clubbing. Which is perhaps why some of them were sent here by their parents.”
Caitlyn’s shoulders sagged dramatically. “I’ve sent myself to reform school.”
A laugh trilled from Amalia’s throat. “No, no, it’s not like that! Or not completely like that. Think of it more like a convent.”
Caitlyn’s mouth turned down, making Amalia laugh again. “Would you believe that I came here for the education?” Caitlyn said.
Amalia climbed into bed and turned off her lamp. “It is a good school. Not perhaps the very best academically, but if you want a good education, you can get one here.”
Caitlyn put her laptop away and crawled under her covers. When she turned off her own bedside lamp, the room fell into darkness, broken only by the gray rectangles of the windows and the green digital display of her clock. Caitlyn pulled the covers up under her chin and rolled onto her side, facing the shadows where Amalia lay. “Did you have a roommate last term?” she asked, hoping Amalia was not done talking for the night. Caitlyn already liked her, and was eager to form some sort of friendship.
“She was expelled.”
“Why? What did she do?”
“She brought her boyfriend into our room for a weekend while I was away.”
Caitlyn was shocked. “Oh.”
“Madame Snowe is very strict about such things.”
“I have to meet with her tomorrow morning.”
“Agree with everything she says. Don’t question anything. The sooner you escape, the better.”
In the dark, Caitlyn couldn’t tell if Amalia was joking. “She’s that bad?”
“Life is easier if you do not attract her attention. Now we must sleep, or else you will not wake in the morning and you will be late, and that would be very, very bad.”
With that unhappy threat lingering in her thoughts, Caitlyn rolled onto her back and forced herself to close her eyes, convinced that sleep would never come. She lay for what felt like hours.
And then the noises started.
CHAPTER Six
Caitlyn lay frozen, listening, not yet daring to open her eyes.
There were murmuring voices, snippets of words, coming from the foot of her bed. Footsteps. A door closing.
Amalia?
But then she heard water, like someone pouring it from a height into a basin or pool.
There was no sink in their room.
Humming, an unfamiliar tune. Under the breath.
Male.
Caitlyn’s eyes popped open.
Orange light flickered in reflections off the paneled walls. She heard a crackle and pop, and smelled woodsmoke.
Fire?
Fire!
She sat bolt upright. Over the foot of the bed she saw orange flames on the floor across the room. It took her a long moment to realize that they were confined within the stones of a fireplace.
Relief ran like warm water over her skin … until she remembered that there was no fireplace in her room.
Where was she, then?
A shadow moved, and she heard a trickling splash of water again. Her line of sight was blocked by the corner of the curtained four-poster bed she was in—an unfamiliar bed, not the small twin in which she’d gone to sleep. She crawled cautiously toward the foot of the bed to take a look.
A naked young man slouched inside a round wooden tub, knees drawn up, his eyes closed, a sea sponge loosely clasped in one lax hand atop a knee. The water could not fully tame his hair, its bronze curls lying thick around his face. Firelight touched his features, and Caitlyn had a flash of memory: this boy, riding a horse across the countryside with a group of companions, turning to look in her direction as if he knew he were being followed. The Knight of Cups.
“Raphael,” she whispered, the name emerging from her throat before she even recognized it. Of course. She was with Raphael. With the logic of a dreaming mind, she accepted her presence in his room as something that made sense.
“What is it now?” Raphael said in Italian, eyes still closed.
He’d heard her! Her dreaming mind knew that she didn’t speak Italian, but for some reason the meaning of
Caitlyn’s shoulders sagged dramatically. “I’ve sent myself to reform school.”
A laugh trilled from Amalia’s throat. “No, no, it’s not like that! Or not completely like that. Think of it more like a convent.”
Caitlyn’s mouth turned down, making Amalia laugh again. “Would you believe that I came here for the education?” Caitlyn said.
Amalia climbed into bed and turned off her lamp. “It is a good school. Not perhaps the very best academically, but if you want a good education, you can get one here.”
Caitlyn put her laptop away and crawled under her covers. When she turned off her own bedside lamp, the room fell into darkness, broken only by the gray rectangles of the windows and the green digital display of her clock. Caitlyn pulled the covers up under her chin and rolled onto her side, facing the shadows where Amalia lay. “Did you have a roommate last term?” she asked, hoping Amalia was not done talking for the night. Caitlyn already liked her, and was eager to form some sort of friendship.
“She was expelled.”
“Why? What did she do?”
“She brought her boyfriend into our room for a weekend while I was away.”
Caitlyn was shocked. “Oh.”
“Madame Snowe is very strict about such things.”
“I have to meet with her tomorrow morning.”
“Agree with everything she says. Don’t question anything. The sooner you escape, the better.”
In the dark, Caitlyn couldn’t tell if Amalia was joking. “She’s that bad?”
“Life is easier if you do not attract her attention. Now we must sleep, or else you will not wake in the morning and you will be late, and that would be very, very bad.”
With that unhappy threat lingering in her thoughts, Caitlyn rolled onto her back and forced herself to close her eyes, convinced that sleep would never come. She lay for what felt like hours.
And then the noises started.
CHAPTER Six
Caitlyn lay frozen, listening, not yet daring to open her eyes.
There were murmuring voices, snippets of words, coming from the foot of her bed. Footsteps. A door closing.
Amalia?
But then she heard water, like someone pouring it from a height into a basin or pool.
There was no sink in their room.
Humming, an unfamiliar tune. Under the breath.
Male.
Caitlyn’s eyes popped open.
Orange light flickered in reflections off the paneled walls. She heard a crackle and pop, and smelled woodsmoke.
Fire?
Fire!
She sat bolt upright. Over the foot of the bed she saw orange flames on the floor across the room. It took her a long moment to realize that they were confined within the stones of a fireplace.
Relief ran like warm water over her skin … until she remembered that there was no fireplace in her room.
Where was she, then?
A shadow moved, and she heard a trickling splash of water again. Her line of sight was blocked by the corner of the curtained four-poster bed she was in—an unfamiliar bed, not the small twin in which she’d gone to sleep. She crawled cautiously toward the foot of the bed to take a look.
A naked young man slouched inside a round wooden tub, knees drawn up, his eyes closed, a sea sponge loosely clasped in one lax hand atop a knee. The water could not fully tame his hair, its bronze curls lying thick around his face. Firelight touched his features, and Caitlyn had a flash of memory: this boy, riding a horse across the countryside with a group of companions, turning to look in her direction as if he knew he were being followed. The Knight of Cups.
“Raphael,” she whispered, the name emerging from her throat before she even recognized it. Of course. She was with Raphael. With the logic of a dreaming mind, she accepted her presence in his room as something that made sense.
“What is it now?” Raphael said in Italian, eyes still closed.
He’d heard her! Her dreaming mind knew that she didn’t speak Italian, but for some reason the meaning of
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