Page 112 of Black Castle

“Sorry?” she asks, her brows furrowed.

Through the rim of the cup Carla has taken to her lips, she peeks at Vivienne, then shakes her head in what looks a lot like disappointment.

“It’s been seven years that she has been raising and catering for you.” She places the cup aside. “You still don’t think she deserves to be called your mother yet?”

Vivienne feels like chortling. But she opens her mouth only to snap it shut again. She has no words.

“She hasn’t been home.” Vivienne doesn’t have the answer to her latter question, so she answers the former instead. “I mean, I woke up one morning and she was gone. I thought it was for work, but she didn’t come home for 72 hours. After a few days, I called her office and her partner said she took a leave.”

“I see.” She sighs after a while, then sip her tea gently. “Well, where could she have gone without a note, at least?”

“I don’t really know any friends of hers.” Vivienne shifts uncomfortably on her heels. “So I don’t know anyone else to call. Do you know anyone?”

“I haven’t heard from her in three years.” Carla’s eyes drop to her plaid skirt again. “You live with her, you should have figured out a way by now.”

“Of course,” Vivienne murmurs, glancing at her skirt and grabbing the hem, tugging it down a little even though it does nothing.

“Isadora watches you go to school like this every day?” Her tone is a bit harsh. “With this skirt they probably gave you from the Elementary collection? What happened to the rest of the material?”

Vivienne takes in a sharp breath, about to speak but a loud blare cuts her off.

Her head snaps to the door at the sound of Kenji’s car. A sigh of relief washes over her.

“Um, my ride to school is here,” she says, glancing briefly at Carla before dashing toward the kitchen counter to grab her school bag. “See you when I get back, grandma.”

“Do you think she’ll be as terrible as Isadora?” Kenji asks, dropping onto the chair behind Vivienne.

“What?” She cranes her neck to look at him.

He props his chin on his fist, elbow braced against the desk, his gaze lazy but perceptive.

“Is that why you look kinda worried?” he asks. “That she may hit you and be nasty like Isadora?”

“No.” Vivienne shakes her head. But the weight of the words feel fragile on her tongue. “I don’t…think so.”

Kenji’s expression remains skeptical.

“I mean, she’s like a very devoted Christian.” She shrugs as if that alone can fix anything. For some reason, she always thinks Christians—the ones who actually do go to church, are really kind people, even though it can’t be so true sometimes. She did hear about a priest who raped a teenage girl in his church last year.

Kenji’s scoff is immediate. “That has nothing to do with anything.” His free hand plays with the tendril of her curls. “The worst are in the church, trust me.”

“Still,” she muses, turning back to the front of the class as the chatter increases, the more students strut in. “I don’t think she’s gonna be as bad. She’s gonna probably be torturing me with the word of God, waking me up with a Bible verse.” Then her eyes drop to her thigh where her skirt lays. “Perhaps ask me to go add some inches to my skirt.”

“That’s gonna be bad too,” Kenji mutters, distaste curling his lips. His eyes flicker to the door as more students shuffle in, the buzz in the room increasing as everyone chat away about their holiday experiences.

“Honestly, I’ll take that over swollen eye and probably loose teeth,” she chuckles, as if the scars from Isadora’s vice are funny.

“Morning, class!”

The familiar voice rips through the room, silencing every other sound.

Vivienne freezes, a sharp chill sweeping over her skin, seeping into her bones.

James Fadden?

Her heart slams into her ribs.

“What?” Kenji whispers, but the word barely registers before the murmurs of students ripple across the room.

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