Page 30 of Fae Tithe

Just then, the Headmistress herself unlocked the door and opened it a sliver. Her wrinkled face peeked around, and her eyes widened as they met Helena’s face. “Mrs Neycur!” she exclaimed, shock lacing her gravelly voice. “I was not informed you were here.”

“There is no one to inform you.” Helena swept her hand out to the garden to the gates where the gatekeeper normally lurked.

The Headmistress cracked the door open a little more and tutted. “Out getting drunk at the festival, no doubt.”

Helena cleared her throat. “Anyway, you knew I was coming. I told you I would be visiting today when I dropped El off. Can you get her for me please?”

“She’s not here. Miss Neycur went out with friends,” the Headmistress replied, a quiver in her voice. The prim old woman made a move to shut the door in Helena’s face. Helena quickly stepped forward and placed her booted foot in the entranceway, jamming it open. “Mrs Neycur—”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Helena growled.

“The students, once there is a festival and we let them out for the day, they just do as they please,” the Headmistress explained with narrowed eyes.

“El was excited for us to come. She would have waited.” Helena shifted her weight and pushed with her shoulder, hard, cracking the door open a fraction. She turned to Lance. “Help me with this.” The Merman joined her, pushing the door the rest of the way open.

The old woman relinquished her hold on the door handle inside, her jaw dropping. “Mrs Neycur!” she protested as Helena shoved the rest of the way through, Lance on her heels.

The Merman scowled down at the Headmistress. “Where is she?”

She did not meet his eyes, turning away from them.

Helena side-stepped, blocking her escape, and glared up at her. “Take me to her room. Now!” Helena commanded.

The Headmistress’s throat bobbed. “This way.” She gestured up the staircase with a wrinkled hand.

Helena turned towards the stairs, repeating in her head: You draw a Circle around the ones you love and keep them safe, no matter what.

Helena followed the Headmistress, shadowed by Lance, as they made their way up to the student’s bedrooms. Blood pounded in her ears as they approached the door the elderly woman pointed to.

She threw open the door, striding in, Lance a step behind her. Helena’s eyes raked the bedroom. There were two beds in the room, on opposite ends. One was obviously occupied. The bed was made, with trinkets placed on the dark wood side table, and a fountain pen and papers littered the desk. The other side was stripped bare, void of any signs that a teenage girl slept and lived there. Helena wrenched open all the drawers and the cupboard on the bare side of the bedroom, finding nothing there. All of Eleanor’s possessions had vanished.

“Where is she?” Lance repeated with a growl, stepping back out of the room.

Gone, gone, gone, drummed in Helena’s head. She felt sick and lightheaded all at once.

Then, rage.

It flooded Helena from head to toe, like the tide rising when the moon was at its roundest.

She strode out of the half-empty bedroom and into the hallway landing, where Lance had already cornered the quivering woman.

Without hesitation, she roughly shoved the Headmistress against the floral wallpaper, the older woman’s head cracking against it. Helena grabbed her throat and squeezed the wrinkled neck with a strength fuelled by fury.

“Where is my daughter?” Helena snarled, pinning the Headmistress beneath her hand.

“Mrs Neycur!” she gasped. “This is—”

“Where is she?” Helena squeezed tighter for a moment, a scowl marring her face, letting the Headmistress know she was more than capable of choking the life out of her if needed.

“She asked you where Eleanor is.” Lance put a strong hand on Helena’s trembling shoulder, offering his support.

“She must have run away,” the Headmistress choked out.

Lance snorted. “Ridiculous.”

“Let me be clear, in case it wasn’t obvious. I am far more concerned about my daughter’s wellbeing than yours. That means you should tell me the truth.” Helena growled as she squeezed tight again, her ragged breath fuelled by rage.

“Tithe!” she sputtered out.