“That’s Reed Sullivan; captain of the rugby team, shameless flirt, and grade-A jackass.”
She waves him off, as if annoyed by even speaking his name.Reed Sullivan.As if he could hear my thoughts, he turns around to say something to one of his friends in the row behind him, and his eyes snag on mine. His lips curve into a lazy, charming smile, and my cheeks burn in response. He’s handsome, with sharp features and hazel eyes that could draw any woman’s attention. Right now, though? He’s captured mine.
“As most of you may know, Hollowcrest is mourning the terrible loss of Ambrose Gravenhurst.” My head shoots upward. “However, his granddaughter, Verena, has decided to begin her studies here this semester,” he announces, and my heart practically drops into my stomach as students turn to face me. “Let’s all give her the warm welcome she deserves now, shall we?” he says. My eyes travel over the crowd, and I notice several students are glancing my way. They’re making it too obvious, as I can hear the faint whispers and snickering at my expense. Some students clap, most of them just gawk at me, and I sink further into my seat, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow me whole.
Dean Henderson dismisses the students, sending them on their way. Friends break off into small groups around the room, some eyes still lingering, and the whispers I had feared prior to the assembly have now bloomed to full-fledged conversations.Is that really her? Why is she here? The princess has come to claim her kingdom.I can’t escape the gossip around me. Panic starts to prickle under my skin, and I’m about ready to flee when a warm hand grips my shoulder.
“Hey, you okay?” Mauve’s brows are furrowed, genuine concern carved on her face.
“Yes, I will be. I think it’s just been a lot for one day. I’ve got to go.” I give her a weak smile and turn on my heel.
“Wait! Will I be seeing you tomorrow?” she asks, worry blanketing her features.
I nod my head without another word and push through the adjacent doors, needing to clear my mind as far away from the academy as possible.
FIVE
VERENA GRAVENHURST
Ikeep telling myself tomorrow will be better, but the thought just feels like a lie I’m desperate to believe. My visit to the academy should have meant something. It should have felt like a new beginning, but instead it was just another reminder that I don’t belong. Not here, not anywhere—and this is just another place I wouldn’t be calling home.
The bathwater laps at my collarbones, sending a chill through me. I must have been lost in my thoughts for a long while, because all the warmth from the water has completely bled out. When my fingers transformed into miniature prunes, I should have taken it as my sign to exit the bath, but my limbs refused to cooperate, entirely paralyzed by the anxious thoughts spiralling through my mind. Their nasty looks, their muttered comments, and the way they said my last name in disgust weigh on me like stones sewn into my skin, dragging me further and further from sanity.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I slip beneath the surface, my raven hair floating like a halo in the small space around me. Below the surface, everything is muffled. Softer, quieter, almost peaceful. Nothing can reach me. Only the sound of my franticheart pounding in my ears. I stay pressed to the bottom of the tub until the burn in my lungs becomes unbearable, until every cell in my body screams for my next breath.
When I finally come up for air, the lone candle that’s illuminating the room flares once, then flickers out. I freeze, watching the smoke curl into the air above the wick. Moonlight spills from the large window behind me, into the ornate bathroom, the only light breaking through the dark space. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I slowly peer over my shoulder. An eerie stillness settles around me, the only sound being the quiet drops of water dripping from my chin as they hit the bathwater. The window overlooking the garden is beautiful, like most of the manor. It’s tall, with a pointed Gothic arch and intricate curved designs running through it, but it’s completely sealed shut. There’s no breeze, no draft, no explanation for the candle to be blown out as if it had been snuffed.
Pulling my knees to my chest, I try to ignore the chill in the air and the water submerging me. My brows knit together as I look up at the moon, such a quiet presence in comparison to the view from my apartment back in the city. Thousands of stars flicker in the sky around it, shining brighter in a place that isn’t dulled by bright city lights. My mother used to say that when we die, our souls return to the universe, and as I look up into the night sky, I can’t help but wonder if she’s one of those thousand stars, watching over me. There have been many questions that have plagued my thoughts since her passing, but one in particular keeps me up at night.Is this the life she would want for me?
My mind begins to wander, and a sudden shift in the energy around me is all it takes for my body to become aware of someone’s eyes on me. The hairs on my arm stand tall, and I sit up straight, whipping my head towards the bathroom door. I expect to see a figure standing within the threshold, but to my relief, there isn’t. I do a once-over, checking the dark corners of the oversized bathroom before standing up.
“Get it together,” I mutter to myself. You’d think after uprooting my life countless times over the years, I wouldn’t be so skittish in new surroundings.
Goosebumps coat my skin as I emerge from the tub. Streams of water cascade from my naked body, and my nipples tighten in the open air. I leave a small trail of puddles on the marble floor, from the tub to the far end of the restroom, where a stack of clean towels is folded, courtesy of the housekeepers.Housekeepers.A concept I’ll likely never become accustomed to. Grabbing one, I twist my hair beneath it, using another to quickly dry my shivering limbs. A white satin robe hangs on the rack beside me, and I skim my fingers along the silky, rich material. Though I know it won’t do much to satiate the chill that has burrowed itself beneath my skin, I wrap it around my body anyway, throwing the used towel into the hamper.
Padding across the room I now have the privilege of calling my own, I flop onto the lush mattress, something I’ve been longing to do all day. The flannel sheets greet me like a lover, soft and comforting against my icy skin. Pulling the fluffy blanket over my shoulders, I feel warmth rapidly replenish my body, and I melt into the bedding that has molded to my form. I close my eyes for a brief moment, and sleep doesn’t hesitate to claim me.
The sun peeks through the dense clouds, just enough to warm my skin without burning me as I run lazy circles in the sand beneath me, staring far out into the ocean. The smell of salt laces the air, and a violent wave of cool water rolls over the sand, rushing towards my feet. I don’t back away. I just allow it to wash overmy ankles, hoping it will take my worries along with it when it leaves.
Birds soar and chirp overhead, and I squint my eyes against the sun to admire the beautiful creatures. My mother combs her fingers through my hair, something she does when she knows something is troubling me. Her perfume wafts over me, lavender and warm vanilla, a scent that’s undeniably her. It wraps around me like a warm hug, and my body relaxes against her.
“You know, sweetheart, life’s a lot like the tide.” Her soft voice breaks through the hours of silence as another wave rolls over the shore. “It pulls you under sometimes, drags you out so far you think you’ll never make your way back. But you will,” she says, with a light pinch to my cheek. I can tell she’s smiling without even looking back at her. “Even the strongest waves eventually bring you back to shore.” She has a way of making everything make sense, like there’s a reason behind every misfortune dealt in this thing called life.
A lone drop of water falls from the darkening clouds, landing on my cheek.
She wipes the droplet away with her thumb. Grey clouds collide above us, completely blocking out the sunlight. I open my mouth to speak, to tell her I love her, that she’s my best friend, but drops of rain quickly begin falling. “Come on, honey,” she says, peering up at the sky, her long dark hair framing her face in loose curls. “We’d better get going; it looks like a storm is coming.”
My body wakes with a jolt, my hand flying to my cheek, as if my mother’s caress still lingers against my skin, like someone had really been touching me moments ago. But no one is in my room, and I might be losing my sanity after all, because I could swear the scent of lavender and vanilla dwells in the air around me. I swallow the knot forming in the back of my throat at the memory of my mother and how I so desperately wish she were still here with me. My unsteady breaths begin to calm as thedream fades into the back of my mind, along with the indelible memory of her. A flicker of light catches my attention, and I realize the door to my bedroom is wide open, and it definitely wasn’t like that before I fell asleep.
The flames from the sconces lining the hallway flicker, sending a soft glow into my otherwise pitch-dark room. Begrudgingly, I slip out of my warm bed, the temperature in the manor feeling a bit colder now than when I arrived. Tugging my satin robe tight across my body, I quietly make my way towards the door. A trickle of fear curves my confidence, like I should be expecting someone to jump out from a dark corner any second now. But as I reach the door, nothing but silence awaits me. I tuck a strand of damp hair behind my ear and risk a peek into the hallway. The manor feels different at night, quieter without Archie and the house staff roaming the halls like they do throughout the day. It feels older, somehow, and I find myself needing to discover all the secrets it keeps.
My curiosity gets the best of me, and before I can think better of it, I grab the hanging lantern from the wall next to my room. Soundlessly, I shut the door behind me and head straight through the hall in the direction of the only part of the manor I’ve been restricted from—the left wing.
I come to a stop at the curved, bifurcated staircase that leads to the front foyer, marking the end of the hallway for the right wing. The corridor to the left wing looms in the distance, appearing more untouched than the rest of the manor, as if no one bothers to roam that specific wing, even in the light of day. That assumption only deepens my curiosity. Peering over the staircase, making sure no one is roaming around on the floor below me, I continue straight down the hall. I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly, but I take my time twisting the doorknob of each room I pass by. Most are locked, but the ones that aren’t seem to be spare rooms that haven’t been dusted or occupied in a long while.
Taking a sharp left, I skim the tips of my fingers along the black and purple damask wallpaper as I advance down the second hallway, but my steps falter when a set of double doors comes into view. They’re left ajar from whomever last entered the room and creak far too loudly as I push them open further, just enough to peek my head inside. Not a lick of candlelight illuminates the room, but when I stick my lantern through the threshold, I’m at a loss for words. It seems to be some sort of forgotten library. Dark, embellished bookshelves line the walls, filled with more books than I’d ever be able to read in this lifetime, though I’m not above trying. A grand piano is perched in the centre of the space, and an oversized sectional, perfect for curling up on long, gloomy nights, is set up next to a fireplace. Moonlight pours from the cathedral-style window beyond it, basking the room in a subtle glow. I’m entirely captivated, imagining myself lounging in here for hours. I’d challenge myself to indulge in as many stories as possible, allowing myself to get lost within the pages. I make myself a promise that I’ll thoroughly explore it another night.
As I close the doors, scanning the vacant hallway, I realize what I’ve been looking for all along. At the very end of the corridor, I spot a door that is undeniably my grandfather’s office. It’s a deep brown oak, with what I’ve come to know as the Gravenhurst crest engraved into it, the initial of my family’s name a decal in whimsy swirls. Time seems to slow, a million questions swirling inside my mind. When I finally remember how to move my legs, I take a step towards it.
