Page 5 of Bound By Fury

It’s the wolves’ eyes that truly capture my attention. So small I could convince myself it wasn’t there. But I’ve seen those very wolves staring down at me every year for as long as I can remember.

Crudely carved like a pupil in each eye is the same symbol that now hangs around my neck—Gigi’s final gift to me.

I raise my chin and meet my mother’s wary gaze. “We need to talk about this.”

Her eyes flash as she purses her lips, her right leg crossing over the left. She sweeps her dark hair off her shoulder. “We’ve already talked about this. Endlessly.”

“Yes, but you still don’t agree with me.”

I’ve known about this since the end of May, when a letter addressed to me was left on my desk as I was packing for Earnest. In it was an invitation to attend the academy on a full-ride scholarship, based on the recommendation of a trusted alumni.

When I asked Gigi about it, she swore she had no idea who it could have been. And then she forbade me from going.

“Harper, your grandmother and I didn’t agree on much—”

That’s the understatement of the century.

“But we both believe that going to Black Mountain isn’t the right decision for you.”

“Why would y’all get to make that decision for me?”

“Because we’re adults with enough life experience to know when something isn’t right.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re grieving, you just turned sixteen, you don’t need to be moving away from home—”

“Earnest is my home,” I say defiantly. Guilt burns in my chest as hurt infiltrates my mother’s eyes.

“Be that as it may, I can’t just sit back and let you do whatever you want without having a say.”

“But you won’t even talk about it!” I shout, jumping to my feet in time with a clap of thunder loud enough to shake the floorboards.

This has been brewing since I called my mother from the emergency room, my silence enough for her to jump in the car and start heading our way. It’s a combination of pain and grief and anger and resentment. It is the knowledge that though my mother is right in front of me, the woman who raised me has now been cremated by the Johnson family, owners of the Montreat Funeral Home, est. 1924.

Going to BMA has been inevitable from the day I realized there was a future for me in Earnest, free of charge, and I decided that I wouldn’t be waiting until I was eighteen to escape the emptiness of our house, my mother drifting from room to room like a ghost.

Now her lips tremble as she looks at me from between the fingers raking down her face.

“Harper, this is a big decision. I don’t—I’m not sure I can even think about this right now.”

My voice is barely a whisper. “But it’s not about you.” I flinch at the same time she does. I know my tone and words are harsh, but I can’t help it anymore. “After everything that’s happened, don’t you believe I deserve to be here? To be closer to her in this way? Follow in her footsteps?”

Because that’s really the heart of the issue—Gigi went to Black Mountain, too.

My mother shakes her head as if to dispel an unpleasant thought. “You need to seriously consider whether you want to uproot your entire life for a school you have no ties to,” she says.

I jut my chin out stubbornly. “Gigi had ties to it. Even if she didn’t like those ties. If she’s tied to it, I’m tied to it too. Besides, everything in Earnest is tied to it anyhow. And I’m tied to Earnest.”

There are a lot of reasons I might want to go to Black Mountain Academy, least of all being that I could finally live in Earnest like I’ve always dreamed. Because I’ve always felt like a part of the town in some intrinsic way. Like my heart beats here and here alone, and any time I spent away was like putting my soul on ice. And maybe there’s a piece of me that wants to fix what I broke.

To force Malachi and Lucas to forgive me for what I did last summer.

Mom stands, shaking her head as she turns away, her hand trembling as she pinches the skin at the base of her throat.

“We’re running out of time to decide,” I mutter, deflated and exhausted. The school year starts next week, and the deadline to accept the invitation is tomorrow.

She looks at me over her shoulder, and her eyes are wells of sympathy. But there’s something else there too. Like resignation.