Page 52 of Inextricably Tied

The Convent awakens before the first light of dawn. Harbinger doesn’t seem to have slept at all. Her leg jiggles beneath the casefiles in her lap as Flint finishes his morning routine. They all make their way down winding rock corridors to a room near the center of the building. It’s carved with vaulted stone ceilings and skylights that look down on long, wooden tables. On one side, a kitchen bustles with activity, utensils scraping through any remnants of sleep. The sounds are less harsh than the look the Diviner Superior gives the three of them as they linger near the back of the room.

“The students eat first.” Harbinger scuffs her boot against the ground. “We wait until the end of the line. But head’s up, they’re all going to stare at you.”

And stare they do. The youngest come first, filing into the dining hall with excited morning chatter. Heads whip toward Flint and Agony, followed by whispers and giggles. It’s far from the first time Flint’s been stared at, but it is the first time it’s done by lines of girls with skeletal faces. He can’t help the twitch of a smile at the tiny fingers waving in his direction.

Harbinger shifts her weight from foot to foot, but it doesn’t do much to quell her anxiety. This must be what she looked like all those years ago, rebellious teenager following the Convent’s strict rules only as far as she had to. Flint lowers his mouth near her ear. “Do you want to leave?”

“Can’t. We need their help. It’s just…” She shuts her eyes, trying to breathe through her nose. “This place has the most people I’ve ever touched. And they’re all getting closer at once.”

The line of banshees changes to older children, then teenagers, then adults. That’s when the stares begin to shift. They still catch on Flint and Agony first, trying to work out what the massive gargoyle is doing next to the cuffed shadow, but then their eyes land on Harbinger. Recognition crosses their faces. Some pinched expressions fall while others’ jump in surprise, but one redhead actually rushes out of line.

Skeletal markings on her body contrast with her bright clothing, pops of vibrant color in dizzying patterns. Her shirt sits off both shoulders, cropped over her stomach as she pushes giant floral sunglasses back into her curls. All her energy seems ready to burst, and Flint shifts closer to Harbinger, but the woman doesn’t reach for her. Instead, she stops, weight rocking to her toes in glee.

“What are you doing here?” The woman’s voice shifts in an impressive imitation of Harbinger. “I thought you were only coming back ‘over my freshly murdered corpse. Or yours.’”

“You should get back in line.” Harbinger keeps her eyes on Diviner Auspice’s scowl. “Her Divineness doesn’t like anyone acknowledging us.”

Air blows between the woman’s lips. “Please: she’s not gonna say shit.” Then she turns with a brilliant smile, waving across the dining hall. Diviner Auspice huffs, turning back to ladle food to a table of younger banshees. The redhead leans close to Harbinger again. “She’s given up the backhanded comments about my clothes. I’m gonna have half the kids wearing them.”

Harbinger’s tone is flat. “That’s ‘cause you’re fucking weird.”

The woman isn’t deterred in the slightest, finally tipping her smile toward Flint and Agony. “Hello. Do you shake?”

She extends her hand. Flint mirrors her, enveloping most of her forearm as delicately as possible.

“I’m Portent,” she curtsies. “You can call me Poe.”

Flint remembers that name. One of the few Harbinger brought up over the years of their partnership, scrawled on postcards or motel stationary before Harbinger dropped them in the nearest mailbox. Poe reaches for Agony. He makes a disgruntled sound when Flint pulls his shadowy arms back.

“I’m Flint. This is Agony.”

Poe’s smile slips into a smirk. “I know who you are.” She holds out the crook of her elbow to Harbinger. “You can sit with me. I won’t make you talk to Herald.”

“Thanks,” Harbinger answers dryly, and to Flint’s surprise, slips her arm through Poe’s. The line of banshees has petered out, so Poe leads them to an empty table on the far side of the room.

If the banshees weren’t staring before, they certainly are now. Flint can’t be sure who it’s directed at. He tries to find some tell in Harbinger’s body, but there’s only tension. Poe chats until she finds a space big enough for all of them, and Flint’s prepared to squeeze into the bench when Poe turns to him.

“Do you prefer a chair or a floor pillow?

“Uh…” He blinks. “A cushion is fine.”

From a corner of the room, Poe presents a giant floral pillow and sets it at the head of the table. “I made this after a troll visited a few years ago. It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Flint guides Agony into his chair before he takes a seat. Most of the attention from the other banshees has died down, but a small cluster of Diviners shoot narrowed eyes toward their table. Harbinger does her best to ignore them.

“Seriously, what made you come back?” Poe reaches for a bowl of rolls, voice lowering. “And with two men, no less. Omen’s gonna be jealous.”

Agony’s smile slips across his face. Harbinger rests her forehead in her hand. “We’re not…” But she doesn’t finish. “We’re working an investigation. I need some help, and I thought with some of the Seers’ abilities…”

“Yes!” Poe claps her hands against her cheek. “We would love to! What are you investigating? Is someone missing?”

“They’re dead.”

It lands with a weight it hasn’t possessed before. Poe stills. Chatter from the rest of the room circles around them. “Girls,” Harbinger finishes. Poe’s mouth molds into a thin line, fingers resting against Harbinger’s glove.

“Ok. Of course we’ll help.” Poe inclines her head toward Harbinger, voice so soft Flint can barely hear. “Pick it up. Then put it down.”

Poe doesn’t remove her hand from Harbinger’s, peppering Agony with questions as they eat. Harbinger doesn’t attempt to move food around her plate. Her hand clenches once around Poe’s, and Poe squeezes back, but otherwise doesn’t let the smile on her face falter.