Principal Harcourt nods, fidgeting in her chair. Her office is imposing, just as old and drafty as the rest of Wolf Hall, but it’s light and airy and feels less oppressive than the rest of the academy. The woman herself is in her late forties, with a touch of steel grey in her long dark hair that’s swept back into an uncompromising chignon. Her eyes are a little distracted, unfocused as they flit around the room, landing on everything from her academic texts, the plaques on her walls, and the wilting peace lily in the pot on her desk, but never resting on me.
“I had the pleasure of meeting your father once. Quite an intimidating man,” she says breathily.
Intimidating? She really doesn’t know the half of it. I fiddle with the apple I’m holding in my hands, worrying at its stalk. The inch-long woody stem snaps off in my fingers, and I let it fall to the floor. “Yes. He’s very well respected.” I could say so much more. I could tell her about the nights I spent twisted up and afraid beneath my bedsheets, wondering if he was going to burst through my bedroom door at any moment. She’d understand then how unimportant the location my bedroom here at Wolf Hall really is to me, so long as I’m as far away from him as is physically possible.
“Now,” the principal says awkwardly, opening up the top drawer of her desk. She takes out a sheet of paper and sets it down in front of her, sliding it toward me. “I hate to have to go through this with you, but I’m afraid it’s academy policy. Here at Wolf Hall, there are a number of things we do not tolerate. As you’ll see from this student-faculty agreement, the use or possession of drugs is strictly prohibited. We also do not allow any sort of…carousing. Ahem. Contact of a sexual nature is also prohibited. No members of the opposite sex on any of our female or male floors. No inappropriate touching, or…or…well, you can read for yourself there, can’t you. You can leave the academy on the weekends, but doors are locked by nine o’clock sharp. During the week, you must remain here on school grounds. From Monday through Friday, leaving Wolf Hall for any reason without prior written permission from myself or another member of the teaching staff is taken very seriously. There are other items on the list that you can review at your own leisure. I take it none of that will be an issue for you, though?”
“No, of course not.” Jesus. Who does she think I’m going to be getting hot and heavy with? And I’ve never stepped foot in New Hampshire before; as far as I’m concerned, this place might as well be the seventh circle of hell and there’s no way out for me.
“Good girl. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some paperwork to catch up on. I believe you have a French class to be getting to. I’m sure you’ll enjoy that, given that it was your first language.”
“Actually, I never learned Fre—”
“Good, good. Off you go now. If you need anything, please let someone at the administration desk know and I’m sure they’ll be happy to help you. Have a lovely day, Elodie.”
I’m ushered out of Principal Harcourt’s office so quickly I almost forget to collect my bag before the door is slammed loudly behind me.
I take a deep, calming breath, slinging the leather strap up and over my head. I have no idea where my French class is or which direction I’m supposed to head in, and since Carina threw out my map yesterday morning, I find I’m at a bit of a loss. Carina had to get to class, and without my guide, I—
I see the dark silhouette, hovering at the mouth of the corridor that leads to the principal’s office and a cold sweat breaks out across my back.
Crap.
My scientific mind tells me that this old, crooked, rambling building isn’t haunted, but the shadowy figure looks distinctly ghost-like as it moves toward me.
I could be wrong, but I’m betting none of the training my father drilled into me will be useful against non-corporeal forms. Stilling my racing heart, I step forward, swallowing down the lump in my throat, and…Wren Jacobi steps into the circle of flickering, dim yellow light cast off from a sconce on the wall.
I don’t know if I should be relieved or twice as scared.
His black clothes contrast so dramatically with his pale skin that he looks like the negative of a photo, brought to life. I didn’t see him again after English yesterday, so I’d tricked myself into believing that I wouldn’t be seeing him today, either. Clearly a very stupid, naïve thought, because here he is, larger than life and way more threatening than any apparition. The hallway’s wide but not wide enough for me to skirt around him without having to acknowledge his existence. I duck my head, tucking my chin into my chest, eager to get past him as quickly as possible…
“Stillwater.” My last name echoes down the hallway, ringing in my ears. His voice is cold and stiff. “They sent me to escort you to class. Come with me.”
Oh. That’s just…fucking wonderful.
He sounds pissed that he’s been assigned this task. I move closer, dragging my heels as much as possible, trying to delay the moment that I reach him and we’re standing face to face in the confined space, unable to avoid each other’s gaze. It comes all too quickly, though.
God, his eyes are so green. I’ve never seen eyes that color before. He doesn’t blink as he stares down at me, his top lip twitching like it wants to curl upward in disgust. He brushes a hand through his thick, wavy hair, blowing hard down his nose, his nostrils flaring. “Try to remember the way,” he says curtly. “I’m not doing this twice.”
I don’t even want him to do it once.
He spins, turning around and showing his back to me, and then he takes off at a fast clip, heading for the east wing of the academy. For every one of his long strides, I have to put in three in order to keep pace with him. Tension radiates off him as he marches ahead of me, clenching and unclenching his massive hands into fists.
With the heavy, solid oak doors to all the classrooms firmly closed, concealing the students inside, a thick silence floods the hall as Wren leads the way. Cursing myself for being so damn stupid, I rip my gaze away from his ass, telling myself that I wasn’t checking out the way his jeans hang a little too low, revealing the black waistband of his underwear. No, no way was I checking that out.
I’m hot all over and flooded with unexplained shame. If I inspected that shame up close, then I’d discover that there is a reason for it, and that reason has an awful lot to do with the way Wren’s mouth had looked yesterday when he said the word fuck in Doctor Fitzpatrick’s class.
A deviant shiver runs down my spine, and I shake my head to dislodge the memory. I’m quickly making new memories, though. The stubble on the back of his neck, short and black, where his hair’s been cropped so close to his skin is perversely fascinating. I stare at the base of his skull, like I might be able to pierce through the skin and bone and see right into his mind, and all the while, my hands grow clammier and clammier. I nearly leap out of my skin when he angles his head down and to the left, barely showing his features in profile for a brief second as he says, “You’re throwing in with Carina, then.”
“Throwing in with her?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not a smile. Something else. “You’ve chosen her as a friend,” he clarifies.
“Yeah, I suppose I have.”