Saturday is supposed to be relaxing—a day you can sleep in, eat a lazy breakfast, see your friends, and go to the mall, but, of course, that wasn’t the case at Steinfelder. Every Saturday started the same as any other day, with soggy muesli cereal eaten at long, wooden tables precisely at seven a.m. Even though it was the last meal before most of the girls left for winter vacation, that morning’s breakfast wasn’t any different than the normal slop. Truthfully, I hadn’t expected they’d get a fancy send-off, but I was hungry again. Really hungry. I would have (almost) killed for a pancake.
“You look awful,” Marie-Rose said, lifting a spoonful of cereal to her mouth.
“Thanks.” I refrained from saying she’d look awful, too, if she’d sleep-eaten raw meat and had to deal with a roommate who was a constant shadow.
“I just mean that you need more rest,” Marie-Rose added, as if that made her comment any less annoying.
“Uh, okay.” I nearly sighed in relief as Patricia from our history class took a seat across from us. I slid Patricia the book I’d borrowed. “Thanks, it was helpful.”
“There are more like it in the library,” she said, smiling.
Marie-Rose had followed our exchange. “Interested in school now?” she asked.
“Seriously. Can you just leave me alone?” I hissed.
Her face turned red and she got up from our table and took a seat at the next one over.
“Is there a problem?” Madame LaCroix’s voice called out over the noise of the dining room. “I thought you and Marie-Rose were good friends,” she said, gliding up next to me.
I studied my cereal. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Whatever the problem is, I hope you will sort it out in a respectful way. I would hate to have to resolve your difficulty for you.”
“Yes, of course,” I said in my sweetest tone.
Madame LaCroix gave me a stern look, like she couldn’t tell if I was making fun of her or being serious. When she stalked off toward the staff dining room, I picked up my bowl of cereal. Marie-Rose didn’t look up as I slid down onto the bench next to her.
“So, can you just tell me what’s going on and we can end this weirdness?”
She took another bite of cereal, chewing it thoughtfully.
“I heard you from the hallway outside Lemmon’s door,” I said, fibbing about the location. “I heard you say you were doing a job. What does that mean?”
Her eyes got big. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Well, either you tell me or I’m going to find a way to call Maman and complain,” I said, bringing out the heavy artillery. This was getting serious.
Marie-Rose set down her spoon with a clunk. “I’m looking out for you. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Why did you call it a job? Is someone paying you?”
“I, uh…” Marie-Rose dabbed at her damp forehead. “I can’t tell you.”
“But how can we be friends if you’re keeping this from me? I mean, were you ever really my friend to begin with? Or is this all fake?”
She turned on the bench to face me. “But of course I am your friend. That’s why I’m doing this. You get into trouble. I’m watching over you. I’m keeping you safe.”
“Safe from what?”
Her forehead creased with worry. “From yourself,” she said, but she didn’t explain.
“I think you’re the one who needs to watch yourself.” I dropped my spoon into my bowl and got up from the bench. Passing a first-year server, I thunked the bowl down onto the tray she carried and stormed out of the room.
My mind was reeling with thoughts of who might have hired Marie-Rose as my babysitter and why, at a school for messed-up girls like me, I’d be singled out for special watch. But wait—what if this didn’t have anything to do with my not following the rules? Marie-Rose could easily be working for someone who had a much more sinister motive than keeping me out of Mrs. LaCroix’s office.
It suddenly occurred to me that this could be a really bad thing for me and for Austin. Marie-Rose could absolutely not know he was coming to meet me. She’d been watching me—maybe she’d really been watching for him.
I realized this meant my friendship with Marie-Rose really was over. I’d lost the one confidante I’d found at Steinfelder. And my only friend.
***
“Not heading home, eh?” Mrs. Lemmon took a seat in an armchair in the library that afternoon.
“No, ma’am.” I returned her smile and went back to flipping through the pages of the book in front of me, another history of the Middle Ages in Europe. But then I heard laughing, so I glanced out the window and saw girls building snowmen and chasing each other around the yard with snowballs. The last bus had pulled away an hour ago, so these girls were all holiday shut-ins like me, but somehow they were having fun.
The scene reminded me of our snowy winters back in Milwaukee, before Dad invented Re-Gen and our fortunes changed. Living in Beverly Hills with Honeybun the last few years, I’d missed real winters, although here in isolation at Steinfelder, I hadn’t found the snow any comfort, not like it had been in the Midwest. But, then again, nothing had been the same since Milwaukee. Or since my mom had passed away.
Winter had been Mom’s favorite season. We’d spent so many of them making our house full-on Christmassy, with a holly wreath on the doors and popcorn garlands on the tree. She’d been an expert at making snow angels and knew just how many marshmallows a cup of hot cocoa should have. It so wasn’t fair that she was gone.
I felt my face getting hot, so I focused on the book in front of me, letting the thoughts of winters past drift away.
Over near the fireplace, Mrs. Lemmon opened a bag and took out knitting. I hadn’t known her to be crafty, but she looked like a pro, wrangling the yarn around the needles. “You seem quite interested in the history of the castle,” she said, gesturing toward my stack of books.
“I guess Patricia’s paper kind of inspired me,” I said.
The blaze in the hearth crackled, filling the room with warmth. Above the mantel, yet another portrait of the Duke stared down at us, firelight reflected in the shiny paint.
“He was quite a character,” Mrs. Lemmon said, pointing up at the Duke. “Ran with a rather colorful group claiming to be on a mission to protect the continent. Several principalities financed his campaigns, hiring him to drive out whatever element they didn’t like or understand.”
“A mercenary,” I said.
“Of sorts, yes.” She frowned down at the red yarn in her hands, making a clucking sound at the back of her throat.
“What are you knitting?”
Lemmon held the project up so I could see. It had a few lumps and bumps, but it wasn’t too horrible looking. “I’ve been working on this scarf for weeks and can’t seem to get it all put together right,” she said. “I don’t know that I’ll be done in time for Christmas.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to buy one?”
She laughed. “Yes, of course. The point is that you make something for someone and it means more. You’re thinking about them with each stitch, you see.”
“Oh, okay. I get that.”
“Do you have a list of Christmas presents to buy? We’ll be taking some of you into town tomorrow to buy a few things.”
“I don’t know about sending presents. My family is kind of wrapped up in stuff,” I said slowly. “My stepmother’s having a baby.”
Mrs. Lemmon’s eyes brightened. “Well, maybe you might like to learn how to knit, then? You could make the little tyke a blanket.”
I had such a longing for my family at that moment, my heart seemed like it was going to burst. I was going to have a little brother or sister, and whatever my situation, they were my family. At least they were at the moment. Who knew what would happen once they found out the truth about me? They surely wouldn’t want an animal around the baby. Hot tears trickled down my cheeks.
“Oh, dear. I’ve hit a soft spot,” Mrs. Lemmon said. “I’m a brash one too, you see.”
I gave her a watery smile. “No, it’s a kind offer, thank you. I’m fine.” I wiped my face with my sweatshirt sleeve.
“Well, you let me know. It fills the emptiness of winter, knitting does.”
“Who is your scarf for?”
Mrs. Lemmon’s cheeks flushed and she gave me a pointed look. “A friend, Locke.”
“Oh.” I got it. Massimo. I let her keep her secret as she knitted away, and turned my attention back to the book in my hands.
I turned page after page, learning about how Duke Steinfelder had persecuted the unsavory folks in foreign lands, killing off diversity. About how he’d died, terrified of retribution from awful creatures. The book had a reproduction of the painting from the hallway, the one of him mounted on the gray horse, ready for battle. Ready to drive people out for a price. Maybe people like Austin and his family. Like me.
With all that had happened lately, I’d almost forgotten I wanted to know how I’d come to be here at Steinfelder. I needed to know.
“Mrs. Lemmon,” I said, “I am worried about my stepmother. You know, with her being on bed rest for the baby. Do you think you might allow me a quick video call? I know it’s not the normal time…”
Mrs. Lemmon set down her knitting needles and consulted her watch. “It’s against rules, Locke.”
I gave her my best puppy eyes. “Please, I’ll be quick.”
“Well, considering what you’ve been through this week, maybe it’d be a good idea,” she said, getting up from the chair. “There’s no one else about. Let me go get the computer from Madame’s office.”
A few short minutes later, I was sitting in front of a laptop screen, looking at a sleepy Honeybun. Mrs. Lemmon, giving me some privacy, retreated to the hallway door and picked up her knitting again.
“Your father’s still sleeping,” Honeybun said, yawning. “I’ve been online for hours looking at cribs. There’s so much to do.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Everything okay there? Do you want me to wake your father?”
“No, I just wanted to talk to you this time,” I said.
She smiled at me, and I almost felt guilty, seeing how bright and wide her grin was, like she was genuinely happy we were chatting. That I wanted to talk to her alone. “So, what’s up, sweetheart?”
I groaned inwardly at the word “sweetheart” but forged ahead. “So, what I’ve been wondering, because you know, there are lot of girls from lots of different places here at the school, is how did you find out about this place? I mean, why am I here?”
Honeybun’s smile faded into disappointment. “Oh. I thought you wanted to have some kind of a girl chat. You know, about… girl stuff.”
I heard in her hesitation the wish that we were talking about mother-daughter stuff, not just girl stuff. I felt a little punch in the gut. Was Honeybun actually wanting to get along? To be a real parent? It was a little too late for that.
“Well, you know, there’re no boys here, so there’s no girl stuff to talk about, really,” I said.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Honeybun replied. “I should have told you before, but that friend of yours from camp, Austin, he tried to reach you here at the house after you left. Very charming. You father told him where he could write you. I hope he’s been in touch.”
I shrugged. Talking with her about Austin seemed pointless and maybe, with everything going on, dangerous. “Listen, I want to know how you found out about Steinfelder.”
Honeybun tried to frown at my changing the subject. She rubbed at her creaseless forehead as if the effort hurt her. “I don’t see why that’s important.”
“Did you get the brochure from Red Canyon Ranch? From Camp Crescent? From a shrink you know?”
She let out a deep yawn. “Shelby, I still can’t understand why you need to know.”
“Just tell me!”
Mrs. Lemmon poked her head around the corner, a finger to her lips.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to yell. It’s just that things are getting weird here—”
“Oh no, what did you do?”
What did I do? Nothing yet, I wanted to say. But I held my tongue. “I’d just like to know where you got the brochure.”
Honeybun cast her gaze to the enormous rock on her wedding finger. “We got a special invitation in the mail.”
“An invitation?”
“Yes. It was invitation from the school, with your name on it, saying you’d been handpicked to attend. It was super fancy, like they’d taken the time to research you, to make sure you were their kind of girl. I’m not sure how we got on the school’s mailing list or who recommended you, but when I read about the tradition and the history, it sounded really great. I thought you might soak up some European culture. California can be so, you know, California.”
“Was there a signature on the invitation? A return address?”
“Well, just the school information, I suppose. It wasn’t signed by anyone.”
“Oh.” I felt my shoulders slump. “Okay, great.”
Honeybun’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “You know, I always wanted to see Europe. Back when I was in high school in the Valley, I dreamed of seeing those capitals. I thought maybe you’d get a chance to do the things I never had the chance to do,” she said, her voice softening.
“Really? You weren’t just sending me far, far away?”
Honeybun chewed her lower, plumped up lip. “Shelby—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I know it hasn’t been easy.”
“For either one of us,” she said with a nod.
“Okay, well, if you find that invitation, save it for me,” I told her. And then we clicked off, neither one of us saying goodbye.
Mrs. Lemmon came back into the room with her knitting bag. “Well? How did it go?”
“It’s never quite what you expect,” I said.
“Now that’s the truth right there,” she replied. “It never is, indeed.”
***
I chewed my gummy worm slowly. It was a red one, my favorite, but actually any flavor tastes good when you haven’t had a gummy in months. I checked my watch again—ten minutes to eleven. I dressed quickly, retrieving the snow clothes and boots I’d left in the bathroom’s linen closet after dinner. It seemed quieter and quicker to dress in the girls’ loo then in our room, especially since Marie-Rose had been my shadow again, all night. I zipped up my jacket, fully prepared to head out into the snow, and crept down the back staircase to the kitchen, where the exit closest to the path to the old carriage house was located.
As I was about to open the kitchen’s back door, I heard the staccato sound of heels on wooden floors. I slid into the pantry to wait until the noise passed. Peeking out, I saw the reflection of candlelight flickering on the glass windows above the sink, and I heard a cough. I ducked back inside my hiding place as the back door opened and whoever it was went out onto the porch. A second later, I smelled tobacco burning. Someone was outside for a forbidden late night smoke, blocking my exit in the process.
Since I was in the pantry already, I grabbed a couple of gingersnaps and put them in my coat pocket. Then, I got down low and made my way out into the kitchen. I snuck a glance out the window. Miss Kovac was smoking and whispering in a foreign language into her cell phone
I was about to make my move out of the kitchen when she suddenly clicked the phone shut and stubbed out her cigarette. There was no time to go anywhere, so I climbed underneath one of the metal worktables and held my breath. She closed the back door behind her as she entered the kitchen. Then she stopped, candlestick holder in her hand, and sniffed the air. As she circled the table I was under, I was sure she could hear my heart beating. I willed myself to be still, not to move a millimeter in my noisy snow pants.
Miss Kovac raised her nose to the air again and then walked quickly over to the pantry. A second later she emerged with three cookies in her hands and hustled out the kitchen door. So, I wasn’t the only one raiding the cook’s secret stash.
I exhaled with relief as I unfolded myself from under the table. Then, realizing it was after eleven and I was late, I zipped out the back door. I ran as fast as I could while keeping to the shadows of the neglected garden. When I reached the carriage house, I slid along the side wall, searching for the door. It was heavy and creaky, but I got it open and stepped into the inky darkness.
“Austin?” I called.
A flashlight switched on over in the corner. I half expected to see my shadow, Marie-Rose, or some other unwelcome figure step out of the gloom, but it was just your average werewolf hottie. “Good evening,” he said, jumping over a rusted out car with ease. “I’d about given up.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Austin set the flashlight on a wooden crate and gave me a half smile, the little dimples at the side of his face creasing. Seeing Austin’s silvery Lycan eyes, I felt a familiar rush of fear, but now it was tempered by the knowledge that my own eyes had that same quality, or at least the beginning of it.
“I missed you.” Austin wrapped me in his arms, and it suddenly didn’t matter that it was freezing in the carriage house or that things were crappy, or that I was going furry. It only mattered that he was here with me. “It’s so hard to be away from you,” he added, making my heart flip in my chest.
I fell deeper into his embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Did anyone follow you?” Austin whispered as he stroked my hair.
“I don’t think so.”
He gazed into my eyes, and then he lowered his lips to mine, until we almost touched. He hovered there for a few seconds, in the place where I could feel the heat from his lips, his soft breath. I wanted him to close the distance so badly.
And when he finally kissed me, I forgot about Steinfelder. I forgot about my Lycan woes. I forgot everything. When people say that you can lose yourself in a kiss, they aren’t lying. And for that moment, I was completely, happily lost.
It’s just a shame you can’t stay lost. You can’t stay outside reality forever. No matter how hard you might try.