Bright rays of sunshine woke me, and someone knocked at my door. I eased up, feeling every one of the bruising wounds Molly had inflicted. Once I had returned to my room last night, I cleaned myself up and soaked in the tub for a while, but I didn’t enjoy it. Nothing could stop the children’s screams ringing inside my head.
I pulled on my sweatpants and opened the door. Hermoine Kalakos stood in the doorway, holding a first aid bag and wearing the most brilliant smile I’d ever seen. Her eyes, a deep green that bordered on black, held a warmth only found when standing in the sun. She practically radiated concern.
“I understand you had a rough night,” she said, a small frown touching her mouth. “I would like to help you. If you want.”
“I . . . of course. I can . . .”
She shook her head. “No. No. I can wait out here. Or in the bathroom. It’s up to you. Whatever makes you most comfortable.”
“I’ve already cleaned my cuts.”
She nodded, smiling at me. “Of course. I know. But please, allow me to look at them. I would hate to have you get an infection.”
“Let me get dressed. And . . . the bathroom?”
She grinned. “Yes. And then we can have breakfast and talk.”
“Sure,” I said, then shut the door.
* * *
I refused to make eye contact while Hermoine cleaned the scratches on my arm with antiseptic. I was at a loss as to what to say, being a little uncomfortable with her ministrations. It felt almost . . . predatory.
“I love the bathroom,” I said, growing uncomfortable with the silence.
Hermoine paused and looked around. “Yes.” She smiled. “Yes, we believe the children should have nice surroundings.” She looked back at the cut on my arm. “Molly, it would seem, has a violent streak.” She shook her head. “Sadly, this is not the first time we’ve seen this type of behavior from her.”
“She was just scared,” I said in a rush.
She didn’t respond.
“Your sister said the bathroom was in homage to Hera,” I said, filling the awkward silence once again. I really needed to pick a different topic. Why did this woman make me so nervous?
She made a non-committal sound and continued to clean my cuts.
When she was done, she rebandaged my wounds and stood. “She’s not in trouble. Not that we won’t have a discussion with her about violence. No. We don’t believe in striking children.” She shook her head, biting her bottom lip. “That sort of thing would never happen here.” There was so much conviction in her voice, I almost believed her. Almost.
“Then why keep them from going outside?” I shook my head. It sounded so trivial. But the way the kids had behaved . . . I couldn’t just brush this aside.
Hermoine made a sucking sound with her teeth, shaking her head. “As much as I love the bathroom, I say we continue this discussion over breakfast. I really am famished.” She winked at me and left the room.
I stared at the door and tried to see the exchange in the way Hermoine had presented it—a concerned employer tending the wounds of an employee. Yet there was something just a little off about the whole thing. And I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Either way, I had to be cautious.
* * *
We sat in a small sunroom next to the kitchen. The table had been laid with fine white and turquoise linen with gold accents. An array of sweet-smelling cheeses, large strawberries and melon, croissants that looked like they’d been bathed in butter before they were baked in the oven to a golden brown, a ceramic bowl of yogurt, and a carafe of strong coffee sat in the center of it all.
I readied myself for what I assumed would be another half-truth like her sister Collette had given.
She poured me a cup of coffee. “We are cult of sorts.” She glanced at her watch. “Would you like the cook to fix you some eggs? We have a little time before your off hours.”
“Umm, no. This is fine,” I said, mind blown by her honesty. And I’d completely forgotten the emphasis on my leaving before 9 a.m.
“The croissants are decent enough.” She leaned forward. “But nothing compared to your brother’s. He is a master in the kitchen.” She smiled and sat back, placing a white linen napkin on her lap. “Where was I?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee. “Aww, yes. Giving you an inside look into our domain. Modern-day cults. And yes, some in the past have deserved the disdain of the public given all the foul, unclean acts their leaders practiced.” She shook her head as if a fresh memory of such a cult had surfaced in her mind. “But when I say we are a cult, it in no way mirrors what I assume you understand the word to mean.” She paused, studying me. “Eat something.”
I took a sip of coffee, then placed the cup down softly and looked over at her. “Help me understand.”
She smiled, nodding her head. “We have a very healthy respect for our ancestors and their way of life. Modern society . . . just . . .” Her lips thinned. “They do not respect the family. Nor the rearing of children.” She waved her hand as if dismissing an ugly thought. “My sister. She, out of the two of us, studied the old ways the most.” She paused. “We both have been unable to bear children.” A single tear slid down her carefully made-up cheek. She dabbed at it and continued. “Some people don’t realize how lucky they are. How blessed,” she said in a whisper.
She reached over and touched my hand lightly. “You wouldn’t believe the sheer number of children born into this world without people who truly love them.”
“So you decided to love them all?” I said, picking up a croissant. I took a tentative bite, and the fluffy pastry practically melted in my mouth. “Thirteen at a time.”
“That’s all we’re licensed for.” She reached behind her and pulled two file folders from her bag. “These are the records for Molly and Troy.” She set them on the table. I reached for them, and she placed a hand on top. “I have to warn you. What you will read in those files will haunt you. Despite the abuses they suffered, despite the uncertainty of whether they would get their next meal, these two children are programmed to run.
“My sister is trying.” She chuckled. “She can be a bit . . . much. But she does care. And she is deeply sorry for what happened last night. I hope you stay, Ms. Deschene.”
“You can call me Imani.”
She smiled, and her eyes lit with joy. “Thank you, Imani.”
We ate in silence. Which gave me the opportunity to realize she had told me everything and nothing. I even looked through the files she’d given me, and after the third instance of abuse, I closed it. She was right; it would give me nightmares.
After breakfast, I got dressed and looked for the kids. They were nowhere to be found. I’d even listened at the door. I only hoped Collette had kept her word and taken them outside. But if not, I would. I told Hermoine I would run a few errands during my off time, and she got Minos to open the door for me.
Like last night, he stood under the doorframe, waiting for me to exit with a pained look on his face. Why didn’t he come outside? He’d retrieved my luggage the day before.
“I will return at five,” I told him, and he visibly relaxed.
“Thank you,” he muttered, then shut the door.
Were they really that worried I would quit? Or was it something else? And why did I have to leave by 9 a.m. and return at 5 p.m.? What did they do during those hours? When I got in my car, I glanced up at the house. It had gone still again, all the life suddenly grinding to a halt.