A braying donkey laugh made her stiffen. Durian leaned on the edge of the desk, ankles crossed.
“The irony of that,” he chuckled. “Bitch, you have to admit it’s funny. But this is also the last place they’ll look. It’s like the fox hiding out in the henhouse.” He stroked his chin. “Or the hen hiding out in the fox’s den?”
Kal yanked her gaze back to Lara Lenormand. Clearly, she was losing her mind.
“I’ll stay,” she said in a small voice.
Lara smiled. “I’m glad. Welcome to your new home, Kyra.”
The dean ordered a tray of juice and raisin buns, and had Kal fill out a bunch of papers. She invented a new hometown and deducted four years from her true age, which was twenty-two. When she finished, Manij came back and brought her to the dormitory.
“This will be your room,” Manij said, stopping before a door marked with the number 27. “You’ll share with two other girls who are in class now.”
Kal noticed that the door had no lock. Inside were three beds—two facing each other along opposite walls, and one tucked into a windowless alcove. All had identical white-painted frames. Next to each bed stood a narrow desk and chair, and against the far wall, three wardrobes.
The beds facing each other had belongings scattered beneath and on top—books, shoes, a half-folded sweater. The alcove bed was bare.
“That will be yours,” Manij said, following Kal’s gaze. “You’ll find uniforms and other necessities in the wardrobe. The bathing facilities are at the end of the hall.”
Not the worst place she’d slept in—not by a long shot.
“Tomorrow morning, we’ll test your aptitude for different vocations,” Manij continued, handing her a book with embossed gold lettering. “This is the Lenormand School Code of Conduct. Please try to read it by the end of the week.”
Kal flipped through the pages. “The whole thing?” She wasn’t the fastest reader.
“Start with the first section,” Manij replied. “The rest can wait until you’ve settled in. Supper is served from six to eight in the dining hall. Your roommates will show you where that is.”
Kal smiled, wishing she’d leave. “Got it.”
When the door closed, she waited a few minutes to make sure Manij was really gone. She even opened the door and checked. The hall was quiet. Moving quickly, she lifted the mattress of her new bed and wedged the pistol and box of spare bullets between it and the boxspring. An obvious hiding place, but it would do for now.
The wardrobe had four white shirts, two gray skirts, three pairs of woolen leggings, and a jacket with the school crest—L.S. in twined script—emblazoned on the breast. She found a plush towel on the shelf above. The bathroom at the end of the hall was empty when Kal entered, her peacoat clutched to her chest.
Six showers lined one wall, each with a small changing area separated by frosted glass partitions. She chose the one farthest from the door and hung her coat on a hook so she could keep an eye on it. The kaldurite was hidden in the lining, and she wasn’t about to let it out of her sight. Not with witches around.
She turned the brass fixtures and water rushed out, quickly heating to a steaming flow. Kal stepped under the spray and gasped. Back home, hot water was a luxury, heated bucket by bucket on the woodstove. She only bothered to do it for bathing in winter, or for washing really dirty clothes.
She used lemon-scented soap and shampoo from dispensers mounted on the tiled wall, watching the gray water swirl down the drain. When she returned to the room wrapped in a towel, the daylight was fading. The Code of Conduct lay on her bed where she’d left it. She picked it up and thumbed through the pages. The rules seemed endless.
No leaving the school grounds without permission. No breaking curfew, which was eight o’clock. No smoking, swearing, drinking, or fighting. She could almost hear Durian complaining that anything fun was banned, but he didn’t show up. Kal wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed.
The door swung open, and two girls walked in, their laughter cutting off when they saw Kal.
“You must be the new girl,” said the short one. She had restless eyes that darted around the room and an aura of nervous energy. “I’m Elena.” She set her books on one of the desks. “This is Gabi.”
Gabi was blonde, tall, and statuesque. Both looked around Kal’s age.
“I’m Kyra,” she said.
Gabi eyed the Code of Conduct in her hand. “I hope you’re not a snitch, because we don’t pay much attention to the rules.”
Kal snorted. “Definitely not.”
They both looked relieved. Elena pawed through her school bag and took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. She opened the window, lit one, and blew the smoke outside. “So where are you from?”
“Lycaea.”
It was a port city on the northern coast of Satu Jos. Kal couldn’t claim to be local because she couldn’t fake the thick, throaty Arjevican accent. The minute she opened her mouth, people would know. To Kal, she had no accent at all, but Durian said she pronounced her consonants funny.
