I choked on the sip of water I’d taken.
“Vulturine” was the best way to describe Raeanne—fifties, beaky nose, permanent frown, perpetually on the hunt for mistakes. Her complexion was golden, but not with a healthful glow; rather, she appeared shriveled, like she’d been tanning on the surface of the sun. I found her more than a little terrifying.
April stifled a giggle. “She’s just doing her job.”
“I bet she’s got mothballs down there,” Georgina said.
I grinned and stood to clear my tray. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
“Good luck,” Georgina called.
I left the cafeteria and walked toward Rebecca’s house. It was my favorite kind of July day: warm enough for shorts, cool enough for jeans. Every day since I’d arrived, the sky had been blindingly blue, scattered with drifting Monet clouds. The sun’s rays cast buttery light across the garden. A few of the plots overflowed with forsythia, magnolia, and goldenrod. From the rest sprouted tomatoes, green beans, turnips, and summer squash. This rainbow of bounty would make a gorgeous photo. I reached into my back pocket, potential captions already running through my head—but my phone wasn’t there. Would I ever lose that urge?
I inhaled a deep breath of pine mixed with sea salt. I’d been here only one week. I had to be patient. A tern with silver wings soared through the sunbeams. That was her, watching over me.
I was exactly where I was meant to be.
During my first week at Wisewood, I had met a lot of friendly people and folded dozens of loads of laundry. In class, we’d each made a list of what scared us and read it aloud. Mine included public speaking, wasting my life, and death—my own or my loved ones’. We’d spent the following class coming up with solutions to conquer these fears. I was eager to get started.
With a deep breath, I opened the sliding glass door to the back of the house, stepping inside. The ground floor was bright, minimalist, and monochromatic—bare walls, twelve-foot ceilings, open floor plan. To my left was an immaculate kitchen.
“What about Raeanne makes you nervous, I wonder?”
I jumped. Gordon was leaning against the counter, arms crossed against a firm chest. I had seen Rebecca’s second-in-command around the island once or twice, but he’d never spoken to me directly. He studied me for what seemed like hours. Not once did I catch a blink behind those thick-rimmed glasses.
“Who said she does?” I asked when my heart had slowed.
“You become subdued in her presence, while everywhere else you’re cheerful, even sprightly. Could be a coincidence.” He shrugged. “Only the smallest of brains feels the need to bark as loud as she does.” He gestured to the hallway. “I’ll show you to your meeting now.”
How closely had he been watching me?
Gordon walked with the gait of a man a foot taller. I followed him through the kitchen and into the foyer. Rebecca’s home was the architectural opposite of our spartan cabins—she had spared no expense here. To our left was a dining room with a table big enough to seat twenty. Ahead was an elegant spiral staircase. Beyond the staircase was a great room with a couple of oversized sunken couches.
The house was museum-like, spacious and silent. No coats, scarves, or shoes littered the doorway. No keys on a hook or purse tossed on the sideboard. No mirror for me to check my reflection, to make sure I didn’t have remnants of breakfast stuck in my teeth.
Gordon stopped at the foot of the spiral steps. The staircase was sculptural with white plaster walls and plush carpeting. Cascading from the ceiling and through the center of the spiral was a light installation: gossamer-thread pendants with glowing round orbs fixed at varying heights. My guide gazed up at it reverently.
“What brought you to Wisewood?” I asked.
“I prefer to focus on the present,” he said without looking at me. I felt as if I’d crossed some unspoken line. Everyone else here was so forthcoming about their past—Gordon was the first to be cagey about his.
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Yes, you did.”
Gordon began to climb. At the top of the stairs, there were hallways to our right and left with several closed doors each way. “Her office is the last door on the right. We come here for all one-on-one sessions.”
I was debating whether to apologize, unsure if doing so would make things worse. “Sorry” was always on the tip of my tongue, had probably lodged itself in place on the stupid day of my stupid birth. I’m sure I slid out of the womb apologizing to my mom and the doctor for the inconvenience. I wanted nothing more than to walk through life without annoying anyone, to not leave a single smudge on the glass or footprint in the snow. Some people acknowledged that a little conflict was necessary to progress. Most people accepted that not everyone would like them.
I was not one of them.
We stopped in front of the office. “Ready?” He scanned me up and down. I nodded nervously. He rapped three times on the door—swift, distinct knocks, like a pass code—then pushed it open.
Waiting posed at her desk was Rebecca. She stood and made her way toward us. The three of us met in the middle of the office.
I noticed her height first. She was taller than I’d imagined, would have been six feet barefoot, but wore four-inch stilettos and towered over me. She had a ballerina’s posture.
She reached out and clasped my hand with both of hers. “Kit, I have so been anticipating this meeting.”
Her skin was smooth alabaster, almost unblemished, except for the burn scars on her hands. Her eyes were violet-gray, which must have been because of contacts—I’d never seen such a color. I couldn’t decide if her shoulder-length hair was platinum blond or white. She had a long, hooked nose and lips stained a deep purple—I guessed the no-makeup rule didn’t apply to her. She wore perfectly tailored black trousers and a black cashmere sweater. Embroidered into the left shoulder of the sweater was a sequined lion’s face, its teeth bared. The way she held herself gave the impression of floating.
She watched me so intensely that I had to look away. I hadn’t said a word but already felt exposed, like she had downloaded all my thoughts into her brain.
“Please.” She gestured to the sofa across from her desk, eyes never leaving my face. “Take a seat.”
I did as she said. She turned away, and it was like someone had moved a spotlight off me. My shoulders relaxed several inches. I exhaled.
“Thank you, Gordon. Make today a fearless one.”
“Certainly, Teacher,” he said with a slight bow.
There was that nickname again.
Gordon backed out of the room and closed the door, leaving me both relieved and trapped. Rebecca made her way toward the couch, movements slow, smooth.
She studied me. “Would you like something to drink?”