Mystery School Book 1: Islid

By L.C. Matherne

When Victor Chavez, the indigenous leader of an eco-labor revolution, was brutally assassinated, his daughter Estrella was only a baby. Twelve years later, the Revolution all but forgotten, Estrella is packed off to an elite boarding school by her aristocratic mother, Linda, and Linda's best friend, Kit Hamilton, the richest woman in the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.C.Enterprises
• Release date: Jun 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781951490669

L.C. Matherne

L.C. Matherne is born into the world of letters like Athena from the head of Zeus. After a million light years of toil and longing, she brings to you, Mystery School, her first novel for young adults of all ages, though certainly not her last. L.C. lives in New Orleans with her one fine man and four cute dogs.

Book preview

JULY

The Tearful Eyes of Our

Lady of Guadalupe

For what is mysticism but a direct experience of the divine, a living in the womb of God?

Linda Chavez listens to the American priest on the radio. She loves this show, Be Here Now.

She smells the complicated delight of mole simmering in the kitchen while she watches her daughters, her precious girls, Marina and Estrella, at the piano, the baby grand—the one she bought with her inheritance. Marina, a blossoming tween, plays Bach’s Praeludium in G-sharp minor. Linda wishes its melody didn’t still break her heart.

Estrella, a happy, fat toddler, hits random keys, making a cacophony and laughing. Linda swoons: such a light Estrella brings. Everybody’s favorite, and already funny, like Victor. A bit of a temper, but it seals her charm.

Linda’s heart swells to bursting. She feels as if she were in the womb of God, being reborn. Somehow, despite everything, she has ended up here. It’s not where she thought she’d be, not what she wanted, but this taste of bliss makes it all worthwhile: all the pain, all she’s lost. She sends a silent prayer of deepest gratitude to Our Lady of Guadalupe, the mother of us all.

The old-fashioned house phone rings. Probably Victor, calling to ask what’s for dinner. He likes to know before he arrives. He says the anticipation makes his appetite stronger. Say what you will about him, the man loves to eat and hold court. At his family table, he can do both.

She picks up the phone as the piano goes quiet. Marina’s looking at her, listening.

Pay attention, Linda. I’m going to tell you what to do.

The gravelly voice irritates Linda. No one tells her what to do.

Who is this? she hisses, her voice tight.

We have Victor.

Her heart freezes in her chest.

Do what we say and we won’t kill him.

She sinks to her knees. She was waiting for this, or something like it. But still, the shock. It’s happening now. After all this time, she almost thought she was safe.

We need money, Linda. Three million American dollars. You have two days.

The line goes dead. Linda looks into Marina’s eyes and sees her own terror reflected in them. Estrella climbs onto her sister’s lap and buries her head in her shoulder. Marina, her light green eyes against her olive skin like eucalyptus leaves against its tree’s branches, walks with Estrella in her arms, passing through the broken rays of light that stretch across the room and then brushes the sticky soft hairs from Linda’s forehead.

We must call Kit.

• • •

The quarter moon shines silver between the fast-moving clouds traveling above the ranch house, which blazes with lights. It’s hot still, even at midnight. Linda stands in the cool desert moonlight and watches the black Mercedes sedan pull into the long driveway. She’s been waiting and watching—moving from the driveway to the living room window and back—since she made the call, over five hours ago.

The car stops; dust puffs from the tires. Yves Pearce, a lean, meticulously dressed, handsome man in his early twenties, opens the back door for his boss and Linda’s best friend since childhood, Kit Hamilton.

Linda thanks God. Yves is young, but helpful, and Kit will actually know what to do in this situation, unlike Cesar, the man standing next to her. Victor’s useless brother. By some cruel twist of fate, here he is, involved in yet another life and death situation far beyond his pay grade. He’s a perfect, witless match for his ridiculous wife, Zandra, who’s inside and will have to be dealt with soon.

Kit, a tall, slender redhead who colors blonde, strides ahead with the authority of someone who is used to being the most powerful person in the room. But for the first time, Linda looks into Kit’s eyes and sees uncertainty.

The women hug. They don’t do it often, as both were raised with a lot of money and not much touch, but this circumstance calls for it.

Where’s Estrella? Kit looks to the sprawling, one-story ranch house. Keeping Estrella safe is the most crucial part of this twisted mission. There is a slim possibility that the kidnapping is just a trick to somehow expose her godchild. Whatever it’s all really about, Kit could take a dagger and cut out her own heart for not seeing the signs sooner.

She knew that Victor would always be at risk, but she didn’t see this coming. She thought he was finally safe, that they all were, now that they’d finally secured what they needed to have in place for their protection. But they tricked her somehow, or maybe her own powers are failing. She has to talk to Babatunde.

Linda cannot see the thoughts that eat at Kit’s brain like cancer. These are thoughts Linda will never know, truths Kit cannot speak because Linda will never have the ears to hear them.

She’s with Marina, Linda says.

I guess that’s as good a place for her as we’re going to get right now. Kit knows that Marina can keep Estrella safe—for now. They move toward the house, but Linda stops Kit a few feet in front of the wrought iron front door. Zandra doesn’t know yet.

Oh, come on. Kit’s eyes land on Cesar. He looks away. He’s not telling Zandra any bad news.

Well let’s do this. Kit straightens her cream silk blouse and rolls her head to loosen her neck, then tosses Yves a bottle of Xanax from her purse. There’s liquor in the kitchen. She likes scotch.

• • •

A telenovela murmurs from the TV. Zandra sits on the sofa, her black hair wrapped around curlers and one eyebrow drawn in on her round face. She wears a dressing gown and holds her hands out, fingers spread wide so as not to ruin her wet nails.

She sees Kit and her so-called butler and feels the sharp vibration in the room. She senses death. What the hell is going on? Zandra looks from Linda to Cesar, and finally to Kit.

Linda breaks the uncomfortable silence. Victor’s been kidnapped by the narcos. We have to figure out how to get him back.

Zandra screams loud and long and falls to the floor, shouting prayers between bloodcurdling screams. Cesar bends awkwardly to comfort his wife while Yves takes the Xanax to the kitchen.

Linda looks at her watch. She knew it would be like this, with the unnecessary drama. She’s always been this way. And yet, Zandra’s screams mirror her own pain. She sees Victor there, alone, surrounded by evil men, and feels sick.

Zandra’s still screaming when Alfonso, Zandra and Cesar’s oldest son, runs into the room, a little wisp of a moustache tickling his lip. He’s thirteen. Mami! What’s wrong?

He squats on the floor next to her and takes her hand as his slightly older cousin, Marina, trails him into the room with Estrella in her arms and Alfonso’s four-year-old brother, Hugo, holding onto her leg. All the kids are in their pajamas. Marina looks into Kit’s eyes.

They hid it from you, she says. It’s not your fault.

Yves, like a benign wind, appears with an icy drink. Zandra drinks it in three gulps and hands the glass back to Yves, who takes it and bows. She looks at her sister-in-law, who she’s made no secret of hating, with fury in her eyes.

How could you keep this from me? You think you’re better than me, that I deserve nothing.

Linda is so tempted to tell Zandra that she is better, smarter, more beautiful—all of it. But this isn’t the time. It’s never the time.

Keep what from you, Mami? Alfonso looks from his mother to Linda and back.

Linda knows he worships his Uncle Victor. They’ve been connected at the hip since Alfonso could walk. Once again, she’ll have to be the bearer of bad news.

Your Uncle Victor has been kidnapped by the narcos. She speaks the truth with a clear, steady voice. God knows Alfonso is better equipped to handle the news than his infantile parents. We adults need to handle the situation now. Alfonso, you take care of your mother. Marina, put Estrella and Hugo back to bed. We’ll be in the kitchen.

Alfonso stands up from where he knelt by his mother, who is already passed out cold, thanks to Yves’ bartending prowess. I want to come into the kitchen, too.

Linda hesitates, but guesses Alfonso is as doomed as the rest of them. Fine.

Alfonso follows the adults. He knows who he is, what blood flows in his body.

If anyone hurts his uncle, he will kill them.

• • •

The kitchen, the heart of the home, has an arrhythmic beat tonight. The clean, humble table—the site of so many simple breakfasts and late-night snacks—now unifies the nervous members of Victor Chavez’s inner circle.

Kit picks up the phone and dials across the Atlantic. Talk to me, Babatunde. What have you heard?

It is the Proletum, an elegant, African-inflected voice replies. Saul is certain of it. They do not have the sword, so more demands will surely come. Expect a negotiation.

Linda and the rest only hear the gist of his words. She’s never met Babatunde, but she knows of him through his work with the Water Trust. He and Victor share the same vision. They all do, but how to get there; that’s where they sometimes disagree.

Well they’ve got something to have held onto him for this long, Kit says. I’m at the ranch; call if you hear anything new. I’ll do the same. She hangs up the phone and finds all eyes are on her. She takes a swallow of the drink Yves hands to her before she conveys Babatunde’s insight. Proletum.

Of course it is the Proletum, Marina says, drifting into the room.

Linda looks from her daughter to her best friend. She sits straight as a ruler at the kitchen table, breathing steadily, but her hands itch to slap somebody. This is the point on which they differ. There is no Proletum. Wickedness is as old as time. There is no conspiracy, just an endless struggle.

What’s Proletum? Alfonso takes a sip of the coffee Yves made. The adults drink tequila and lime. Doubles.

The Proletum is nothing, Cesar says. You’re too young to be here. Go to bed.

Linda’s grateful that, for all his general stupidity and worthlessness, at least Cesar disagrees with his brother, Kit, and now apparently Marina, about the existence of this shadowy, corrupt organization. Victor blames the Proletum for everything from the current environmental killing spree, to slavery, to commercial agriculture.

I’m not going to bed. I just drank coffee. Alfonso sets down his chipped china cup and puffs out his skinny chest. He will fight Cesar to the bitter end about anything.

The Proletum are the bad guys, Marina says to her younger cousin. Don’t worry. We’re the good guys and we always win in the end.

Cesar says, It’s the narcos. You know how they feel about Victor.

Linda nods. Everyone knows that the narcos hate Victor.

But Cesar hasn’t told her, or anyone else, about what happened last week. Say what you will about him, but he can keep a secret. If you were to cut him open, secrets would seep from his body with his blood.

Last week, Gabriel Estrada, head of the Cobras—the region’s most notorious drug cartel—got into a fist fight with Victor in the city.

It came out of nowhere. They were at the bar, having a drink before they went back to the ranch. Gabriel walked past, and Victor stuck out his foot and tripped him.

How’s Rosanna Gomez, you piece of dirt? Victor had said to Gabriel, who’d landed facedown on the grungy floor. Rosanna Gomez’s mother found her daughter in their yard, sliced open from her belly to her chest. She’d refused to marry Gabriel’s brother. She was fifteen.

Victor and Cesar fought their way out of the bar, but it was only a matter of time. You can’t humiliate Gabriel Estrada and live. Not even Victor, who has the strength of five men.

The phone rings and everyone in the room takes a collective sharp breath. Linda reaches for the phone.

Kit covers Linda’s long fingers with her own and says, Tell them we want proof of life, or they’re not getting anything.

Linda nods and picks up. She waits until the graveled voice speaks. Get a pen, Linda. I’m going to tell you where to bring the money.

We want proof of life. Linda presses the phone more firmly to her ear.

The voice laughs. Bring him over here. Linda hears heavy footsteps, grunts, and shattering glass. Finally, a ragged breath comes through the line.

"Mi corazon, I don’t know these men. Don’t pay them." It’s Victor! She hears the sound of the phone hitting the floor and men fighting.

The first voice comes back, winded. There’s your proof of life. He names the church in the desert where they’ll meet and the time she should be there. Just you, or he dies.

The line goes dead. Linda puts the phone back in the cradle, her hands shaking. Every eye is trained on her.

Alfonso speaks first. Should we call the police?

Everyone laughs, even Linda. The police are worse than the narcos. On that they can all agree.

A wail pierces the heavy July air like the howl of a dog. Estrella!

Marina runs out and returns, carrying her baby sister in her arms. Estrella had a nightmare, she says. Monsters.

Heat lightning brightens the room from outside as Linda takes Estrella from Marina and holds her until Estrella’s screams turn into broken-breath tears.

Marina breaks the quiet. They will kill father either way, she says. There is no reason to pay them.

Kit drains her drink. She knows Marina is right.

• • •

Late into the night, almost morning, Linda cries into a pillow. Marina kisses her mother’s worried brow and the room brightens with a soft, pink glow.

It’s going to be okay, Momma. They can’t hurt him. It’s only his body.

• • •

Marina and Estrella wake first. The south Mexican sun, not yet fully risen, announces itself by sending a gray light over the plain. Marina gives her sister a stick and some leaves to play with on the cool bricks of the courtyard while she does her exercises; punches, kicks, jumps, more kicks.

Hardly winded, she takes a breath, bends her back in half, transitions until she’s standing on her head, and rests there for several minutes. She completes this routine by sitting cross-legged, head bowed in prayer. She chants softly. "Shanti, shanti, shanti."

Estrella giggles and sits cross-legged, too, chanting with her sister. Marina opens her partially closed eyes. Not a word of Spanish, just flawless Sanskrit. I love you, Little Star, she says and jumps soundlessly to her feet. Estrella motions for her sister to take her in her arms, and Marina pulls her in without touching her. Estrella floats to her hip, laughing with delight.

Zandra calls, Breakfast!

The sun rises higher, making the day yellow. On the warming bricks of the courtyard, Estrella’s stick and leaves transform into a thriving branch, every second, a new shoot growing.

• • •

It’s afternoon now; the courtyard is blind with sun. Linda and Kit sit and smoke cigarettes together, just as they have for almost two decades.

I’m going to pay them. Linda knew she would pay from the second she got the first call. After everything Victor has done for her, she will not leave him to die at the hands of his enemies.

Kit looks to the dry, rolling hills, where pine trees droop in the July heat. I’ll give you the money then.

Linda knows Kit thinks that Victor is already lost. She could see it in her eyes last night. She takes a puff of Kit’s cigarette; this is no time to quit smoking. I can’t accept your money. You know that. I still have what’s left of my inheritance. It’s enough. And Kit’s already given too much. Linda has never liked the imbalance that Kit’s money creates in their friendship.

Kit nods, knowing Linda’s pride. Whatever happens, I’ll always be here for you and the girls, and the Water Trust, too. Always. Whatever it takes, whatever the consequences.

These are some heavy consequences, Linda says. And they just keep coming.

Estrella toddles into the courtyard and climbs onto Linda’s lap. I want my daddy. Now.

Her first words.

A hot wind blows through the ranch as dark clouds gather in the blue sky. Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes.

• • •

Our Lady of Guadalupe Church looks more like a shack with a cross fixed to its sagging roof. It leans to one side. All its windows are broken. Linda swallows her fear and keeps driving through the desert toward Our Lady’s neglected outpost. Two men with machine guns step outside and stand on the steps of the sand-beaten church.

They’re here. Two of them so far, Linda says into the wire she wears under her headscarf. She can hardly speak because her heart is in her throat. She stops and the men approach.

A tall one with an eye patch taps on the window with his gun and tells her to get out.

Linda descends, chanting lowly to herself, Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.

The man looks into the empty Jeep. Where’s the money?

Where’s my husband?

The man pulls back the barrel of his gun.

Linda’s heart spasms. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. Show me Victor, she says in a low, steady voice.

The man grabs Linda by the neck and drags her into the church. Her dangling feet leave a trail in the sand, and her knees bang into the doorframe.

Inside, a naked man hangs, nailed to the massive wooden cross on the altar.

Linda covers her mouth with her hand to stop the scream as the man on the cross raises his bloody head. He sees his love, wild-eyed with fear like a horse before the slaughter. This is the worst part, seeing her pain. He told her they would kill him, but she doesn’t listen. She’s always been hardheaded, ever since they were kids.

Take him down! Linda screams. She hears herself like in a nightmare, distant and unfamiliar.

Show us the money, we take him down. Eye Patch Man pushes Linda into the dusty wall of the church. Linda feels the impact and the pain.

Don’t touch her! Victor shouts from the cross, his mouth so dry the words are a whisper.

Linda wants to say her safe word into the tiny mic beneath the scarf. She wants someone to come and save her, save Victor. But not yet. First the negotiation. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. She takes a breath and stands at her full height.

Take him down first.

Put another nail, Domingo.

A man in the front pew rises, puts down his machine gun, and picks up a hammer and nail from the floor. Victor watches Linda tense in terror.

"Don’t worry, mi corazon, this doesn’t hurt as much as you think. Call in your people. Keep the money."

A nail and Linda’s scream stop his words. She grabs Eye Patch Man’s arm and pulls him outside.

She runs, trips and falls, tears making thin mud of the dust on her face. She claws at the sand to unearth a leather bag.

Eye Patch Man squats and rifles through the stacks of money before he hefts the bag over his shoulder and hits Linda across the face with his gun; she collapses into the sand. Kill him and let’s go, he says into a walkie-talkie.

Gunshots ring out in the church, hundreds of them. Armed men on four ATVs swarm in from every direction and drive straight for the church, firing machine guns at the kidnappers. Eye Patch Man runs inside with the money and reemerges with five men, all with their own weapons.

Linda drags herself behind the Jeep, hearing the gunshots and screams. She knows Victor is dead.

The men shoot at each other, more of them dropping with each exchange. Two come from the back of the church and attack the ATVs from behind.

And then…silence.

Only Eye Patch and two of his men still stand, the gun smoke drifting around them as they observe the carnage.

Linda pulls herself into the Jeep as she hears one of the two remaining hired guns say, Damn! That was messed up. He puts his finger in the hole a bullet made in his arm and winces.

The other shooter stretches his jaw to relieve his saturated eardrums. At least we get the bonus. He said if she brought it, we could keep it.

Eye Patch raises his gun, and shoots twice. "You mean I’m getting a bonus. I did all the work anyway. His men’s bodies thud into the sand while he stalks closer to the Jeep, Linda still huddling inside. He pulls her out by her hair, kicks her hard in her ribs, and says, Give me the keys."

They’re in the ignition. I guess with only the one eye you can’t see them.

Eye Patch sees the keys glinting in the cabin of the car and points the gun at Linda’s forehead. He said not to kill you, but I don’t like you. You’re a stupid, mouthy bitch.

He squeezes the trigger. Linda cringes, silently saying her last Hail Mary, but nothing happens. He tries again. Nothing. He grunts in aggravation and whips the gun across her face a second time. Linda hears the crunch of her own bones before the world goes dark and she crumples to the ground.

He starts the Jeep and drives away, the tires making a trail of dust like sails.

• • •

Linda feels something wet and warm on her cheek. Her temples pound, and she’s in more pain than she’s ever known, but she finds the strength to crack an eye half-open to find a small brown one looking back. It’s a puppy. He looks like he might be part wolf—skinny, long tail, big paws. He nuzzles Linda’s neck and she strokes his fur while she absorbs the bloody scene surrounding her.

Bodies everywhere. Machine guns. ATVs. Blood. So much blood. She knows these men like they were her family. She did this. They all told her not to, but she did it anyway.

She crawls until she’s upright again and limps unsteadily toward the church, the puppy at her side.

Cesar struggles out from behind an ATV. Blood soaks his shirt. She sees that he’s been hit in both shoulders and his left leg. When she goes to him, the puppy licks Cesar on the forehead and the bleeding stops.

He’s dead. Everyone’s dead, Linda tells him, tears stinging her bloody eye. They have the money.

Together, they enter the church. Calm radiates from the nave.

Victor’s bullet-riddled body hangs from the cross by his right arm—his left arm has been completely severed from his body from the force of all the gunfire. Pink light shines around his corpse. Linda drops to her knees as Cesar staggers out the door to throw up.

The puppy barks at a black Mercedes approaching through the empty desert.

• • •

The ride back to the ranch is heavy with silence. The desert passes in a blur of changing colors—orange, pink, purple—as the sun sets.

They smell the smoke even before Yves makes the turn onto the long ranch road. When he makes the second turn, they see it. Yves speeds up as the smoke grows thicker, the puppy howling in the backseat. They see the flames before a heavy sheet of rain pours down from what had been a cloudless sky.

Zandra and the children stand in the downpour, watching their house burn. Sirens sound in the distance.

Marina comes to the car window, water running in rivers down her brow. I couldn’t stop them. They felt the weakness. I tried...the rain…

• • •

The last embers burn as the rain stops. Fire trucks and ambulances fill the driveway.

Estrella and the puppy cuddle together in the backseat of Kit’s Mercedes, where Victor’s daughter sleeps for the first time in two days. The puppy extends his oversized paw around Estrella’s curled body, opens one wolfish eye, and growls.

AUGUST

Townies

Green vines, green trees, and green bushes line the muddy path. Mist dampens the ionized atmosphere, clouds make the air cool and gray. Wildness and the rich scent of water imbue the air. A bear, her fur half brown and half white, steps onto the path.

"Hello, Estrella," the bear says.

"Hello, Bear," Estrella says, feeling love and peace.

"I am Islid. Come with me. I will show you the waters."

Now they are on a rocky beach. A river of crystals bubbles and flows.

"I am the keeper of these waters." Islid stands on her back legs and stretches up to the sky.

Bears, birds, badgers, turtles, wolves, deer and foxes emerge from the green forest beyond the banks. In the river, salmon and trout glisten. The animals sing together, making a unified, wordless song.

Estrella feels the molecules of her body vibrate and her palms throb. The top of her head opens into a waterfall of crystals and the bottoms of her feet lift from the shore. Her heart grows large in her chest. Now she is flying, soaring over the forest. She sees the ocean, desert sands, mountains, rivers, and jungles.

The song of the animals fills her skin as she ripples to the stars.

• • •

Estrella wakes reluctantly. She pets the old dog stretched out on the bed next to her, still snoring. The feeling of her dream stays with her; her palms still tingle. She recalls flying, the crystal water, and the bear. Islid.

She prays the rosary from her bed, like she does every morning, replaces the beads, and sits up, stretching her arms over her head. Come on, Lupe, she says to the dog. Time to go.

Lupe waits for her while she dresses—her usual uniform of sweats, a t-shirt, and Converse—runs a brush over her teeth, pulls a comb through her hair, splashes her face with water, and gathers her long, thick hair into a ponytail. She winks at the face in the mirror. Could be worse.

They descend the carpeted steps of her small, quiet house, Lupe leading the way. She lets the dog out the back door, guzzles a glass of water, and makes a cappuccino while she checks her Twitter and Instagram accounts. Lupe noses the door open a minute later, and she scoops food into his bowl and spreads almond butter, honey, and banana on several pieces of grainy toast. She sits at the well-worn table, and she and Lupe thoroughly enjoy their breakfasts.

She puts her plate and cup in the sink and kisses the dog on his snout and waters the thriving plants that adorn the small patio. Before she gets on her bicycle, she does fifty push-ups and one hundred front, back and side kicks. She jumps on the bike and rides as fast as she can.

The humble houses of her neighborhood give way to ever larger homes on ever larger pieces of land. Her breathing gets heavier, her legs burn. She turns onto a tree-lined road, with no houses on either side. She pushes the bicycle with all the strength and speed she has for the final quarter mile, plants her foot, and skids to an abrupt stop in front of a white, columned, exceedingly grand mansion.

She hops off her ride and rings the bell.

• • •

Yves opens the door to the sweaty, disheveled girl. He looks almost the same as he did in Mexico, twelve years before, but his body is thicker, his face less round. When he takes his glasses off, he reminds her of Superman.

He looks at Estrella and sighs. I thought you were going to start making an effort.

Estrella wipes her face with her hand, pulls a lip gloss from her backpack, and quickly applies it. "Voila."

Yves rolls his eyes. Where did this attitude come from, Estrella? You were always such a sweet child, if a bit headstrong, but you’ve become quite a challenge this year. He closes the door behind them and lowers his voice. Kit’s in a bit of a mood this morning, so keep your distance. God knows I am.

They walk the marble hallway through the grand rooms. Picassos and O’Keefes line the silk-papered walls. They take a left into the east wing.

Kit Hamilton paces her extravagant bedroom suite, headset in her ear and espresso in her hand, still wearing her dressing gown. She looks exactly the same as she did in Mexico, except her hair is shorter and her face is more tightly stretched across her cheekbones. Excellent plastic surgery and not letting herself go.

She is in a mood. Get it done, or don’t call back! she yells into the headset. Yves and Estrella wait anxiously in the doorway, feeling eggshells of tension crack underfoot.

Yves says, Madame, your librarian has arrived. He bows, and quickly exits.

Kit examines her goddaughter. You look like a vagrant.

Estrella is used to Kit, her mother, and her sister telling her she looks homeless. She’s also used to Kit’s moods. She tosses her backpack by the door and kisses Kit on the cheek, leaving a shiny imprint on purpose.

Kit softens with the kiss, but says, Lip gloss or not, you look like you just rolled out of bed, threw on your brother’s least attractive clothes and did nothing with your hair.

I like my clothes. They’re comfortable. And I have better things to do than my hair.

Kit sinks into a red velvet chair and sips her espresso from a bone china cup. Life is not comfortable, Estrella. She launches into Estrella’s least favorite talk. We all have high expectations for you at Glouton.

Anger starts boiling in her gut. Estrella so does not want to go to Glouton, the most uptight, richie school in the whole world. The academics are great, and she did get into Mystery School: the most competitive class, taught by her hero, Dr. Saul Mather, who has won an actual Nobel Prize. But she doesn’t want to leave home to live with a bunch of strangers she has nothing in common with. She hates her mom and Kit for making her go.

Kit’s still talking. You’re going to need to act like the well-bred young woman that you are. How can anyone take you seriously if you don’t?

I’m fourteen. I’m not supposed to be serious right now. Estrella reclines on Kit’s king size, satin bedspread.

Kit’s swats Estrella on the knees. You’re almost fifteen. This is absolutely the time to be serious. She expresses her irritation with this contrary teenager by ordering her around. Go sort that new shipment and then come help with me with my correspondence.

At least the correspondence is entertaining. Kit has her type up emails and put out tweets about friends and enemies alike that are often scandalous in their honesty.

And please find Yves and tell him I need to see him, Kit adds, as Estrella rolls off the bed. Now it’s Yves’s turn to suffer Kit’s mood.

Quincy, Kit’s rude parrot, who had been sleeping in his solid gold cage, wakes up. He squawks, Go to work! Estrella gives the bird a dirty look. Even the parrot tries to boss her around.

Estrella passes Yves in the hall on her way to the place of her summer labors for the past three years: Kit Hamilton’s library. She wants to see you, she says. Good luck.

She sits Indian style on the library’s marble floor and immediately whips her phone from her pocket. She checks the news—water shortages throughout Asia are causing riots. Thousands of people are fleeing their countries for Europe and Australia. Her heart hurts with sympathy. She prays, and it makes her feel better. For as long as she can remember, she has prayed.

"Our Blessed Mother, please ask your son to help all the people of the world. Please ask him to send the people in Asia rain, and