Page 4 of Reflections of Silence

But no matter what dour thoughts I focused on to suppress my fanciful notions, a single, haunting realization remained lodged firmly within my mind.

The alligator was native to New Orleans. We were not.

Despite the stories we created on the ship about our journey, a coldness swept over me. What other creatures might we encounter in this wasted land of mud and myth?

What could be more terrifying than scales and a maw full of pointed teeth?

CHAPTER TWO

GISELLA

Though it was the height of day, the convent loomed above the meager path that led to its study doors. The details of the building seemed incomplete no matter how long I stared at the place. An impenetrable darkness blanketed everything its shadowy edges touched.

The moment we passed from the sunlight a chill drew over us, settling to the corners of our bodies, a weight of cold in the heart of the day.

One of the girls—who had never spoken during the journey at all to my knowledge—pulled back her bonnet to stare up at the three-storied building, as though reveling in the darkness.

While the other girls quivered in the shadow of God’s house, this woman basked in it.

I repressed a shiver as we rattled across the cobblestones, my mouth clamped firmly around my tongue again. If I kept this up, I’d never manage to open the thing again.

“Do not be afraid,” intoned the nun, and settled back into her permeating shroud of silence.

No small shadow will bow my back.

I reassured myself with the mantra despite the gooseflesh that pimpled my bare arms. The nun’s gaze fixed on me, as though taking notice for the first time, and I could have sworn a hiss issued from between her lips.

“Afraid the archangel will take you, courtesan?”

I raised an eyebrow but refused to take her bait.Courtesan, indeed.Every one of the girls in the cart—herself included, I would wager, was a virgin, though we were sent to claim our marital beds.

I glanced toward the medieval building, so out place, out of its time. Such establishments were commonplace in Paris, but here... The structure looked as though it had been hewn from the stone of the earth in some archaic nation and set afloat in this backwater community.

We followed the nuns to the front door of the abbey—plain and solid as I assessed on my first glance. Last of the line to slide down from the cart, I trailed the girls as they clustered together in a hushed, reverent silence. Each of us clutched our tiny caskets, nothing more than a line of orphans entering the gates of someone else’s home that would never be ours.

Pausing at the threshold where shadowed tendrils clung to my boots, I placed my hand on the stone entryway. Even in the humid air, the building maintained its cold heart. No sliver of sunlight warmed its dank interior.

A shiver rippled along my spine, as though the air was changed with the presence of another, unseen. I turned, surveying the cleared drive, but the earth stood empty and alone. Shaking off the fancy as superstition I’d let the austere nun talk me into believing, I slipped beneath the stone lintel and stepped into the confines of the abbey.

My new home.

For now.

We climbed stairs to the third floor, following in the wake of our silent minder. Little furniture or decorations of any sort marked bare walls, their surfaces scarred and smoothed in an irregular pattern. One by one, each of us were ushered into small, sparsely decorated rooms with no more than an order to wait.

On what? The second coming, perhaps. My stomach grumbled. It had been a while since we last ate before the ship docked. That moment of stepping from the vessel seemed an age ago, though a few scant hours had passed since gnats nipped at my flesh, and I farewelled the friend I made during our passage.

Be safe. I hope he is good to you.

Whoever herheturned out to be. Yet another unknown in each of our futures, inmyfuture.

Ignoring the residual swaying high in my belly, I focused on the present. Already I had spent too many hours fretting over things I couldn't control. My door was a stout fixture, the wood scarred from years of abuse from unknown prior occupants. The dull metal handle appeared to have been out of use for some time, matching my assessment of the entire third floor.

Why are they hiding us away up here like wraiths come to haunt the place forever?

More ridiculous notions. The abbey functioned on the lower floors, surely, though our tour hadn’t included a glimpse into that aspect of the nun’s life. Each room there would be taken up with a nun and her duties; they housed us above to prevent each orphan from inflicting change on their regular habit. That was all.

My feet began to ache, swelling within the worn leather. I looked around, surprised to find myself alone on the landing. The door leading from the stairs and the levels below closed with a thud that echoed along the narrow hallway. A halting screechadded to the ricocheting sounds as a bolt was slung home on the other side.

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