Get Out If You Can

Emilie | Le Manoir

At least not in public.

I sink into the very uncomfortable leather seats, sweat on my hands. Just for good measure, I feel around the contents of my sling bag, to make sure the box is still there. Good, it is.

Today's an abnormally beautiful day. I doubt Callenfield has had one like this in years. You're probably not going to take me seriously, but the sky is violet and pink. It looks exactly like the candy we used to gobble back when we were younger and didn't have to equate bulging waistlines with social status.

My arms instinctively circle my waist. I don't particularly enjoy that attitude, but...I guess I'm just lucky I can keep myself away from fattening food.

I look back up at the sky. It's winter, so it's no real surprise that the evening is already settling in. Tiny puffs of cloud drift across the horizon, adding a touch of white to the cotton-candy sky. It's soothing, and I think I would agree with myself more if I didn't have that prickly feeling in my gut. That feeling that tells you something is going to go wrong, but with no explanation.

I shut my eyes and squeeze them tight, wishing the thoughts would go away. It's not very nice to be bothered by something you don't even know about. And Tejada's drama had the curtains closed on it for a long while. I'm not saying that it isn't possible for the curtains to rise one more time, but I'm just...

I guess I want to believe that they won't. And that isn't wise, but it's hauntingly comfortable – and I give in to it.

In a few more seconds, I feel the worn tires of our car crunch on gravel, which means we might have arrived. I lean out of the window to get a better look at things, as the manor casts a discreet shadow over its surroundings.

And what a sight it is.

It's like a castle. Maybe it even is a castle, just add a drawbridge and a moat and there you have it. Gothic spire-like turrets crawl upwards from a majestically large, rectangular-cylindrical building. They're coated in elegant ivy and violet flowers of a creeper-ish plant I don't know the name of, and at their points, where they poke lightly into the sky, are sculptures of harped and winged angels. The gate is in itself a complete majesty – it's about nine feet tall, and impossible to climb over. It's black and has intricate carvings of the very same flowered violet creeper around its surface, ending in a gentle twist of metal at the top. Against the backdrop of the evening light, it looks like a proper stock photo.

In other words, beautiful – but so, so unreal.

***

We step out of the car and onto a cemented pathway that's bordered with blush-pink roses that are as big tennis balls. If more people knew about this place, it would soon become an Instagram hotspot. It looks like a movie set.

I look around from where I'm standing, hoping to spot some life around, but the only other human beings I'm able to catch sight of are my parents. No guards, no escorts, no nothing. I look around once more, just to be sure.

Suddenly, I hear movement, and I turn around.

A middle-aged woman with a kindly smile races up to Maman and Papa, a bunch of flyers in her hands. When she reaches us, she tries to speak, but she can't — she's huffing way too much.

Three minutes later, she finds her voice.

"Emilie Badeaux?" She pronounces my name in a perfect French accent, which disappoints me because I might just have lost the pleasure of proving my parents wrong. I nod, but only slightly.

"Bien," she says, and Maman's smile widens in proportion to hers. Which pisses me off.

She shuffles through a green file in her hands, and I'm really starting to believe this isn't a farce. If it is — whoever's doing this is either some rich cult or is someone with too much time on their hands. Too much time, and just the same amount of money, too.

"Emilie Badeaux, you're in Stellabrooke tower," she says, not looking up. "I'll have you seated there, and you can wait till you are called into the hall."

"Okay," I say, looking at my parents. "I'll go? Are you coming in?"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mademoiselle," the lady says, smiling. "Désolée, but your parents will have to stay outside. Only the invitees may enter. Is that okay with you, Madame? Monsieur?"

I give Papa the best puppy-dog eyes I can manage, but they don't work. He simply points to Maman and shrugs.

"Oui, bien," Maman says, nodding her head and smiling at the lady. "Call us when you're finished, okay?"

"This may take a while," the lady explains. "More than an hour. We need to get her particulars in order. Vous savez."

What particulars? What in order?

Maman smiles radiantly at the French, and kisses me on my forehead. "Bonne chance," she whispers.

"Maman, look, are you sure this is real? Like, I don't know, something seems off here..." I let my voice trail away into nothingness as the smile on her face pushes me to breaking point. "I think everything's fine," she says, smoothing my hair. "And you can call us if anything goes wrong. Good luck, now, hurry."

I've no idea what's going to happen to me. My only consolation is that I'm — for some part of the deal — ready. Kinda. I nod at Maman and follow the lady into the manor.