Tall arched windows lined one long wall. Nothing showed beyond them but blackness. If Jameson came crashing through one of them, if he chose that moment to attack his daughter, there would be little Caxton could do to stop him. In the dark she would be at a distinct disadvantage. To Caxton the dining hall was a swaying cavern of guttering light. To a vampire it would be lit up like Christmas—they could see human blood glowing with its own light even in the thickest gloom. To make matters worse, if Jameson attacked the room would be full of panicked girls running every which way. Caxton couldn’t shoot through that crowd, not if she didn’t want to hit Raleigh or one of the other inmates by mistake. She was relieved, then, as the sisters rose one by one from the long tables and left the dining hall without a word. They stacked their soup bowls and their plates in a tall metal rack by the door and filed out individually, presumably headed for their rooms. When only a few remained, struggling with their hard bread, Caxton bused her own bowl and plate and then made her way toward where Raleigh still sat. The girl sat alone, her arms wrapped around her chest, staring down at the rough surface of the table. No food sat before her, just a glass half full of warm water. Caxton remembered that she was fasting in honor of her uncle Angus, and maybe in honor of her mother now as well. She supposed she had to respect that kind of reverence, though she doubted a doctor would agree—Raleigh couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds, a fact even her baggy clothes couldn’t hide. Caxton touched the girl on the shoulder and she looked up and nodded, then stood and started walking toward the door. Caxton followed close behind, only turning around once when she noticed Violet following them at a discreet distance.
After dinner most of the girls headed for a common room, where they could read or talk quietly among themselves. There wasn’t a lot else they were allowed to do. They weren’t even allowed to play board games or cards; when Caxton asked why not, Raleigh pointed out a girl named Kelli, who sat alone on the opposite side of the room, just staring into space. “She’s here because she was addicted to Internet gambling. She went through a whole trust fund in six months and then she started borrowing money with no way to pay it back. If we had so much as a game of Go Fish in here, she’d be looking for somebody to bet with on who would win.”
One by one, or in small groups, the girls wandered off to bed. It was no later than eight o’clock when Raleigh announced she was tired enough to sleep, herself.
It was understood that Caxton would be sleeping in Raleigh’s room that night. Caxton had expected the girl to be suspicious when she’d heard about the arrangements—surely she must have guessed something was up. Yet Raleigh had asked no questions nor even given Caxton a quizzical look. She had simply accepted Caxton’s continued presence as a fact of life and moved on. In the hallway Violet sat waiting for them in a massive carved wooden chair bigger than she was. The mute girl jumped up when she saw them and came racing to catch up.
“What’s her deal?” Caxton whispered to Raleigh, nodding in Violet’s direction.
“She drank drain cleaner and—”
“No, I heard that from Sister Margot. I mean, is she supposed to keep an eye on us or something? She creeps me out a little.”
Raleigh shrugged. “Sister Margot would never spy on us. She’s not like that.”
“Yeah, okay,” Caxton said, not convinced.
“Besides, Violet is harmless. She’s a little nutty, I suppose you could say.”
That Caxton could believe.
“I asked her once,” Raleigh went on, “why she tried to hurt herself. She can’t talk, of course, but she’s very good at mime. She rolled up her eyes and sighed dramatically, which I think means she did it just because she was bored. One of the other girls told me that Violet was the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in Ohio. They sent her here to get the rest she needed.”
“Psychotherapy wouldn’t have been a better option?”
Raleigh shook her head. “She was seeing a therapist four times a week when she—when she self-?harmed. But look how happy she is here.”
Behind them Violet stopped in midstep and beamed at Caxton, showing lots of big white round teeth.
“This place works miracles,” Raleigh said, her eyes slightly moist. If I have to spend more than one night here, Caxton thought to herself, I am going to start praying for a vampire attack. Just to break the boredom.
They had reached the room that Raleigh and Violet shared, its door identical to dozens of others in the hallway. Inside it proved to be little bigger than a closet. There were two wooden pallets with thin mattresses and thinner sheets, one built into either side wall, and a tiny iron coal-?burning stove bolted to the far wall. There were no windows, and definitely no room for a table or chairs or a third cot. Caxton frowned, realizing she would have to sleep either on the floor or outside in the hall. It was freezing cold in the hall—at least the stove would keep her warm during the night.
“I don’t see a private bathroom,” Caxton said, trying to smile at Raleigh. “Is there someplace I can wash up before we turn in? And do you have a spare toothbrush?” It had been a while, and she imagined her breath was getting pretty rank.
Raleigh gave her what she needed, including a washcloth and a bar of organic, cruelty-?free soap. It all went in a cute little plastic bucket. Then she pointed her toward a communal bathroom, where half a dozen girls in various states of undress were getting ready for sleep. There was a single bathtub, which was in steady use. Not wanting to wait for hours for her turn, Caxton gave herself a disco bath—a good solid face wash and a scrub or two under the armpits with the washcloth—then headed back to the room. Raleigh and Violet were already lying on their pallets, curled up with their eyes closed. They had taken off their ugly clothes but wore flannel nightgowns instead.
“Good night,” Caxton said, but Raleigh didn’t answer—maybe she was already asleep. Violet opened one eye to look at her, winked mischievously, then closed her eyes again and started to snore. Caxton closed the door, pitching the room into near-?total darkness. Only a little orange light came around the edge of the iron stove’s door. She sat down on the floor between the two pallets and placed her Beretta between her knees. She had no intention of sleeping, at least not until she was sure Jameson wouldn’t attack that night. She leaned up against the far wall, careful not to touch the stove, and waited. And then nothing happened.