Winterborne Home for Vengeance and Valor

by Ally Carter

  “April!” Ms. Nelson raced to April’s side. “Are you okay? Are you burned?”

  “No,” April said, even though she thought she might cry because her biscuits were covered with gravy. Which, come to think of it, was kind of the whole purpose of a biscuit, so April took a bite out of one. And then, for good measure, she ate the entire thing. “I’m okay,” she said with her mouth full.

  “Are you sure you’re not burned?” Ms. Nelson sounded like she really cared about the answer. Smithers brought a wet rag, and the woman began wiping hot gravy off of April’s face and arms.

  “It’s okay. I’ve been burned worse,” she said, taking a bite out of biscuit number two.

  “You have?” The woman’s voice sounded funny.

  “Sure. I mean, burns only count if they blister, right?” That had been the rule in pretty much every house that April could remember, but judging by the way Smithers and Ms. Nelson looked at each other, she got the feeling that they might have different rules here.

  “Go upstairs and take a cool shower, sweetheart. And then I’ll bring you a tray if you’re hungry.”

  But April had found that the biscuits were still perfectly edible, so she ate the third one. She might have grabbed a fourth, but everyone was looking at her and April hated being looked at, so she pushed away from the table. She was walking toward the door when she noticed Sadie.

  “It didn’t work.” Sadie’s lip was quivering, and tears were in her eyes, and April didn’t know what to say.

  “There’s some room for improvement,” Ms. Nelson told her. “But, look, we didn’t even need the fire extinguisher.”

  “So . . . what . . . you’re saying is . . . they’re getting better?” Sadie sputtered even though April didn’t think Ms. Nelson was saying that. At All. But the woman smiled and pulled Sadie into her arms.

  For a moment, April wondered what that felt like, but she couldn’t start to guess.

  * * *

  Maybe it was the way the warm gravy was starting to seep through her clothes or the knowledge that everyone in the house was now ensconced in the warm kitchen without her, but Winterborne House seemed especially cold as April made her way to the big main stairs.

  Not all of the Winterborne family artwork must have been lost in the museum fire, because there were portraits on the walls. Silver eyes stared back at her, and she thought she saw them moving, following her every step. She could have sworn she wasn’t alone. Except that was crazy. Or maybe not, April thought when she turned the corner and found a man in a three-piece suit staring at a wall as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

  “Uh . . . hello?” April said, and the man jolted at the sound of her voice.

  “Hello,” he said, eyeing April in all her gravy-covered glory. “I’m Evert Winterborne. And who might you be?”

  “April.”

  “April what?” Evert asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Her confusion must have shown on her face because he said, “What’s your family name?”

  “I don’t know that either.” April still didn’t understand the question. She didn’t have a family. Or if she did, she sure didn’t know what their name was.

  “I see. And how long have you been at Winterborne House?”

  “I don’t know,” April said again. “What time is it?”

  She didn’t mean it to be funny, but he must have thought it was because he laughed, but it didn’t match his sad eyes. April had seen him in the library with the fake fiancée and Smithers and Ms. Nelson. She’d thought he must have left, but maybe he just knew what to expect from the SadieMatic Seven, because he was staring at her filthy hair and gravy-drenched clothes as if April herself was a stain on his family home.

  “I spilled,” she said as if that should explain it all.

  The house moaned and the wind howled, but Evert just stood there, staring at her as if she was the one who was intruding.

  “You were at the museum,” she said. “I mean, I saw you there. Do you have to bring your own big scissors to those things? And where do you get scissors that big? Do you ever use them for anything else? If I had giant scissors, I’d probably use them all the time. Just for fun, you know? Can you imagine pulling them out on the first day of school?” April was rambling, but she couldn’t make herself stop. “Whatcha doing here?” she asked because, really, someone else was in control of her tongue at that point. April certainly wasn’t.

  “I’m Mr. Winterborne. This is my home. I was raised here.” He puffed out his chest just a little and drew a deep breath, like he was fighting against the words he really wanted to say. He ran a hand lovingly along the wood, almost like he was looking for . . . something. “This house is . . . shall we say . . . a treasure.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “No, April. He doesn’t.” Ms. Nelson was walking up behind April, saying, “Evert, I didn’t realize you were still here, or I would have invited you to breakfast. There was gravy.”

  “I see that.” He took a long look at April. “I was just leaving.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Ms. Nelson said before glancing back at April. “Go on, dear. It’s okay.”

  But April had her doubts. She couldn’t help it. Having doubts had kept her alive so far, and she really didn’t see any reason to change now.

  11

  Getting Schooled

  Turns out, Sadie hadn’t given them the full tour the day before.

  “I had to save something for day two!” she exclaimed as she led them up the third flight of stairs, higher and higher and farther and farther away from Smithers and his warm kitchen.

  When they moved down a long hall at the back of the house, April could practically feel the wind as it blew off the sea, cutting through the old, wavy windows. With every step, her breath came harder and the key around her neck felt heavier. Searching every room of Winterborne House was going to take forever. And ever. And a day. April would be as old as Smithers by the time she found whatever her key fit. Unless she got lucky.

  And April was never, ever lucky.

  So she huffed along in Sadie’s wake, trying not to let her worry show.

  “Sadie,” Tim asked, “just how much of Winterborne House did you save?”

  “Not much,” Sadie replied. “Just the very . . .” She stopped at the end of the hall. “Best!” She reached for a pair of double doors. “Part!” She threw open the doors and held her arms out in the universal signal for ta-da!

  At first, April wasn’t sure what she was looking at.

  It wasn’t the library—though there were books. And it wasn’t a bedroom—though there were cushions and pillows and a pair of cozy chairs in front of frost-covered windows with a clear view of the sea.

  But there were other things, too. A big square table and small desks. There were posters on the walls and an old-fashioned blackboard on wheels that someone could ride like a skateboard if they wanted to. Which, obviously, April did want to, but she knew better than to try.

  “What is this place?” Tim asked, and April was glad she didn’t have to.

  “It used to be the nursery and governess quarters, back in old-timey days. Now it’s the classroom,” Colin told them.

  “And it’s where I do my experiments!” Sadie looked like her eyes were going to turn into little hearts but then she noticed a glass beaker in the corner was starting to smoke. “Ooh. It’s ready,” she said, reaching for a thick pair of gloves and some plastic safety goggles while Tim pulled Violet behind him. Just to be safe.

  “You don’t have to worry about her,” Colin told them softly. “Smithers keeps the dangerous stuff locked up in an unknown location after . . .”

  “The SadieMatic Four.” Sadie gave a deep sigh and hung her head. “It was so great in theory.”

  Colin settled down with a laptop while Tim and Violet went to draw on the board. Sadie was utterly consumed with her experiment, which left April on her own in the big room full of other people. />
  She wandered to the wall between the windows. There were shelves with old textbooks and plastic body parts and a brightly colored model of something that looked very scientific.

  Tucked in beside the model was a photograph. It had a thick white border and a grainy image, but there was no mistaking the little boy in the picture. He had dark hair and silver eyes and looked to be about April’s own age as he stood between a girl and a man who was holding up a smoking beaker in a way that was entirely too familiar.

  “That’s my dad.” April jumped at the sound of Sadie’s voice.

  She wasn’t sure what surprised her more—Sadie’s words or her tone. It was the first time April had seen her not bouncing. But she wasn’t sad either. She was just . . . normal. Or like a normal girl in April’s world.

  “He worked at Winterborne Industries,” Sadie said. “He was an inventor. A really, really good one. Then, after the accident, when Gabriel needed a tutor . . .” Sadie trailed off, as if the rest of the story told itself. “He taught them for eight years. Until college.” Sadie turned and took in the room and the lab, the books and the posters that seemed so dated. “He taught here. And he set up a temporary lab and made inventions, and . . . My dad taught here,” Sadie said one final time, and April wondered what it would be like to be in a place her mother had been—to do the things her mother had done. She had no idea what that must feel like, but she couldn’t help but look at Sadie a little differently as she drifted back to her beakers and her clipboard and whatever SadieMatic she was trying to create.

  April tried not to feel jealous as she looked down at the shelves again.

  These were Gabriel Winterborne’s books. His models. His lessons and his childhood—right here, on these shelves and these walls. Like a magnet, her fingers were drawn to the words carved deep into the wood:

  Gabriel was here.

  Then she found the words below them.

  So was Izzy.

  “Hello, everyone!” For a second, April thought she must have conjured Ms. Nelson, because there she was, sweeping into the room. “Oh good. You’re settling in,” she said when she saw Violet drawing on the blackboard. “Colin, do you have—”

  “A thousand words on the fall of the Roman Empire with an emphasis on the rise of Constantinople? Coming right up.”

  “Good,” the woman said, then thought for a moment. “Oh, Colin? Write it in French.”

  April expected Colin to protest, but he just shrugged and said, “Oui,” as if that was the most basic instruction in the world.

  Then Smithers came in, a thick stack of papers in his hands. “Who’s ready to take some tests!” He sounded suspiciously like Sadie as he handed papers to Tim and Violet.

  April was about to take her seat at the table when Ms. Nelson said, “April? Might I have a word?”

  That day the Woman in White was the Woman in Blue, it seemed. Not like the sky outside but like the sea beyond the windows. From her head to her toes she wore the color, and April felt a sense of calm come over her just by looking at it as she followed Ms. Nelson into the hall.

  “How are you, April?” Ms. Nelson asked. “Did you recover from the incident at breakfast? Are you burned?”

  “Yes. I mean no. I mean yes, I recovered. No, I’m not burned,” she said, because she knew it was the answer Ms. Nelson wanted to hear.

  “Good. I’m glad. But, April, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. It’s come to my attention that a vase was broken last night.”

  Ms. Nelson looked at April like she wasn’t actually listening for April’s answer—she was watching for April’s response, and April was keenly aware of the difference.

  “I didn’t do it!” she blurted a little too quickly. “Really. I didn’t.”

  There was something about the way Ms. Nelson was studying her. Not like she was mad. More like she was worried. Not about the vase. But about April. And April didn’t like it one bit.

  “If you break or spill or stain . . .” Ms. Nelson started. “If you do something like that, you know you can tell me, right? Children live here, April. Things get broken. And torn. And shattered into a million pieces in the middle of the night. Those things happen because life isn’t perfect. Kids aren’t perfect. I assure you, no adults are. You won’t get in trouble for having accidents here. This isn’t that kind of home.”

  April thought about the long black car and the ragtag group of kids living like kings and queens, the tall gates meant to keep the world at bay. And April couldn’t help but think about the question that had been in the back of her mind for twenty-four hours: Then what kind of home is it?

  But she couldn’t ask that, so she just said, “I didn’t break anything.” And Ms. Nelson shook her head, as if she couldn’t help but be disappointed.

  “We don’t mind if you have accidents in this house, April. But we mind very much if you lie.”

  “I didn’t do it! It was . . .” The Sentinel, April thought but didn’t dare say. “It was already broken. I heard someone, and—”

  “So you were out of bed last night and wandering the halls?”

  “Is being out of bed against the rules?” April shot back.

  “No.” Ms. Nelson took a ragged breath, then gave April that look again, the one that was filled with pity. “I hope, in time, that you’ll realize you’re safe here, April. You don’t have to hide things. And you don’t have to lie. All I’m asking from you is that you try to believe me. Can you try?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” April said, which wouldn’t have been so bad, except when she walked back into the classroom, the other kids were acting a little too busy and trying a little too hard to make it seem like they hadn’t heard every word Ms. Nelson said. Which meant they’d totally heard. Which meant April suddenly felt like turning around and running just as fast and as far as she could.

  And she might have done it too—except she felt a tiny hand slipping into hers, holding her there as firmly as if she’d been held by a thousand chains.

  Violet smiled, and April knew it was up to her to figure out who did.

  12

  How to Catch an Urban Legend

  April didn’t know how to catch the Sentinel, but she knew she wasn’t the one who was wandering the halls breaking things, and sometimes a girl’s gotta go outside her comfort zone. So Sentinel catching it was.

  When sundown came and the house fell asleep under a blanket of darkness and the low, distant howl of the wind, April quietly pushed back the thick velvet curtains that surrounded her bed. She gathered up the handful of things she’d nabbed and grabbed and sneaked throughout the day. Her arms were overflowing and her heart was racing, but she was extra special careful in the hall and on the stairs because the one thing she knew for certain was that you can’t catch an urban legend if you’re noisy.

  At the base of the stairs, she went to work, and then . . . April waited.

  Three hours later, her eyes itched and her head felt like it wasn’t screwed on straight. She was alone in the little alcove by the door, tucked away behind a container of smelly old umbrellas, shrouded in silence and night. Eventually, her eyes got heavier and heavier, and her head got lower and lower.

  I’ll just lie down for a little while, April told herself. It would be a shame to waste this nice hard floor.

  So April did lie down. And April dreamed.

  It was a much-better-than-average dream. She was lost in a forest where the tree trunks were sausages and the leaves were a thick, creamy layer of mac and cheese. No one ever yelled at April in that forest. And she knew she’d never have to leave. But then her mother wouldn’t find her. And April’s mother simply had to find her. She would.

  She would.

  She would.

  At first, April wasn’t sure why she was screaming. But then she bolted upright and scooted farther into the corner. She didn’t know why she needed to hide. She just knew she had to save herself because no one else was going to. But save herself from what, she didn’t know.


  And then she heard the cursing.

  And she remembered the Sentinel.

  And she realized: Fictional vigilantes don’t curse.

  They certainly don’t get caught in booby traps made out of dental floss, Slinkies, fishing nets, and old socks. So April wasn’t exactly scared as she inched out of her hiding place and toward the figure that was clawing and fighting against the net, mumbling words April didn’t really want to understand.

  No. At that point, April wasn’t scared.

  She was terrified.

  It was like she’d caught a wild animal in her trap and not a man. She might have thought he was a werewolf, except (1) the moon wasn’t full, and (2) even a part-man-part-wolf creation would probably look more human than the creature in the net looked then.

  His clothes were old and filthy. A thick coarse beard covered his face, and his long hair probably hadn’t been combed in years.

  Smithers must have missed some of the broken vase from the night before, because when he put his hand on the hard floor and tried to duck beneath the net, he hissed in pain, and when he pulled back, April could see the blood on his palm, all while he continued to twist and kick, even as the dental floss wound tighter and tighter around his ankle. There was no way out, and he must have known it, because he stopped fighting as April inched closer and closer.

  And closer.

  And that’s when she knew that she’d been wrong.

  He wasn’t a legend. And he wasn’t a man. No, April had caught herself a ghost.

  “You’re Gabriel Winterborne.”

  For the first time, he looked straight at her, and April thought about the paintings of the little boy holding his father’s hand as if he had no idea that sometimes people let go.

  “That’s not my name.” The voice was gravelly, like it hadn’t been used in a really long time.

  “Sure it is,” April said. “I’ve seen pictures, you know. From before.” She looked him up and down. “You got old. And . . . hairy.” He grimaced more at the old part than the hairy part, and April kept talking. “But I know who you are. I’m really good with faces.”