Page 2 of Hallowed Bones

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say.

Amelie holds my hand a moment longer than is normal, but as I speak, she slowly releases me, and her brother moves forward. “Shall we go to the office?” he asks. “To discuss your orientation?”

“Yes!” My aunt doesn’t do anything to hide her enthusiasm to get rid of me as she practically jumps ahead, following after Francis, leaving Amelie and me to trail the two of them.

“It was quite a beautiful drive,” my aunt says right before she launches into a long-winded conversation about the Massachusetts countryside in autumn and how she can’t believe there was a school so far from most cities.

Tense, but silent, I stare at the back of her head. More like she can’t believe her luck in pawning me off so easily or so quickly after my parents’ deaths. I walk behind her, but instead of keeping my head down, I peer around as we stride through the building. Many of the windows are single-paned, and some are decorated in stained glass. As the wind blows, the old building creaks, stopping my aunt’s tirade ahead for a brief moment as she casts a nervous look up to the ceiling before looking back to Francis.

“Old buildings,” he says to her unspoken question. “You know how they are.”

She chuckles nervously. “Of course. I heard there was an incoming storm tonight—must be the beginnings of that.”

In lieu of a response, Francis merely nods and hums. “This way, please.” He gestures through an open doorway.

I have to refrain from smiling to myself. Aunt Trisha isn’t quite used to men not falling all over themselves to care for her needs—emotional, mental, and physical. As my mom’s younger sister, she’s been afforded nearly everything she’s ever wanted in life simply due to her looks. Tall, model thin, with a heart-shaped face and the perfect maintenance of hair, nails, and lip injections—she’s what any man would consider perfect trophy-wife material. It’s only due to her shallow personality and narcissism that she’s never been married—at least, that’s my easiest guess.

It’s definitely throwing her off that Francis doesn’t seem all that interested in her. Not that she would want him, of course, but any man who doesn’t fall head over heels for her immediately always seems to put her in a bad mood. I can’t say it’s not amusing to watch her face contort in unusual ways behind Francis’s back as he strides ahead of her and rounds one of the two desks sitting side by side across the room lined by bookshelves and fabric-covered lamps.

A cool hand touches my shoulder, making me jump. “Why don’t you take a seat, Miss Wardwell?” Amelie suggests.

I look back at her before nodding and moving to one of the two green velvet chairs sitting in front of the desks. My aunt huffs and takes her seat next to me, pushing her purse into her lap and crossing her ankles as she leans forward.

“About the tuition—” she starts, only to be cut off as Francis holds up a hand.

“The tuition will not be an issue, Miss…” Francis pauses and looks up from his desk with a frown. “I apologize: What did you say your name was?”

I bite down on my lower lip hard as Amelie takes a seat next to her brother. I can practically feel the bristling of my aunt. “Devi,” Aunt Trisha replies. “Trisha Devi. I’m Haven’s maternal aunt.”

“Yes, Miss Devi,” Francis says with a nod. “You won’t have to worry about tuition. Miss Wardwell’s father donated a considerable amount to Ipswich College for several years, and those funds were used to set up scholarships for students in need. Her tuition will be covered by the same funds.”

My aunt seems to relax at this news. “That’s wonderful to hear. I was quite worried—what with my sister’s and her husband’s sudden passing that I wouldn’t be able to provide for her appropriately. It’s quite difficult to suddenly be cast into the role of a parent at my age—”

“Yes, we’re sure you’re quite concerned for your niece,” Amelie interrupts, sounding bored and even perhaps a slight bit annoyed. “But have no fear, Miss Wardwell is a legacy here at Ipswich.” Her eyes meet mine once more, and I swear I can see the entire room and even myself mirrored back at me. “She will be treated with the utmost care.”

“As her aunt,” Trisha replies, feigning a soft tone as she reaches across the space that separates us and places one of her clawlike hands on my leg, “I am put at ease. Is there anything further we need to do today before she moves in?”

I stare down at the long, professionally painted nails with various jeweled designs set into the tops and debate throwing my aunt’s hand off me. Her touch leaves me feeling as though I’m being covered in a thick layer of fuzzy little spiders. In a word—icky.

The moment passes, and I decide against it. I’ll be rid of her soon enough, and I’d rather do it without another scolding or dressing-down from her that makes me want to pound my fist through her plastic face.

“We’ll need to go over some of the records sent over from her last schools,” Francis replies curtly. I stiffen at the tightness in his tone.

My aunt glances nervously from me to the twins and finally, blessedly, pulls her hand away. “I’m sure you’re aware that there were a few … incidents before she graduated, but I can assure you that the claims of the other students were unfounded. Haven’s had therapy after her parents passed, and of course, she’ll be happy to continue to see a counselor if you have one provided for the students here. We’re quite ready for her to be back on the right path and continue her education. It’s what her parents would have wanted.”

She has no fucking clue what they would have wanted for me considering, before my parents passed, she and her sister hadn’t talked in five years, but I don’t say anything as Amelie offers my aunt a rather tight smile. At least someone else seems to sense the obvious lies and false concern she offers. I don’t know why that makes me feel so much better about being shipped here, but perhaps if the dean and vice dean can sense my aunt’s falsities, then they’ll be able to know that I truly don’t mean anyone harm while I’m here.

Even if my parents would or would not have wanted me to continue my education, all I want is to move on.

“We have a counselor on-site if requested by the student,” Francis states. “There are no requirements, though. We’ve seen the records and understand that sometimes things can be particularly difficult after the passing of a loved one. I know it’s been a while at this point, but I’d like to officially offer my condolences for your loss, Miss Haven. Your father was a beloved alumnus and very kind in all his letters.” For the first part of his statement, I’d been assuming he was speaking to my aunt, so when he directs that final bit to me, I have to scramble my thoughts to catch up, as I’d been half listening.

“Oh, um, thank you, Dean Francis,” I say quickly.

The smile he gives me is friendly and certainly nothing like the cold brush-offs he’s been giving my aunt. She bristles at my side as if she recognizes that, and once again, I have to repress a smile. Instead, I adopt a cool and indifferent expression as her gaze flicks from me to the dean. It’s killing her inside that he hasn’t offered her any attention beyond what is socially acceptable.

If I hadn’t been privy to how all my old school administrators had fallen over themselves to please her whenever she’d been forced to come in for meetings, I might think this was normal for her.

“Well … that is sufficient, I suppose,” Aunt Trisha says primly, narrowing her gaze on the dean as his sister sits beside him with a serene expression.