 105 of The Black Witch

I glare back at him, tears pooling in my eyes, my lips trembling, suddenly unable to disguise my naked hurt.

Yvan’s expression turns momentarily conflicted then unexpectedly concerned.

The softening of his vivid green eyes sparks a powerful ache deep inside me, and then a sudden, fierce resentment of him and Iris and how they all belong.

Feeling shaky and struggling to fight off my humiliating, angry tears, I avert my eyes from him, grab up a damp cloth and roughly wipe the jam from my face.

I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Everything around me beginning to blur, I throw down the rag and flee. I run all the way back to the freezing North Tower, throw myself into bed, shut my eyes tight to block out the hateful Icarals and cry myself to sleep.

* * *

A crash wakes me up the next morning. I’m shivering and mentally reeling from yet another Selkie nightmare. Disoriented, I look around. Ariel and Wynter are gone, but Ariel’s chicken is on my desk, pecking at my pens and papers, haphazardly pushing things down onto the desk chair and floor. My eyes slide down to find the ceramic portrait of my parents cracked to smithereens on the floor.

My only likeness of my parents.

Anger crashes through me like an avalanche long straining for release. I launch myself from my bed, rush toward my desk, stoop down and pick up a small slice of the portrait, my mother’s eye still visible on the tiny sliver as tears streak down my face.

I’ll never see my mother and father’s faces again.

My anger grows and grows, until it becomes a vicious tide.

That’s it.It’s time to fight back. Let Ariel try to set me on fire. It will be well worth it. Then I can go to the High Chancellor’s office and get her sent back to the insane asylum she grew up in.

I get up and throw on some clothes.

Then I pick up Ariel’s chicken, bring it outside and set it roughly down on the blue-frosted grass.

I know her chicken probably won’t survive long on the University grounds. It’s likely someone will pick it up and return it to the poultry yard. Or it will be eaten by some predator.

I beat down a small stab of guilt and go to class.

* * *

My classes grind by slowly. And through all the lectures and laboratory work, I find it impossible to fight a mounting unease.

She deserves it,I angrily remind myself as I grind roots and help Tierney prepare a new distillation.And it’s just a chicken. Stolen from the poultry yard. It should have long ago graced a supper plate or been served up as soup.

* * *

Late that afternoon I make my way back to the North Tower, wanting to drop off my heavy shoulder sack before going to my kitchen labor. I push through the blustery, gray day as I trudge up the long hill, a light, icy rain pricking at my skin, anger at Ariel spiking with every step.

When I finally reach the North Tower, I’m mentally girded for battle, ready to take her on.

I march up the tower steps, each stomp smashing away at my guilt.

She deserved it. She deserved it.Over and over on each new stair.

As I reach the upper floor and make my way through the oddly quiet hallway, I notice a strange smell—something charred, like an old cook fire. With nervous trepidation, I grasp the cold handle of our lodging’s door and pull it open.

All the blood drains from my face when I see what she’s done.

My quilt. My most beloved possession.

It lays in the middle of the deserted room, reduced to a charred heap, only a small portion still on fire, the flames crackling and disintegrating the dry fabric.

I run to it, a cry tearing from my throat. I stomp at the flames and burn my fingers as I grab at the last remaining scrap, feeling faint when the piece falls apart in my hand.

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