Storybound by Marissa Burt Page B

to satisfy Elton’s nauseating curiosity by talking about her. Snow raised one eyebrow. “We don’t exactly get along.” It had taken years for Snow to perfect her uninterested drawl, but she had found it well worthwhile. It totally killed a conversation. Which, with some people—with most of them actually—was very desirable. Slowly, slowly, she tapped one fingertip on her teacup. “Was there something else?”
    It had the intended effect. Mr. Elton cleared his throat. “What about Una Fairchild? Have you noticed anything unusual about her?”
    Besides the way she dressed? Probably not what Elton’s looking for. “Look,” she said. “I already agreed to be Una’s roommate. What more do you want from me?”
    Elton tucked his free hand into his tiny waistcoat pocket. “Yes. Well, I’d like you to note anything out of the ordinary. We just like to make sure all our . . . transfer students are adjusting well.” His smile looked painted on. So Elton didn’t buy Peter and Una’s story either. And now he wanted Snow to spy on Una . Fat chance. Snow wasn’t about to do Mr. Elton any favors.
    She set her tea down and smoothed her hair, retying the scarlet ribbon. “I’m sorry, Mr. Elton, I’m awfully busy. Una and I don’t see each other very often.”
    Mr. Elton tilted back his cup to get at the last of his tea. “Are you sure about that, Snow?” he said in a too-pleasant tone.
    “Quite.”
    Mr. Elton’s cup clattered into the saucer. He looked displeased.
    Snow’s aunt stood. “Snow, please help me with the tea things.”
    Snow knew that this was code for “I need to talk with you now .” She followed her aunt’s severe form into the cramped kitchen. The tray hit the counter with a slam.
    “You ungrateful girl!” Aunt Becky’s volume was controlled, but only because Elton was in the next room. Aunt Becky snapped her fingers at the kettle, and Snow took it over to the sink. Her aunt’s demands followed her. “After all we’ve done for you—to insult the Tale Master! To turn down such an opportunity for official favor!”
    Snow silently pumped the water into the kettle and placed it on the stove. Right. Because you’ve done so much for me.
    Becky Wotton was nothing if not determined. She moved in close to Snow’s face, so close that Snow could feel the warmth of her breath. “Who do you think has paid for your bread and butter all these years? Didn’t we take you in when you had nowhere else to go? Haven’t we cared for you as one of our own?”
    Snow schooled her face to impassivity. Sure, they had paid for her food. And I never hear the end of it. And they had given her shelter, if the drafty attic could even be called that. The mice and birds who shared the space had been more of a family to her than her uncle and aunt. She hated them both—hated everything about them, from her uncle’s stingy ways to her aunt’s annoying desire to impress everyone. But she hated her mother even more, for leaving her with these awful people, for abandoning her into their care without a word.
    Becky’s mouth was moving, but Snow tuned out her voice, waiting for the storm to pass. She wished Horace were there. Despite his bullying, they shared a sort of twisted camaraderie, and he had a way of stopping this sort of thing before it got too out of hand.
    “If you don’t do this, girl, if you don’t give him the information he wants,” Becky said in a near whisper, “you’ll have seen the last of us. It’s off to your mother you’ll go, no questions asked.”
    Snow considered. She knew that her mother wouldn’t put her up in the dorms. She would make her live in the cramped flat. What would that be like? All their time spent in awkward silence like the Saturday teas? She weighed that against the freedom of Grimm Dorm and the occasional weekend at the Wottons’. Snow already had a summer job lined up. She meant to repay every penny they had ever spent on her. Staying here probably meant, what,