Page 11 of Wicked Vile King
"Listen to me, girl," he orders. "This never happened. You say a word of it to anyone, and I'll make sure it's the last word that comes out of that pretty mouth. Got it?"
I nearly gag on his breath before I manage a nod and he releases me.
"Good. Now c'mon. Headmistress is waiting."
I guess I don't follow fast enough because he takes a couple of steps, turns, and grabs me by the elbow again to drag me down the hall into the lingering shadows that cling to the stone walls. I must be in shock or already losing my mind because I swear I hear a faraway cackle that makes my bones shiver.
"Hurry up!" the man grumbles, and I nearly have to run to keep up with his towering frame.
This asshole gave me to that psychopath. Now he wants me to keep my mouth shut? Yeah, right. I'm blabbing as soon as I get one closed door between me and him.
The man steers me down empty halls, one after another and then yet another until my head spins with the turns, before he veers left at an intersecting hallway and stops abruptly. We stand outside a large arched wooden door with a placard beside it, hammered into the stone wall.
Administration, the placard says.
The man opens the door and pushes me into the room. I stumble inside, hitting a wall of dry heat from the electric heater buzzing loudly in the corner.
The room smells like mothballs and stale mint, and I look to see an old lady sitting behind a long wooden desk as she clicks away on a computer. Her blue hair is in a tight bun atop her head, and she's got a long nose that tapers and curves at the end. It reminds me of the masks plague doctors used to wear, and I can't be bothered to feel bad about the comparison as she side-eyes me with a frown, like I carry the literal plague. The longer she stares, the more her frown deepens, adding fresh layers to her wrinkles.
"Got another one for you today," the driver says, finally releasing me. I rub the ache in my elbow away as the woman assesses me.
"You can go," she says, her black beady eyes flicking to the man.
"You sure?" he asks, looking down at me and then back at her. "This one looks wiry."
The old woman nods. "I'll buzz if you're needed."
The guy frowns but returns her nod. He shoots me one more threatening glare before he turns to leave.
"I'll just be outside," he grumbles as he shuts the door behind him.
The old lady stands, and the stench of yellowing paper and more mothballs cauterizes my eyeballs and stings my nostrils.
"Follow me," she commands as she opens a walk-through door built into the desk that stretches from one side of the room to another. I cough, and I want to stop and tell her what the big burly man and the psycho did, but the closer I get, the stronger the smell. I am coughing and sputtering, trying to breathe, before she grabs me by the forearm, her bony fingers biting deep, and drags me down a short hall. I am still coughing as we reach an arched doorway, where she knocks once, the thud solitary and heavy.
"Come in," a voice calls from the other side, and the woman opens the door and swings it backward before she pushes me inside. I gulp for air as a tall, thin woman behind a massive desk frowns at me. She's got hair as black as night and skin the color of moonlight.
"That's all for now, Delores," the woman tells the old lady.
A second later, the door shuts behind me unceremoniously, and I am trapped in yet another room. I wipe the tears from my eyes and sniffle as I look past her at a large glass window, round like a sundial covered in spiderwebs of iron.
"You must be Willow," the woman says, gesturing to a leather chair in front of her desk. "I'm Headmistress Graves. Please take a seat."
"There was a boy . . ." I blurt, coughing again and clearing my throat before I realize I don't even remember his name. "He . . . he trapped me and he kissed me and . . ."
"A boy?" Headmistress interrupts, tipping her chin at me. "Willow, let me make myself very clear. I do not tolerate liars in my academy."
"But I'm telling the truth!"
She raises a single hand to stop me.
"Impossible. All of our students are housed in their dormitories until the dining hall opens at 6 a.m.," Headmistress says.
"But . . ."
"Lies won't get you sent home," she snaps, her tone as razor-sharp as her glare. "But they will get you put in our isolation unit until you can learn to tell the truth. Am I understood? Now," she points to the empty leather chair, "sit."
But he kissed me!I want to scream.You have to help me!
