I grimace. I can’t imagine what Lord Davis will say. I wonder if Nick’s going to tell his father everything that happened with Sel, or withhold some of the details. Or wait until he gets back into town. I’m almost at the dining hall doors before it dawns on me that, out of the two of us, I’m the only one who has a reason to hide some of what transpired last night. Nick doesn’t know about the red mage flames, so he has no reason to censor his report. It bugs me that even though I know he’d protect my secret, I don’t feel ready to share it with him. But at least this way, he doesn’t have to lie for me. He’s doing enough of that already.

Stomach full of two burgers and a large serving of cheesy fries, I head toward the Arboretum to meet Patricia.

When I get there, I’m surprised to see her sitting with a young Black woman just a few years older than me. She has large, dark eyes behind round glasses, red-brown skin, and hair that runs slick and tight against her scalp before it blooms into a wide, soft puff at her crown.

“Bree.” Patricia stands, and so does the younger woman. “This is Mariah, a junior here and a fellow practitioner.”

I stare at this girl, and envy and curiosity bite at my insides, opening up old wounds. She knows root because her mother taught her.

I could have been her.

“Isn’t therapy supposed to be confidential?”

Patricia inclines her head. “This won’t be a… normal session. After what happened yesterday at the graveyard, I realized we might need some assistance to get to the bottom of your mother’s story, and your own. I asked Mariah if she would join us today to explore some of what you experienced during our walk. She will keep anything you say in confidence. I am sorry for catching you off guard.” Her apology seems genuine. “I wasn’t sure Mariah would be able to join us on such short notice. We can meet alone, if you prefer?”

There’s no deception in her face, not a hint of manipulation. She means it. And Mariah, for her part, nods in agreement. I could send her away if I wanted. But if I do, I won’t get answers.

“It’s fine,” I mutter.

Mariah smiles, steps forward, and extends a palm. “Hi, Bree.” When I shake her hand, the black of her pupils blows wide. “Wow. Death knows you well,” she declares, her voice breathy and low.

I yank my hand from hers, a shiver rippling up my palm to my recently healed elbow. “Nice to meet you, too?”

“My bad,” she says apologetically, shaking her hand like she’d just gotten it wet. “I’m a Medium. Didn’t mean to freak you out.”