CHAPTER FIVE
A hush had fallen over the venerated halls of Clementine Preparatory.
The polished wood gleamed as brightly as ever, the lemon-scented oil a constant perfume, and sunlight streamed through narrow clerestory windows of stained glass.
Students filled the halls at every mark, streaming from classroom to classroom, flitting in and out of light and shadow, light and shadow.
The usual boisterousness and chatter was diminished, sunken into whispers and the occasional giggle or laugh that were quickly muffled by shame and embarrassment in the current atmosphere of gloom and grief.
Sister Catarine was dead. The news had circulated within a few hours of the discovery of her body, high on a lonely hilltop meadow, far from where she should have been. How could she have ended up there? What diabolical monster had dragged her to her doom? Nay, what demon had led her so astray?
Speculation ran rampant among the student body.
Sister Catarine had been popular, some would go so far as to say beloved.
Always there for her students with a kind word or a joyful smile.
Fair and honest. Trustworthy. But everyone knew she did things her own way.
Some of her ideas about school, teaching and the world in general were strange and, horror of horrors, modern.
Perhaps the Church might ease up on its condemnation of those with demonic blood?
After all, it wasn’t anyone’s fault how they were conceived, or to whom they were born.
And maybe the Celestial nuns’ requirement for celibacy might be outdated.
Backward, even. There was perhaps more wiggle room in serving the Goddess and the Branch.
Had such beliefs led to her death? Maybe.
Or maybe she’d just fallen in with the wrong crowd, or the wrong man.
Everyone knew she’d been acting strangely those few days before her disappearance – distracted and upset.
She’d argued with the headmistress, the Revered Mother Francesca, on the quad in full daylight.
She’d been angry, something Sister Catarine never was – not with her students, anyway. She adored them, looked out for them.
Molly Franke’s heart had broken when she heard the news about Sister Catarine’s death.
For six days, she had held on to hope for her teacher’s safe return.
She’d wept and prayed. Her knees ached from the hard kneelers in the school’s chapel, but she had gone there every evening with many of her classmates in vigil.
When the news had come, a collective wail rose, even from the older nuns, the mean ones who thought nothing good about anyone.
The youngsters in their charge, especially, had gasped and cried and shouted pleas to the Goddess and her blessed Branch.
Now, returning to everyday ordinary life seemed like a dream.
How could they learn the history of the Great Exodus or solve math equations or participate in field exercises or pray to the Goddess when their hearts were broken?
Molly certainly struggled to do it – to comprehend the cruelty of the world, a world which could take away her favorite teacher.
The only bright side was she wasn’t alone.
She wasn’t the only student with tear-stained cheeks, messy hair and a disheveled uniform.
It was hard to care about maintaining a proper dress code when you could barely get out of bed in the morning.
The fear of getting a demerit for an untucked shirt or a crooked hem was a laughable worry at this point.
She and her friends stuck together in the hallways, though there was a distance among them as they processed their own grief.
Julie and Bennett leaned on each other openly, which would usually earn a stern rebuke, but even the class monitors let it pass today.
And Cassie had disappeared somewhere. Again.
She was probably under the stairs in the main foyer, crying quietly in a broom closet.
She’d been particularly close to Sister Catarine, and Molly suspected they’d shared some sort of secret, having seen them in deep conversations in the sister’s homeroom, heads bent together, Cassie looking distressed and Catarine soothing her.
Nothing terribly unusual. Lots of students confided in Sister Catarine.
The warning bell rang for second period, and there was a sudden silence in its echo as if everyone had forgotten what it meant.
Five minutes to get to your next class, or there would be Hell to pay.
Even today, in the solemn hush, footsteps quickened to reach the next class in time.
All but Molly’s. Her steps slowed. Her scuffed Mary Janes turned down the wrong hall even though she knew she’d be late.
Hugging her books to her chest, Molly sped up until she was nearly running.
She had to find Cassie, convince her to get to class instead of moping around beneath the stairs.
Her friend couldn’t afford any more demerits.
She might get sent to Bright Renewal Academy with all the other troubled kids if she didn’t shape up!
She could be a pain sometimes with her withdrawn ways and strange jumpiness, but she was Molly’s friend, and had been since primary school.
She, like Molly, was one of the few kids at Clem whose parents didn’t live in a mansion.
But the Grahams, like the Frankes, had deep ties to Havenside, being members of the founding families.
Perhaps they lacked generational wealth, but they possessed undeniable history.
“Come out, Cassie, please!” Molly whispered as loudly as she dared through the wood-paneled door that blended with the paneling beneath the grand staircase, concealing a mundane broom closet.
Every student at Clem Prep knew it made for a good hiding place when the janitors were occupied.
She gave the door a sharp tap, then glanced around to see if the coast was clear.
The halls had emptied around her. She sighed.
Maybe she should just hide out here with Cassie until lunchtime?
Pretend she’d been sick or something? Lots of kids hadn’t even come to school today.
Cassie should have been one of them, Molly decided as the sound of muffled weeping greeted her when she slipped into the closet.
She pulled the door almost shut, leaving a narrow crack for light.
It seeped into the dark space, casting shadows in the corners.
The closet stank of ammonia and bleach, mildewed mop heads and the ever-present lemon scent that pervaded the halls.
She took a step forward. Cassie’s weeping turned into a strange, huffing keen, almost like an animal’s whine, and a shiver rolled up her spine.
Chilled, Molly mouthed the prayer for protection and absolution.
“I had to tell. I had to tell someone .”
Cassie’s words were faint, wheedling, and silenced Molly instantly. Her prayer lodged in her throat and cold sweat sprang out beneath her wrinkled cotton shirt. Cassie sounded terrified, as if speaking any louder would draw all of Pandemonium into the room.
Perhaps it would. There was a rumor of demonic involvement circling about the campus, a suspicion that Sister Catarine had drawn the wrong kind of attention… or summoned it.
“What did you tell?” Molly asked, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper. She took another step closer to her friend, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim lighting. “Cassie. Please. What’s the matter?”
Lips pressed tight, Cassie shook her head. She sat lodged between a tin mop bucket and a bevy of brooms, her knees drawn up to her chin – a terribly unladylike pose.
Molly wavered, torn between wanting to be away from the sniffling girl and to know why Cassie was so upset. A crawling suspicion made her think it had something to do with Sister Catarine, her favorite teacher. With her silky golden hair and easy smile, she’d been so beautiful, so alive .
“Tell me,” Molly said, a little more firmly. She crept closer and dropped to a crouch to face her friend. “Does this have to do with Sister Catarine?”
Cassie started, her whole body jerking. She turned wide eyes on Molly.
They looked black against the ghostly paleness of her skin.
“They warned me not to talk.” She wheezed as if fighting panic.
Her fingernails dug into her scuffed knees, leaving little crescent marks.
“But I couldn’t help it. Sister Catarine was so kind, so understanding.
She seemed to know already anyway, you know?
By the way she was acting. She insisted I say something.
So… I – I told her things I shouldn’t have.
And now… and now she’s dead because of me! ”
“Because of you?” Molly scoffed. Cassie tended to be dramatic, moody and withdrawn or crazy with laughter and recklessness.
Was she really making Sister Catarine’s death about her?
It was an uncharitable thought, maybe, but sometimes it was hard being Cassie’s friend.
“Who are ‘they,’ Cassie? What do you mean?”
Again, Cassie shook her head, her reddish curls swinging wildly. “I can’t say! You’ll be marked if I do, like me, like Cole was. They’re going to send me away now. I know it!”
“Marked? I don’t get it. Who marked you?”
Another wild shake. “I can’t tell you!”
Molly glanced toward the door, growing a bit impatient.
This had to be some ploy for attention, Cassie’s way of acting out in her grief.
It was understandable. Up until now, their lives had been simple.
The worst disaster to hit Clementine Prep had been losing the championship game to Szent Boynton Academy.
This tragedy was something none of them knew how to process – a dead teacher, a dead nun, a dead friend .
No, not just dead, but murdered. Things like that didn’t happen in Havenside.