Page 18 of The Knight

I have angry texts from Chrissy. Confused ones from Sasha. Disappointed-but-not-surprised voicemails from Tricia. Then the texts trying to figure out where I was, if I was missing, if this was a prank or I'd just run away. I let them all know that I'm fine, and their replies were one word answers, their worry no doubt replaced with anger at me for all the lies.

This is what it feels like to no longer have friends because of things you've done. The rest of my semester at Coleridge is going to be cold and lonely. I can handle it, as long as Hass getting arrested is my early Christmas present.

"Alright, here we are." Wally looks up at the building; he and Mom walked me through security, and he's got my bag slung over one shoulder, my few things shoved in it next to Silas's laptop. "You sure you want to do this? Because you can still come home, Brenna. Stay with me and my parents if you need to, go back to Wayborne High. It's boring, but that can't be so bad compared to what almost happened to you last night."

"I'll be fine." Reaching out, I squeeze my mother's hand, worry pinging through me at the thinness of her bones and tendons as they rub against each other beneath her pale delicate skin. "This place has top notch security. And the officers investigating what happened are right nearby. Nowhere could be safer."

"We can stay for a while," she offers, even though we both know she doesn't have the luxury of taking time off work for that. "If you need me, if you need Wally, we're here for you."

"I know." Looking into her eyes, I really believe that she wants to do her best to protect me—even if she doesn't know how, or she lacks the strength to join me in the coming fight. "I'm not going anywhere. You won't lose me Mom, I promise."

I kiss her on the cheek and hold her tight, trying to give her a little of my strength, desperate for the fire that burns inside me to light the flickering candle of her vitality. I don't know why it is that she's so weak and grown weaker—grief, maybe, or being abandoned by her husband after losing her son. I worry for her being alone, and wish there was something I could do to help.

But I can't go home. Not yet. Not until I've laid my demons to rest, and the only place to do that is here at Coleridge, among the Elites.

"I love you," I murmur against her hair, and she says it back, her voice fierce and proud. "I'll come home soon for Christmas. Finals will be over in the blink of an eye, and then we'll be together again. You'll see."

"I'll be counting down the days."

After I step out of her arms I step into Wally's, and this time I'm the one receiving strength, not giving it. He's impossibly warm, a furnace beneath his thick coat, tall and broad and strong as an ox.

He tells me, "I'll come pick you up on the eighteenth. As soon as these damn tests of yours are over. And we're driving straight home, no stops."

"Got it." I smile up at him, then glance over at Mom. "Take care of her for me?"

"Always." He squeezes my hand. "Not just for you."

For Silas.

We share a brief moment of silence, both of us inthatmemory together. The one where we found his body hanging from the rope. The one where we cut him down.

"I'll get the men who killed him," I vow in a low voice to Wally. "I swear to you."

"Let the cops handle that."

Mouth tight, I shake my head. "They'll pay. I'll see to it."

"Fierce, wild Brenna. Don't destroy yourself in the process."

I promise nothing.

We say goodbye, and I watch them go for as long as I dare. Before the temptation to follow them grows too strong, I turn away to face the place where I'll be living until the exams are over, and after that, until Hass has been taken down.

Rosalind Hall. Ancient, beautiful, and foreboding. But what's really intimidating about it isn't the stately architecture or the impressive gardens that wrap around its brick walls.

The frightening thing about Rosalind Hall is the girls who live, and sleep, inside.

* * *

My room is just as I left it: a little bit messy, bedsheets askew, the dampness of the walls oppressive. Once I stopped living with Holly and left the Rosalinds, I was assigned to this room beneath the stairs, big enough for one and sad enough for a Gothic heroine to be stuck in while she waits for her hero to arrive.

Unlike Jane Eyre, though, I won't be ending my story with a brooding handsome suitor whose mysterious secrets are mine to accept. There's no happy ending for me. The only way this whole thing ends is with destruction—of the people who killed my brother, or of me.

Sighing, I make my bed and do my best to turn my room into something less depressing. A glance at my phone reveals that I have no new messages—not a big surprise. All my friends must hate me now that they know how long I lied to them. And if they also know what I did to Holly... well, I don't expect I'll be getting any texts anytime soon. I'll be lucky if I'm not completely shunned.

Georgia couldn't have planned things better.

At least I have Silas's laptop. I can't afford to let it slip out of my hands, so I move all my books and stuff into my old backpack and sling it over my shoulders. From now on this thing is going everywhere with me—even to the bathroom. It's the most important thing in my life, the key to everything.

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