12.
The girls turned around to go back up the dock. There was Cynthia, standing about two feet behind them, not a uniform thread out of place. “Alendro is waiting for you,” she said.
“Right. We’re coming,” Jenny said. She put a hand on Monica’s back and practically pushed her past Cynthia, as Monica pulled back to try focusing on the small girl, and to find the connection she could not name between Darrowwood, Cynthia, and the pricking in her finger.
The low stone building was dimmer inside today, lit with candles. But still very, very cold. Alendro greeted them with a broad smile and a sweeping gesture towards the two remaining seats, one of them next to Cynthia.
“When did she get here?” Monica whispered.
“Maybe she knows a shortcut,” Jenny hissed back. They took their seats in the high-backed chairs. Monica continued to glance past Jenny at Cynthia.
About halfway through the announcements, Alendro wheeled on Monica and a warm gust came over his head from the open doors, hitting her face with an invisible, almost smothering heat. Something horrible crept up her throat.
“Monica, you aren’t feeling your best today, are you?” Alendro pouted. His light brown eyes maintained contact with hers. “Well, I will ask your friend to escort you back to your room. You both will have no tasks for the remainder of the week. Next week, however, I expect you to be back at work between classes.”
“Next week?” Monica croaked. She thought she really was going to be sick. “There’s another week to this preview?”
Alendro raised his eyebrows in modest surprise. “Of course, this is a three-week program. We have just begun our first week together.
"Jenny,” he said, as Monica was about to protest, “she really should lie down.”
"Jenny,” he said, as Monica was about to protest, “she really should lie down.”
“Come on, you’re burning up.” Jenny took her hand from her friend's forehead and pulled Monica past the hooded boys snickering on either side of the doorway.
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