“The labor force included over a hundred people. They farmed tobacco.” Munroe turned again, resuming her march through the hedges.
At last, the maze opened to a clearing with a large stone wall about fifty feet long, covered in climbing plants. White flowers bloomed on the vines, and amid the plants, a rounded green door was visible. Magnolia and hemlock trees grew on either side of the enclosure, lending shade to the area. Through them, Fiona could see a shimmering glimpse of the James River.
Beads of sweat sprung up on her upper lip. She smacked the top of her arm as she felt the bite of a mosquito, leaving a small smear of blood.
“Well, you wanted to see it,” said Munroe. “It’s really not that interesting.” She sighed, wiping her hand across her forehead. “It’s hot out. Let’s go back to the house.” She strode into the maze again, and her classmates followed.
“She’s enjoying this whole leadership thing, isn’t she?” whispered Mariana.
Munroe flipped her glossy hair behind her shoulder. “I’m taking you to the southern terrace now.”
They were around a quarter of a mile from the house. They trod between the hedges of the labyrinth, and the air filled with the whirring of cicadas. Fiona glanced at Tobias as they left the shade of the maze. He squinted in the harsh sunlight, his movements precise on the uneven path.
Outside the house’s east wing, two men in black jackets stalked along the brick path. When the students drew closer to the house, Munroe pointed to the men. “Those are the guards.”
One of them turned to stare at the students, and the hair on the back of Fiona’s neck stood on end. His broad, muscular shoulders were practically the size of a doorway. He blinked large gray eyes, and a pink tongue ran over thin lips. Dark hair hung limply over a pale forehead. The phrase that came to mind was cave-dwelling behemoth.
Munroe spoke over her shoulder in a breezy tone. “The guards are very well-trained and experienced, so you don’t have to worry about witches. You’re totally safe here.”
“Are you sure?” Connor asked from the back.
Munroe turned to face them, frowning with irritation.
Fiona glanced at Connor. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes. “It’s just that the witches are vicious. I saw Principal Mulligan’s body hanging from the gates, and my friend Marielle was crushed by a beam in the fire at Mather Academy.” His voice began to rise. “And I saw Eric shot in his stomach with an arrow.” He was shouting now. “He was writhing, and like, he didn’t even die right away, and then—”
“That’s enough, Connor,” Munroe barked, her cheeks reddening.
Connor’s eyes were wide with frustration. “But what if they’re trying to take over the whole country?”
“I said that’s enough.” Her voice was icy. “You don’t want to scare everyone. There’s no point in dredging up every terrible thing you can remember. We’re safe now. I told you all. We’re not going to dwell on horrible things, like slavery.” She shot Fiona a sharp glance.
Connor breathed heavily through his nose. Munroe turned back toward Winderbellow, and everyone followed her in silence.
In front of the east entrance was another marble statue—this one a slumped and weeping angel, his vacant-eyed face discolored from the rain. The dark lines streaking his cheeks almost looked like tears.
Munroe stopped in front of it and waited for everyone to catch up before gesturing up to the angel’s mournful face. “I wanted to show you this statue. This is a statue of Great-Grandfather Edgar as an angel.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Sadie. “Some day I want to have a statue—“
“Edgar was a great man,” Munroe cut her off. “He helped with the medical treatment of women driven mad by their dubious moral virtue. You know, women of the night.” She turned to her classmates again.
“Wait—who?” asked Jonah.
“Prostitutes,” said Fiona.
“Hot,” Jonah chuckled, raising a hand for a high-five that no one returned.
Fiona raised a hand again. “Edgar sounds amazing. How did he cure his hookers?”
Mariana piped up, “I saw a show about female hysteria in the Victorian era, and doctors used fire hoses aimed right at the women’s—”
“I don’t know the details,” Munroe snapped. “He just cured them. There was no fire hose. Now if you follow me up these steps, I’ll take you on a little tour of the lower level.”
They followed a brick path to an arched glass door that led back into the house. When Fiona’s eyes adjusted to the dimly-lit interior, she glanced around at the dark-wood, vaulted hallway with a faded Persian rug.