Prologue
I turn onto Lynn Avenue, sucking in muggy air as I sprint toward the fifth house on the right, my current home. The books I checked out of the public library only moments ago crash around in my already-worn backpack and slam into my lower back. I accept the bruising discomfort, because I deserve it. Because I’m going to be late. Again. What’s worse is that I promised Laura I’d be on time tonight, because apparently we’re having an important guest over.
My foster-mom is fairly easy-going, at least compared to the foster-parents I’ve had in the past. She’s the only one who doesn’t mind me calling her by her first name. Which is awesome. I don’t have a curfew, which is also pretty cool, even though I don’t have any reason to stay up super late. And she sometimes lets me drive her car, despite the fact that I only just got my permit. Not that I really need to drive the few blocks to the library, which is where I spend most of my time.
By the time I reach the front steps of Laura’s small, red and brown brick home, the summer sun is casting long shadows across the quiet street. I check my watch. 7:23. I steady my breathing as I walk up the steps and take a moment to assess myself before walking inside. I comb my fingers through my long, light brown hair and smooth down my t-shirt, then retrieve my house keys from my bag and open the door.
The smell of chicken parmesan, heavy on the parmesan, hits me the moment I step inside the dimly lit living room. Crap. She even made my favorite meal. I close and lock the door, set my backpack on the couch, and make my way as quietly as possible to the dining room, where I can hear Laura talking to who I assume is our special guest.
“Honestly, I admire her love for books, I think that’s why she’s so smart, but sometimes I worry she spends too much time reading and studying. She’s a loner, which isn’t such a bad thing, but I wish she spent more time around… people, you know? So maybe this will be a good change for her.”
Curiosity piqued, I round the corner and enter the dining room. A blond woman sits at the head of the small square dining table, sipping from a glass of water. Laura sets a dish of steaming chicken drowned in parmesan, pasta, and marinara sauce in the center of the table, then looks up and notices me.
“Katherine, you’re late,” Laura says in a reproving and mildly exasperated tone.
“I know, I’m really sorry, I lost track of time,” I say, my lame excuse made more awkward by the fact that I can’t decide whether I should introduce myself or just sit down or what.
“Well that’s nothing new,” Laura replies, and I recognize the quip as her way of forgiving me. As she sits down in her usual seat, she says “Well sit down. There’s someone here to see you.”
Here to see me? I take a seat across from Laura as the blond woman holds out her hand. She has a kind smile and soft green eyes. “My name is Elizabeth Kenton, but you can call me Liz.” I shake her hand, which is warm and somehow comforting in its grasp.“It is so good to finally meet you.”
I’m confused, because I’m fairly certain I’ve never even heard of this woman. How does she know who I am? “I’m sorry, but how do you know me?”
She cast a quick glance over at Laura before returning her focus on me. “I went to school with your parents. Your mother and I were very close friends.” She speaks slowly, as though she is picking each word with great care.
I immediately sense that she’s hiding something, but for the moment all I can focus on is the fact that she knew my parents. For the past five years I have thought of so many questions I wish I could ask them, and though that may never be possible, here is someone who may be able to answer at least some of them.
I sit back in my chair and try to remember if my mother had ever mentioned a best friend named Liz. Nope. Come to think of it, my parents had never spent much time with anyone outside of work and home. It had always just been the three of us; me, mom, and dad. No grandparents or cousins, no other relatives. And then my parents died, and it was just me and the foster system. If this woman was as close to my mom as she says, then why have I never heard of her? And why wasn’t she at the funeral?
“Katherine,” Laura says quietly, her voice worried. She gets that way when it appears that I’m thinking too much.
I ignore her and continue to evaluate the situation. I’m not sure how I should feel. If she’s telling the truth, then she may be the only chance I get to find out more about my parents. But she’s also a complete stranger, and I have no reason to trust her.
I decide I’m not quite ready to risk being too hopeful about the situation, so I go with the more interrogational method. It’s probably the quickest way to get answers, anyway. “If you were as close to my parents as you say, why weren’t you at the funeral?”
Laura must have grown uncomfortable with the situation, because she begins to serve the food, taking each plate and filling it with the chicken and pasta, which has stopped steaming. I wonder if she had purposefully started cooking late in preparation for my tardiness or if she had just stuck the dish in the oven until I got home.
“I wanted to go to the funeral, believe me. But my work prevented it. I’m sorry,” Liz says. “I have so much to talk to you about, and I can explain everything, I promise, just not right now. I’m here for something a bit more… urgent.”
I’m not entirely satisfied with her answer, but she did mention that she’d be able to tell me things about my parents, so I let the topic drop for the moment, if only for the sake of finding out what Laura had been talking about when I’d overheard her earlier. “So why are you here, then?” I ask, then take a bite of the chicken. Laura’s cooking is another reason she is by far my favorite foster parent. I take a brief moment to savor the bite before refocusing on Liz.
Liz swallows her mouthful of pasta and sets down her fork. “I teach at a highly elite boarding school in North Carolina. We have a very selective recruitment process, and I’m here to tell you that we would be honored if you would accept our invitation to attend Holloway Academy.”
“I never applied to any boarding school,” I say, but while my brain is trying to understand how I could get into a school I never applied to, my heart is grasping at the opportunity.
“There’s no formal application for Holloway. It’s based solely on recruitment. Again, I can’t explain everything to you here. But I must encourage you to consider this opportunity. Holloway gives students a chance to be the best they can be, and better.”
My brain is not convinced, so I take another bite of chicken and look from Liz to Laura and back. Once I’ve swallowed I say, “Isn’t the goal of most high schools to give students opportunities to do well? How is Holloway any different?”
“At Holloway students are given a lot more liberty in their education than regular high schools or even other boarding schools. You’ll be pushed out of your comfort zone and your limits will be tested, but along the way you’ll get to experience things you would never have a chance to otherwise.”
I nod and chew, mulling all of this over. I have to admit, this school sounds much more interesting than Cedar High, where I took mostly Advanced and AP classes last year and aced every one. The kids there aren't all that exciting, either. Maybe Holloway’s selectivity will mean more of the students will actually be there to learn instead of goof off and rebel against every authority in sight.
“Is this a four-year school?” I ask.
“It is,” she says, spinning a bunch of pasta onto her fork. “Also, all of our recruits are fifteen years old, so whether they would be a freshman or sophomore at their high school, they all start out as first-years when they get to Holloway. We also have a university branch, which the majority of our students decide to attend after graduation. It’s not a requirement, but it’s a great opportunity that our students tend to realize shouldn’t be passed up.”
From what Liz has said, Holloway really does sound like the perfect place for me. I love Laura, and she’s made a good home for me here, but I also think she was right when she said I need a change. “What do you think, Laura?” I ask her. A part of me still needs a little push, a supporting nudge, and I know Laura will give it to me.
Laura is quiet for a moment, then looks at Liz. “How big is the library?”
“It’s pretty dang big,” Liz replies.
Laura and I both laugh, and Laura tells me, “Then I think it sounds like you’ve got some packing to do.”
I nod and smile, unable to speak, unable to believe everything that just happened. Liz places a hand on my shoulder and I turn to face her. “I am so excited for you, Katherine. You’re going to love it there.” She glances at her watch, then adds, “Well, I should head out. I’ve got another stop to make on my way back.” She stands and pushes her chair up to the table. “Orientation is the afternoon of August first, so I’ll pick you up that morning. Here’s a list of what to pack; it’s really just the basics, everything you’ll need to live comfortably in your dorm.”
I take the sheet of paper she holds out and resist looking at it immediately. “Thank you, Liz,” I say, but the words do not express the true level of gratitude I feel.
Liz smiles and heads for the door. “I’ll see you in two weeks,” she says, and I close the door behind her.
Two weeks. In just two weeks I’ll be moving yet again. Starting over, again. But there’s something about this move that feels more significant, like I’m about to make a change that will reshape my life forever. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Either way, I am more than ready to find out what exactly Holloway has to offer.
Chapter 1
The first thing I notice about Holloway is how out-of-place it looks, like a beige stone castle pulled from seventeenth century Europe and planted on American soil. Except that instead of a single, colossal building there are many smaller buildings spaced out over two-hundred acres of the greenest grass I have ever stepped on. I gaze out of the window, watching buildings and students and trees pass by as Liz drives the black sedan down a long driveway toward a beautiful, three story stone house.
She pulls the car to the side of the pavement and parks, turning to look at me. “This is President Pearce’s residence. She’s Holloway’s seventh president, and she’s been here for about eighteen years now, I think. A lot of different events are held here. Orientation, for one. Lectures, conferences, balls.” We both exit the car and make our way to the trunk to unload my bags.
“Balls?” I ask as I drop my blue duffel bag onto the ground.
“They’re one of Holloway’s most celebrated traditions,” Liz smiles, handing me my other duffel bag. “Holloway has a lot of traditions, actually. But don’t worry, one of your first-year classes will teach you everything you need to know about Holloway’s history.”
This already sounds better than my old high school, where the only events anyone ever participates in are awkward dances and obnoxious pep rallies. I can tell Holloway is going to be a more refined institution than I had expected, which only makes me like it more.
A sharp beeping noise makes me jump. “Oh, I’ve got to get going,” Liz says, poking at different buttons on her watch until the beeping stops.
My heart skips a beat; I haven’t had a chance to think about what I would do when Liz had to leave. Liz is mumbling to herself, and I hear her say something about schedules and projects and… initiation? I’m about to ask her what initiation is, but she sees me watching her and goes quiet. She steps up to me and grabs my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re going to be fine, Katherine. This is where you’re supposed to be.”
I nod, and bend down to retrieve my bags. “Where do I take these?” I ask as Liz walks back to the driver’s side of the car.
“You can leave them over there.” She nods toward the broad stone steps leading up to the house, where a small haphazard pile of luggage sits under the shade of a willow tree. “Someone will come and take them to your room. Orientation should start in about twenty minutes, so you can go on inside. I’ll see you later.”
I slip one of my backpack’s straps onto my left shoulder and walk over to the steps, where I drop both of my duffel bags. I consider leaving my backpack as well, but I can’t bring myself to part with my worn-out copy of Call of the Wild and the few keepsakes from my parents that I’d packed inside. Turning to face the vast landscape stretching out in front of the President’s house, I take a moment to appreciate the breeze that is sweeping over the grounds. Summer air in Tennessee isn’t unbearably thick, but it’s definitely not this… light. And it’s always hot, whereas this air is refreshing in its coolness. I could definitely get used to this.
I’m about to head inside when a black truck pulls up and a girl about my height with blonde hair pulled into a long ponytail jumps out of the passenger side. The driver stays inside while she unloads a large green suitcase and three slightly smaller bags. I realize the proper thing to do would be to offer my help, but honestly she seems to be enjoying herself. So instead I study her clothes, her stylish tan jeggings and brown heeled boots, and her blue blouse. Very nice. I glance down at my jeans and converse and gray tank top, but before I have a chance to feel any level of inadequacy the girl is standing right in front of me with a smile on her face.
“Hi, I’m Bridgette Carson,” she says, holding out her hand.
“Katherine Lewis,” I say, shaking her hand. “I was about to head inside. Are you ready?”
“Definitely,” she replies. “Just a sec.” I slip the other strap of my backpack over my right shoulder as Bridgette leans through the truck’s open passenger window to talk to the driver. If I can concentrate, I can hear their conversation, but eavesdropping is the third thing on my list of improvements to make, so I distract myself by tightening the straps of my pack. When Bridgette heads back over she is slipping something that looks like a folded envelope into her jeans pocket. “Okay, let’s go.”
We walk up the steps and across the vast porch, where the front door is propped open. Slipping inside we find ourselves standing in a spacious foyer, which is empty save for the soft voices drifting in from the room to the right. Bridgette takes the lead and makes her way across the hall, the click-clacking of her heels reverberating against the foyer walls. The sound pierces the quiet, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it at all.
I follow her into the room, which is about twice the size of an average living room. There are about thirty students in here, the majority of which are to my right, sitting in chairs facing a stage near the far wall or standing in the aisles. There are a few kids to my left, filing along a row of clothed tables lining the wall, placing various foods on glass plates and filling glass cups with yellow punch. “Perfect, I’m starving,” Bridgette says.
I follow her through the line, placing some fruit and crackers and cheese on my plate, and after we fill our glasses with punch we join the rest of the students. I quickly sit down in an aisle seat in the back row and watch as Bridgette flits from student to student like she’s in some kind of meet and greet competition. It’s kind of entertaining to watch.
My plate is nearly empty when I hear someone’s heels stepping up onto the stage. I look up to see a fifty-something-year-old woman wearing a beige pantsuit make her way toward a wooden podium in the center of the stage. Bridgette slips into the seat beside me and slides her empty plate under her chair. “Meet anyone interesting?” I ask her quietly, keeping one eye on the woman as she shuffles through a stack of papers.
“Oh, yes,” she says excitedly. “There are people from all over the country here. Billy, the tall blonde one, he’s from Seattle, and Jennifer’s from some little town in Iowa, and —”
Two soft taps on the microphone stop Bridgette mid-sentence, and I join the rest of the students in turning toward the woman on stage. “Good afternoon, students. My name is Margaret Pearce, and I am the president of Holloway Academy. It is my greatest pleasure to welcome you to first-year orientation.” As she speaks in her richly kind voice her eyes travel over the crowd of students; when she gets to me she seems to linger a second or so longer, and in that moment I see a brief sense of recognition in her light blue eyes. At least that’s what it seemed like in the moment, but then she is looking down at her papers and I can’t be sure. Confusion and curiosity swirl inside me as President Pearce continues her welcome speech.
“For now you will all be living in Frazier Hall. After the semester, you will participate in an initiation, which will determine which House you will be placed in for the following three and a half years.” I can sense the excitement in the room as students shuffle in their seats and few whispers escape into the air. “But before you are taken to your dormitories, I have two rules and a piece of advice to share with you, so please pay attention. First, the use of cellphones on campus by first-years is strictly forbidden.” No cellphones? What about emergencies? And contacting our families? I see the same thoughts crossing some of the faces of my new classmates, but President Pearce quickly takes charge of the room again. “You will soon understand that this is a precaution meant for both your safety and your families’, as well as for the Academy’s protection.”
Protection? Safety? What kind of school needs that level of security? I’m still too intrigued to want to leave; I have too many questions, like how I got recruited here in the first place, and what President Pearce knows, and what secret Liz is keeping from me. My determination to get answers is what keeps me sitting here as President Pearce continues. “Second, students are not permitted off the campus grounds at any time while classes are in session, with the exception of class trips and dire emergencies.” Okay, I had been expecting that one. It is a boarding school housing more than one-hundred teenagers after all. “As for the advice…” She pauses, again sweeping her eyes over us, and again settling on me a moment longer. “Holloway has the potential to be the best thing that has and will ever happen to you. I strongly advise you take advantage of this opportunity. Get involved, study hard, and keep your minds open.”
With that she collects her papers, descends the steps, and leaves the room. I’m about to head after her when a man dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt and carrying a clipboard enters the room. “Transportation to your rooms is out front,” he announces. “Please follow me.” He disappears, and the students file out behind him. Bridgette and I get stuck in the middle of the bustling crowd, and as we make our way outside I am already making plans to get back here so I can find out what President Pearce knows. If she even knows anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m just being paranoid.
The sun is beginning to set when we step out onto the porch, the combination of shade and a cool Carolina breeze giving me goosebumps. Lined up along the driveway are four black sedans identical to Liz’s.
“Ride with me?” Bridgette asks as students begin to pile into the vehicles. I nod and climb into one of the cars with her, where we slide to the end of the first row of seats. “Do you think she was serious about the no cellphones thing? My brother told me the few rules they have here are pretty strict, but come on, no cellphones? I’ve got friends who will send out search parties if they don’t hear from me soon.”
I grin at the thought of Bridgette’s face on a milk carton. “She seemed pretty serious to me.” I look out the window for a moment as the car pulls away from the President’s house. Then what Bridgette said registers in my mind. “Wait, your brother?” I turn to face her. “Does he go here?” It hadn't occurred to me that some of the new students might know more about Holloway than I do; I just assumed everyone was as in the dark as me.
“Yeah, his name’s Eric. He’s an Observer, in his second year.” She says this so casually, as though I’m supposed to know what she means. I have no clue.
“What do you mean, he’s an Observer?”
“That’s the career path he chose.” She watches me for a moment, and I see the realization in her blue eyes. “You don’t know about the career paths, do you?” I shake my head. “I guess that makes sense; not everyone has an older sibling in the Academy to sneak them information about initiation.” Her grin turns into a curious frown. “Who did you get your legacy from?”
Okay, now I am utterly confused, and a sense of doubt trickles down my throat, making it hard to breath. Could all of this be some huge mistake? Who had been so sure that I belong here? More than anything I wish Liz was here, because talking to Bridgette is seriously stressing me out.
“Bridgette, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Interesting…” she says. She stares out of the window but I don’t think she sees the buildings passing slowly by. She hasn’t said anything else by the time we park outside of a small, two-story building, made of tan stone like all the others. This must be Frazier Hall, my home for the next five months.
“All right everyone, out you go,” the driver says, and we all climb out. We join the three other groups, and I’m about to push Bridgette for more information when I see a girl and boy exit the building and head over. I estimate their age at no more than seventeen.
“Hello, newbies,” the girl says happily. She is short and thin, with spiky black hair and a small but noticeable smile. “I’m AnnaRose Parker, and this is Paul Rodgers. We’re the Frazier prefects, which means we’re in charge of you guys until initiation.”
Paul takes a step forward. “ Your bags and dinners are in the lobby. Girls will stay on the bottom floor with AnnaRose, guys are with me on the second. The rooms are unassigned, so you can room with whoever you want. Just keep in mind you’ll be roommates for the entire semester.” He glances at his watch and continues. “We’ll make lights out at ten. Breakfast is at seven in the lobby.”
The whole time Paul is talking, AnnaRose is grinning and trying to make eye contact with the students. I can’t decide if her apparent excitement is creepy or amusing. Then her dark blue eyes meet mine and I can’t help but smile in response to the genuineness in her expression.
Paul stops talking and AnnaRose claps her hands. “Great, everybody inside.”
Anna Rose stations herself right inside the entrance holding a basket, and as we all file inside she has us surrender our cell phones. “Don’t worry, you’ll get them back soon. We don’t have public service here, so you wouldn’t be able to use them anyway.”
So President Pearce was serious about the no cell phones thing, which makes me wonder if the school is set up on some sort of secure network. This idea is both intriguing and intimidating, as everything about the school has been so far. And just like with everything else, I’m not quite sure what to make of it.
I reluctantly turn off my phone and place it inside the basket. Once inside we all sort out our luggage and grab bags of food before heading for the rooms. The guys take the stairs and elevators to the second floor, and the girls split off into various rooms. Bridgette and I are able to snag a room for ourselves. The room has a bathroom, two double beds, a chest of drawers, a mini-fridge, and a tv. Basically a regular hotel room. Just in a mini-castle.
I set my bags at the foot of the bed by the window, then sit down on the thick covers and open my dinner bag. Bridgette tosses her bags on the other bed and joins me on mine.
“So,” I say after I’ve swallowed a mouthful of chicken. “What’s a legacy?”
Bridgette stretches her legs out and leans against the wall. “Well, I only just found out about all of this, so I don’t know much more than you do. My mom told me that a legacy is some sort of object that’s passed down through your family, and it holds the power of your family line. Apparently, when you turn fifteen, you become eligible to tap into that power, but there are certain qualifications. She didn’t really get into that part. I’m guessing that’s where recruitment and initiation come in.” She holds up her left held and shakes the antique-looking charm bracelet wrapped around her wrist. “This is my legacy. Passed down from my mom. Who got it from her mom.”
I can’t think of what to say, so I stick a fry in my mouth and chew slowly.
“Neither of your parents gave you a legacy?” Bridgette asks.
I swallow and brace myself for the weight that always settles on my chest when I say, “My parents are dead.” The weight, though nowhere near as heavy as it once was, is still painful, but it doesn’t last very long. Now I have to prepare for the unwanted pity response.
“Oh. Well that might explain it then.” Not the response I was expecting, but I’ll take it.
“Do you have any other family?” I shake my head. “Well maybe there’s a different process for people who aren’t able to receive their legacy from their family personally.”
I hope she’s right, because I can’t imagine being forced to leave this strange place and these curious people to return to my mundane life in Tennessee. I know I haven’t learned nearly as much as I will, but even this little bit of discovery has me eager to know more.
“What kind of power is in these legacies?” I ask.
Bridgette ponders the question for a moment as she swirls a fry in a puddle of ketchup. “Every legacy is different, because every family is different. Some legacies have more power than others, depending on how long they’ve been in the family. And the power is unique to the person who inherits it. But from what my brother has told me, with experience and education, I think you can do just about anything.”
She grins mischievously, and sets her food aside and closes her eyes. Two minutes pass, and I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. Then the light goes off and the room is plunged into darkness. “And then there was light,” Bridgette whispers, and the light comes back on. A drop of sweat trickles down the side of her neck, but her smile is proud, and her blue eyes shine with an afterglow of what I can only believe is the power of magic.
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