Mortal

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWOThe bridge groans as the horse steps onto it, and just like on the tiny propeller plane, I tense up.

“Did your parents tell you why they sent you here?” Brynn asks.

“Uh… No. My dad said in his will that I should come here.”

Over Brynn’s shoulder, something moves in the woods. The oncoming night combined with the fog makes it hard to see, but there’s a glow and… Are those eyes?

Glowing eyes?

Suddenly, crossing this questionable bridge seems like a great idea considering the alternative. No sleeping in the woods and being mauled by wild animals for me, thank you very much.

“He died?” Brynn’s face crumples. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know why I’m here.” She wraps her arms around herself. “This place is so not safe.”

“Why do you say that?” The carriage is rocking as we cross the bridge, and one glance down at the frothing water below makes me wish I hadn’t looked.

“It’s what everyone says.” She squeezes her sides tighter. “Anytime I hear anything about Hawthorn it’s about how dangerous it is. Your dad didn’t tell you anything? What about your mom?”

“She died when I was a baby. I don’t remember her.” We’re almost at the end of the drawbridge and my heart slams against my ribcage in anticipation of the unknown. Whatever lies on the other side of this bridge, it for sure won’t be like small-town Wisconsin.

“At least we’re close to other people.” Brynn picks up the pace, talking a mile a minute. “There’s a town only a few miles away, and there’s a lake, too. It’s right next to the sea, and there’s a sandbar between them. It’s approximately fifty feet when the tide is low, and you can go out on it like it’s a regular beach. There’s a certain time of the year where the sandbar is gone and the lake connects with the ocean.”

I nod. She sounds like she copied and pasted a Wikipedia page right into her mouth. Yep, anxiety is definitely the motor running her right now.

Is everything she’s saying true? If these rumors are known, why would my dad send me somewhere so dangerous?

The carriage bumps as it leaves the bridge, and Brynn emits a little yelp that probably has more to do with whatever’s to come next than the surprise jolt. The fog is even thicker here than in the woods, if that’s possible, but the horse seems to know just where to go.

Her hooves smacking cobblestones, she swims through the fog and stops in front of the school. From the bit of the building I can make out, brown vines climb the gray stones and stained glass decorates the windows. I crane my head back to look at the top of the building, but it’s lost in the fog. The number of floors in this school is a mystery.

The horse whinnies, which is more than her driver has given us, and Brynn and I look at each other.

“Well.” Putting on a brave face, I grab my bags. “Let’s do this.”

She looks like she’s about to faint, and I wonder if I should hold her hand, but then she’s getting out of the carriage–albeit on shaky legs. With our bags in tow, we walk up the front steps. Two wooden doors with knockers, like something plucked out of a monastery, meet us.

The horse and carriage clop away, and I have to fight the urge to yell for them to take me. Let me sleep in the stable on a pile of hay, and then tomorrow I’ll walk into town and thumb a ride out of this nightmare.

But I won’t do that. My dad has never asked me to do something without good reason, and even though I don’t understand what this reason is, I’ll still abide by it.

Even though I miss my home–my friends, the tree in the backyard I sat in to read–my dad–so much, it’s like someone is constantly wringing my insides like a wet towel.

“I guess we should… knock?” Brynn nearly chokes on the last word.

Before I can question myself, I reach out, grab the heavy metal knocker with a snake winding its way around the handle, and drop it. The boom shakes my bones.

A wind hits our backs, carrying the chill from the water, and I wrap my arms around myself. Autumn in Maine isn’t any colder than Wisconsin but there’s something about being right next to the water that ices me to the core.

Brynn gasps. “I hear footsteps.”

One of the heavy wooden doors yawns open, and a tall, thin woman appears. With her gray hair pulled into a tight bun and her black sweater, she looks like a librarian. She’s even frowning at us like a librarian who just caught someone eating in the periodicals section.

I clear my throat. “Hi.”

The woman sniffs. “Welcome to Hawthorn.”

She steps aside, and we haul our luggage into the building. At the side of the foyer, my breath hitches in my chest.

The room is all marble and dark wood, and it’s huge. Easily the size of my whole house in Wisconsin. 

Sconces on the walls emit a soft glow, and flames dance in a fireplace that’s so tall I could stand up in it. Oil paintings of stuffy old people line the walls, and a staircase winds up to the second floor. Hallways branch off to the left and the right, muffled voices floating down one of them.

“My name is Madame Aldine. I trust your journey here was without incident.” She folds her hands together in front of her and a golden brooch shines at the base of her throat. “It is imperative that you get sufficient rest tonight as tomorrow you will be facing The Selection.”

I cut my gaze to Brynn, who’s chewing on her bottom lip like it’s for dinner.

“What’s The Selection?” I ask.

Madame Aldine glances at me. “The Selection determines your place at Hawthorn. You will be going through it with the other students who have started late in the semester. We’ve been waiting for the two of you to arrive for it to commence.”

My insides go cold. Wait a second. The Selection determines my place here? My tuition to the school has already been paid. Could they still turn me down?

If that were to happen, where would I go? I have an aunt, but she didn’t even come to my dad’s funeral. I’m not eighteen for another ten months, and by now there are probably strangers moving their boxes into the only home I’ve ever known.

Maybe I could file for emancipation, but that wasn’t my dad’s plan for me. He wanted me here, at Hawthorn.

Madame Aldine turns and walks toward the stairs. “This way to your dorms.”

Brynn and I follow her up the winding staircase with its maroon carpeting and more oil paintings along the wall. Halfway up, a thin, stained glass window peeks out at the river. In the distance, another island pokes out through the fog. Next to the window, some of the stones are pockmarked, like they’ve been shot at.

I touch one of the stones. How old is this building?

“What’s this from?” I ask. “The damage?”

Madame Aldine looks uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about that.”

I share a glance with Brynn, whose eyebrows are knitting together.

Madame Aldine continues, but I linger for a moment, still touching the stone. Did some kind of fight happen here?

“You will receive your class schedule tonight,” Madame Aldine is saying. She and Brynn are already at the second landing, and I have to hustle to catch up with them.

“What about The Selection?” Brynn asks.

“That is at the end of the day.”

So first we go through a whole day of classes, for what purpose?

I could ask this question and more, but something tells me Madame Aldine wouldn’t answer them. She looks annoyed enough at having to greet the new students.

The second floor spreads out into multiple hallways, all of them with the same dark red carpeting. At the far end of one, two boys lean against a wall and laugh. At the sight of Madame Aldine, one of them slinks behind a giant vase. The other one looks me up and down, though, and even though we’re a good fifteen yards apart, his gaze feels like a physical touch.

Heat rises in my cheeks, and I quickly turn away.

“Curfew is at ten p.m. sharp.” Madame Aldine’s pale hand slides along the banister as we climb yet another flight of stairs. “Any student caught out of their dormitory past that time faces serious repercussions.”

“What, like the guillotine?” I grin.

“The Wishing Well is off-limits to all students, as it is crumbling and dangerous,” she says, ignoring my joke. “Stay away from the river as well. Even if you can swim, its currents are unpredictable and powerful.”

She stops on the third floor landing and I nearly bump into her.

“Ms. Davies. Your dorm is down this hallway. The first one on the right.” She gestures at it.

Madame Aldine never even asked us our names, which begs another question: How does she know so much about us–like what we each would look like–when we’ve had to hunt for even the smallest nuggets about this school?

“Winter and I aren’t rooming together?” Brynn rubs the back of her neck.

I offer her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure my room isn’t far from yours.”

To answer, Madame Aldine begins walking again. “This way.”

After shooting Brynn one more encouraging look, I follow Madame Aldine down the hallway across the landing. A tapestry stretches across a good half of the wall, its vibrant colors telling a story about a battle involving dragons, werewolves, and… I get closer.

A man holds a woman in a gown in one arm, her eyes closed and her hand pressed to her forehead in distress. He leans in close, his teeth razor sharp.

A vampire?

I reach out, an inexplicable urge filling me to touch a part of the tapestry. Right before my fingers touch the fabric, though, Madame Aldine loudly clears her throat.

I drop my hand at my side, guilt shooting through me, and join her at the end of the hall.

One of the lights is burnt out, causing shadows to pool around the door Madame Aldine stands in front of. Apparently I have the good luck of getting the creepiest room in the place.

“Dinner was at five. Since you missed it, it will be delivered to your room. Breakfast is seven a.m., and classes begin at eight.”

She pivots and strides away, not so much as a “goodbye.”

Taking a deep breath, I turn the doorknob to what will be my home for the next eight months. The wood creaks as the door opens, and a room with pale blue walls comes into focus.

The room is perfect symmetry. Two writing desks. Two queen-sized beds with posts and dark blue curtains. A leather trunk with big buckles at the foot of each bed. A pair of French doors in the middle of the room, leading to what I really hope is a nice-sized balcony.

It’s much better than I expected. In fact, it’s nothing like a regular dorm. This place is super luxurious.

The breath I’d been holding whooshes from my lungs, and for the first time in what feels like forever things are really looking up.

“Can I help you?” a girl’s voice snarls.

She steps out from behind the door, her dark eyes flashing and her full lips twisted.

“Uh. I’m sorry.” I take a step back. “Madame Aldine said this is my room. Maybe she got it wrong?”

The girl sighs and flicks some midnight-black hair over her shoulder. It’s silky and impossibly straight, reminding me of the horse that pulled the carriage.

“Seriously?” She directs her question to the ceiling. “I get stuck with the newbie?”

Heat floods my face. “I guess so. Sorry.”

Fifteen minutes in this school, and so far everyone I’ve met is acting like I’m a leper. And they don’t even know me!

“God,” she growls. “It’s like they’re trying to punish me.”

She stomps across the floor, her heavy black boots making the floorboards tremble, grabs a magazine, and collapses on the bed.

Anger bubbles up my chest. I want to lash back, to demand to know who this girl thinks she is. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back down.

My dad wanted me here, at Hawthorn, so the least I can do is try. For him.

“I’m a really good roommate, I swear. I’ll be super quiet.” ” I wheel my suitcase to the bed that must be mine.

Over her magazine, she narrows her eyes at me. “It doesn’t matter.”

That’s it.

I whirl around to face her. “Look. It’s not like I asked to be in here with you, all right? You don’t have to be so freaking rude.”

She smiles. She knows she’s getting me worked up, and she loves it.

My hands shake. Raw energy courses through me, and I wish I had somewhere to put it. I’m furious. Sad. Frustrated. The last few weeks have been hell, and my new roommate’s attitude is the straw that might break the camel’s back.

“You have no idea what’s going on here, do you?” she asks.

The question makes me stiffen–she’s hit a nerve for me. I hate feeling out of my element, like I don’t know what a situation entails.

What does she mean “what’s going on here?”

“And you’re going to be my host and fill me in?”

“When hell freezes over,” she mutters, before returning to her magazine. “By the way, the dressers are full. You can just live out of your suitcase. You won’t be here long anyway.”

Uh-uh. No way.

I open the dresser next to my bed. “Oh, look. This one is empty.”

She scowls at me while I move my clothes into the top three drawers, but I ignore her.

My heart dropping, I sit on the edge of my new bed–well, more like crash onto the edge of it. It’s hard to keep my head up, and if I were alone right now I’d be halfway to a breakdown.

But I’m not alone. I have to be strong. Or at least act like it.

I may not yet know how everything works at this school, but I can already tell it’s the kind of place that chews you up and spits you out.

Unless you’re the one to take the first bite.