filled the space, but then she heard the slow click of footsteps coming toward her on the polished wood floor.
For some unknown reason, nerves fluttered in Kandace’s stomach and she brought her hand to her midsection as though she could press it away. This place is fucking creepy, she thought.
A moment later a slender, older woman appeared in the doorway, stopping and perusing her slowly, a look of pure disdain on her pinched face. She was wearing black from head to toe—skirt, sweater, and shoes—but had a string of creamy white pearls around her long, pale neck. Her hair, a deep silver, was pulled up into a tight chignon and she didn’t appear to wear a stitch of makeup, her lips thin and bloodless, the only color in her face, her startling golden eyes, the color of which Kandace could see even from where she was standing. She moved forward slowly, and Kandace watched the woman who somehow seemed to both glide and move stiffly as though she was standing on a wheeled platform and someone had given her a push. “You must be Ms. Thompson. I’m Ms. Wykes, the headmistress of Lilith House.”
Kandace smirked and reached out her hand. “How do you do?” she said sarcastically.
Ms. Wykes tilted her head, her lips turning upward, though the rest of her face remained unchanged.
“Oh dear.” She clicked her tongue. “Insolent, aren’t you? No mind. We’ve dealt with worse than you here at Lilith House. You’ll be following rules like a good little girl before we all know it. Follow me now.” And with that, she turned, doing that stiff glide as her short heels clacked on the floor.
A good little girl? This bitch had to be kidding. Kandace had half a mind to turn on her tennis shoe and take her insolent behind right out of this weird-ass place. But there was the court order . . . and the fact that she’d basically burned every bridge she’d once had access to.
Nine months, she reminded herself. She just had to complete one semester of school here at Lilith House and then she could resume her life. This is your final chance, her mother had said. After this, there’ll be no more. And for whatever reason—instinct, the tone in her mother’s voice, pressure from Kandace’s new stepfather, or likely all of the above—Kandace knew her mother meant what she said.
Kandace followed Ms. Wykes through the foyer and down a long hallway beyond. The older woman disappeared through an open door and Kandace entered after her into what was a relatively large office, featuring a bay window that revealed a view of the forest behind the house. A tall, well-muscled brute of a man with a shaved head and a keloid scar running down his cheek stood next to an ornate mahogany desk, while Ms. Wykes stood in front of it, her hands clasped. Off to her right was a wall of built-in shelves filled with hardbacked books, and in the corner stood a black metal birdcage with two bluebirds perched on a branch that extended from one side of the cage to the other. In the midst of the heavy furnishings and almost-masculine feel of the space, the soft-colored winged creatures were especially lovely and an inexplicable mournfulness rose inside Kandace.
Lovely things are not meant to last here. Kandace’s expression twitched with the unsettling thought that seemed to come both from nowhere and everywhere around her like a whispering chorus of ghosts in the walls.
“Put your cell phone in that box,” Ms. Wykes instructed, pointing at a wooden box attached to the wall next to the door, a slot in its top.
“I prefer to keep my phone.”
“Your preferences are no longer relevant, Ms. Thompson. Put your phone in the box. Technology is a tool of the devil and we resist its temptation here at Lilith House. Your phone will be returned to you upon the completion of your term.”
A tool of the devil? What the fuck was this woman smoking? “What if I want to contact my parents?”
“We have paper and pens. I personally deliver the outgoing mail to the post office every third Monday of the month. In addition, I will be sending a bi-weekly update to your parents concerning your performance here at Lilith House.”
Paper and pens? Outgoing mail? Jesus. They may as well have shipped her back to the 1800s.
You can do it. It’s temporary. Who was she going to call anyway? Her service had gone out completely several