My gaze swept over to the chauffeur standing stiffly by the door. “Illuminating,” I told her.
She chuckled. “Jeffries has been with us a long time.”
I attacked my chance, shouldering my bag. “Forgive me for being rude, but I really don’t need to be here, not that I know where here is? Jeffries.” I arched an eyebrow at my silent driver. “Has been vague. But really, I don’t need to go to school, I’ve finished. I can just meet my aunt, say hi, and be on my way.”
The birdlike face of Mrs Cox cracked into a smile. “On your way where? Maybe when you see what we have on offer, you will change your mind about being finished with the education system. All we ask is you give the lessons and our wonderful school a try.” Her words took the wind out of the sails of my argument. Where was I planning on going? I had no money, nothing to fall back and rely on. She waved a scrawny arm at the arched wooden door. “Now let’s get you some tea and toast. You like jam, dearie?” She clucked much like a mother hen, albeit a tiny, scrawny hen. “Of course you do,” she answered for me. “Everyone likes jam.”
I shrugged not knowing what she was talking about.
“You must be exhausted.” Taking my bag with single-handed ease, she thrust it at Jeffries. “Take that to Dorm B,” she told him, grabbing my elbow and wheeling me towards the uneven stone steps leading up to the worn brick building.
On closer inspection, Fire Stone resembled a castle made from crumbly, hard cheddar; where a large chunk could fall off at any moment. With bricks the colour of a sunset on a glorious day, it looked as if it had stood the test of time and now hung on by the last brick in its foundations. The dark ivy, so drab and opposing from the distance of the sweeping driveway was actually lit with little white flowers. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Mrs Cox. I nodded, meeting her gaze. I’d need to remind myself she wasn’t called Mrs Bird. I could already feel that mistake scorching my tongue. “Where is it exactly? I know we are in Scotland, but that’s it. Jeffries was tight with information.”
I needed to process the fact I’d left New York—even rundown Queens—and flown for hours, all to be delivered to a school which was built within a dilapidated castle. I’d save stewing on that for later. I was here now, my plane ticket paid for by my mysterious aunt. I needed to find out all the information to hand before I decided on my plan of action. The only way to do that was to embrace Mrs Cox’s offer of tea, toast, and jam. Whatever jam was.
“Oh, you mean jelly.” I took the offered dainty, white china cup. “Strawberry jelly.” I’d been offered an array of flavours but had settled on the safe sounding strawberry.
“Jelly? You Americans do like to muddle everything up.”
I prickled and picked my shoulders up from their slouch. “That’s a bit strong; it’s only a noun for something that goes on bread.”
Mrs Cox had already made me seriously pissed when she’d held out a silver tray and nodded at it with intent. “Cell phone, please. No students have phones here.” I’d watched her for a moment in silent disbelief before realizing she wasn’t joking and unwillingly handed my cell over. I'd put up with her nonsense while I carried on investigating the place, but then I'd want my cell straight back. Thank you very much.
Mrs Cox’s room was a comfortable study: all dark green leather, and wood panelling. Hanging from one wall was a tapestry my eyes couldn’t stop staring at. Giant stones were stitched in silver and grey. Around them wove sparks of magical fireflies in vibrant gold. It was stunning. If she saw me looking she didn’t comment.
The crackle of the fire sparked, and I inched my leg towards it. Heat lapped up the surface of my exposed skin. It was May; springtime in Queens. I’d travelled in shorts and a zipped hoodie. The inside of Fire Stone hadn’t received the Spring memo and was chilled down to its dark grey bricks.
“You will adapt to our ways, I’m sure.” She offered me a secure smile and perched her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose.
“I don’t need to adapt. I haven't said I'm staying yet. According to my aunt’s letter, the only reason I’m enrolled is because I’m under eighteen.” Mrs Cox offered me a tight smile.
“Of course.” Her sharp gaze searched my face—what she was looking for I didn’t know. “Your birthday is soon, you must be excited to be eighteen?”
Excited? I wanted to tell her I wasn’t five and didn’t get excited about birthdays anymore, but I kept quiet and shrugged. A birthday was another day of the year.
She carried on, ignoring my silence and shoulder shrugging. “Your ancestors came from these lands, Maeve. Aye, I'm sure your blood will soon remember.” She nodded to herself and seemed to drift into deep thought.
“Really?” I quizzed her. “I don’t know anything about my ancestors. I didn’t even know I had an aunt until a month ago.”
Her expression closed like the slam of a book. “Well, I’m sure everything will unfold in good time.”
“What will?” I leant closer. “And where is my aunt? Surely she should be here after asking me to come all this way?”
“She will come soon.” A flicker sparked in her round eyes, and a shiver crawled up my spine.
“Why do I feel like I’m an imposition? Why make me come to an awful school in a different country and then not be here?”
Mrs Cox trilled a laugh. “Don’t be silly, Maeve. And you need to do what’s best for you.”
“People call me Mae.” I corrected her. My blood boiled and simmered, my glare icy.
