She looks at me like I’m missing the obvious. “Answer the door?”

“Right.” I smooth my sweaty palms down the sides of my skirt and reach for the door handle. I have no idea what to do, what to say…although judging by how tight this ridiculous tie suddenly feels, I may not be able to say anything at all before it actually strangles me.

I glance back at Macy, who shoots me an encouraging thumbs-up one last time, then take as deep a breath as I can manage before pulling open the door.

All my nerves dissipate in the space from one strangled breath to the next, largely because the person standing at our door is most definitely not Jaxon Vega.

“Hi, Uncle Finn! How are you?”

“Hi, Gracey girl.” He leans down and drops an absentminded kiss on the top of my head. “I just stopped by to check on your ankle and finally deliver your schedule.” He holds a blue sheet of paper out to me. “And to wish you luck on your first day of class. You’re going to do great!”

I’m not so sure about that, but I’m determined to think positive today, so I smile and say, “Thanks. I’m excited. And my ankle’s sore, but okay.”

“Good. I made sure you got into that art class you wanted and that you have our best history teacher, since that’s your favorite subject. But check over your schedule, make sure you’re not repeating any classes. I did my best, but mistakes happen.”

He tweaks my cheek like I’m a five-year-old. It’s such a Dad thing to do that my heart aches a little.

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” I tell him.

Macy snorts. “Don’t bet on it. If Dad did it himself instead of letting Mrs. Haversham do it, no telling what he’s got you signed up for.”

“Mrs. Haversham did it,” he tells her with a wink. “I just supervised. Brat.” He walks over and gives her a one-armed shoulder hug and the same kiss on the top of her head that he gave me.

“Ready for that math test today?” he asks.

“Been ready for a week.” She rolls her eyes.

“Good. And how’s that English project going? Did you finish—?”

“This is a boarding school,” Macy interrupts, smacking lightly at his arm. “That means parents don’t get to give their kids the third degree over every assignment.”

“That’s because they don’t know about every assignment. I, however, do. Which means I get to check up on you whenever I want.”

“Lucky me,” she deadpans.

He just grins. “Exactly.”

“Are you going to get out of here so I can get dressed? Grace and I still need to hit the cafeteria before class. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all.”

“Not if you waste it on cherry Pop-Tarts.”

“Cherry Pop-Tarts are their own food group.” She glances my way. “Back me up here, Grace.”

“Maybe two food groups, if you count the frosting,” I agree. “So are the brown sugar ones.”

“Exactly what I’m talking about!”

It’s Uncle Finn’s turn to roll his eyes. But he drops another kiss on her head before heading for the door. “Do your old man a favor and grab some fruit with those Pop-Tarts, will you?”

“Cherries are fruit,” I tease him.

“Not that way, they aren’t.” He gives me a comforting shoulder squeeze. “Don’t forget to stop by my office later. Now that you’re feeling better, I want to talk to you about a few things and hear how your first day went.”

“It’ll be fine, Uncle Finn.”

“I’m hoping it will be more than fine. But good or bad, come tell me about it. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good. See you later, girls.” He smiles at us, then disappears out the door.

Macy shakes her head as she grabs her own school uniform out of the closet. “Just ignore him. My dad’s a total dork.”

“Most good dads are dorks, aren’t they?” I ask as I move to the mirror on my closet door so I can start fixing my hair. “Besides, he reminds me of my dad. It’s kind of nice.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, and when I glance her way, it’s to find her staring sadly at me—which is, bar none, the second worst thing about losing my parents. I hate the sympathy, hate the way everyone feels sorry for me and no one knows what to say.

“That was supposed to be a happy comment,” I tell her. “You don’t need to feel bad.”

“I know. It’s just that I’m so happy you’re here and we have this time to get to know each other. And then it hits me all over again and I feel gross for being happy.” She sighs. “Which sounds like I’m making this all about me, but I’m not. I just—”

“Hey, you.” I break into what I’m learning could be a really, really long soliloquy. “I get it. And though how I got here sucks, I’m glad we have this time, too. Okay?”

A slow smile takes the place of her worried look. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good. Now get dressed. I’m starving.”

“On it!” she says, disappearing into the bathroom to do just that.

Twenty minutes later, we finally make it down the back stairs (“sooooo much less crowded,” Macy swears) to the cafeteria, after winding our way past no less than seven suits of armor, four giant fireplaces, and more columns than existed in all of Ancient Greece.

Okay, the last might be a slight exaggeration, but only slight. Plus, the fact that they’re black instead of white gets them extra points in my book. And that’s not even counting the gold filigree around the tops and bottoms of the columns.

I mean, the whole thing is a total head trip. Seriously. Going to school in Alaska is wild enough. Going to school in an actual castle, complete with halls whose bloodred ceilings are lined with Gothic lancet arches, is hella cool.

At least if you don’t count all the people staring at me as we make our way through the halls. Macy dismisses it as “new-girl stuff” and tells me to ignore it. But it’s pretty hard to do that when people are honest-to-God turning around to stare at me when I pass. I know Macy said they’ve all been together for a long time, but come on. I can’t actually be the first new person to land here, can I? Just the idea is absurd. Schools get new kids all the time—even schools in Alaska.

Macy interrupts my inner diatribe with an excited “We’re here!” as we stop in front of three sets of black-and-gold doors. The wood is carved, and I try to get a closer look at the designs, but my cousin is in too big of a hurry to show me the cafeteria. Which…seen one, seen them all, I figure.

But as she throws open one of the doors with all the pomp and flair of a game-show hostess showing me the car behind curtain number one, it’s pretty obvious that I’m wrong. Again. Because this cafeteria—and it feels wrong to even refer to the room by such a mundane name—is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Ever.

I’m pretty sure it even puts the library to shame.

To begin with, the room is huge, with long walls covered in different murals of dragons and wolves and I don’t know what else. Crown molding in black and gold runs around the edges of the ceiling and down the walls, framing each mural like a regular painting. The artist in me is fascinated and wants to spend hours studying each one, but I’ve got class in half an hour, so it’ll have to wait. Plus, there’s so much else to see here that I don’t know where to look first.

The ceiling is arched and an in-your-face, unapologetic bloodred, overlaid with curved black molding in elaborate geometric patterns. A huge crystal chandelier hangs from the center of each one, casting the whole room in a soft glow that only makes its grandeur more obvious.

There are no picnic-style tables here, no utilitarian trays or plastic silverware. Three long tables covered in tablecloths in shades of gold and black and cream run the length of the room. They are surrounded by tufted, high-backed chairs and set with real china and silverware.

Classical music floats through the room, dark and more than a little eerie. I don’t know much about this kind of music, but I know creepy af when I hear it, and this is definitely it.

So much so that I can’t resist saying to Macy, “This music is very, um…interesting.”

“‘Danse Macabre’ by Camille Saint-Saëns. Overkill, I know, but my dad has it playing in here every year for Halloween. Along with the score from Jaws and a few other classics. It just hasn’t been changed over yet.”

I think about Lia and how she said the same thing about the pillows in the library. In my old school, the Halloween spirit was pretty much exhausted by reading a scary story in English class and a costume contest on the quad at lunch. Katmere Academy takes the holiday to a whole new level.

“It’s cool,” I say as we make our way along one of the tables until we find a cluster of empty seats. “It’s a lot, but Halloween has always been my dad’s favorite holiday.”

“Really? That’s so weird, considering my dad hated it. I thought it must have been something that happened when he was a kid, but apparently not, if your dad goes all out for the holiday.” I asked Dad once, a few years ago, why he disliked Halloween so much, and he said he would tell me when I was older.

Turns out the universe had other plans.

“Yeah, that is weird.” Macy glances around. “But isn’t this place cool? I’ve been dying for you to see it.”

“Totally cool. I want to spend hours just looking at the murals.”

“Well, you’ve got all year, so…” She gestures for me to sit. “What do you want to eat? Besides cherry Pop-Tarts, I mean.”

“I can come with you.”

“Next time. Right now you should get off your hurt ankle for a few minutes. Besides, I’m pretty sure today is going to be a little overwhelming. Let me help out where I can.”

“It’s pretty hard to say no to that,” I tell her, because she’s right. I’m already overwhelmed, and the day has barely started. I’m also touched by how hard Macy is working to make things easier for me. I smile my thanks at her.