Hell's Belles (Hell's Belles Trilogy Book 1)

by Alison Claire

  “The thing is,” Josephine piped in. “Bronwyn isn’t like a typical high school, per se. It’s one of those places that cater to the needs of people like us.”

  Virginia nodded. “Very good way of putting it, Josephine. Emma, she’s right. Bronwyn is a school founded for women with special gifts. At Bronwyn, your talent will not come as a surprise to most people.”

  I looked around at all of them, angry. “And you’re dropping this on me now? Right before we go in?”

  “It’s not that anyone knows,” Virginia added. “Only we know. And not everyone at Bronwyn has abilities. But I just want you to be at least a little prepared. This isn’t going to be like your school in California.”

  I pressed my forehead against the passenger side window. “Well. I already knew that. God, I wish I was still in bed.”

  As we drove down the tree lined driveway up to the ivy covered brick of Bronwyn Hall, I took a look at my surroundings. Girls walked up a cobblestone walkway to a grand entrance with stone steps. Range Rovers, BMWs, Mercedes, and even a couple of Bentleys dropped young women off. Some of the girls drove themselves in the same kinds of cars, the ones wasted on obnoxious teenagers on reality television dedicated to sweet 16 parties.

  Everyone looked very serious. There wasn’t a lot of uproar or giggling. Some of the younger ones walked in herds, huddled together and discussing whatever problems they made up in their heads to make them feel alive. All the girls had the same type of appearance that Josephine and Calista had; rich, together, and faultless. I looked down at my legs and noticed two spots I missed on my knees when I’d shaved my legs that morning. My confidence plummeted even further.

  Now I really wished I had somehow fought Virginia on this. I had a bad feeling.

  When we finally reached drop-off, Calista and Josephine immediately hopped out. Virginia gave them each a nod, but held onto my arm.

  “I’m going to park and we’ll go in together,” she said.

  “Fine.” I crossed my arms and wished I had Aleta’s mind tricks so I could somehow convince Virginia this was all a terrible idea.

  We parked in a lot behind the school. There was a gazebo and small building in the back that reminded me a little bit of the bottle house my sister and I had loved so much in Rhyolite. A couple of girls were hurrying toward it as a bell rang.

  I slammed shut the door to the Range Rover. Virginia stepped out, sunglasses on, her Louboutin heels click clacking on the pavement as we went towards the building.

  We walked through a door that led to a plain hallway. Lockers lined the walls and a couple of girls were loitering near them. As we walked past them, they stared at Virginia. She didn’t acknowledge them, but it was clear they knew who she was. There was awe on their faces. They glanced at me, their eyes questioning.

  They’re probably wondering what she’s doing here with me I thought.

  We walked and made some turns down a few hallways. The classroom doors had slender, horizontal windows that let me see just enough to know the classes were full, but not enough to tell what was happening in them. As we passed one of the rooms I noticed Calista, front row, her perfect legs crossed. She looked completely bored.

  We finally reached what looked like a typical school office. A round woman in a sleeveless sheath dress with funky patterns sat behind a large granite desk. Her hair was teased and sprayed to hell and she wore pastel makeup that matched the pattern of her dress. It was a little much.

  “Hello, Margo.” Virginia smiled. “Is Lillian ready for us?”

  Margo immediately stood, looking flustered. “Good morning, Virginia. She’s on a call but she should be done in just a moment.”

  Virginia nodded and sat down on a silk upholstered, cushioned bench. She patted the spot next to her as my signal to sit. Margo stared at me. I was starting to feel like something under a microscope that people weren’t sure grossed them out or not.

  “That dress is interesting,” I commented. Margo was shuffling papers on the other side of the office and couldn’t hear me.

  “It’s Lily Pulitzer. Very popular designer here in Charleston. Margo loves pastel in case it wasn’t obvious.” Virginia crossed one of her lithe legs. “I hope Lillian hurries up. I’m supposed to go to the Montagu house to meet with Aleta.”

  I leaned back against the wall behind me. Even through my shirt the coldness of it felt good. “The Montagu house?” I asked.

  “Yes. It’s another house I own. I’ll take you by there later this week. I’m having it renovated.”

  I shrugged. Who needed two homes when your first home was almost the size of the school we were presently sitting in?

  Finally, a tall, gangly woman in a heather gray pantsuit came out of her office and walked quickly over to Virginia, extending her hand.

  “Virginia,” The woman smiled. She had a beaky nose that reminded me of Fiona’s. Her cheekbones were high and defined and she had deep set green eyes.

  “Lillian, hello my dear. Thanks for meeting with us.” Virginia placed her hand on my back. “This is Emma Ayers.”

  “Of course,” Lillian smiled at me knowingly. “I’ve heard so many things about you, Emma. Come, follow me to my office. Did Margo offer you water?”

  “No, we’re fine though,” Virginia lowered her voice. “Can we meet in the conference room? Away from the front.”

  Lillian looked back at Virginia with a quizzical look. “Of course. Is everything okay?”

  “Certainly. I just know Margo has a habit of listening closely to school affairs.”

  Lillian laughed. “That’s true. She is the worst about that. Of course, discretion is key. The conference room will be perfect.”

  What on Earth was I in for?

  Chapter 15

  “Welcome to Bronwyn Hall.”

  Lillian Legare sat across a long, smooth, black table. There was an ornate centerpiece in the middle with lush flowers billowing out of it. The walls were covered in black and white photography; photos of students smiling, in others looking serious, in yet others looking incredibly mysterious. I felt like I was in a conference room at Vogue Magazine High.

  “Thanks,” I glanced over at Virginia. She gave me a reassuring smile.

  “Has Virginia told you anything about us? Our history? Our mission here?” Lillian switched from crossing her left leg, to crossing her right. Her hands were folded on the table. Her finger nails were short and clean, manicured, but natural. She was crisp and sharp.

  “All I know is that important women have attended. And women who have married important people. So basically it’s a rich kid school. That’s all I know.”

  Virginia furrowed her brow at me but Lillian chuckled.

  “Well. I suppose you’re right. Bronwyn Hall is definitely full of privileged girls. I can’t even deny that. If anything, I embrace it. Or, at least I embrace their tuition and the future donations I hope they make once they’re out in the world being successful daughters of Bronwyn.” Lillian leaned forward. “But we’re more than a rich kid school. Because money has only so much power, right?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” I had never known the power of money in my life.

  Virginia spoke up, “I think what Lillian is getting at is that this is also a school for special girls. Girls like you, Emma.” Virginia pointedly looked at Lillian. I could tell she was slightly displeased.

  Lillian took the hint. “Yes. This is a school that values the diverse talents of Charleston’s own. Whether that comes from money or not is truly of little concern to us. What we provide is a place for girls to grow and develop. We try to nurture ability. Our faculty is the most elite in the areas they teach. We have had teachers leave tenured positions at Ivy League schools to work at Bronwyn. That’s pretty much not happening anywhere else in the world. The brightest academic minds don’t normally leave positions like that for even the most exclusive private high schools. But Bronwyn is the place they want to be.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s fine. But honestly,
I am here under borderline coercion. So save the sales pitch and let me know what my schedule is. I’m truly not in the mood to be told how lucky I am to be here. Because I simply don’t care.”

  Lillian sucked in a breath for a moment. Her eyes narrowed.

  “I see.” I could tell she was counting down in her head.

  “Emma,” Virginia’s voice held warning. “You’ve been under a lot of duress. But let’s be clear; all girls that attend this school are lucky. And they are also lucky to have you. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship that we greatly value.”

  Why did I get the feeling there was a lot of innuendo in what Virginia and Lillian were saying? I felt almost like they were having a conversation through me.

  Lillian stood. “Maybe its best Emma just figures it all out on her own.” She smirked at me. “Sink or swim, if you will.”

  I met her stare and refused to look away. Lillian blinked first but the smirk hadn’t left her face.

  “Its high school. Not San Quentin,” I stated. “I’m not worried about sinking. There’s nothing that can happen here that could ever be worse than what already has.”

  Lillian nodded. “So I’ve heard, Miss Ayers. You’ve had a rough go of it. Which is why, as a favor to Ms. Embers, who we truly love so much, we are allowing you to try Bronwyn Hall for these last two weeks. It’s a good way to gauge whether it’s a good fit for you or not. Not everyone is cut out for Bronwyn. As with most things, the probationary period can take a lot of adjusting.” Lillian stood. “This certainly isn’t Riverside.”

  I glared at her. Was this woman related to Calista? They both had the same entitled bitch vibe.

  “But I’m graduating,” I replied. “I don’t need a probationary period. I’m eighteen.”

  Lillian looked over at Virginia. “She doesn’t know?”

  Virginia sighed. “Emma, this isn’t a typical high school. You don’t graduate from it after your senior year. It’s a process… And as I said, a safe place for you to be around other girls like you.”

  I gritted my teeth. I was tired of so much being kept from me. My own life wasn’t even my own anymore.

  “Well then,” Virginia stood and placed her Birkin over her shoulder. “I really need to run. Does Margo have the schedule up front?”

  Lillian nodded, still staring at me with cold eyes. “She does. I believe Emma should be joining Josephine in Statistics next period. Have you studied statistics yet, Miss Ayers?”

  I shook my head. “I barely made it to Trigonometry.”

  Lillian smiled her shark grin. “That’s a shame. Statistics is closely related to probability. Something I find amusing in your case.”

  As we walked away from Lillian I leaned over to Virginia and whispered, “What the hell is her deal?”

  Before Virginia could answer, Margo was in front of us with a stack of papers for Virginia and a single piece of paper for me; my schedule.

  I looked it over. “I’m in chorus? I don’t sing.”

  “It’s the only elective Josephine takes. I figured you would rather do that than advanced violin with Calista,” Virginia said.

  “True.” I studied the rest of the courses and sighed. “Can’t I just start summer break now?”

  Virginia shook her head. “You’d be bored to death at home, with too much time to think. You’ll be fine. Thank you, Margo.” Virginia gave a small wave to Margo, who was already behind her desk again, clunking away on her keyboard, staring at an enormous Mac monitor.

  “Of course. Have a wonderful day, Emma. Good luck.” Sympathy marked her expression as we left the office.

  Virginia walked with me upstairs to what was apparently the math and science wing of the school. Along the stairs were giant plaques with photos of alumnae from decades past. Besides the hair styles, the expressions on the girls’ faces looked much the same.

  “So there’s about twenty minutes left of your first class,” Virginia explained. “Josephine has Creative Writing next so you’ll go with her there. After that you have Latin with Calista and then both girls will join you for lunch.” As we reached the end of a hall she turned to me.

  “This is it. Mr. Rhodes’ class. You’ll be fine. Josephine will make sure of it.”

  I nodded, my stomach suddenly uneasy. I felt like I was walking into something for which I was ill prepared.

  As I entered the classroom, despite how unobtrusive I attempted to be, every single face in there was staring at me, their eyes unblinking. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone.

  Finally, I spotted Josephine, who was staring at me intently. Her smile was warm and suddenly so was my body. The knot in my stomach unraveled and my heart stopped pounding.

  Thank you I thought. I needed that.

  “Good morning, Miss Ayers.” Mr. Rhodes was an older man, probably in his mid-sixties. He had a shock of white hair around the base of his head and was completely bald on top. His head shined under the fluorescent lighting of his classroom. “Welcome. Have a seat next to Miss Berkshire in the back.”

  As I walked down the aisle towards my empty desk I heard someone say: “She’s a Belle?”

  I jerked my head around. It came from a girl with hair so blonde it was almost white, like corn silk. Her eyes were large and green and the look she was giving me reminded me of Lillian Legare. It wasn’t friendly.

  “I know; can you believe it?” I responded, my voice dripping with sarcasm. The blonde rolled her eyes and turned back to the front of the room.

  I slipped into the desk next to Josephine, my heart starting to thump again.

  Josephine leaned over and whispered to me. “That’s Zillah March. She’s a real sweetheart, huh?”

  “Yeah. Sweet as a rattlesnake,” I glanced over at her. “So you don’t have to touch me to soothe me? I thought yours was based on contact.”

  Josephine shook her head. “Nope. I can send it to you across short distances. Like classrooms. Came in handy, huh? I could practically see you sweating from here.”

  Mr. Rhodes gave us a look and we both turned our attention to the front.

  Up until lunch, everything was fine. Creative Writing was interesting. Josephine spun stories about past lives and run-ins with history’s most famous. I wondered if all of it could possibly be true. The teacher, Mrs. Hinton, seemed tickled to death with her. She was a jolly woman, the type I could see living in an apartment with shelves of romance novels and numerous cats.

  Calista was even halfway cordial to me in Latin. When Zillah March practically hissed at me, Calista gave her the iciest scowl.

  “I really despise that girl,” Calista said through gritted teeth.

  But then came lunch. One thing I noticed is that Calista and Josephine seemed to garner a lot of attention everywhere they went. As we walked into the cafeteria it felt like the entire school was watching as we cut through the middle to the lunch line. I felt like if this were a movie, their walk would be in slow motion. It was clear they were celebrities here.

  “So, who do you all sit with?” I asked as we passed paper plates of pizza and clear, plastic boxes full of limp salads.

  “Each other.” They said in unison.

  “You don’t have like, a mystical girl clique or something?” I chuckled awkwardly at my own joke.

  They both looked at me, clearly not amused.

  I grabbed a plate of fries and a pack of Reese’s Pieces. Josephine had picked out a pimento cheese sandwich and my heart stung at the thought of my father. What would he think of me being here?

  Calista bought a Diet Coke. Nothing else.

  “Are you ever hungry?” I asked after we paid and started walking toward the cafeteria tables.

  Calista looked at me, confused. “I’m always hungry. Why?”

  “Well, why don’t you eat?” I asked.

  Calista just stared at me like I was an idiot.

  We set our things down at a table close to a window that looked out onto the front lawn of the school.

  Across the
way Zillah March and some other girls huddled together, throwing glances our way every now and then.

  “What’s that chick’s deal?” I asked, dipping a large fry into a dollop of ketchup.

  “They’re bitches. That’s their deal,” Calista pulled the tab on her drink. She took a swig from her can. “It’s a story as old as time. Assholes have always been in existence.”

  I smiled. Looking back at Zillah and her crew I found it hard to believe they could possibly think that anything about them was in the same stratosphere as someone like Calista Embers. Sure, they were pretty enough. But next to Calista, that might as well have equaled homeliness. Zillah March would have been a prom queen at most high schools. But beside Calista she was unremarkable. I sensed that could be frustrating.

  As I finished my fries, Calista stood up to go to the restroom. Josephine was scrolling through her phone when it happened.

  “You’re not pretty enough to be a Belle.”

  I turned and there was Zillah and three of her minions. They stood behind me, their hands on their narrow hips.

  “For one thing,” she remarked glancing down at my legs. “Belles are usually thin.”

  Josephine looked up, “Zillah, go fuck yourself.”

  Zillah sneered at her and looked at me again. “So what kind of freak are you? How is Virginia whoring out another one of her precious Belles from Hell?” The girls next to her chortled like the mindless followers they clearly were.

  Suddenly, there was a rush of noise; a sound like lunch trays falling to the floor. The loud screech of tables being moved across linoleum pierced the air. One of the underlings screamed and Zillah’s face turned pale.

  I turned around to see what was happening and gasped.

  All the lunch tables had been pushed across the cafeteria. Two of them hung in midair above us. It was like they were attached to invisible cords.

  Calista was behind me, her face heated. It took me just a second to realize that Calista’s ability was what had moved those tables. And now she was keeping them from crashing down on Zillah and her posse.