Don’t, Memnon says, cutting through my thoughts.

Don’t what?

Don’t let your guilt obscure the truth. This was a planned attack on your familiar. You and he both defended yourselves against it, and in the process, some of your attackers died. More of them will die if they’re foolish enough to take you on again, he says fervently.

The knot forming in my stomach now loosens. They’re words I didn’t know I needed to hear.

Now go be studious. I’ll see you at six sharp.

Abruptly, Memnon pulls away from our link, leaving me to mull over his words.

My pale orange magic hovers around me like a storm cloud as I enter the residence hall after class. I’m braced for a confrontation with Yasmin or that other housemate.

But today, the house is mostly quiet. Only a few witches linger in the common areas, and they aren’t either of the witches I’m keeping an eye out for.

I head to my room, my heart sinking when I see Nero’s empty bed. Quickly, I pack up what I need and set it by the door. I hate that I’m being forced out of this room.

This isn’t forever, I promise myself.

I have some time in between now and my next class, and there are a million things I could be doing with the precious time I have left on campus.

I don’t end up doing any of them.

Instead, I head down to my house’s dining room and through an inconspicuous door that leads to the house’s kitchen. Inside are two witches currently on cooking duty. One look at the roster hanging up on the adjacent wall, and I can see that I’ll be called to help prep a meal next week.

My power thickens as I take in the witches’ faces, but it resettles a little when I realize neither of them are the witches from last night.

I breeze past them and head for the metal freezer. Cold air hisses out when I open it. Inside, I see exactly what I was looking for.

“What are you doing?” one of them demands.

I drag out a massive tub of ice cream. “I’m tossing this out. The ice cream has been recalled,” I say. “There was a listeria outbreak at the factory where it was made.”

“Oh,” one of the witches says, looking baffled. The other one eyes me skeptically.

I walk out of there, carrying the industrial-size carton. Once I’m in the dining room, I use my magic to call a spoon to me. And then I head to my house’s den.

I sit down cross-legged on the couch, set the carton in my lap, and begin stress eating the shit out of Neapolitan ice cream.

Need to go to class, need to finish the assigned reading, need to finish my spellcasting homework…

My hands itch to write this down in one of my notebooks, but since I left my notebooks in my room, I just manically go over and over my list, trying to sear it into my brain so I don’t forget.

Need to double-check that I packed everything I need for … for …

I shove another panicked bite of ice cream into my mouth.

Tonight.

The evening looms ominously in my mind. It was one thing to stay with Memnon when Nero and I were hurt. It’s another to deliberately choose to stay there. And now that my mind isn’t busy taking notes or worrying about missing witches, I have all the time in the world to stress about living with Memnon.

I take another massive scoop of ice cream.

One of the witches passing by stops in the doorway of the den. I recognize her as the same witch who, weeks ago, fell asleep on our staircase landing with her fox familiar. I think her name is Rosemary.

“What are you doing with that?” she asks, her tone both curious and accusing as she takes in the industrial-size container of ice cream.

“Obviously, I stole it,” I say. A little petty theft seems like nothing compared to some of the crimes I’ve witnessed lately.

The witch glances up and down the hall, then heads toward the dining room.

She returns less than a minute later with a spoon.

“Scooch over, Selene,” she says, sitting next to me. “I want some too.”

My eyebrows rise at the sound of my name—I didn’t realize she knew it—but I do make room for her.

“You okay?” she asks as a group of three witches catch sight of us.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I say. Was she one of the witches who attacked me? I reassess her.

Rosemary scoops out a bite from the carton. “No one steals a tub of ice cream and eats it alone without having a supremely shitty day.”

I mean technically, I could just really like ice cream and not care about the consequences.

But she’s right.

“I’m just…overwhelmed…by things lately,” I admit. As I speak, the three witches I noticed earlier now come in, each of them carrying spoons.

Damn it. Now I have to share.

I eye each one of them, relaxing a little when I see that none of them are the witches from last night.

They could’ve still been out there in the woods. Or they could’ve been at the spell circle. They could be plotting against me even now.

I hate these thoughts, and I hate that I have to think about them at all. All I’ve wanted for the last year is to come to Henbane and make friends with other witches. But now I feel paranoid, like those medieval inquisitors who seemed to find witches in every shadow and demons in every witch.

Rosemary makes an agreeing noise, oblivious to my churning inner monologue.

“If that isn’t the Mother’s damn truth,” she says while the three new witches cram themselves onto the couch.

One of the new witches who sits down on my other side adds, “I’ve heard that Henbane is seriously considering closing its doors.”

I glance at her wide brown eyes, alarmed.

“What?” One of her friends echoes my thoughts. “Where did you hear this?”

“One of our instructors was discussing it with another faculty member when I came in for office hours.”

“Why?” Rosemary asks. “No other witches have been killed since the dance.”

“But more have gone missing,” the witch says, brushing back her curly brown hair before scooping out another bite of ice cream. “Not to mention there are plenty of angry parents set to sue the coven.”

Everyone is quiet.

I don’t want Henbane to shut down, not after all the effort that it took for me to get accepted and to stay here and make it work. However, it’s not like the concerns are fabricated.

More witches step into the room, some of them with spoons, some of them asking to borrow their coven sisters’ utensils.

I’m starting to feel agitated by the swarm of them when I catch sight of Sybil at the threshold of the den, her owl Merlin perched on her shoulder.

She must see the growing panic in my eyes because she smirks before she cuts through the room and the cluster of witches around me.

“All right, snack time’s over for you,” Sybil says, grabbing my hand and pulling me off the couch. Another witch catches the half-eaten carton of ice cream with her magic before it hits the ground.

Taking my spoon from my hand, Sybil gives it to another witch who needs one, then steers me out of the den and up to her room. As soon as the door shuts behind her, she leans against it.

“Okay,” she says. “Where the fuck have you been?” At her tone, Merlin flaps his wings before resettling. “And don’t give me some bullshit answer. Kane called me frantic last night, asking me if you made it home okay, and when I checked, you weren’t here.”

As she speaks, her lilac magic sifts out of her, a clear sign of her agitation. It weaves through my own power, which still hovers around me.

I swallow. “Last night was bad, Sybil,” I admit. “Someone tried to kill Nero.”

Horror washes over her features. “What?” she says softly.

I tell her everything, from meeting with the shifters to the attack to going home with Memnon. And I know I’m distrustful of witches overall, and maybe that should extend to Sybil, but honestly, I need someone besides Memnon to trust.