Page 40 of Wings of Destruction

The other maids hate me because Daisy is not far from the truth. In fact, this time, she’s right. I’ve burned food and been banished from the kitchen. That was my first night here. My hands had been shaking—they still shake when I think about Mother’s last words to me.

I’ve broken a pipe by cranking a wrench too hard at a junction. Day two. The anger comes in waves, and sometimes my grip is too tight, my movements too sharp.

I accidentally lost one of the fitted sheets for a bed by shaking it too near a window. Day three. A stiff breeze hooked one end of the fabric and tore it away, wagging it in midair as though it were waving goodbye.

For a moment, watching it disappear into the sky, I’d wanted to follow it.

To just… let go.

Mrs. Milkin must have seen the expression of longing on my face as she’d hustled me far away from any duties involving windows and heights.

I’m not going to kill myself. That’s what she doesn’t understand.

Day three in the books ended with me dusting a candelabra and knocking it off the table, splashing melted wax everywhere.

The other maids hate me. I’m sure of it and although some have taken pains to hide it from me, others like Daisy wear their disdain proudly.

I follow her to the pump where she shows me with excruciating slowness how to use it. I keep my own eye roll to myself.

The floor mopping takes an inordinately long time to accomplish given the leak. By the time I finish, my spine is fastened in a permanent curve. I use the wall to bolster myself, hauling up from my knees with a hastily smothered groan.

Four days and I am already breaking. My body won’t be able to withstand much more of this abuse. Or maybe I’ll get used to it. The hunchback will stay, my nerves will harden, and my tendons go stiff until they are used to the torture and nothing will bother me.

I shake my head and catch a bit of hair in my mouth, shuffling on sore feet. Pins and needles prick my ankles as circulation flows again, and I limp toward the main room through side hallways invisible to the main student populace.

They don’t want to know how their beds get made in the morning, and they certainly don’t want to know why there’s no dust in the corners or along their bookshelves.

“Mrs. Milkin has your next duty ready.” A surly brunette stalks past me with the hem of her gray dress swishing.

She speaks hastily from the corner of her mouth and darts away before I can ask her where Milkin is.

No rest for the wicked. Or in this case, the trapped.

I hustle my limp as quickly as my legs will carry me. The cot I’ve been assigned is all the way at the back of the old gym and furthest away from the bathroom. A flash of movement in the shadows catches my gaze ahead and a blonde straightens as I approach, her hands shoved behind her back.

My eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

The maid refuses to glance down, but my pillow has been adjusted and the sheets are no longer where I had them last.

“None of your business, new girl,” she retorts.

The pieces click into place and I glare. “You were trying to steal my necklace.”

The sapphire is the last piece of Mother I have left. The last piece of home. The last tangible proof that I was loved, that I belonged somewhere.

I should have known better than to hide my mother’s sapphire underneath my pillow. The mattress isn’t thick enough to disguise the lump for long, but I thought it better to keep the necklace stashed rather than wear it out in the open.

The high neckline of the maid’s dress will give me away immediately if I wear it.

“You’re out of your mind,” the girl insists.

She’s my age and slender. Her movements are concise but her hands flutter like a bird with a broken wing.

“You’re lying. I saw you hovering over my cot.”

“I’m cleaning up another one of your messes,” the girl corrects.

I haven’t bothered to learn her name. She doesn’t care about mine. She most certainly does care about the gem I’ve hidden.