Chapter 1
Grimoire Manor
October 1
Newport, Rhode Island
Blinking against the glare of the early morning sun, Nevine Turner looked up at the House on Drelock Hill. With its peeling paint and weather beaten stone arches, it looked more like a prison than a home. Nevine took it all in and tried to think positive. Her caseworker had told her the place turned out well-educated, brilliant young women. Hard to believe. From every turret and tower, every wall the leering faces of gargoyles and demons stained with mildew and decay stared down at her.
Nevine felt trouble brewing. It wasn’t just the architecture, creepy though it looked. Nevine's brain felt electric with the notion that the house was alive. Inside its halls must have been like arteries coursing with hatred. She swallowed hard. Grimoire Manor would be her home for the next four years, until she reached age eighteen.
“Isn’t it lovely?” asked her caseworker as she slammed shut the trunk of the car. She handed over a backpack to Nevine which carried all of her worldly possessions. It wasn’t a heavy backpack.
Was this woman retarded or lying?. Probably lying to herself. Nevine was an expert at reading that particular adult facial expression. ‘Everything will work out well this time’…’I’m sure an adopted family will finally come through for you this year’…’This foster family truly cares for their children’…it was always the same in the end. “I know,” Nevine said, “you think I’ll like it once I get used to it.”
The caseworker brightened up, “That’s the spirit, Nadia.”
“Nevine.”
“Right, won’t you get the door for me?” The caseworker made to look like she was struggling helplessly with her notepad and pocketbook.
Obscene faces adorned these doors. A great horned bull with the knocker as a ring through its nose stared back at Nevine. Ascending the few stone stairs to the door, Nevine seized the knocker and pounded it against the heavy door several times.
Almost at once the doors began to open outward. For a moment Nevine wondered if they might have been activated by some kind of electrical lock, like in a hospital. Then both doors slammed open as if pushed and the house belched a great blast of the coldest air. Nevine stumbled backward but managed to catch herself from falling. Air spiraled up around her like a whirlwind, thrashing the ends of her hair against her face. The doors stood open for a moment before they slammed shut. Once again they opened for a second, gaping like a hungry mouth, and once again they crashed shut with a deafening sound. All was silent.
With trembling hands Nevine brushed herself off. The caseworker said only, “They must have quite a cross-draft. Now, Nevine, if you would only grip the door more firmly…”
The caseworker must surely be certifiably insane. Still, Nevine did as she was told. She braced herself for the worst. She gripped hold of the handle and pulled with all her might. The door opened without the slightest resistance. As they entered, Nevine expected the door to slam shut once again behind them, but it only quietly clicked into place as if nothing had ever happened.
“Well then, Nevine,” said the caseworker, pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of her nose.
The woman looked about the entry hall of Grimoire Manor, a fake smile plastered to her face. The entrance hall loomed, leading out back to another set of double doors. An immense staircase led up to the second floor, and endless doors beckoned from either side of the main hall leading further into the building. Portraits of sinister and unpleasant elderly people decorated the hallway. The walls and ceiling were elaborately etched. It was both beautiful and intimidating. Had Nevine not somehow been sure that this was the state-run Home for Orphaned Girls, she would have thought she was in the wrong place entirely.
The caseworker clapped her hands together and said, “Here we are. Isn’t this exciting that you’ll get to live in a mansion?”
Nevine hesitantly stepped forward into the house and glanced around. Her hands still quivered, and her heart remained firmly in her throat. “I think,” she said, her voice just a whisper, “that this house hates me.”
“What’s that dear?” The tall lady poked at a little gargoyle statue that hung in one corner, “There must be a bell or something around here somewhere.”
Nevine ignored her, taking a few more steps into the main hall. She looked up the great staircase that led up to a landing on the second floor. The carpet leading up the stairs was thinned with age, worn from traffic, and stained in spots.
One of the side doors along the main hall opened and out walked a short old woman, leading a teenaged girl by her shoulders. The white-haired woman wore a sweater and thick glasses, and didn’t smile as she cast the new arrivals a distracted glance. The girl appeared to be about fourteen, like Nevine, and had long straight brown hair and a pretty face. She eyed Nevine warily, though her expression displayed far more interest than that of the old woman.
“Ah,” said the caseworker, in hopeful tones, “you must be the director?”
The white-haired woman shook her head and frowned, “You are mistaken. I am Ms. Speer, the head teacher. The Provost is indisposed, and has tasked me with receiving our new resident.” The old woman turned and frowned at Nevine. “I assume,” she said without warmth, “that this is Miss Nevine Turner?”
Nevine opened her mouth, but before she could speak the caseworker said, “Yes this is she,” as if the girl herself were mute. Nevine and the as yet unnamed straight-haired girl exchanged meaningful glances.
The caseworker rummaged through a shoulder bag. “I have her file right here, and of course you’ll need to sign a few things, though most of the arrangements have already been taken care of by the Department of Child Welfare and the…um…Provost.” She said this last as if she’d never heard of the woman before.
The white-haired woman reached for the file, handling it with the enthusiasm she’d have shown a used hanky. “Very well then, I’ll attend to the remaining matters. Miss Turner, this is Miss Aurora Ziniti who will be your roommate.” The girl with the straight hair gave Nevine a mischievous but friendly smile. “She will show you to your room. You’ll wait there until Ms. Emily arrives to show you about the home.”
The caseworker clapped her hands and exclaimed in an exaggerated way that made Nevine feel like a child, “Aurora, what a positively eccentric name, just like yours Nevine! I think you two will become fast friends.”
Aurora shot the caseworker a lopsided sneer when she was looking at Nevine, and Nevine suppressed a laugh.
“Perhaps,” said Ms. Speer, “you would like a moment to say goodbye to your caseworker, Miss Turner?”
Nevine shrugged and murmured, “Well I don’t really know…”
All at once she found herself engulfed in the caseworker’s arms. “Well then,” said the caseworker, hugging her, “this is goodbye. I trust you’ll be happy here, and if you need me you have my card. I’ll be back to look in on you periodically and during all major holidays.” The caseworker pulled away, giving Nevine a little wave before turning back to Ms. Speer.
Aurora grabbed Nevine’s hand and pulled her toward the big staircase, as if escaping from a fire. As Aurora led her up the stairs, Nevine looked back toward the caseworker, curious to see if she was watching them go. The caseworker and Ms. Speer were lost in conversation.
Nevine would never see the caseworker again.
Nevine continued beside Aurora up the stairs and through a long landing to another set of stairs and on to the third level. Nevine blinked at the old decorations that still adorned the place. Over the main landing hung a huge crystal chandelier, now quite dusty and neglected, but still an amazing sight.
Aurora led Nevine through several tight and poorly lit corridors to a second major landing, less well lit or decorated than the first. Here the wooden floor was uncarpeted and creaked loudly when they walked on it.
“This was once the servant’s quarters,” Aurora informed her, the first thing Aurora had said since whisking her away from the adults. Naturally, this was now where the girls were expected to stay and Aurora opened a door just off the main landing and stepped aside for Nevine.
Nevine found herself in the cramped and dark room that was to be her home for the next four years. Overhead hung a light bulb from a chain with a cloth lampshade meant to try to mask its dreariness. Set across from the door was the room’s only truly pleasant feature: a little alcove with a decent sized window that looked out over the backyard, the Newport cliffs and the ocean beyond.
Nevine rushed over to the window and pulled it open with all her might (and the creaky window did take all her might) enjoying for a moment the cold fresh blast of air that welcomed her efforts.
“Just because it has a nice view,” Aurora said from behind her, “doesn’t mean you’re not in Hell.” Nevine turned, a little shocked, and sat on the bed closer to the window, presuming it was hers. “And rest assured, you are in Hell.”
There was a small chest of drawers besides each bed and Nevine opened hers and began sorting her few things into the drawers. There wasn’t much really: a couple sets of clothes, a paperback set of the Chronicles of Narnia, a little stuffed fox. She put the fox on her pillow and a set of rosary beads under it. She'd had the fox since she was a little girl, and it was the closest thing she had to a constant companion.
“My advice,” Aurora said, watching her, “put the fox where it can’t be seen.”
Nevine put the fox in one of the drawers, “Would one of the other girls steal it?”
Aurora shrugged, “Of course. And if they didn’t the ghosts would.”
Nevine hesitated for a minute, unsure if Aurora was teasing her, “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said at last.
Aurora smiled, “Doesn’t really matter does it? So long as they believe in you. And if you don’t believe in them now you will soon.” She regarded Nevine with a thoughtful look, “So are your parents dead or are you a throw-away?” Her words were blunt, but Nevine didn’t detect any intent to harm in them.
“My parents are dead. I never knew them. It happened when I was little. Been in foster care my whole life.”
“Me too, although I knew them. We moved here from Florida when I was six and a month later my parents were in a car wreck,” she detailed this without emotion, and Nevine guessed that like herself, Aurora had recited her basic background numerous times to the curious. “Well, that’s that, then. Boo-hoo,” Aurora made a little crying gesture with her fist, “Here’s a little hug,” she came over and gave Nevine a hug, “Now we’ve got that out of the way.”
“Did you have a roommate before me?” Nevine asked, testing out the mattress with her hand.
Aurora paused for a moment, “Yes…”
“Hey,” Nevine said, “what happened to the girl who lived here before me?”
Aurora got an odd look. She opened her mouth to answer but never got a chance.
There was a knock at the door then, and it opened before Aurora could respond. A woman, younger and more pleasant looking than Ms. Speer, stood in the doorway. She gave Nevine a little smile and walked into the room, looking about curiously.
“Well, Miss Turner, I see that you have settled in well enough. I’m Ms. Emily and I’ll be your teacher for Mathematics. This room has a most delightful view of the ocean and you’ve also benefited from rooming with Aurora Ziniti. She’s as solid a roommate as you could have hoped for…” Aurora smiled up at Ms. Emily, “…even if she is given to mischief.” Aurora now stuck her tongue out at Ms. Emily when her back was turned. Nevine suppressed a giggle.
“Well, we must get going, Miss Turner. I’m to give you a tour of Grimoire Manor.”
“Ms. Emily,” Aurora said, her voice taking on the sweet tone of a child who wants something, “Would it be okay if I came along too?”
Ms. Emily looked as if she considered it for a moment before giving them an approving smile. It was the first genuine smile that Nevine had gotten from an adult in a very long time. “I think that would be fine,” Ms. Emily said.
Ms. Emily guided them back out to the servant’s landing and down the staircase which was much more rickety and uncertain than the heavy wooden one in the main landing. There were some other girls about now, getting out of classes and preparing for lunch. They regarded Nevine with suspicion.
Ms. Emily whisked them quickly down to a large room in the basement with concrete walls and naked neon bulb lighting in the ceilings. The smell of…something…cooking permeated the vast room. “This,” said Ms. Emily stating the obvious, “is the cafeteria. We have a dedicated staff of cooking personnel and I think that you will find the food served here very nutritious.”
Behind Ms. Emily, Aurora made a motion as if to stick her finger down her throat. Nevine smirked.
They went up a small stone staircase into the main hall where Nevine had first entered and then up the main staircase once again. Up to the fourth floor they climbed, where the main staircase ended at a level even with the chandelier’s chain, “Here you will find the Provost’s office. If you remain well-behaved you shan’t have to meet with her too often. Miss Ziniti,” and here Ms. Emily gave the other girl a little smirk, “has made her acquaintance once or twice.” Aurora frowned.
“Please be sure not to rush up to the attic without a teacher accompanying you. The lighting is not good up there, and sometimes vermin go there to roost.” She walked over to a set of double doors that were padlocked shut, “Unfortunately the West wing of the building is currently off limits to exploration as well.”
“Oh,” said Nevine, “is that because that’s where the ghosts live?”
Aurora’s eyes went wide and she gave Nevine a shocked but amused look.
Ms Emily turned around slowly and looked Nevine over very carefully before answering, “The West Wing is closed because there has not been enough money to properly renovate it. The floors are very weak and likely to collapse under the weight of anyone walking on them. The ghosts,” Ms. Emily said with a raised eyebrow, “feel free to walk about anywhere within the house.”
Nevine laughed a little, as Ms. Emily seemed to be having a little fun with them. She wasn’t quite sure if there was an undercurrent of seriousness beneath the jest. Aurora, for her part, was not laughing.
Ms. Emily turned away, leading them back down the main staircase, “Should you get it in your head that it might be an adventure to explore the West wing, which many children seem to do simply for the express reason that they’ve been forbidden to do so, be assured you won’t have been the first. The penalties for doing so are, as you might suspect, quite stern.”
Nevine and Aurora exchanged raised eyebrows. Nevine suspected that Aurora had been one of those making past attempts.
“As you will have noticed,” Ms. Emily said as they descended the stairs, “there are no televisions, no video games, no radios, no cell phones…”
“…no good food, no hot baths, no fun, but plenty of rats,…” Aurora whispered on the side.
“…Grimoire Manor is dedicated to your education and we hope that it will serve its purpose in preparing you to become responsible adults in an outside world that is quite filled with all manner of temptations and hostilities.” They were on the first floor again now, in the main hall, “Aurora, I think you can resume your duties as hostess? It’s time for lunch, and I have other matters to see to.”
“Yes, Ms. Emily,” Aurora said, dutifully.
“Very well then, Miss Turner, I’ll wish you good luck and I’ll see you in math class.” She gave Nevine a little wink and a smile and turned. She walked away down the main hall and into one of the little side doors.
“Well,” said Nevine with a shrug, “she didn’t seem too bad.”
“Yeah,” Aurora said, with a meaningful frown, “She’s the nice one.”
Nevine walked back to the main staircase and stood looking up at the chandelier, “Did people really live here once?”
“People live here now,” Aurora smiled.
A sound like a boulder smashing into the roof echoed throughout the house, a deep angry sound that seemed to come from the very walls. Another crash followed it, and yet another, six or seven of these huge crashing sounds coming perhaps a second apart. Nevine rushed to Aurora’s side, gripping the other girl tightly. She looked all about with wide eyes, but couldn’t tell where the noise was coming from. As they rang out she felt that this house, whatever torments it gave the other girls who lived here, had decided to hate her most of all. At last the noises stopped and she realized she had been holding her breath.
“What,” Nevine asked, still looking about for some explanation, “was that?”
“Oh, well,” said Aurora, her voice full of bravado, “The house sometimes makes sounds like that. It’s an old house; the teachers say that air gets into the pipes and bangs about. Come on, we should get to lunch.”
The other girl’s bravery made Nevine feel better. She was too frightened to notice that Aurora had been gripping her arms as tightly as Nevine had been gripping hers.