around the room as though she’s forgotten why she’s there. Then a hand goes to her forehead. She’s probably trying to soothe away a hangover.
Moments later, Willa reaches into the glass shower and turns the control handle to a lukewarm setting. She opens the medicine cabinet to reveal an array of clear gels, lotions, conditioners, shampoos, and the like. Each bottle is marked with the Scholomance logo. I envy Willa for the shower she’s about to take. I adored the feel of warm water pulsing against my bare skin.
As a human girl, I allowed myself the luxury of long showers and steaming hot baths. I spent much of my meager movie-theater earnings at Bath & Body Works. Bloodletting aside, perhaps my greatest regret about my time at the castle is that I had the maids, rather than Zachary, draw my baths. Why didn’t I command him to sponge off my back and shoulders and . . . ?
Willa slips out of her silky pj’s, and I can’t help noticing the scars on her breasts, the backs of her thighs, and her buttocks. She’s had fairly recent cosmetic surgery, and a lot of it — especially for a slender girl her age.
Willa begins to hum a song I don’t recognize. It’s sad and wistful, and as she steps onto the black tile and turns up the water temperature, I long to talk to her. I remember what she told Zachary about her parents packing her and Nigel off to the academy. I wonder if the surgeries were her idea or something else her parents insisted on.
I shouldn’t be invading her privacy. I’m about to zoom away when her eyes widen and she recoils from the glass shower wall. It takes some maneuvering with the controls, but seconds later, I see what’s frightened her.
As if drawn by a finger, the mischievous-looking devil is slowly taking shape — one line, then another, drawn into the condensation on the glass.
Willa shuts off the water.
She opens the shower door and peeks outside.
The bathroom is empty.
When she checks it again, the drawing has streamed away.
Willa grabs two plush gray towels and rushes out into her room. Shivering despite the heat, she wraps up her nude form as she goes.
Catching sight of the image over her fireplace, she jerks back again.
“Stop it!” she scolds herself. “You’re imagining things.”
No, she isn’t.
AN UNGODLY LOUD ALARM sounds throughout the building. Fire alarm? Security alarm? Beats the hell out of me. I wrap my pillow around my head and get up.
I’m sweating. I kicked the covers off in the night. The fire roars on in the fireplace.
The noise stops. The digital clock says it’s 8 A.M.
A wake-up alarm. It’s not like me to sleep in. The stress of this place is taking its toll. I spent most of last night awake. Beating myself up over what I should’ve said to Lucy. Wondering how I’m going to get us out of here. Missing Miranda.
After a shower and shave, I see the note on Kieren’s door. He’s gone to the basement gym with Evelyn.
I wander downstairs to the first floor. The front door is still sealed tight.
I continue to the dining room. “Morning, ladies.”
Andrew and Nigel haven’t arrived yet. It’s me, Willa, Vesper, Lucy, and Bridget, who’s mysteriously gone gray at the temples. They’re complaining about the heat. The alarm. The ongoing absence of a wireless network. They’re also helping themselves to a continental breakfast: platters of yogurt, croissants, rolls, bagels, various flavors of cream cheese, sliced grapefruit and pears. Pitchers of orange juice and ice water.
Other than the food and drink service, I see no sign of the Bilovskis.
Last night we were served with silver and china. This morning, it’s paper plates, paper cups, and plasticware. Nothing that can be made into a weapon. Much like a prison cafeteria, at least in that way.
“Are you okay?” I ask Bridget.
“Bad dreams.” She glances at her watch. “Orientation starts at 9 A.M .”
“It does?” Willa asks, picking apart her buttery croissant.
Right then,
Moments later, Willa reaches into the glass shower and turns the control handle to a lukewarm setting. She opens the medicine cabinet to reveal an array of clear gels, lotions, conditioners, shampoos, and the like. Each bottle is marked with the Scholomance logo. I envy Willa for the shower she’s about to take. I adored the feel of warm water pulsing against my bare skin.
As a human girl, I allowed myself the luxury of long showers and steaming hot baths. I spent much of my meager movie-theater earnings at Bath & Body Works. Bloodletting aside, perhaps my greatest regret about my time at the castle is that I had the maids, rather than Zachary, draw my baths. Why didn’t I command him to sponge off my back and shoulders and . . . ?
Willa slips out of her silky pj’s, and I can’t help noticing the scars on her breasts, the backs of her thighs, and her buttocks. She’s had fairly recent cosmetic surgery, and a lot of it — especially for a slender girl her age.
Willa begins to hum a song I don’t recognize. It’s sad and wistful, and as she steps onto the black tile and turns up the water temperature, I long to talk to her. I remember what she told Zachary about her parents packing her and Nigel off to the academy. I wonder if the surgeries were her idea or something else her parents insisted on.
I shouldn’t be invading her privacy. I’m about to zoom away when her eyes widen and she recoils from the glass shower wall. It takes some maneuvering with the controls, but seconds later, I see what’s frightened her.
As if drawn by a finger, the mischievous-looking devil is slowly taking shape — one line, then another, drawn into the condensation on the glass.
Willa shuts off the water.
She opens the shower door and peeks outside.
The bathroom is empty.
When she checks it again, the drawing has streamed away.
Willa grabs two plush gray towels and rushes out into her room. Shivering despite the heat, she wraps up her nude form as she goes.
Catching sight of the image over her fireplace, she jerks back again.
“Stop it!” she scolds herself. “You’re imagining things.”
No, she isn’t.
AN UNGODLY LOUD ALARM sounds throughout the building. Fire alarm? Security alarm? Beats the hell out of me. I wrap my pillow around my head and get up.
I’m sweating. I kicked the covers off in the night. The fire roars on in the fireplace.
The noise stops. The digital clock says it’s 8 A.M.
A wake-up alarm. It’s not like me to sleep in. The stress of this place is taking its toll. I spent most of last night awake. Beating myself up over what I should’ve said to Lucy. Wondering how I’m going to get us out of here. Missing Miranda.
After a shower and shave, I see the note on Kieren’s door. He’s gone to the basement gym with Evelyn.
I wander downstairs to the first floor. The front door is still sealed tight.
I continue to the dining room. “Morning, ladies.”
Andrew and Nigel haven’t arrived yet. It’s me, Willa, Vesper, Lucy, and Bridget, who’s mysteriously gone gray at the temples. They’re complaining about the heat. The alarm. The ongoing absence of a wireless network. They’re also helping themselves to a continental breakfast: platters of yogurt, croissants, rolls, bagels, various flavors of cream cheese, sliced grapefruit and pears. Pitchers of orange juice and ice water.
Other than the food and drink service, I see no sign of the Bilovskis.
Last night we were served with silver and china. This morning, it’s paper plates, paper cups, and plasticware. Nothing that can be made into a weapon. Much like a prison cafeteria, at least in that way.
“Are you okay?” I ask Bridget.
“Bad dreams.” She glances at her watch. “Orientation starts at 9 A.M .”
“It does?” Willa asks, picking apart her buttery croissant.
Right then,
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