To my mother, who taught me the power of stories.
Over my lifetime, you have read hundreds of books to me, watched thousands of hours of TV shows with me, and you’ve attempted to answer the millions of questions I’ve asked you. Even though you say you don’t know everything, I will always believe you do.
You are my Giles, my Lorelai, and my Keith Mars all rolled into one.
Without your unwavering support, this book wouldn’t exist.
I love you with all my heart, and I can never thank you enough.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Acknowledgment
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
I had thought nothing could be worse than what they had already done to me, but I was wrong. The silent echo of nothingness filling the windowless chamber was infinitely worse. Not knowing how much time had passed, whether it was day or night. Not knowing when he would come for me.
As I sat, back pressed against the cold rock wall, I wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to conserve any warmth I still had left in my body. I was staring blankly at my bare, muddied feet when a shaft of light fell across the dirt floor. To the left of me was a small hole at the bottom of the wall. The gray stone was crumbling there, breaking into tiny pieces as fine as dust. It was disintegrating before my eyes. The hole was the size of a small fireplace now. Quickly I shimmied through it, the jagged pieces of rock ripping into my uniform like a serrated knife. And then I was free. Outside in the sunlight, staring at a gravestone. Persephone Archer.
“It isn’t you,” a voice said behind me, deep and melodic.
I turned and saw him. Raven black hair and eyes that seemed to shift colors—gray, blue, and pale green.
I looked at the headstone, then down at my dirty and torn clothes.
“But it is me,” I whispered. He reached out, his strong hand cupping my chin.
“It doesn’t have to be.” His intense eyes bored into mine. “Find the branches. They will show you how your piece fits.”
My gaze wandered away from him. The gravestone was changing, the letters shifting. I watched as the name was spelled out before me: Rebekah Sampson.
“You know who it is. You just have to wake up.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Phe, wake up.”
“Phe, we’re here.” Someone was shaking me gently.
I’d been having that strange dream again. The cell, the cemetery, the gravestone—those had all been the same. Eerie, but at least they were familiar. The guy, however … the guy was new.
I blinked slowly, taking in my surroundings. I was reclining in a maroon vinyl seat—definitely not belonging to my dad’s showy Lexus. Rubbing my eyes, I pulled myself back into reality. The towering maple trees outside the car window and the stately wrought-iron gate we drove through were beautiful but foreign.
Fresh memories bore down on me like a freight train—saying good-bye to Ariel, the awkward hug from my aunt when she met me at the baggage terminal in Boston. I was in Aunt Lisa’s old Volvo in front of Devenish Preparatory School. My new home.
The thought twisted my insides. It had been my idea to come here, but now that I was actually sitting in front of the building, I felt almost sick. My sister mentions a school in her diary and I decide it’s my destiny to go there? The only thing I was destined for now was starting my junior year at a new school where I didn’t know anyone. I already missed the palm trees, the smog, the kids selling star maps on street corners. I missed my best friend Ariel.
But my life in L.A. had become so stifling, like I was jammed in somewhere I didn’t fit. I was constantly pretending—pretending I was the same person, but I wasn’t. I didn’t know who I was now. At least here no one else would know who I was either. They wouldn’t know who I had been.
But I wasn’t going to let myself get all emotional. The two-hour drive from Boston to Shadow Hills had been uncomfortable enough as it was. I hardly knew my aunt, which my mom blamed on her sister’s dislike of L.A., but at least Lisa had come to visit; my family never went to Boston. I thanked Aunt Lisa for the ride and grabbed my backpack, grateful she’d agreed to drop me off instead of coming inside.
As I closed the car door behind me, a cool wind blew across my thighs, kicking up the hem of my skirt. I pulled my lightweight blazer tight and hurried up the gray path. If it was this cold at the beginning of September, my prospects for the rest of the year were bleak.
I looked out across the campus I was going to have to navigate alone. Most of the buildings were redbrick, with turrets and steep roofs, but there was also a simple white chapel and several newer additions.
The main building of Devenish Preparatory was a daunting structure. It was redbrick like the others, but with the double-door entrance and expansive front steps, it was statelier. And its massive clock tower presided over the campus with an imposing air.
Still, I wasn’t going to be intimidated. Smoothing down the front of my skirt, I took a steadying breath and squared my shoulders. The heavy wooden doors had large wrought-iron hinges bolted onto them, like doors to an old English church. I grasped one of the handles and pulled.
As I stepped into the empty foyer of the main office, I surveyed the vaulted ceilings, marble floors, and curving grand staircase. There was a brass sign on the wall in front of me with the word ADMISSIONS and an arrow pointing to the left. I walked into the office expecting to see some ancient, possibly with a mole on her face, but I was instead greeted by the sight of a guy about my age. He was sitting in a desk chair behind the counter, scribbling on a sheet of paper and looking bored. He is definitely not a decrepit old lady. Even from my limited view of the side of his face, I could tell he was attractive, with dirty-blond hair and a strong jaw.
“Hi. Um, I think I’m supposed to check in.” I sounded like I was getting a hotel room. “Or register, I guess,” I finished awkwardly.
The boy looked up, pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes, then broke into a big smile. There was a small chip in his left front tooth. “L.A.?”
“Huh?” My eloquence today was astounding.
“You.” His clear aqua-blue eyes sparkled as he smiled again, though this time it seemed to be more like a smirk. “You’re from L.A., right?”
“Is it that obvious?” I was wearing the regulation black pencil skirt and blazer with the Devenish crest embroidered on it. How could he tell I was from L.A.?
“Only someone from California would be shivering in sixty-eight-degree weather.” He laughed. “Graham.” He pointed at himself with the pen he was holding. “I’m from San Francisco. Trust me, you get used to the weather after a while. Also, about the uniform—we only have to wear them when class is in session.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my flat, boring Mary Janes. Old Los Angeles me wouldn’t be caught dead in them.
“Don’t wo
rry about it.” Graham leaned into me. “I won’t rat you out.” He sat back down in his chair and spun around to the file cabinet behind him. “Let me grab your file, and we can get you on your way to being a full-fledged Devenish student. It’s Persephone Archer, right?”
“What are you, psychic?” I raised an eyebrow, regaining my cool.
“The head of admissions told me you were coming in today. Persephone isn’t an easy name to forget.” Graham was scribbling something down in the folder he’d pulled for me. I peered over the counter, trying to see what he was writing.
“I actually go by ‘Phe.’ I don’t know if you want to put that in my file or whatever.”
“Fee?” Graham wrote it down at the top of the page, misspelling it.
“Yeah, but it’s spelled P-h-e,” I corrected him.
“Wow, your name gets stranger by the minute. Why Phe?”
“My older sister was only two when I was born, and she couldn’t say Persephone, so she called me Phe—it just kind of caught on. As for the ‘P-h,’ it’s some weird thing my mom has. She thinks it’s more eloquent than an ‘F.’” I shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t know. She’s crazy.”
“Aren’t all parents?” Graham’s conspiratorial tone made me feel better.
“Okay.” He tapped the papers against the desk, evening them out, before placing them back in the folder with a thin handbook. “So, this is what the administration likes to call the ‘Welcome Packet.’ It’s got your forms to fill out, maps of the school grounds, schedules for orientation and your courses, and the Devenish Preparatory Rules of Conduct Guide. We’re very welcoming at Devenish,” Graham added sardonically. “Come on. I’ll show you where your dorm is. You can fill out your paperwork later and bring it back whenever.”
He stood and picked up a large ring of keys from his desk, then came around the counter and led the way out of the building. Graham locked the front door behind us.
I raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the key ring. It was so large that it looked like a prop the shifty janitor would carry in a horror movie. “Do you have the key to every door on campus?”
“Just about. Even seniors don’t have the kind of access I do.” Graham went down the stairs, taking them two at a time. “You should be glad you’re coming here as a junior. When I started, I had to live in the freshmen dorms, where the rooms are doubles and they have these weekly meetings to discuss interacting with roommates and ‘house conduct.’” He made air quotes with his fingers.
“Too bad I missed out on that, and now I have the burden of living in a single.” I shook my head.
“I actually liked having a roommate. I stuck with a double the next year and I’m gonna be in one this year, too. I want the true boarding-school experience.”
“I thought that was something people tried to avoid.” I raised an eyebrow.
“I always wanted a brother, and with a roommate it’s like having one. Well, a brother who gets changed out every year.” Graham smiled.
“So, where’s your luggage?” he asked as we walked along the weathered slate path.
“All I have right now is this.” I shrugged to indicate the backpack I had slung over my shoulder. “My parents are shipping my stuff from L.A.; it should get here Monday. It was kind of a last-minute decision, my coming here.”
“What are you in for?” Graham’s blue eyes had a mischievous glimmer to them.
“Being a nuisance to my family,” I replied lightly. “What about you?”
“Same. Plus, I think my dad was afraid I’d end up gay if I continued living with my mom and her girlfriend in San Fran.” It was obvious from his tone that Graham didn’t hold his father in the highest esteem.
“Girlfriend … Sounds like a very twenty-first-century family you’ve got there.”
“Oh, very.” Graham nodded solemnly. “What about you? Divorced parents? Homosexual scandals?”
“No. None,” I said.
“Come on. There must be some dark shameful secret you’d like to air out to a total stranger.”
I knew Graham was joking, but I tensed up anyway, gripping my backpack straps. Obviously the change in my demeanor had not gone unrecognized; the cocky smile fell from Graham’s face.
“Never mind.” He shook his head. “You know, I was going for irrepressible—sometimes it comes off more like asshole-ish. I should work on that.”
“One to ten on the asshole scale?” I looked at Graham, sizing him up. “I’d say you’re about a two.”
“Thanks. Actually … wait. Is ten the biggest asshole or is one?”
I smiled at him knowingly.
“Okay.” He nodded. “I see how it’s gonna be.”
We came to a stop in front of a brick building with white stone moldings around the windows. It looked even older than the main office, and some of the gray roof shingles had a slight greenish cast.
“Well, here we are. Kresky Hall.” Graham opened the door for me.
To the right of the entrance was a lobby area that I guessed was the floor’s common room. There was a plaid couch in front of a flat-screen TV, and along the wall was a counter with a refrigerator at one end. A vending machine was shoved in the back corner.
Graham saw me eyeing the selection of sodas, chips, and what I assumed were very stale sandwiches. He said, “It’s not exactly a four-star restaurant, but it’s better than nothing when you get hungry and the cafeteria is closed.”
I nodded my tentative agreement. I would have to be really hungry to risk getting food poisoning from an old tuna-salad sandwich.
“The first room on the first floor of every residence is always the house parent’s. The Kresky Hall house mistress is Angela Moore, but I saw her in the Admin Building earlier, so she’s probably not here.” Graham knocked twice on her door, got no response, then looked at a scrap of paper in his hand.
“Room one-sixteen. You’re on the left at the end of the hall.”
As we walked, he fiddled with his keys, pulling one of them off the ring. He handed it to me when we reached my door.
“So here you are. Safe and sound.” Graham took a few steps back toward the entrance, then stopped and turned to me. “Hey, it’s kind of quiet before everyone arrives. Do you want to do something tonight?”
It was the final Saturday of the summer. Usually I’d be going to a huge party to celebrate our last two nights of freedom before school began. But that wasn’t how my life was anymore.
“We could go into town when I get off work,” he went on. “I can show you around Shadow Hills—I mean, it’s no L.A., but at least we could grab some non-dorm food.”
“That sounds good.” I felt a flutter in my stomach. It was a nice, kind of nervous feeling, exciting and somehow reassuring.
“Cool. I’m usually done around six. If you want, I can text you when I’m finishing up.” We exchanged numbers, and with a little half wave Graham headed back down the hall and was gone.
I put my key in the lock and turned. The door swung open to reveal my new room. There was a bedside table against the left wall, with a twin bed next to it. A desk was on the right wall, bare except for a small metal lamp. I closed the door behind me and discovered it had been hiding a closet and narrow chest of drawers.
The gleaming white walls were almost blinding. I tried to ignore the pungent chemical odor of fresh paint. I set my backpack down on the bed and unzipped it, pulling out a green journal and a pen. I flipped past my sister’s early entries to where I’d recorded my dreams. I added another hatch mark to the top of the cell/graveyard page.
New details: names on the gravestones and a strange guy. Plus, this one came at 3:33 p.m. as opposed to the usual 3:33 a.m. I hastily scribbled my notes, feeling stupid for assigning such significance to a dream. So Athena had been having the dreams, too—it didn’t mean anything.
But even as I thought that, I knew it wasn’t true. The time itself seemed noteworthy. Three, after all, was a mystical number: the Holy Trinity, the three jewels of Budd
hism, the pyramids.
I looked at the hatch marks again. I’d had the graveyard dream for the ninth time—three times three. I could just be grasping at straws, trying to make sense of something that didn’t mean anything.
Well, I knew one thing for sure, the dreams weren’t going to be stopped by a change of scenery. In fact, this dream seemed more vivid than the others. I could almost hear my old shrink’s “I told you so” tone of voice. You’d think for the amount of money my parents paid him, he could at least have come up with some original phrasing for his hackneyed advice. “You can’t run away from your problems” had been his exact words when I brought in the brochure for Devenish Prep. The brochure that had arrived for Athena six months too late.
The sharp grief hit me like it always did when I allowed myself to think about my sister. Right after it happened, the pain had been unbearable. The enduring loneliness almost devoured me. Even after thirteen months it still felt like I had been hit in the chest with a sandbag when I walked by Athena’s room. Though it looked the same, the room felt so different … hollow and torn open. It was no longer my sister’s sanctuary; it had become a cavernous wound.
I opened the journal to a heavily creased page; I’d book-marked it with an envelope that had the Devenish Prep crest embossed on it. When I saw that envelope addressed to Athena after she was already gone—after the police had shown up, after I picked out a dress for her funeral, after I said good-bye at her grave—I thought I’d have a breakdown right there in front of my family’s mailbox. And then I’d found her diary…. When I read about her dreams, so like my own, it shook me to the core. She wrote of a recurring dream about a place she’d never been before. A place with old redbrick buildings. A place that she finally identified as a boarding school in Shadow Hills. When I had read that, everything became crystal clear to me. I wanted to feel that clarity again. I scanned to the end of the entry, to the last words my sister had written in her diary:
Shadow Hills Page 1