Hafsah and I left the old convent building and came to the woods for some privacy. The air was was heavy with the scent of moss and chlorophyll, and I breathed in deep gulps of it. It settled my nerves somewhat, as did the fresh painkillers I’d swallowed down after leaving the bathroom, but all I could think of was Salem’s body lying nearby. How long until she was found? Had Dacre already noticed her missing? She slept in his study every night, after all. Guilt clutched at my insides. And I had to fight the urge to cry.
‘I saw you in the library that night,’ I said, clearing my throat. When Poppy died, I mean. That was the night I did the ritual.’
Hafsah grimaced, staring down at her baby-pink Converse as they crunched over the undergrowth. She held her hands by her waist, clicking methodically. ‘I did the ritual the next day. So it seems like the effects last almost four weeks. Love the werewolf journey for me.’
I smiled darkly. ‘Why did you do the ritual?’
‘It was the day after you saw me with Poppy. I’d said something awful to her that night. She didn’t deserve it and, bless her, she was so fucking upset. I don’t think I even meant it. It just came from a place of anger. And I used to be able to dismiss that, to be able to say, “Oh, I didn’t mean it, I was angry.” But it had got to the point where I didn’t know where my anger ended and I began.’ Her words chimed in my chest like a tuning fork. ‘The next day, I found out Poppy was dead, and something deep in my gut told me it was because of me.’
My feet were leading us in the direction of the glade where I’d foraged most of the ingredients for the ritual. Imagining Hafsah treading the same path, gathering weeds and wildflowers in her satchel and finding a moth to kill, made me feel less alone. Yet the fact I felt kinship with Hafsah troubled me. What if shewasPoppy’s murderer, and here I was identifying with everything she was saying? What did that make me?
Then again, there was only a small chance that she was a killer. Idefinitelywas. I could still feel the snap of Salem’s neck reverberating through my palms.
Even if we managed to reverse the ritual, how would I ever live with myself?
Turning over Hafsah’s account in my head, though, I realised the timings didn’t quite work. If Hafsah hadn’t performed the ritual untilafterPoppy died, it seemed unlikely that she was the killer. Unless she’d done it in cold blood, fully cognisant of what she was doing. The idea didn’t strike me as particularly realistic, but stranger things have happened.
‘What happened after your fight with Poppy?’ I asked, mouth suddenly arid.
Hafsah laughed airily. ‘Are you asking if I killed her? I didn’t, but I was terrified I might have, in a way. I thought what I said might have caused her to jump.’ As she passed below the wooded canopy, fragmented sunlight and shadows shifted across her face. Clear glitter eyeshadow was slicked over her eyelids, glimmering like morning frost. ‘And don’t worry, I already talked to the police. I have an alibi. I was off my face in the Refectory all night, with hundreds of lucky people witnessing my sick dance moves. No jail for Hafsah! Yay for Hafsah!’
We reached the glade, and she promptly slumped down on to the stump of an old tree, as though her very bones were tired. I felt similarly exhausted.
‘What did you say to Poppy? That made you so worried she could have jumped.’
She grimaced, but there was a mischievous undertone to it; she didn’t seem as ashamed of her anger as I was. ‘Promise you won’t judge me?’
‘Hafsah, I once genuinely considered running someone over with my car because their bike swerved ever so slightly in front of me while I was driving. Trust me, you’re fine.’
She kicked at a cluster of grubby mushrooms with the toe of her shoe. ‘I told her she was talentless. That she didn’t deserve to be here.’ A shrug as she buried her chin in her yellow scarf. ‘I mean, true enough. But I probably didn’t need to say it. Story of my life.’
I scoffed. ‘That’s tame.’
I killed Salem, I almost found myself confessing, but I swallowed the words before they reached my tongue. I had just found someone I felt a connection with; someone who could be a friend. I didn’t want to scare her away so soon.
At that she snorted. ‘I’m glad I found you. Utterly hilarious that we’re currently studying ethics, isn’t it?’ She swallowed, rocking back and forth slightly on the tree stump. ‘How awful was I? When . . . you know. In the bathroom.’
There it was. The steely glint of shame she was trying so hard to bury beneath jokes and bravado.
‘Well, at one point you mentioned making a skipping rope out of my intestines. I sort of had to admire Dark Hafsah’s creativity.’
‘Dark Hafsah. Love it. Big fan.’
I leaned back against a tree, staring up into the branches above. The beeches surrounding the glade were old and huge, taller than the convent, with sprays of curling maroon leaves clinging on for dear life. ‘This is not especially funny, is it?’
‘No,’ Hafsah admitted. ‘Who would’ve thought that violently splitting your soul in two by drinking the blood of your enemies might end badly?’
Despite myself, I chuckled, and the impulsive peal of laughter sent waves of pain lancing through my abdomen. I knew I should get the wounds seen to, but I couldn’t even begin to explain to a doctor how they came about.
I slid roughly down the tree, its coarse bark rustling against the back of my coat, until my knees were bent and my bum was centimetres from the damp earth. The burn in my thighs gave me something else to focus on. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘Call an exorcist?’
‘Funny.’
‘I’m not kidding. We are kind of being possessed. By, erm, ourselves.’
A red squirrel darted up a nearby tree, paying us no mind. Our problems seemed both enormous and irrelevant in the simple context of the woods.