Page 6 of Witchlore
Despite being in college together for the last two years, this is the first conversation we’ve had. That wouldn’t be weird—she’s in the year above me, we don’t have loads of classes together, and there are plenty of twats in this place who treat me like a piece of wall—but Kira Tavi was Elizabeth’s best friend. She was the onlyperson who knew about our relationship. She didn’t out us, but she never so much as looked at me, so it’s not hard to infer her disapproval. Consequently, I barely know her but here’s what I do know. She’s got a girl-gang group of friends who tend to be very into female empowerment, so I’m only on their radar when I’m in a form that they like. She’s not just studious, she does extracurriculars, like leading summer camps at the Moroccan witch community center. She also spearheads “peer mentoring,” which seems like a recipe for a superiority complex.
“I’ve been assigned to be your peer mentor,” she says, looking at her nails. I notice she’s got one of those cool rainbow manicures that I would love to get. I stuff my bitten-to-the-quick nails in my jeans pocket.
“What?”
“I’m your peer mentor,” she says impatiently. “Professor Wallace asked me to mentor you.”
I look up at the dusty brick ceiling above us. Beryl and Professor Wallace, the head of college, are in the same coven and Beryl is chatty.Witches and their covens,I think darkly. After all, Elizabeth and Kira had been part of the same network of covens since they were babies and that’s why Kira thinks she can look at me this way. As if she already knows all of my worst secrets.
“Thanks, but I already have a counselor.”
“It’s compulsory in third year.”
I stare at Kira. She has this slightly pitying smile on her face. I hate her for it.
“No.”
“No?” Kira stops looking at her nails.
“I don’t want one, no offense,” I say. I do mean that. It’s not just perfect Kira, or the fact that she looks at me sometimes like she’sremembering everything Elizabeth ever told her about me. It’s that there isn’t anyone in this whole damn place I would consider being mentored by.
“None taken.” Kira shifts and has a martyred expression. “But Professor Wallace really wants you to reintegrate, to adjust to college without Elizabeth.”
I wince. Most people accompany Elizabeth’s name with a hushed tone, something that denotes the fact she’s dead. Not Kira. She says her name like she’s simply relocated somewhere else and might pop up at any moment.
“Let’s talk. It will only take five minutes,” Kira says, jerking her head to an empty tutorial room next door. I sigh and follow her inside, since this doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Kira is just going to let go and the last thing I want to do is escalate the situation to a sit-down with Professor Wallace. Also, there’s a part of me that thinks it would somehow be rude to Elizabeth to just walk away from her best friend without a word.
The tutorial room was clearly once a broom cupboard when the building was still a factory and somehow still smells of cotton dust. It has a bookshelf and two chairs so I sit down on one.
“So as your peer mentor I’m going to be checking on you regularly to make sure you’re all right,” she says, standing in front of the other chair.
I lean back into the leather behind me. It creaks.
“I’ve been given some information about you—”
She’s opening her bag, one of thoseFEMINIST ARMYtote bags that everyone has, and pulling out a folder and an honest-to-god fountain pen. I watch her unscrew its lid and open the folder, pulling out a big brown envelope that has my name on:ORLANDO SOUTHERNS. I wonder if Kira has a label maker.
“How did you get that?” I demand. I wonder what Professor Wallace has told her and if I can yell at Beryl about it later.
“Your guardians emailed Professor Wallace.” She pauses. “Did they not tell you?”
So it’s not Beryl I have to yell at for the breach of privacy. I notice, too, that Professor Wallace didn’t feel it was appropriate to inform Kira that I have living parents, not guardians. I press the nail of my index finger through my jean hole into the soft skin of my thigh. The pain helps.
“It’s nothing embarrassing,” Kira says, in what I imagine she thinks is a comforting tone. “It’s just some information about your situation.”
“You mean my girlfriend dying?” I snap.
“Elizabeth’s death,” Kira corrects. Her tone is still soft but I feel the reproach in it:Not just your girlfriend.“And your… hiccup over the summer.”
A hiccup would be not finding a summer job or getting off with someone at a festival and contracting chlamydia. What happened to me was not a hiccup. A shitshow would be more appropriate.
“So!” Kira says neatly, pulling a piece of paper out of the folder. “I have a list of questions.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter.
“Hmm?” Kira gives me an arch stare that would be perfect for a librarian.
“Nothing.” I scratch my nail against my thigh.
