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Storm does as she is told, her gaze still abjectly locked on Laura, as if the woman holds her very life in her hands.
* * *
Twelve strokes of the cane later, Kiera is maintaining her outward calm, though Jane sees little indications of very closely guarded pain. She has started to grit her teeth and her fingers curl up slightly when the cane bites. There is a tension that belies her outward display of untouchability, a hunching of shoulders, a tightening of the thighs.
“Driving is a privilege,” Jane lectures. “You will not be receiving the keys to your car until you demonstrate some understanding of the potential ramifications of” —she pauses for a brief second so as not to sayfalling off a fucking cliff—“irresponsible driving.”
“You can’t take my car keys. They’re mine.”
“Yes. I can. You clearly lack the maturity and responsibility to be driving at all.”
Kiera pushes up, her face reddened with the effort of taking a very solid caning while pretending it does not hurt. She is stoic and trying very hard to maintain that air of being above it all. Jane finds it rather admirable, or would, under other conditions.
“Nothing gives you the authority to confiscate my personal belongings,” Kiera says. “What’s mine is mine.”
“That car belongs to your parents, not you,” Jane begins to lecture. Kiera reaches for her clutch, and as she does so, she disturbs the clasp. It pops open and as if on cue, a pill bottle rolls out of the clutch. Keira’s eyes widen as she makes a snatch for the pills, but Jane is faster. She plucks the bottle from her desk, glancing at the label, which is notably missing Kiera’s name.
“Oh, those are…”
Jane knows what they are. They are an explanation for reckless driving, an apparent inability to feel any kind of shame or obvious fear, and certainly a reason twelve good strokes of the cane have still made relatively little impression.
“Stand up,” Jane orders crisply. “Go stand in the corner. Hands on your head. That’s right.”
Kiera obeys her, moving gingerly with a very red, very marked bottom that under ordinary circumstances would not allow her to forget this punishment anytime soon. These are not ordinary circumstances, however. There is a very real chance very little of this lesson will be retained.
Kiera reluctantly though obediently lifts her hands and laces them atop her platinum blonde hair.
“How many of these pills did you take before you came today?”
“One or two?” Kiera says, shrugging slightly.
Two of what Jane has in her hands would be enough to sedate a small mammoth.
“I am going to speak to the headmistress. You will remain here.”
If Frau Lotte is surprised to see Jane, she does not show it. Jane turns both the pills and the car keys over to the woman, who is sitting behind her desk working at some kind of schedule or ledger.
“That girl,” Jane says, choosing her words very carefully. “Is under the influence of what I believe to be recreational substances. Driving under the influence is a serious offense. I cannot punish her effectively until the effects of those pills wear off. This may be a matter for the police.”
“Kiera Marlin is never going to be in trouble with the law,” Lotte says. “Her family will see to that. The only discipline that young lady is getting is from us. Or more specifically, from you. I urge you to be thorough, Miss Strict. Perhaps you should take these.”
Frau Lotte pushes the pills and keys back across the desk to Jane, quietly and unofficially washing her hands of the whole affair. It appears the police are not the only ones reluctant to take official action against Kiera.
Understanding the situation, though far from pleased with it, Jane returns to her office, where Kiera has left the corner and gathered what is left of her things. The easygoing rebel has transformed into an offended heiress.
“You are to report to the nurse’s office,” Jane says. She has decided that a medical approach may be best for a girl like this.
“I want my keys and my pills,” Kiera says stridently.
“What you want is irrelevant, girl.”
“I’m not a girl,” Kiera replies. “I’m a woman. And the car doesn’t belong to my parents. It was a gift from my boyfriend. So it’s mine.”
She is beginning to sound very petulant. Indeed, the more she insists on how adult she is, the more she begins to sound like a girl playing at the role.
“Whoever it belongs to, you are not going to be driving it while you are at this school.”
“I am going to call my boyfriend, and he is going to come here and set you straight, Miss Strict,” Kiera threatens.
