by Kristie Cook
Diane’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t question me further. She knew from experience I wasn’t the forthcoming type. Diane had lost some weight over the years, but she still looked and dressed the same way she had the day she led Amber and I into the Abbey for the first time.
“Your sister is already down in the kitchens, and there’s breakfast in the refectory,” Diane said.
She laid clean towels in front of me and turned to leave.
I wished I could tell her to stay, but the dream wasn’t a new one and seemed too personal to share. My teeth dug into my lip. It wasn’t even about sharing it. I just didn’t want to be alone.
I closed my eyes."He said her aura was black."
“I’ll warn you though. Your aunt is in the refectory and she’s in a temper,” Diane called into the bathroom.
Leaning over the sink, I splashed cold water into my face. The kitchens it was then. I had chores to do anyway. I couldn’t face Aunt Kyra.
Anger over yesterday’s car ride still filled me. I didn’t understand why she refused to talk to me. She was a black hole, sucking me dry. She may be the Abbess of Blackstone Abbey, my mother’s sister, and my guardian but she was also one cold sanctimonious bitch. She wasn’t the maternal type and, even after seven years, still seemed to be adjusting to us. And her aura … I shook my head. No! I couldn’t go there! Biting the inside of my mouth, I let the pain it caused redirect my thoughts as I dove for the shower, rushing to finish before the hot water disappeared.
One swift shower down and a wardrobe change later, and I was running down the stairs. I was determined to turn my morning around. I needed to turn it around. Hell, I needed my week back. I couldn’t ignore everything that had already happened: the visions, my aunt, Amber, the dream, and the whole revelation about Conor, but I could put a fresh coat of paint on the whole situation. This was my life, my choices.
“Don’t run!” a Sister called.
I barely managed to refrain from being derogatory.
Shoving into the kitchens, I slid to a halt just long enough to grab a broom and cross my eyes at my sister standing at the stove. She ignored me. If the rift had been wide before, our conversation yesterday had made it wider. I turned my back on her.
I was feeling better, my body relaxing into my chore when an indistinguishable voice infiltrated my head.
I paused, my eyes going to Amber; sure she’d been trying to get my attention from the stove. “What?”
She glanced up, confused. A cold feeling climbed up my spine.
I shook my head. As edgy as I was, I was sure I was imagining things.
My gaze slid to the stove. “You might want to try a little spice in the dish this time,” I suggested while moving to sweep the last of the morning dirt out the back door. Kitchen duty was such a pain in the ass.
Amber’s brows rose. “The more natural the dish, the more cleansing it is to the soul,” she quoted.
I leaned over the broom and pretended to wretch. “Is your head always stuck up someone else’s ass?” The way Amber quoted the Sisters seriously grated on my nerves.
Dropping the broom, I hefted myself up onto the counter. It landed on Amber’s foot. She huffed but refrained from swearing.
I searched the shelves. Disapproval filled Amber’s gaze as I unwrapped the lollipop I had hidden among the kitchen’s plants. It wasn’t the most creative hiding spot but it’d do.
“You know that stuff is nothing but solidified poison,” Amber murmured, kicking the broom aside as I hopped to the brick floor.
An image of Conor warning me about sugar and sin made me bite back a laugh. I grinned. Amber was too serious. Mom used to say she was intense and contemplative. My translation for that: Dull!
Dancing over to Amber, I held the pink dumdum up lovingly. “O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.”
My hand caressed the stick, my tongue shooting out to French kiss the lollipop. With a jolt, I slid down to the floor, my body thrashing in dramatic convulsions.
Amber’s lips thinned, her eyes dancing with amusement.
I arched my brows.
Amber snorted. “Shakespeare consorted with the devil.”
I groaned. “Oh my God, Amber! Seriously?”
Leaning against the counter next to her, I stuffed the dumdum into my mouth, the sugar melting comfortably against my tongue. “The Abbess has corrupted you.”
Amber shifted. Her strawberry blonde hair, pulled tightly up on top of her head, chastised me as she turned away. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did.
With her flawless skin and deep blue eyes, Amber looked every bit the Angel, and she thrived off acting the part she wore so well in appearance. In contrast, I was the devil incarnate.
“Just a little salt and pepper maybe?” I goaded.
She stirred the soup on the stove, turning it on low so it could slow cook throughout the day. Her eyes slid to mine. “You need to start conforming more.”
God, I hated that word!
I smiled impishly, my hand resting against my heart. “No chance of that, sister dear. Love me for the heathen I am.”
She wasn’t impressed.
I shook my head. “I think the Abbey actually makes you surlier. If that be possible.”
Without replying, she bent to her work.
I frowned. Every once in a while, Amber reminded me of Mom. I shut the thought down quickly, worrying the wound I’d opened earlier in the bathroom. I wouldn’t think about them. Not now. Not today. My heart clenched. There are some things time can’t heal.
Stepping away from the stove, Amber glanced at her watch. “The Abbey has a long history, Dayton, and an even longer tradition. Don’t always knock it so much, huh?”
I frowned. Her words about "being accepted into the fold" rang through my head. There was no way to repair this week. Too much had transpired, and the Abbey was the worst part. It was my modern day Hades. The Sisters were filling my sister’s head with drivel. I blamed them for the tension between us, and I didn’t appreciate the rift. Damn it, I missed my sister!
“Been talking to Lady Ky much? We won’t be here forever, Amber. Why are you so set on this place?” I asked her with a crunch. Cotton candy heaven! I never make it through the whole lollipop. I wouldn’t win the "how many licks does it take to finish the dumdum" contest.
“Didn’t you know the Abbess is secretly a foul monster dressed as a penguin?” I asked.
I grinned but, truth is, I believed the monster part. Her idea of guardianship translated into overbearing tyranny. I, personally, had no desire to please her. If there was any reason to be bulimic, she’d be it. But, while I maintained my distance, my sister seemed obsessed with pleasing both Lady Ky and the robed women that made the Abbey their home. It drove me nuts.
"He said her aura was black."
I shivered. “Just sayin’. If the bird man can escape Alcatraz, we can escape Blackstone.”
Amber fidgeted. “Maybe I don’t want to leave, Dayton. Maybe there’s more purpose here than you think."
My mouth fell open. I had always suspected her interest in the Order, but I never suspected it was more than curiosity. “You’re fucking with me, right?”
Amber kicked me in the shin. Jesus!
“Damn it, Amber!”
Amber scowled. “Drop the cursing, Day.”
I hopped around the kitchen nursing my throbbing ankle. “Lecture me next time, would you. Save the physical abuse for the crones."
Amber shook her head. She hated when I referred to the Sisters that way. And I was all about disappointing lately. I just didn’t see what the big deal about the Abbey was. Amber was in her first year of college and still living here. God help me if Amber really decided to become a nun. A thought passed fleetingly through my head, and I frowned. Surely not …
“You can’t replace her you know,” I whispered.
Our mother. That’s who I meant, and Amber knew it.
She stiffened. Swinging aroun
d, her hands on her hips, her glaring gaze met mine evenly. “I’m not trying to replace anyone, Day!”
Shock and anger was evident in her voice. She stepped toward me, her nose almost touching my forehead. I hadn’t inherited my father’s height gene. It showed.
“It’s just … ” Amber frowned. “I’m trying to make her proud. One of us needs to."
She retreated, her eyes wide. It took a moment for her words to register but, when they did, the sting whacked me squarely in the soul. I wanted to protest but found I couldn’t. The insult sat heavily between us. Anger and embarrassment clawed itself up my neck. My cheeks flushed. Tears burned the back of my eyes.
I turned away.
“Look, Day—”
I shook my head. Words wouldn’t help. We both knew it.
"Mom wouldn’t be proud of this," I whispered hoarsely.
I put pressure on my tongue with my teeth to keep from crying. A loud banging from the hallway diffused the situation. We stiffened.
“Dayton Marie!” The yell echoed through the corridor, and I stuffed the lollipop stick quickly down the front of my shirt and into my bra.
Amber rolled her eyes.
Aunt Kyra materialized at the door, a sheaf of papers hanging from her fingertips, her eyes flashing. I cringed.
“What is this, Dayton?” she demanded.
I shrugged. My heart was very evidently not into arguing.
“Rewrite it!” she ordered. “And I mean it. I’ll call the school and see if they will take a redo or extra credit. An F!”
She held out the papers, and I took them gingerly. I knew better than to say anything.
“What am I going to do with you?” she murmured.
She turned away.
I straightened. I refused to cower in front of her or Amber. Not today. I was my father’s child in a lot of ways. Stubborn was one of them.
“It was one paper,” I defended.
“It’s not just the paper, Dayton. It’s everything,” she said wearily. “The cursing, the disobedience, your choice in friends …”
I stared. If I was supposed to act suitably chastised, I was going to disappoint. “I don’t get it! Am I that bad?” My gaze passed between Amber’s gaze and Aunt Ky’s back. Neither of them moved.
After a moment, Aunt Kyra peered over her shoulder. “Dayton—” She paused and looked away. “We have a guest coming to dinner this weekend. He’s coming to meet you specifically. Don’t mess this up.”
My brow furrowed. “Me?”
Aunt Kyra nodded. “Do not mess this up,” she repeated firmly.
I glanced at Amber, but she shrugged and looked at the floor. I knew that look. She knew something.
“Is it about the paper?” I asked, confused. I’d known Mr. James was going to give me a failing grade. I’d seen it in his face. It wasn’t the first run in I’d had with my philosophy teacher. He was a total prejudiced ass.
“He’s a recruiter,” Aunt Kyra said.
I froze. For college? Me thinks not. “To see me?”
Instead of answering, she gave me a stern look and exited. Aunt Kyra wasn’t one to elaborate. Did she seriously think being vague was part of her mommy job description?
I fingered the essay in my hands. A recruiter? That made no sense. Amber was the scholar. With my grades, I’d have to go looking for the colleges, not the other way around. I wasn’t dumb. I just didn’t try.
“Is this some kind of school thing? Is it about my birthday?” I asked Amber.
A familiar figure loitered in the hallway trying to make herself appear small. I concentrated on Amber. She shrugged and moved to stand behind me. Peering over my shoulder, she moaned. It brought my attention back to the present and to the group of papers in my hand.
“What?” I groaned. “The whole point of philosophy is argument.”
“Argument, Dayton. Not re-theorizing. You were always good at telling stories. No wonder you failed."
My spine stiffened. I’m pretty sure she was trying to re-direct my thoughts, and it worked. The insults were really starting to dig. It still didn’t answer my earlier questions, but I let her re-direct me all the same. I’d find out soon enough.
“I wasn’t re-theorizing. Read the paper,” I huffed.
We moved out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
“I thought it was ambitious,” the figure said from the corridor.
Grinning, I paused.
Amber kept walking. “You would,” she called over her shoulder, her back retreating down the hall before disappearing into the refectory.
I turned to face Monroe. She leaned against the wall with a smile, her vintage jeans and 50’s flavored cream top clashing with the usual collection of black robes that normally inhabited the place. She dropped her bag, and I rolled my eyes at yet another big beaded purse on the floor between us. I was refraining.
“Lady Ky can smell bad news from a mile away. She’d put a drug dog to shame,” Monroe quipped. She blew a pink bubble and popped it with her fingernail. The two of us needed to take out stock in DumDum and Hubba Bubba.
I leaned against the wall next to her. “I’m not re-writing it."
Monroe looked up. “Then don’t."
I was irritated about the whole thing. I had better things to worry about than a disgruntled philosophy teacher who, in my opinion, didn’t teach us anything. Mr. James abhorred arguments. It was almost as if we were supposed to take what we heard and live it, breathe it, be it. He really unnerved me. I got that most of the girls were in love with him. He was young, too young to teach in my opinion, and I have to admit, pretty hot. But still a total dictator.
Monroe watched me quietly. “How was your night?”
My problems came rushing back. Monroe’s last text sprang into my head. "He said her aura was black."
“Can we discuss it later?” I wasn’t avoiding the issue. I just didn’t know what to do about it. Silence stretched between us.
Monroe picked up her bag and nodded toward the stairs. I kicked away from the wall.
“So, you ready for your birthday tomorrow?” Monroe asked, smoothly changing the subject as we moved toward the Abbey’s living quarters to grab my back pack.
I glanced at her and groaned. Wrong change of subject. “Not really."
“Oh, come on! It’s your birthday!”
I gave her the look. “We don’t celebrate birthdays at the Abbey.” She knew that.
Monroe laughed. “Who knows, maybe your aunt will this year. It’s your last year harassing her.”
I grabbed my backpack and picked up a wadded up piece of paper off my floor. I threw it at her head. She ducked. It missed. Damn.
Chapter 9
He will not stop now. He has corrupted the Order. And he has an insatiable thirst for blood. His control is impressive, but limited. I have watched too long, forbidden to interfere. She will not be cowed, I know her well. These things I know. What I had not counted on was the Other. He has surprised me.
~Bezalial~
The day passed too quickly, maybe because school was mainly spent arguing with my philosophy teacher who refused to let me do extra credit. My aunt had made good on her promise to talk to Mr. James. But, as I suspected, he wanted me to re-write the paper, and I refused to do it. It put us at an impasse and neither one of us was budging.
“You are looking at it all wrong, Ms. Blainey,” Mr. James growled.
I leaned forward. “I argued a point I felt strongly about, and I made sure to include references to back it. It was a good paper.”
Mr. James looked away, his fist clenched at his side. From where she sat, Mrs. Pierson, the so-called counselor, couldn’t see his restraint, but I could. With his golden hair, amber eyes, and muscled physique, he resembled a Greek god. His personality, however, resembled a pit bull. He swallowed hard.
“The paper wasn’t about disproving Camus. It was about the man himself, his life, his philosophy,” Mr. James ground out.
I shrugged. “I di
dn’t like his philosophy.”
Mr. James’ face reddened and Mrs. Pierson sat up abruptly behind her desk. Now, she decided to intervene.
“Now, now …” Mrs. Pierson soothed.
I let her voice drone on into the background. I simply wasn’t interested in being pacified. The whole argument was pointless. It was obvious we were at a stalemate.
In the end, I spent three hours in the counselor’s office having a teacher/student conference that resulted in me telling Mr. James to stuff his paper where the sun doesn’t shine and to covet the F he gave me if he wasn’t going to let me do extra credit. I simply refused to re-write a paper I believed in, one that I felt effectively disproved Camus’ stupid "Life is Absurd" theory. It was going to piss my aunt off royally. Not because the paper wasn’t good. It was. But because I wouldn’t change it to earn a better grade.
I was so thoroughly irritated by the time I left the office, I slammed into the bathroom and stayed there. As a senior, I only had five periods, and Mr. James had wasted most of them. I slid down the restroom wall and pouted.
“Smoke?” someone asked quietly.
I looked up to find Jessie Grey leaning up against one of the bathroom stalls.
She offered me a cigarette and I took it. I didn’t smoke but, at this point, it wouldn’t hurt to look like I did.
I took a quick puff and handed it back, swallowing the cough that rose up in my throat. “Thanks.”
She cocked her head. “It’s a bad habit.” She puffed on the butt.
I didn’t know Jessie well. We were both seniors, but she was a loner who spent most of her time secluded. She didn’t do much to invite company, and, honestly, she was somewhat unnerving. She blew smoke toward the ceiling. Her torn jeans, loose black off-the-shoulder tee, and short black hair suited her. A red lacy bra flashed occasionally through the shirt, and I felt a momentary flash of envy. She looked like a C. I was barely out of an A.
“You got probs today?” Jessie asked.
I looked up and caught her eyes. They were bright.
“Nothing big,” I answered vaguely.
She pushed away from the wall. “Whatev.”
Putting the butt out, she fanned the air with her hand before reaching into her backpack. She pulled out an aerosol Febreeze can and sprayed the room. It hinted of apples. I watched her pop the can back into her backpack and rolled my eyes. If only my aunt had to raise her.
