Where the Drowned Girls Go(Wayward Children #7)(10)

Nothing except for that scar.

“Thank you for coming here so promptly,” he said, eyes remaining settled on her face. It was like being pinned under glass, held somehow captive. The sudden urge to run seized her, almost uncontrollably strong. She was here because she wanted to be, and she still wanted to run. Even if she didn’t make it to freedom, she’d know she’d tried. She’d have that much to hold on to.

“Miss Miller,” said the unremarkable man.

Cora froze.

“It’s an admirable thought,” he continued. “Most of our students think to run, but relatively few think to try it during intake. I’m impressed. Attention on me, please.”

Cora swallowed hard and fixed her eyes on the unremarkable man’s face.

He smiled. It was a pleasant, paternal expression that did nothing to render him more memorable. “I am Headmaster Whitethorn; welcome to the Whitethorn Institute. I’ve read your file. I’m thrilled you’re going to be joining us. I think you’ll be an excellent addition to the Whitethorn family, and I believe we can help you. The first step is always admitting you need help, and you’ve already taken that step by requesting a transfer into our company.”

Cora let go of her suitcases and started, for some inane reason, to curtsey. She caught herself before she could complete the gesture, freezing with her hands on the skirt of her uniform, feeling utterly foolish.

“I made a mistake,” she said, and her lips were numb, and her tongue was too big for her mouth. But this place, this place was so big and so cold, and this was just a different way to drown. The Drowned Gods would still be able to find her here. If traveling to a different world hadn’t been enough to break their hold on her, why would she think that a few miles would make any difference at all? All her bravery had been spent on making it this far; she had no more left to spare. Voice small and pockets empty, she managed to continue, “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I want to go home.”

“Miss West is a trifle eccentric, and her teaching standards fail to align with our own, but she has never struck me as incompetent,” said the headmaster. He fixed her with a steely eye. “Are you saying that she sent you here without signing the transfer papers?”

“N-no,” stammered Cora. “I signed everything, but—”

“And your parents, Miss Miller. I believe they signed the papers as well? And those papers included detailed information regarding this school’s legal obligation to our students?”

“Yes,” said Cora, voice still small.

“Then I’m sure you understand that this is your home now, and this is where you belong, by your own choice and admission. You signed the paperwork. You are allowed one call off-campus a week, on Friday afternoon; if you wish to call your parents then and begin the process of removing yourself from our custody, that is your right.” His lips drew back in what someone less afraid might have called a smile. Cora flinched. There was something disturbing about the expression, almost disturbing enough to make him memorable. Not quite, though. She knew that if she looked away, or even blinked too long, she’d forget everything about him.

“You know all about running away, don’t you, Miss Miller?” he asked. His voice was soft and lilting as he continued: “There was a door. Your file doesn’t go into detail as to its nature—psychiatrists always forget the most essential parts of the story, I find—but there was a door where a door wasn’t meant to be, in a wall or in the pattern rain makes on the sidewalk, etched in chalk or scrawled in shadow. There was a door, and it called to you somehow. It knew you. It wanted to be opened, and you, poor child, poor, innocent child, you were na?ve enough to open it.”

Cora felt as if her blood had been replaced by seawater, cold and thin and sluggish in her veins. She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe.

“I know it will take time for you to trust me enough to tell me what you found on the other side of the door. I know it was a world where the rules were different, or where it seemed like there were no rules at all. A world where you could live your most ridiculous, decadent dreams. I think all children dream of finding a place like that, a place without bedtimes, or lessons, or rules. But children crave structure as much as they crave freedom. They start to dream of it if they go without for too long, and then those beguiling, alluring worlds, those whimsical fantasies, they turn cruel. Yours did, didn’t it? It cast you out.”

He leaned closer. The smile was gone. For the first time, he was memorable. He was memorable, and he was terrible, and Cora, who had been a hero, who had saved the Trenches, bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out in fear.

“It told you to be sure, and it changed you—your hair, your skin, everything you thought immutable about your self—and yet somehow you still weren’t sure, and now you’re here. You’re finally safe, Miss Miller. Everything you experienced happened in another world, in another life, to someone you aren’t going to be anymore. We’re going to help you.”

“How?” whispered Cora.

“We’re going to teach you how to forget,” said the headmaster, and nothing had ever been so terrible, and nothing had ever been so wonderful.

“I didn’t … I didn’t go through only one door,” said Cora. A tear ran down her cheek, so hot it was scalding. “I followed a girl with lightning where her heart was supposed to be through another door, and while I was there, I caught the attention of some … some things I shouldn’t have. They want to take me and make me their own. I asked to come here because you could help break me free of them. Can you really make them let me go?”