Legends of Astræa: Cupid's Arrow Book 1 (Legends of Astræa Series) Read online

  My feet dangled. I struggled to secure a foothold on the roof. As scary as the situation was, I was calm for a change. I stretched a little more, so my right foot could grasp the window. I was sweating as I returned clumsily into the attic. My room.

  Chapter 9

  Sleep had finally abandoned me. So even if I wanted to—which I didn’t—I couldn’t. Adrenaline affected me in that way. France.

  I prayed at this point for a sign. I prayed for a miracle. I had to find those answers in France. I had to find my way to France. But the despairing reality was that it was almost impossible to travel without money or any document that said who I was. My mind turned in endless circles, wondering if the new Mother Superior would help me solve this dilemma.

  Short of knowing where I came from. I wondered if I had a name I could look into. I couldn’t stand laying on my bed any longer, and I didn’t want to sleep and have one of those crazy dreams either. I laid on my back, looking at the ceiling until dawn and thinking—too much.

  I got out of my bed and forced my legs to move. I pulled out a clean hand-me-down uniform and grimaced at it. Whoever came up with the colors of the uniform kilted skirt had definitely been colorblind. According to the official history behind it, purple represented the purple finch and the purple lilac—the state bird and the state flower—green represented the green of the forests, black for the most inspiring peak in all of eastern North America, after Sir Henry David Thoreau scaled Mount Katahdin in 1846.

  It seemed somewhat contradicting that a plaid had a place in American history. After all, the British had lost their battle in 1776. However, the tartan wool plaid was handmade by the Sisters as well. For all their faults, the Sisters were not only self-sufficient but very industrious.

  St. Mary’s lived on donations from rich parents, but the convent had a profitable income from everything the Sisters sold and exported from the island. Wool, bakery, pottery, crossed-stitched linens, fine lace-making… and the academy was just one more part of their work.

  However, the Sisters had taken a vow of poverty. The revenues were solely used to support other convents and missionaries abroad. Their charity functions also helped children all over the world. Mother Clarisse once told me she had the privilege of working with Mother Theresa of Calcutta in her early years.

  I wondered if our future Mother Superior would continue Mother Clarisse’s life’s work. Maybe she could help me find something, anything. With my resolve greater this time, I had to find a way to reach Father Dominique.

  The eyesore kilt, white shirt, and white socks felt thrall and ridiculous that morning. In the meantime, I had to hide the blasted swirling tattoo. Who knew what the Sisters would do if they had a glimpse of it. I concealed the silvery tattoo with a long sleeve shirt I wore under my uniform jacket. I usually never wore the jacket, unless it was a parents’ day or special event—meeting the new Mother Superior qualified as one.

  After I dressed, I brushed my teeth and brushed my hair.

  As I got closer to the end of the hallway and the imposing doors that led to the inner chambers of the building, I forced my mind to think positive. I was going to meet the new Mother Superior. She would help me. Wouldn’t she? Thinking about what might happen if she didn’t would only make my internal chaos worse. I took a deep breath and set my hand on the ancient brass door handle. It was carved in the shape of an avenging angel, and I had loved it since I was a child. I found a little bit of courage in the familiar expression on the angel’s face and muttered a prayer for strength.

  I pulled the door open to Mother Clarisse’s old office. She had been the closest thing to a mother I’d ever had, and here, in this room, every inch of it reminded me of her, even when the new Mother Superior would make it different somehow. I thought of memories of me as a toddler, playing on this same rug while Mother Clarisse worked in her office with her door open to watch me. She wouldn’t entrust me to anyone to protect me. Even then I had the strange tendency to cause havoc. Suddenly, I was overcome with a rush of emotions so painful that I stumbled. I clenched my hands into fists and let my nails bite into my palms.

  I sighed as I stepped on the thick wool rug I used to play on and sat heavily on one of the nineteenth-century Thomas Chippendale chairs inside the room. I wrapped my arms around myself, praying the new Mother Superior would meet with me. I could distinctly hear voices inside her office. I hadn’t anticipated for her to be busy this early in the morning, and it wasn’t like I had an appointment to see her.

  An instant later, Sister Magdalene opened the wooden doors and entered the waiting room. Her face showed surprise at seeing me there. She crossed her heart and muttered a silent prayer. She was once again praying for my soul. It had become the new normal at the academy. Sigh.

  “Good morning, Sister Magdalene.” I greeted her, a little uncomfortable by her hard stare, interrupting her muttered prayer. She glanced at the wall clock and grumbled in disapproval. Classes would start in ten minutes.

  “Morn,” she mumbled, crossing to the heavy wooden door to Mother Superior’s office. She knocked sharply.

  A strong female voice answered, “Enter.” I tried to glance inside out of curiosity to see what our new Mother Superior looked like, but Sister Magdalene entered the room blocking my minimal view of who was sitting at the desk. She shut the door with a metallic click behind her.

  “Sister.” Mr. Tarbelli’s silvery voice greeted her. Crap, lucky me. He was already inside the office. There were more people inside. I wondered who they were. I raised my sight away from the rug, inching my chair closer to hear their muted voices, where the sound of their conversation could be heard better.

  “Sisters, it has been pointed out to me that this child’s mother is notably generous to St. Mary’s, donating more than any other patron here has in the past.” The new Mother Superior’s refined and full-tone voice came through her office door clear, unlike the voices of the Sisters inside who were muffled but audible.

  “But she is here to serve the Lord like any of us.” I heard Sister Magdalene’s strident tone of voice disagreeing with the new Mother Superior. I wondered who they were talking about. It could have been anyone but me. I snorted. I was an orphan.

  “Her mother has requested from us this one thing, and we shall treat this child… is it Ailie?”

  My world stopped. Mother Superior paused her train of thought. I gasped at the sound of the voices in agreement, confirming my name. My… mother was alive? A glimpse of hope lit my being. Mother Clarisse never told me. Why?

  “We shall treat her no different from any other student,” Mother Superior said.

  “That child doesn’t belong here with the rest of the academy. She has the devil inside.” Sister Agatha’s spiteful words carved inside my heart. Anger heated my cheeks then was drowned in a rush of shame. Maybe she was right. I found myself getting angrier and angrier these days, and my emotions were harder to control. Maybe it had been the influence of Mother Clarisse that had kept my evil nature in check all those years.

  “I admit the poor girl has been always difficult and strange, but labeling her evil is unfair, and it is ostracizing her from her peers.” Difficult? I wouldn’t be difficult, as he claimed, if he wasn’t overwhelmingly meddlesome. Strange? I wanted to say that I wasn’t mentally ill or emotionally disturbed, but memories rose in my mind to mock me. Perhaps Sister Agatha had all the right to hate me—I was different. I was not normal, and I couldn’t explain why.

  The knight in black armor, the strange blue creatures that haunted even my daydreams, Gavril—the boy who could shift into a wolf on a regular basis and spoke in my head—and now this dark evil that had crushed mother Clarisse to death had given a new meaning to the word scary.

  I realized then I really sounded crazy.

  Demented. Demented like poor Sister Clementia. Dear God.

  “You forget her demons are responsible for the death of Mother Clarisse.”

  How could I ever come back from Sister Magdalen
e’s severe words? I forced myself to sit up straighter, my spine ramrod straight, even though my cheeks burned as I drowned in self-pity and guilt. Terrible guilt filled my entire being. Yes, I felt responsible for her death, and there was nothing I could do to change that. If only I hadn’t come to her that night.

  “That is absolutely ridiculous.” Mr. Tarbelli’s tone of voice was tight but clear. It felt as if he was struggling to modulate his tone with the Sisters. I wiped the pent-up tear on my eye before it would run its course.

  I wrestled down the electrical current cursing my entire being, refusing to let go of the control I was working so hard to keep. My stubbornness was stronger than my anger. Focus, keep the anger away, Ailie. I exhaled, feeling the quiver that came as a result of fighting my anger. However, all I wanted to know was why my mother of all people had me left to believe I was an orphan.

  I kept my eyes fixed on the rug underneath my feet. Time had faded its rich, vibrant colors on the corner floral trellises. It had been hand-tufted by the Sisters many years ago, and I had helped them clean it many times before. I was glad it was still there, reminding me of Mother Clarisse’s presence and helping me encompass the fire inside me.

  “She speaks of demons visiting her at night. She has ungodly afflictions. How else could you explain how she murdered Mother Clarisse?”

  Sister Agatha’s incriminating words cut deep again. And no matter what I would say, they would never believe me. Caught up in my own emotional storm, I missed what they were saying until their raised voices snapped me out of my internal confusion. Mr. Tarbelli, who never, ever raised his voice, was shouting.

  “Sisters, with all due respect,” Mr. Tarbelli said in a tone that clearly conveyed that he didn’t feel like the person he addressed deserved an ounce of respect. “There is absolutely no proof of your harsh accusations, and you know it.”

  I was taken aback for a second, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. His words brought sudden tears to my eyes, and these hurt even more than the tears of anger and rage. These made me want to throw my head back and howl like a wolf. He believed in me, despite everything.

  “She has two hearts, and she causes demonic poltergeists.” Sister Agatha’s tone of voice was even more defiant as she continued her campaign to destroy me. I had two hearts? That was impossible—no one had two hearts.

  “Having two hearts is indeed different but no different in the eyes of our Lord. She is just a child in need of greater help and guidance in matters of the soul.” At least Mother Superior sounded like a reasonable person.

  “Mother Superior, Ailie is passing all her classes, and I am quite sure that whatever turmoil the child is experiencing is due to the recent death of the woman who was like a mother to her.” Mr. Tarbelli came to my rescue once again. Why? Not that I wasn’t grateful, but I was curious.

  “Mr. Tarbelli, indeed, that appears to be the case. Although I am shocked to find there is no file regarding this child, I understand from your explanations and the Sisters’, the gravity of all your concerns,” she said. No file? Crap. That little piece of information sobered me up instantly.

  Time had come for me to make decisions. I was confronted with my ugly reality. I needed to steal my means to escape. The idea didn’t sit well with me at all. There had to be another way. God, I prayed I could find it. Miserably, Gavril wouldn’t help me. So much for friendship. Sigh.

  “But—”

  “Unless her malefic afflictions intervene with the life of the school, she will spend her disciplinary chores with Mr. Tarbelli for now,” Mother Superior said, interrupting Sister Magdalene’s argument. “I don’t want to hear one more word about it, Sisters. Is that clear?”

  I had a strong suspicion that her command was directed to Sister Magdalene who was the one with the highest authority at the school besides Mother Superior. Obviously, she hadn’t conveyed to anyone in the room that I was sitting right outside.

  I should be feeling grateful because they would stop treating me like their chore orphan, but the turmoil inside me was now growing larger than life. Malefic afflictions? I tried to get a hold of myself to calm down.

  “Not even her mother wants to acknowledge her, and frankly, the girl scares me sometimes, Mother Superior.” Sister Magdalene added more pyre to my fire. I was a nobody, even when I had a mother. Hope was squished, and I felt like that pathogen that lives inside mites and causes typhus in humans.

  “It is truly unfortunate that her mother has never given any indications to the contrary. It is my hope and prayer her mother comes to her senses and acknowledges her daughter. In the meantime, it is ours to carry on legally as long as she is a minor.” Mother Superior’s voice stiffened and reflected her growing concern as to how the conversation was turning.

  My mother didn’t… want me. She didn’t love me.

  All I wanted was to move away, disappear, but my feet wouldn’t move. I prayed for the earth to open, but it didn’t. I couldn’t invoke invisibility either, not that I could. Some powers they were. Useless.

  My mother thought I was a freak too. I shook my head and blew a deep breath out of my lungs. She—my mother—had enough money to buy me a school. I would give anything for some loving words, a letter explaining would have sufficed, but there wasn’t even a Christmas postcard. She had forgotten I existed. I didn’t even know what she looked like. I wondered if my father was, or had been, a complete cold-blooded and apathetic being as well.

  My parents were alive, but I was still an orphan. Rage ran inside me like a poisonous cancer. Finding out this terrible truth now, on my birthday, made this day the second worst day of my life.

  I lost the love of my parents right at that moment. Well, technically when I was born, but I’d been blissfully ignorant of the fact. I had relished in my heart the idea that my parents loved me, because I was under the wrongful impression that they might have been in heaven, and that was what people arranged for when they died and went to heaven. At least, that is what they’d taught me here. Perhaps, I should be grateful for never having met my parents.

  There was no objective in waiting for the Mother Superior. The terrible truths had been spoken, and I couldn’t hear any more absurdity. I couldn’t have two hearts. Impossible. While I was drowning in my own hurt, I probably had misheard all. I left the waiting room in a rush.

  I felt like I needed air desperately.

  Chapter 10

  I inhaled deeply to calm myself, but it was increasingly impossible. I prayed maybe music would calm me. I love music, I reminded myself. My soul connected with something so pure and so divine when I played music. I particularly favored the violin, but according to Mr. Pratt, I was equally graced with talent for the piano. Sometimes, I had wished my parents would hear me play from heaven. When I had wished, I had parents. Not anymore. Period.

  I ran, very late, inside the music hall. The vaulted ceiling did nothing to hide my rushing steps. Six years ago, another donation made to St. Mary’s bought us a complete music hall. I wondered if my mother had been the donor. Shouldn’t I feel lucky? No wonder Mother Clarisse had been quite insistent about my musical education.

  Tiffany and her entourage glared at me as I approached. But their glares and obvious dislike didn’t hurt half as much as the spike of longing and jealousy that had shot through me.

  They sat on the music hall downstage, which meant one thing. They were not playing today, I was. They were here to watch me, and mock me, as they always did. Tiffany often mocked me, even accused me of being jealous of her. But up until that moment, I had secretly laughed at her mocking. I could care less about the money, the clothing, and the clique of devoted followers, but I had to swallow a bitter truth at that moment. The truth was I was wretchedly, bitterly jealous.

  Tiffany had something I would never have, a loving mother. In that moment, I hated her good fortune with a passion that came from bitter jealousy, but I also felt so very alone.

  “Glad to see you back, Miss Ailie. We were waiting for you,
” Mr. Pratt said kindly, consulting his watch and pointing out my tardiness. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the memo that I was the anti-Christ—yet.

  Although his class was difficult, he never was mean. He really never showed much emotion, actually. At least he didn’t actively dislike me. Tiffany snorted at his words. She sat with the others, studying Beethoven’s history. Part of our curriculum in music was to learn the histories of composers and musicians. I usually loved this class.

  Yes, I understood I was his star student, too, and somewhat perhaps a little prodigious in his view, but with the passing of Mother Clarisse, I had skipped his classes since the day after her death. Now, with all my recent chores, the truth was I hadn’t touched, heard, or as much as practiced any music.

  The worst part was that at that precise moment, I felt internally broken. My emotions were out of whack. I wanted to combust and cry indefinitely. No one could ever understand the pain inside me. Now I understood why Mother Clarisse never mentioned her. My mother never loved me.

  My hands were tingling with electricity, and my throat felt like I had a toad stuck in it. I knew I was merely moments from all hell breaking loose.

  “Take a seat, Miss Ailie. Today, I will ask you to join us in our flute and string quartet,” Mr. Pratt suggested.

  I barely nodded back at him. I was noting who I was going to play with.

  Simone gave me her once-over, holding her precious and expensive viola. Her constant struggle with academic grades and her inexistent inclination to music gave her parents enough reason to put too much pressure on her. But it wasn’t really her fault she had a low IQ. Unlike her, I borrowed Mr. Pratt’s violin or played the academy’s piano. Tricia played the cello, and Lisa played the flute. Lisa and Tricia were the quiet, mousy type of girls, and just like most of the girls in the academy, they had been shoved away by their parents. It was something I had in common with them now, I realized. I felt the empty despair of betrayal and a horrible void of helplessness.