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Caleb made a frustrated noise. “Maybe it would help. Or maybe it would draw the Other’s attention before she’s able to withstandit or sever their connection completely. I still think that the safest thing is to allow her to learn on her own. For now—”

“For now, we leave her in the dark,” Eli said, resigned.

“It’s for the best,” Caleb replied, not sounding much happier. “I’ll go check in on her.” There were a few more words exchanged, and then the door creaked open all the way, and Caleb’s footsteps thudded toward me, impossibly loud. I kept still, my breath deep and even.

Caleb touched my shoulder. “Helen, wake up. I brought you something.”

I eased my eyes open a crack, not having to feign the difficulty of focusing on him. He helped me to sit up before putting a white pill and a glass of water into my hands.

“What’s this?” I asked, my voice a croak.

“A remedy Eli makes,” Caleb said. “It should help.”

“It’s a migraine cure?” I asked skeptically.

Caleb shook his head. “Not exactly. But like Eli told you, you aren’t the first person to have a bad reaction to Harrow. We’ve had the chance to experiment a bit.”

I looked down at the pill in my hand. It seemed like a bad idea, taking unknown drugs from a man I barely knew. But they’d been talking about helping me. That had to be a good sign.

I swallowed the pill and drank a couple more gulps of water before the nausea caught up with me. I handed the glass back. Caleb held on to it a moment, looking down at me. “You’ve got the whole year to settle into your role here,” he said. “You don’t need to figure out everything in your first two weeks. Take it easy, okay?”

I gave a tiny nod—but he had it wrong. I had to survive a full year, and I didn’t know if Harrow would let me. The faster I found answers, the better armed I would be.

Caleb patted me on the shoulder one last time and left me to rest.

The pain eased gradually, either time or Eli’s remedy loosening the migraine’s grip on me. I sank back against the bed, my thoughts swirling.

They had talked about Harrow, but they’d also spoken ofthe Other. I didn’t understand what that meant—and my family clearly wasn’t going to tell me. I was on my own.

One personhadtalked to me about Harrow, though. Bryony Locke, the Harrow Witch.

If my family wouldn’t tell me the truth, maybe she would.

8

OVER THE NEXTfew days, Mom and Simon fretted, Caleb made up endless excuses to get me out of the house, and even Iris went out of her way to check up on me. It was the end of the week before I had the chance to slip out alone and make my way into the woods.

I didn’t have to search for Bryony. Somehow, I knew where to go, charting a sure course along a gravel path among the trees. I found her sitting on a small stone bench and reading a tattered paperback, her satchel resting on the ground beside her. The sun shone on her dark hair, sending darts of red along the strands. The wind caught it, creating half-wild waves around her sharp face.

“You’re still here, then,” she said, friendly as a puff adder. She didn’t look up from her book as I crunched along the gravel toward her.

“I decided to stay,” I said. My tongue felt clumsy. There was a strand of hair caught at the corner of her mouth, and I found my eyes fixed on it.

She looked up at last. The animosity in her eyes was so fierce I took half a step back. “Congratulations,” she said dryly.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I blurted out. What had I expected? She hadn’t exactly been friendly the first time we met.

She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t hate you, specifically. I hate you, a Vaughan.”

“Not really better.”

“Yeah, that really sucks for you,” she said, but the corner of her mouth quirked. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think leaving would have done you much good.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“People don’t escape Harrow unless it’s done with them. Trust me, I’ve tried,” she said. Her voice had a wounded edge.

“You tried to leave?”