CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Monstrous steel clouds hung low overhead.
The skies reflected the mood of Clem Prep.
The last few tumultuous days had left everyone on edge.
Students hurried across the quad instead of lingering beneath the trees or gathering on benches, eyes slipping unwillingly to the patch of gravel still stained with Cassie Graham’s blood.
A hard rain might wash away the evidence of the tragedy, but despite the lowering sky, only a chill mist filled the air.
Molly moved through the morning isolated from the others.
It was subtle, but obvious to everyone. Word had spread that somehow Cassie Graham was connected to Sister Catarine’s murder.
No one knew how, exactly, but speculation wasn’t kind.
Cassie hadn’t been a particularly popular student.
All the tears from a few days before had vanished, replaced by dark looks and whispers, all directed at the only target remaining: Molly Franke.
Everyone knew she had spoken to the peacekeepers, had told stories, maybe even implied something nasty about Sister Catarine.
Plus, she’d been best friends with Cassie Graham, an unhinged liar with a thief of a brother.
A lost soul. The whole family was bad news.
Molly was the child of a PK, too. Those types always ended up bad. Rebellious.
Molly tried to ignore it all. She’d done the right thing, even though her father had been furious with her for withholding such important information from him.
“I didn’t mean to, Papa!” she’d sobbed to him as they’d walked home from the station the night before, heartbroken that he was so angry with her.
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t come to me, Molly. I really don’t.”
“I don’t know, either,” she said miserably.
Lately, her father had been particularly prickly, always on the verge of a temper tantrum.
Grandmama Franke was dying in their upstairs bedroom, the one with the big picture window, and he was taking it hard – not Molly; Grandmama had been a terror – but this was more than that.
She felt bad for him, but even more sorry for herself.
She’d had to tell the truth, to get it off her chest. The idea of him listening in on her confession had been too much.
She should have told him immediately and was ashamed she hadn’t.
For whatever reason, it seemed easier for him to have heard it secondhand.
“To go to her, instead. I am flabbergasted.”
Her. The family’s great shame and terrible secret. That “cursed bitch,” as Grandmama called her whenever she might be mentioned, which was exceedingly rare. Rare as a smile on Grandmama’s shriveled face.
They began the uphill climb to their three-story walk-up off Briar Street, and Molly had to hurry to keep up with her father’s long, angry stride.
The Frankes were a well-respected family with a long history in Havenside, but they weren’t exactly rich, merely well to do, thanks to Grandmama’s pension.
Grandpa Franke had made quite a fortune in lawyering, but he’d nearly drunk it all away later in life.
Thank the Goddess for the runaway coal wagon that had crushed him when he left the pub one night.
“I’m sorry, Papa.” Thoughts and regrets tumbled through her head. She wanted to try and explain, to talk about Cassie, about Sister Catarine, about her doubts and fears. Even about Auntie Hero! But her tongue was a knot.
“I only wish you’d felt safe enough to come to me first. I could have warned you off, left you out of the questioning.
” His perpetual scowl deepened. Their steps clipped along the brick sidewalk, momentarily synchronized.
The air was crisp, the evening breeze rippling through the turning maples overhead, half green, half red or gold.
Suddenly, he stopped and turned to her. “That girl was troubled. And she’s left you with an impossible burden.
But it’s done now, do you understand me?
Don’t say another word to anyone else about any of it.
” There was an edge to his words, an insistence that was undeniable: Forget all about this, Molly.
That’s what he meant. And by the Goddess, she desperately wanted to forget all of it.
“Yes, Papa.”
He nodded sharply, his scowl easing. It was settled – for him, anyway, but Molly had doubts.
By now they had reached home, a slim three-story residence sandwiched between other fine-looking walk-ups on Briar Avenue, with a brick-and-limestone exterior, cut-glass windows accented with stained-glass motifs, and a set of ornate double doors with brass knockers.
The front steps were worn stone with iron railings, broad and welcoming.
The porch was more of a stoop, but with enough room for a tiny wrought-iron table and matching chairs – the perfect place for morning tea.
Except for Grandmama, dying in one of the upstairs rooms, it was a wonderful place, safe and welcoming. Home.
Father put a hand on her back, ushering her up the stairs ahead of him.
Molly climbed slowly. Those doubts wouldn’t leave, circling like crows around a pile of dried corn, pecking and swirling, black wings and beaks open.
She shuddered. Nothing was settled. Nothing.
Something dark was climbing up below her. Something terrible was coming.
The unsettling feeling had stayed with her the rest of that night and had only grown stronger by this morning.
She’d hoped getting to school would be a distraction, but she hadn’t expected the frosty reception from her classmates.
As she crossed the quad, her cheeks burned from the stares and whispers.
She clutched her books to her chest and hurried by the spot where Cassie had fallen, and when she reached the door to the west wing, someone ahead of her made sure to pull it shut behind them rather than leave it ajar for her.
The unkind act brought a lump to her throat.
Maybe she should have called in sick today…
Inside, the crowded hallways, once so familiar and comforting, now seemed threatening, as if monsters lurked in the shadows.
She dismissed the feeling. Her mother – loud and cheerful no matter how she might feel inside, a bright and shiny foil to her dour father – always accused her of being too sensitive.
Molly tried to live up to her expectations but failed more often than not.
It was really hard to smile and be cheerful when she felt grim inside.
“Molly Franke.”
She stopped, startled. She’d had her head down and had nearly run into two dour nuns. Grim-faced, they stared down their noses at her. She couldn’t remember their names. All thoughts had flown out of her head.
“You are in serious trouble, young lady.”
“What? Why?”
They flanked her and took her by the arms, fingers hard and unforgiving.
She found herself being marched down the hallway.
First bell rang as she stumbled along, the few students still lingering in the hall staring at her in fascinated horror.
Her cheeks burned with humiliation as the nuns dragged her along, past classrooms with open doors and chattering students.
Gasps and murmurs followed her. Even a few teachers peeked out to witness the unusual event.
Finally, the two nuns halted and spun with her toward a row of wooden lockers.
One was open, the contents spilled out haphazardly.
Molly stared in confusion. Books and notepads.
A pair of spare stockings and a knit cap.
Her cap. Her books. She was stunned to see her things handled so rudely.
One item stood out from the others: a dark green bottle, its slender neck tilted against the open locker door, a cork worked almost loose.
She stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment, then she recognized it for what it was: a bottle of blessed wine.
Used in the rituals. Only the highest priests and nuns were allowed to consume it.
The non-ordained weren’t even allowed to touch it.
“Stolen from the altar yesterday,” the nun on her left said, voice heavy with loathing. She reached down to grasp the bottle, using a silken handkerchief to keep from touching it directly. She held it like it was a dead rat and thrust it in Molly’s face. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“That’s not mine! I didn’t take it!” It was the dead truth, but even to her own ears her words sounded false.
The other nun gripped her harder, glaring at her. “Confess, child, and things will go easier for you. Denial will only make it worse.”
She began to cry, too stunned to control herself. This was crazy. She’d never stolen anything in her life! “I swear! Please, I didn’t take it. I would never!”
They ignored her. “Recalcitrant,” one said. “She is too far gone, I fear.”
“Demon-touched?” the other speculated, making Molly weep all the harder.
“The mother will decide what to do with her.”
There was no arguing with Revered Mother Francesca.
The plump woman ignored every denial, scoffed at each appeal of innocence.
Molly’s crimes were laid bare: first, the stolen wine – expulsion-worthy!
– then more accusations, one after the other.
She was a disobedient child, always talking when she wasn’t supposed to, fostering “unnatural” relationships with other students (she didn’t really know what that was supposed to mean, but the implication made her stomach tighten and she wondered if she had), late with her work, refusing to adhere to the dress code, holding secret meetings in the woods for dark and sinister purposes…
Did they think foraging for mushrooms was “dark and sinister?” It would have made her laugh but for the terror crawling up from her stomach, choking her like a smog demon.
The mother herself signed Molly’s death warrant, or at least that was how it felt. She was being sent to Bright Renewal Academy. Not tomorrow, not next week, but Right. Now.
That’s how it happened, from the little she knew. Kids condemned to Bright Renewal, those “bad” children, vanished abruptly. Taken like a criminal from the streets. It was for their own good – everyone knew it.
But not me, surely?
“Can I talk to my father?” she asked, trying hard not to weep. “Please! This has to be a mistake!”
Mother Francesca, stern behind a massive desk raised up on a dais, stared down at her in contemptuous judgement. “I will only hear your confession, child,” she said darkly. “Unburden yourself lest you let demons into your soul.”
“There’s nothing to tell, Mother!” she said. Too quickly. Too desperately. “I swear to the Goddess, I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Ah, my poor wayward girl. I can sense the demons encroaching. Falsehoods fall from your lips like crumbs.” Her head bent over the paper on her desk, a feathered quill in her hand, scratching furiously.
“I have signed your admission into Bright Renewal Academy. You will find your time there enlightening, I hope. Be glad we care enough to save you, my child.”
A surge of terror made her want to vomit. She swallowed bitter bile, her thoughts a mad riot, until a single realization popped in her head like a bursting bubble: I’m being sent away because of Cassie.
Her father had been right – she never should have said a word. Everyone knew she’d talked, including the people who’d taken Cassie to see Catarine’s body.
Mother Francesca had taken Cassie down the hallway toward the nurse’s office, yet somehow Cassie had ended up on the clock tower…
This was what Cassie had feared: being sent away. She’d run off the tower instead of facing it. And now Molly was going in her place. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
The something terrible had come.