Page 53 of Inextricably Tied

At the front of the room, Diviner Auspice steps up onto a platform, waiting for the banshees to shush each other. It doesn’t take long before the dining hall falls silent, and she begins to speak.

“A surprise storm will roll in tomorrow, so take advantage of today’s weather while you can. The Diviners have seen the prank Year Nines are planning next week, so don’t bother.” A round of groans rises from the other side of the room. “Seer Herald is offering extra oneironautics practice next week. If you are interested, please bring your own dream journal to the Seer Suite after dinner. And a reminder: no one should traverse the Veil Chambers on the lower level without a Diviner escort.”

Harbinger’s fork scrapes against her plate. Poe keeps a hold of her hand.

“And finally…” Diviner Auspice’s eyes land on Harbinger, Agony, and Flint. “Rumors have circulated about our current guests. I can assure you that none of them are true.”

Flint doesn’t know what the rumors might be, but from the way the Diviner Superior glares, he’s not sure that she doesn’t believe them. She makes the same gesture as the night before, bringing hands down from her eyes to her mouth, passing on a message. “So say the Oracle.”

A chorus of banshees respond. “So say we all.”

Poe mouths the words. Harbinger’s lips don’t move. Diviner Auspice steps down from the platform, and Flint leans to gather their dishes.

“Seer Portent?” A younger banshee stands near Flint’s elbow at the table, watching Poe. The girl tries and fails to keep from blinking towards Flint. “I can take your dishes for you, if you want.”

“Aren’t you sweet…” Poe slides the tray toward the girl. “With no ulterior motives. Make sure you get Mr. Flint’s cup.”

The girl holds out the tray, and Flint sets his mug in an open place. “Thank you.”

She’s too shy to look at him any longer. “You’re welcome.” Then she scurries away with a blush, rushing back to a table of clamoring girls.

Harbinger scoffs, pushing up from the table with the others. “You have people waiting to clean up your dishes now?”

Poe waves off her concern. “If I’m gonna be up at night helping with puke or bad dreams, I’m gonna reap the benefits.” She turns to Flint as they walk. “They’ll be talking about you for weeks. Most of the visitors we get are boring and don’t know how to dress.”

A smile flits across Harbinger’s face. It tugs at Flint’s own, until Agony has to speak.

“Do all banshees have ominous names?”

“Banshees choose a new name once they cross over.” Poe gives him a conspiratorial look, but there’s something heavier behind her sunglasses. “Better fits the ‘aesthetic,’ don’t you think?”

“And are all banshees girls?”

“Mostly.” Poe shrugs. “No one knows why. There are plenty of theories.”

Harbinger’s voice sours. “Easier to take advantage of.”

Poe nudges her with a hip, but doesn’t contradict her.

They follow Poe through more tunnels, past carved classrooms where Diviners clap for attention. Children scamper to and from the dorms with things they’ve forgotten. A few teenagers wait for the Diviners to herd stragglers away before they slip down a hidden corridor. The stone stairways are vast, molded between stalagmites as sunlight filters through patterned windows.

Up they go, away from the dining hall, until the bustling sound of classes fades in the distance. They come to a landing a few stories up, cozier than the larger arched corridors. Flint ducks to follow. Small windows dot the wall between mismatched curtains, hallway curving toward an open seating area.

Poe gestures toward the piles of cushions and couches. “I’ll see who else is around. I know a few of them are making house calls.”

“Seriously?” Harbinger asks.

Poe holds up her hands with a quirk of her lip. Clearly a conversation they’ve had more than once. “I told him.”

Sun winks off Poe’s jewelry as she moves down the hall. Agony picks a lumpy sectional and flops down.

“What is this, VIP?”

“Seer Suite.” Harbinger moves in front of a mural on the wall, a mixture of styles and names interlocking. Animal bones, colorful chalk outlines, pressed flowers and abstract shapes and poems. “Once you graduate, they put you in one of these coteries with people around your age.” She makes her way to a corner littered with spikes and flaming skulls, smiley faces blooming between. Three signatures weave beneath them, as distinct as the artwork: Omen. Poe. Harbin.

“If you stay?” Agony adds, waiting for her confirmation.

Harbinger presses fingers against her name. “If you stay.”