Although who could blame her, considering? They were all in bad shape.
Except that Ridley and Penelope had grown close.
“Anyway, so… how are you girls holding up?” Mrs. Feathers asked kindly.
Iris reached into a brown ceramic bowl on top of Mrs. Feathers’s desk and picked up a yellow M&M. She nibbled on the corner of it like a rabid chipmunk. “We’re holding up, Mrs. Feathers. Actually, we’re not holding up. Well, some of us may be holding up, but I’m definitely not holding up. That’s kind of a strange expression, isn’t it? Holding up? Anyhoo, I haven’t slept much since the… and yeah, when I do sleep, I have these nightmares about demons attacking the school plus the entire country plus the entire planet. Plus the oceans turn into boiling-hot soup. And we all die and it’s basically the Apocalypse. The. End. My mom made an emergency appointment with my new therapist—her name is Deanna Ranger, Dee Ranger, and what kind of name is that for a therapist? Right? Dee Ranger, as in, Dee-Ranged? On Saturday. Her office smells like Dr Pepper and talcum powder.” Iris paused and examined the yellow M&M dye on her fingers.
Greta touched Iris’s arm gently and whispered something in her ear.
“True,” Iris said, nodding.
Mrs. Feathers nodded, too. “Thank you so much for sharing that, Iris. I know it’s not easy. There’s a lot of trauma and grief happening in our community right now. Everyone here is trying to process Penelope’s passing, and they didn’t find… they didn’t have a firsthand experience, like yourselves. Plus, I believe that Penelope was your friend?”
“Kind of. She seemed cool,” Binx replied. “Ridley knew her a little better than the rest of us.”
“Well, in any case, you’re all very brave.”
Greta nodded and wept quietly into her handkerchief. Iris took off her glasses and pinched and unpinched the bridge of her nose, then shook her head and began sobbing into a crumpled wad of tissues. Binx, on the other hand, was doing all she could not to cry. Crying was a waste of emotion. Crying made it more difficult to defeat the thing that was making you cry to begin with… which in this case was solving the mystery of Penelope’s death.
They had called 911 that night and, when the police arrived, endured endless questioning. What were they doing in the Seabreeze development wandering through construction sites? How did they happen to find Penelope’s body? Greta had told them that they’d been searching for Gofflesby. Ridley had explained that she lived nearby, and added the little white lie that she’d seen a cat resembling Gofflesby running around the neighborhood.
But… that suicide note. It had started out as a shadow message, identical to Greta and Div’s—the same words, the same handwriting, the same color ink. Then, somehow, it had changed into a goodbye message in Penelope’s curly script, and the black had changed to glittery purple.
No, not somehow. It was magic. And the freaky German singing and the bizarre energy barrier around the house must have been magic, too.
Which meant that a witch must have killed Penelope.
But why would a witch take the life of one of their own?
Also, why had Gofflesby been at Penelope’s side? Or the crow with its beady, staring eyes? Binx wondered if it could be the same zombie crow from her driveway. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?
At least Greta’s cat was okay. She was apparently keeping him locked up in her bedroom with his food and toys and other cat stuff. She’d reported that, miraculously, he wasn’t sick anymore; his respiratory infection seemed to be gone.
“That’s right. Just let it out.” Mrs. Feathers was nodding sympathetically at Greta and Iris as they dabbed at their eyes.
When the crying had subsided, Mrs. Feathers shifted and straightened on her yoga ball or whatever. “Are there any other feelings or insights you girls would like to share with me? How about you, Beatrix?”
Binx counted to ten in binary so as not to utter a swear at the mention of her full name. “No, thanks.”
Greta sniffled and cleared her throat. “Have the police… Did they figure out… They asked us a bunch of questions that night, but I don’t think we were very…”
Mrs. Feathers hesitated. “The school superintendent will be sending out an e-mail to all the parents in the district today. Penelope…” Her chin trembled slightly. “Penelope did take her own life. With poison. They think it’s because… well, it turns out that she was a witch. Her parents had no idea.”
Greta shook her head. “No. That is not what happened.”
Everyone stared at Greta. Binx held her breath.
“What do you mean, that’s not what happened? Do you have some information that could be helpful to the police?” Mrs. Feathers asked. Greta’s face shut down. She sat back in her chair. “Did you girls know? That she practiced witchcraft?” Mrs. Feathers prodded, looking at each of them curiously, probingly.
“Totally not?” Binx said with a pretend-shocked expression.
“No way!” Iris added. “Witchcraft, blech, that’s awful!”
Enough of this. Binx scooped up her doge backpack and stood up. It was time to end the interrogation; it was also time to strategize with her coven-mates. Plus, she didn’t like the idea of having to talk to the police again; she didn’t trust them. Just last night, she had seen President Ingraham on TV, talking about his proposed new law to crack down on 6-129 violators. He said that once it was passed, he would be assigning hundreds, maybe thousands, of federal agents to help local police precincts catch witches. ShadowKnight was right; things were heating up fast. “This has been so helpful, thanks, Mrs. Feathers. But would it be okay if we left now? I, uh, think I already have two tardies in homeroom.”
“No need to worry. Your teachers know we’re meeting. I can give you all passes, though, in case you’d like to take a few minutes to center yourselves,
