Lelia hovers her fingertips over a girl’s hair, thick and gold and rippled. It’s probably what hers would look like if she didn’t chop it with kitchen scissors and dye streaks with Sharpies. “Don’t worry,” she says with a cartoon witch–worthy cackle. “We won’t eat you.”

“Stop,” June whispers. “They don’t need any more reasons to treat us like we’re going to cause trouble.”

“You worry too much about people treating you like shit,” Lelia says.

Hawthorn gives Lelia a bored glare. “And you don’t know what it’s like to be treated that way without even trying.”

“No talking,” Ms. Lefevre says without looking up. “And sit down, Lelia.”

Lelia sits cross-legged on top of one of the desks instead of sliding into the attached chair. June takes a water bottle out of her flowered backpack. She faces the back of the room, steals a sip, bars a cough with her dimpled elbow. She holds it out to Danny beneath their desks and shrugs when Danny gives her a confused look. “It’s gin. As long as I’m in trouble, I might as well roll around in it,” she whispers. “Otherwise it’s like building a leaf pile and not bothering to jump in.”

“Ms. Ocampo,” the teacher snaps. “No. Talking.”

June takes out a sheet of paper and writes, in sweetly looping cursive, At least she didn’t say no drinking. She takes another tiny swig.

Hawthorn grabs the paper, spinning it with her long fingertips, and adds: What now?

She nudges the bag full of Imogen’s spell makings into the center of the circle with her foot. It makes a soft clinking sound. Rush watches the teacher, who seems on the verge of looking up and confiscating everything in sight.

Ms. Lefevre licks a finger and turns the page.

The bag in the center of the circle gapes open slightly, revealing Imogen’s collection of bottles and pitchers and vials.

Lelia grabs the pen out of Hawthorn’s hands. Can’t do wards here. The school is like a sinkhole for magic.

June takes a turn. Woods? Tomorrow? Her handwriting has a hopeful bent to it. It’s also slightly wobbly, as if just a few sips of alcohol have gotten her drunk. Lelia swipes the water bottle, and when June opens her mouth to protest, Lelia drinks the rest in a single, throat-bobbing gulp.

Danny takes the sheet and scribbles with a vengeance. Today. Before sunset. The hermit isn’t stealing me from my bed again.

Hawthorn’s lips twist. She does not like the notion that Neil could still be out there — it means he’s not at rest. Considering what he did to Danny, he doesn’t exactly deserve rest, but even so, a restless spirit is not a good sign. She sits down and rubs her fingers at her temples, a slight trace of coconut oil coming away on her fingertips.