Genre: YA Gothic/Multicultural
Date of Publication: February 15, 2017
Number of pages: 230
Word Count: 55,000
Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor Designs
An isolated convent, a supernatural presence, a dark secretâ¦
17-year-old Paloma only wanted to hold a sÃ©ance to contact her dead father. She never thought she would be kicked out of school and end up in an isolated convent. Now, all she wants is to be left alone. But slowly, she develops a bond with a group of girls: kind-hearted Maria, insolent Silvy, pathological liar Adelita, and their charismatic leader Rubia.
When, yet again, Paloma holds a sÃ©ance in the hope of contacting her father, she awakens an entity that has been dormant for years. And then, the body count begins. Someone doesnât want the secret outâ¦
Are the ghost and Palomaâs suspicions realâor only part of her growing paranoia and delusions?
I cannot clearly say how I had entered
the wood; I was so full of sleep just at
the point where I abandoned the true path.
--Dante Alighieri, Inferno 1. 11-12
Puerto Rico, 1973
Oak trees dripping with Spanish moss embraced us from both sides, but not enough to shield us from the prison that would be my home for the next seven months. The high stone walls and neo-Gothic bell tower loomed over us as my stepfather drove his Mercedes through the spiked iron gates and into the sloping, curving driveway.
A spider of dread crawled up my back. Prison indeed.
I couldnât believe it had come to this. The way things had blown out of proportion. Iâd only wanted to contact my dead father. Ask his forgiveness.
My mother reached for my hand from the front seat without turning around to look at me. I stared at her perfectly polished red nails and the glittery square cut emerald on her ring finger. Her fingers flicked, silently pleading for my attention, but I was frozen inside. Her hand retreated.
I stared at the convent, my eyes studying the pointed arched windows, the worn, age-blackened stones. The place looked haunted. Perfect for my state of mind. What was my mother thinking?
Something moved behind one of the windows. A face. For an instant my pulse raced at the sheer paleness of it, at the two dark holes that made up its eyes.
âWhat are you looking at?â Sara, my six-year-old half sister, asked.
I pointed. âA girl.â
She followed my line of vision. âWhere?â
âThere. High up. In the window.â
She dipped her head so she could have a better look. âI donât see anything.â
I felt a shiver, but not from the cold. Itâs white. Itâs watching us.
Then the car moved too close to the building, and the face vanished from view.
âIs this your new school, Paloma?â Sara asked.
I nodded. Sara was the child, female version of my stepfather. Her bottomless dark eyes, framed by velvety lashes, stared at me with misery. âI donât like it,â she whispered, grabbing my hand.
âItâll be okay,â I whispered back, and gave her hand a little squeeze.
âWell, here we are,â Domenico said in his strong Castilian accent, stopping the car in front of the entrance. He climbed out and opened the door for my mother. Then he proceeded to take out my suitcases from the trunk.
My mother was silent. She stepped out like a wooden mannequin, her eyes shimmery with unshed tears.
I climbed out, followed by Sara, the gravel crunching under our shoes. The early morning air was cool and a blanket of mist still lingeredânot surprising, since the convent was on the outskirts of El Yunque, the islandâs rain forest. More Spanish moss hung from the oak trees and rippled in the breeze like long, shivering memories. I could smell the dew on the leaves and the rich perfume of moist earth, redolent of open graves.
I glanced at the ominous clouds. âBeautiful morning.â
An ongoing distant hum resonated all around us. One, two beats passed, before it struck me: Waterfall.
Something within me shut downâor exploded, I couldnât be sure.
I shut my eyes for a second, wiping out memories of chilled water searing my lungs.
I repeated the eighth multiplication table in my head. This always helped.
âAfter you,â Domenico said, interrupting my thoughts.
I wanted to loathe him. Tried to, anyway. I could see what my mother saw in him: a powerfully charismatic, handsome man with the infinite skill to make people do his bidding. My mother, with her small delicate features and petite frame, looked invisible beside him. A mere spectre. But that was just a faÃ§ade. I knew better.
The big oak door opened and a nun clad in black habit and a wimple came down the steps to greet us.
Sara wrapped her arms around my waist. Her gesture both comforted me and heightened my anxiety. Nuns in habit made me think of great black birds.
âBienvenidos,â the nun said. Like my stepfather, she also had a Castilian accent. âIâm Madre Estela and Iâm second in charge to Madre Superiora. You must be SeÃ±or and SeÃ±ora de Aznar.â
They exchanged small talk. Madre Estela sounded polite enough, but she didnât offer to shake hands with my parents, which I found strange. Maybe nuns werenât allowed to shake hands. I wouldnât be surprised. I noticed the wedding band on her ring finger. Married to God. Absurd.
âYou must be Paloma,â she said tonelessly.
âYes,â I said. Wasnât it obvious? I didnât know what else to say.
The cross on her chest caught my attention. It had a crucified Christ on it and I noticed the thorns cutting Christâs forehead, the little drops of blood glistening on His fragile body.
âWelcome to our school, Paloma.â Her critical gaze scrutinized my makeup, my tight jeans. âIâve heard much about you.â
I didnât miss the hint of cold disapproval in her voice. I wasnât sure how much my parents had complained about my behavior, but considering I had been kicked outâwell, actually, kindly asked to leaveâfrom my previous school in the middle of October, it couldnât be good.
âAre you ready to resume your senior year of high school?â Stress on resume.
âI canât wait,â I said. There was no point in being niceâor pretending to be. That just wasnât me. I felt miserable and couldnât hide it. Besides, I could tell from our short exchange that sheâd made up her mind not to like me long before meeting me, and I had the sinking feeling that no matter what I said or did, her opinion wouldnât change. I had already been stamped in her Inquisition book, tagged a criminal.
Madre Estelaâs stony eyes moved to Sara. My little sisterâs arms clutched my waist even tighter. From the nunâs expression, I could tell she was wondering if I had infected Sara with whatever plague ailed me. She dismissed us and turned back to my mother and stepfather. âMadre Superiora is expecting you in her office. Letâs not keep her waiting. Donât concern yourselves with the suitcases. Someone will come for them shortly.â
They thanked her and followed her up the steps.
âI donât want to go in,â Sara said.
âItâll be okay,â I said. I glanced at the window. I wanted to see the pale face again. But there was nothing.
A drop of rain hit my cheek and I wiped it off. Then I held Saraâs hand and together we walked up the steps and through the arched doorway.
I felt my throat closing up.
Seven months wasnât that long, was it? Besides, Thanksgiving break was just around the corner. Six weeks, to be exact. I had already marked my calendar. I couldnât wait. I would go through the motions, no need to make friends that Iâd never see again. When you get close to people, you end up getting hurt.
About the Author:
A certified bookworm and ailurophile, Zoe Kalo has always been obsessed with books and reading. Reading led to writingâcompulsively. No surprise that at 16, she wrote her first novel, which her classmates read and passed around secretly. The pleasure of writing and sharing her fantasy worlds has stayed with her, so now she wants to pass her stories to you with no secrecyâbut with lots of mystery. She lives amongst cats and books in Belgium, and is the author of the Cult of the Cat young adult fantasy series and the Retribution novella series for adults.
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Website and blog: www.ZoeKalo.com