Page 164 of A Heart of Bluestone

She’s hiking up the thick crunching snow towards me.

“I’m going home.” The resolve of my voice doesn’t impress. It breaks, it hitches, and the tears are quick to wobble my mouth. “You can’t stop me.”

But of course she can. We both know it.

I’m stopped every year, because year—at least once—I try to run away to the village. Twice, I made it there. But I was stopped by security before I could even get close to the veil.

“Would you like to come to my office and tell me what happened?” she asks, but holds out her arm in something of a guiding gesture, and I know I have no choice. “Some hot chocolate or tea to warm you?”

“I’m going home,” I echo, but my words are shuddering now. “I wanna,” And there it is, the final twist of my face. I slowly double over, like I can’t find the strength to stand anymore, and the sobs strike me like a sword. “Go-o-o-huh-huh-om-mmm.”

Can’t get the words out.

They are choking me.

My mouth parts with the grating breaths that scrape through me. I’m unintelligible, but as though I speak clearly and make perfect sense, Master Novak nods, gentle.

Her hand firms on my shoulder. “Can you tell me what happened?”

My face scrunches like paper in a fist. I shake my head.

Chin to her shoulder, her soft brown eyes crease with the pity-fuelled line that slants her mouth. “We’ll call your Father, yes?”

All I can do in answer is nod. My shoulders jerk, harsh, with each gasping breath cutting through me.

She steers me through the snow, back to the academy.

Stiff and covered in manure, I drop into the old, musty chair.

The sun-bleached upholstery is pilled and scratched along the arms. Now, it’ll be soaking up the shit and melting snow clinging to me.

The dim light of the chilly office is just some flickering candles and lanterns bolted to the walls.

Master Novak shrugs off her fur-lined robes and tosses them onto her own chair. They hit with a crumple before she’s plucking the receiver from the phone and, from the bottom drawer of the desk, unearthing a leather-bound tome.

Breaths still shuddering, eyes still dazed, cheeks still wet, I bring my arms around myself and hold, firm. I watch as she flips the thick beige pages until stopping at the one headed with my family name.

She runs her finger down the page—and stops on the phone number for Elcott Abbey.

The seconds are punched by her finger sticking the numbers of the rotary phone, turning the circle until it clicks, then waitingfor it to slide back in place before moving for the next number,and it’s taking too long.

Finally, the number is dialled—

Then Master Novak turns her back on me and dips her head.

I frown at the greyish braids plaited onto her scalp, as though that will somehow help me make out the mumble of her words. It doesn’t. All I hear is the hum of her voice, a pause, then another hum, a pause, and then, a final hum of garbled words before she turns to gesture me over.

My rubber boots creak as I push up from the chair, and they are heavy thuds on the rug—just smearing faeces all over this office—as I drag myself to the desk.

I outstretch a hand, then falter.

Black grime is caked under my nails, scratches smeared along my knuckles, but beneath the mess, my flesh an unformed rainbow of raw crimson and glacier blue. Cold and wounded.

Master Novak closes the distance between herself and my hand, reaching out the receiver until it presses into my palm—and snares my attention back to her, to now, to the call.

The mere thought of my Father or Mother on the other end, it’s enough to trigger the tears again, a dam eroded, and my cheeks are quick to dampen again.

With a snivel, I bring the phone to my ear.

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