Usually she seemed mostly concerned about the state of her house, and whether we’d harmed or burned down any part of it. For the same reason, her sudden interest in my trainers and hair, and her even more bizarre announcement that I wouldn’t be going to school that day, not only irritated me, it came completely out of left field.
“What are you even doing here, Ankha?” I asked.
She gave me a hard look with her dark blue eyes. “This is my house.”
Leaning on the counter by the sink, I checked my watch. “I have to get Archie to school. What is this little visit about? I scheduled my and Archie’s doctor appointments for next month. Dentist on the twelfth. So whatever this is, I can assure you?”
“Arcturus,”Ankha corrected. “?Will be going to school. He already knows. He is getting dressed. You will not be going. You are coming with me.”
The hell I was.
“Where?” I kept my voice calm with an effort. “What is this about?”
I highly doubted it had anything to do with Archie’s birthday.
Considering my aunt had never once mentioned either of our birthdays in all the time Archie and I lived there, much less given us a single present for any birthday or Christmas, or even visited the house on those days, I highly doubted she had any idea what day it was or why it might matter to me.
Her being there had to be a coincidence.
Still, I struggled to keep my voice polite. Financially, at least, Archie and I were highly dependent on our aunt and her envelopes of cash, even if they’d never come with even a modicum of affection or warmth.
Moreover, I was graduating in just two short months, and I had plans for the following fall. I’d already been accepted at my top choices for university. I’d also written out a long proposal to give to Ankha when I got the opportunity, whereby I would take Archie off her hands permanently if she would agree to help support us for the first few years.
I’d been offered a full scholarship at Oxford.
Despite all of my frustration around how long it took, and the three times the school offered to let me skip a year only to havemy aunt bluntly refuse, (and refuse to so much asdiscussit with me), I was finally going to be leaving Southampton.
Even with the scholarship, I would still need help with rent for a small place near campus, money for food, and, hopefully, tuition money for Archie to finish up somewhere nearer my university.
Ankha was richer than Croesus.
The fact that thisparticularhouse was practically falling down, had owls living in the attic, a weed-choked, overgrown garden, and antiques gathering dust, was all about Ankha’s indifference, and nothing at all to do with her financial means.
Money definitely wasn’t the issue.
Convincing her to give a tiny portion of that money to me might even be possible if I worded my request right. I was banking on her wanting to get rid of us both badly enough that she’d agree to my terms, and write me a generous check.
Which meant the last thing I wanted to do right then was piss her off.
I was determined to get free of this place, and of her. School was the only realistic way out I’d ever seen, which is why I’d studied to the point of obsession, every year I’d attended the posh boarding school in Winchester where Archie and I were enrolled.
All of this ran through my mind as I watched my aunt warily.
Like me, she seemed to be circling, deciding on her best approach.
“I can’t explain it to you,” she said, brusque. “I can see that brain of yours working, looking for some point tonegotiatewith me, to walk around me, to ignore my words, but it won’t work, niece, so save your breath.” The large, pointed nose angled higher. “They only test once a year, and I won’t have you missing another, not now that you qualify?”
“Test?” I blurted. “What kind of test?”
Ankha’s eyebrows formed an annoyed line.
There were elements of my aunt’s appearance that reminded me of my mother at times. In a certain light, at certain angles, I could absolutely see my mother in Ankha’s face, despite the wide gap in their ages. The dark blue eyes, the shape of her mouth, the high cheekbones, the straight black hair, the oddly fluid hand gestures, even her voice?all of those things had belonged to my mother in varying degrees, and would surface jarringly in my memories.
But on Ankha, it was as if those things had been sharpened and hardened and stripped of every softness and curve.
It made her appear gaunt rather than elegantly angular.
It made her voice sound less like melodic bells and more like breaking glass.
