Authors: Jennifer Watts
Ex Nihilo Academy
Copyright 2013 by Jennifer Watts
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For my mother, Diane Johnston, whose talent with the written word continues to inspire. Mom you are a survivor, a fighter and a true force of nature.
Chapter 1 - California Dreamin’
Chapter 3 - Not your Average Boarding School
Chapter 5 - The Powers that Be
Chapter 7 - The Royal Treatment
Chapter 8 - Can’t Get You Out of My Head
Chapter 9 - Hit Me with Your Best Shot
Chapter 10 - Here Comes the Rain Again
Chapter 11 - Misery Loves Company
Chapter 13 - Who’s Laughing Now
Chapter 15 - I’m Never Drinking Again
Chapter 16 - Can’t We All Just Get Along?
Chapter 19 - Dirty Little Secrets
Chapter 21 - Angels and Demons
Chapter 22 - Breaking Up is Hard to Do
Chapter 23 - Signed, Sealed, Delivered
I am sitting under the vine-covered pergola drinking ice tea
and reading dad’s badly worn copy of Oliver Twist. We live in La Jolla, which is by far the best place we’ve ever lived. Our shabby-chic two bedroom bungalow totally screams ‘Hughes family’ and by some amazing stroke of luck it’s only a block from the beach. The glass living room doors open on to the large patio
and hammock that I’m currently swinging on. A barbecue pit is on one side of the yard and mom’s garden on the other; both of which are surrounded by thick green grass and shaded by two sleepy willow trees. As the sun warms my tanned
legs and I breathe in the mingled scents of honeysuckle and jasmine I am reminded of why this is my favorite part of the house.
“Lily! The taxi is here!” My dad yells from inside the house. I unfold myself from the hammock and dog-ear my page, which already has
a permanent crease in it from how frequently it’s been marked.
“I’m coming!” I bound down the hall to where mom and dad are waiting by the door with their bags in hand.
“You know how much we hate leaving you on your birthday.” Mom says as she tucks a strand of my long blond hair behind my ear.
“It’s fine mom. I understand.” I know how guilty they feel about leaving me but with their demanding work schedules I’m used to it. They
are in the textile import business so travel is always priority number one.
“But it’s your sweet sixteen! I should be home baking you a vegan cake and throwing a party for your friends!” I frown and study her as she
smoothes her light hair into place. I have always been quietly envious of her beauty: her soft features, full lips, and delicate hands that match the rest of her lean frame.
“First of all, you don’t bake. Ever. And secondly, who would
you invite to the party? I have, like, one friend.” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Stop with the self-deprecation, my little flower. You are beautiful and talented and everyone loves you.” Dad replies, tucking me under
his arm.
“Whatever, Dad. Honestly guys as soon as you are gone I’m going to wax my new board and head to Windandsea, then later on Anna and I are going to hit the café on the beach. I promise I won’t even notice you’re gone.”
As I’m speaking the taxi idling at the curb honks its horn twice. “Enough worrying about me! I will see you both before you know it. I’m actually forward to having the bathroom to myself for a few days. Now you need to leave before
your taxi does.” I say. They finally relent I follow them out into the front yard, down the cracked brick path and past the peeling white picket fence. The cab driver hurries toward them, muttering something under his breath as he takes their luggage. I tune my parents out as they give him instructions and look
around at the palm-lined street filled with kids on skateboards, joggers and couples cycling past. I love the feeling of the warm breeze on my skin and the strong smell of salt in the air. My eyes find the slice of ultramarine blue in
the distance and I’m instantly itching to get to the beach.
“Be good, my grown-up girl.” Dad bends down to kiss the top of my head and mom’s gray-green eyes turn misty.
“We love you, Lily.” Her voice wobbles as I pull her into a
hug.
“Love you too.” As I watch them climb into the back of the taxi an unfamiliar feeling washes over me. It feels something like dread, which is strange because I’m so used to them coming and going. Sure, I always miss
them but it feels different this time. I can’t explain it so I chalk it up to it being my birthday and knowing that deep down I don’t want them to go. I shake off my anxiety and head back inside with the smell of salt and ocean
still lingering in my nose.
* *
Dad is sitting on the leather swivel chair while mom reclines on the matching sofa. The interior of the airplane is sleek and modern and covered top to bottom in beige and cream leather. “We shouldn’t have left
her on her birthday.” Mom sighs, glancing up from the tablet that’s resting in her lap. “She’s sixteen now, Alura. She will understand it all soon enough.” Dad replies. “I know. I only wish we could keep her young a little longer and
let her stay in California with her friends.” Her frown deepens, revealing the crinkles at the corners of her mouth; one small flaw that betrays her otherwise youthful appearance. Dad slips off his wire framed glasses and folds them into
his breast pocket. “I wish that too but you know it’s not that simple. The work that we do is important and it will become important to Lily once she understands.” He leans forward, effectively closing the distance between them. “When the time comes I am confident that she will rise to the occasion. She is
a lot more like her mother than you think.” “Am I making the right decision?” Mom says sadly, staring over his shoulder out the circular window of the plane. Dad takes her hand in his and kisses each one of her fingers slowly.
“You are making the right decision this time just as you have each time before it. It is in our nature to be on the side of good. Now put that abhorrent electronic device away and let’s enjoy what remains of this
long flight.” They look at each other then in that nauseating way they often do, like they are the only two people on the planet. Mom moves in for a kiss when the plane starts to violently shake and a high-pitched squealing noise startles them apart. It is the horrible sound of metal tearing away from metal
as the tail of the plane rips right off. The masks fall out of the ceiling with the rapid depressurization and mom is thrown out of her seat and into the air. She grabs the frame of the cabin door, which has blown off from the impact, and
her grip is the only thing that keeps her from being sucked out. Dad struggles with his seatbelt but after a few seconds seems to change his mind and begins chanting something instead. “It’s too late for that, Ayfred! The air is too
strong!” Mom shouts as her hold on the door frame slips. “I love you!” She yells over the rush of air and their eyes meet just as her fingers release. What remains of the plane spirals down as mom hurls away from it head over
feet, quickly becoming nothing more than a spec on the horizon. Dad is still strapped into the front half of the jet which is rimmed in fire and spinning wildly out of control. “Lily!” He screams as the plane continues to speed nose first toward the ocean trailing a column of thick black smoke after it.
* *
I know I am screaming and I can’t stop. I am screaming when I finally open my eyes and see the housekeeper, Marta, who is bent over my bed shaking
me. “Miss Lily? Wake up! Wake up please!” There is panic in her voice and it cuts through the deafening rush of air and groaning metal that is still ringing in my ears. I blink twice to orient myself. The sun is slanting in through the skylight revealing the dust motes that are floating in the air. My room looks
just as I left it; a stack of magazines I’d been meaning to throw away piled up on the dresser, last night’s clothes all over the floor, and my birthday present - a hot pink and black surfboard - propped up against the wall.
“Marta?” It isn’t until she clears her throat that I notice the uniformed police officer standing behind her. The officer is dressed head to toe in San Diego blue and has her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. Her radio buzzes and
she moves to switch it off and that’s when I notice that her hands are shaking. She is clenching and unclenching them and it fills me with unease.
“I’m sorry to barge in like this Miss Hughes. We knocked but there was no answer and we heard you screaming.”
I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. “Wow, I was screaming so loud that someone called the cops?” I try for humor because deep down I know that’s not why this woman is here. I’m pretty sure that I don’t
want to know why she is here, which is confirmed when she shakes her head sadly.
“We’re going to need you to get up and come with us Miss Hughes. It’s about your parents.”
I am officially an orphan. “Orphan.” I say the word out loud
and roll it around on my tongue. It tastes bitter - like your mouth would feel after sucking on an old lemon. The state appointed social worker assured me that she had tried her best to dig up a relative; a distant cousin, a great
aunt, really anyone I could ride out the rest of the school year with but there is no family. What I got instead was a Last Will and Testament and a letter that brought to my attention three very important things. One: that my parents
were never in the import and export business. Two: that they own a home in Ireland that I have now inherited and Three: that I will be going to an International boarding school that will help me to understand all the things that my parents wished they were around to explain themselves. And even though
my birth certificate tells me that I was born in the United Kingdom I have never been nor do I have any desire to go to Northern Ireland. We’ve lived a lot of different places over the years: Hawaii, Oregon, the West Coast of
Canada for a year and Australia for two, but San Diego is the place that feels most like home. I love the sun, the sand, the uninterrupted blue sky and tank tops in December. Ireland for me conjures up images of wet, grey landscapes,
layers of clothing and dreary stone castles. I lean my head against the seat in front of me and groan.
“Are you alright, dear?” The old woman beside me has been shooting worried glances my way since we taxied down the runway so I nod my
head and force myself to smile.
“I’m fine. I’m just not a big fan of flying.” Actually I love flying, or at least I used to, but it’s the only thing I can think to say to get her off my back.
“I understand, dear. My granddaughter is the same way.
Sometimes it helps to distract your mind. Would you like to read to take your mind off it?” I eye the Home & Garden magazine sitting on her tray table suspiciously and decide that if I borrow it maybe I’ll finally get some peace
and quiet.
“Sure.” I say and her face brightens as I take the magazine from her hands. “Take as long as you need. I have sweets too.” She opens her massive purse and unearths a roll of lint-covered lifesavers.
“No thank you, but maybe later.” I turn my attention to the magazine and let the words blur together as I stare at the page. I will not cry in front of this woman. Just because I’ve lost the only two people in the world that I love and now have to move half way around the world to go to some stuffy
school doesn’t mean I had to bawl my eyes out on an airplane in front of a bunch of strangers. There’s nothing about an airplane that lets the mind be quiet - not the baby crying or the beverage cart tinkling down the aisle and
definitely not the loud talker a row ahead who’s drinking heavily. I blink away the tears and stuff in my ear buds to drown out the white noise around me. I remind myself that if I’m going to get through this in one piece I’m going to
need to be stronger than tears. Holding on to that fact is the only thing keeping me from shattering to pieces.
* *
Nine hours later we land at Belfast International Airport and my eyes find him before I see the sign with my name printed on it in black
marker. He is short with a full belly and thinning silver hair. His face is ruddy and he has apple round cheeks and kind eyes.
“Welcome to Northern Ireland, miss.”
“Are you Niall?” I ask. The lawyer has given me a list of
instructions for my arrival along with the deed to the house. I have also been told that there is a substantial trust established for me which is accessible on my eighteenth birthday and the lawyer as the trustee would provide for my
living costs until that time. So other than knowing his name and reading a brief description in the letter I have no idea what Niall Savage is supposed to be to me.
“Yes, miss. I’m Niall, the caretaker. I was sorry to hear
about your parents. I knew your father well.” So far my reaction to these condolences has been to shut down completely but there is such sadness in his voice that he seems genuine.
“Thank you.”
“Let me get your bags.” He bends down to lift one of the two large suitcases.
“Sorry, they’re both pretty heavy. I’ll take the other one. I had a hard time deciding what to bring.” He grunts and starts walking away,
leaving me to trail after him. The rest of my stuff is being shipped though it isn’t much other than a few small pieces of furniture and my surfboard. We make it out to the parking lot and I’m already shivering in my fitted plaid shirt and white Roxy short shorts. A part of me knew I was being stubborn when I’d
dressed for the flight but it’s barely September and I’m used to wearing shorts until at least November. Niall stops abruptly and I walk into his back, then turn to stare in horror at his vehicle. I don’t know what I was expecting as my
ride - not a limo or anything - but definitely not the rusted blue pickup truck he’s climbing into right now. The thing has to be at least forty years old. I use both hands to toss the suitcase I’m carrying into the flatbed and then I
climb into the cab beside him. He turns the key and the truck coughs and sputters like a dying animal and refuses to start. After a few more attempts it finally roars to life and Niall looks at me apologetically.
“Sorry for the state of her but I just can’t part with the
old girl.”
“She’s something, that’s for sure.” I counter.
“She was actually a gift from your father. He bought her for me brand new. You should’ve seen her back then.” He adds, looking pleased to
have made the connection and I frown in response.
“How did my father buy this truck for you new - with his allowance? He couldn’t have been more than a few years old.” Niall’s face turns
a deep shade of red and I instantly regret that I opened my mouth. “I’m sorry Niall; I’m not trying to be rude. It’s been a long month and I… I just miss them.” I trail off and he shakes his head.
“No miss, it’s my fault. I must have been thinking of
someone else. Please accept my apology.” We ride the rest of the way in silence which turns out to be a long silence since the house is over an hour away from Belfast. I gaze out the window at the rolling green hills that are dotted with
yellow wildflowers. Stone cottages pepper the landscape and seem to almost sprout right up from underground. I can’t deny that it’s pretty, though the sky is gray and foggy which to me is sacrilegious for early September. We pass through a few small towns; little villages with quiet two lane streets and rows
of whitewashed buildings. When we finally reach our destination the truck is shaking so badly I’m seriously concerned that it won’t make it the rest of the way.
“Welcome to Strangford, miss.” My new home is on the North
East Coast of Ireland and, according to Google, is separated from the Irish Sea by a peninsula. Niall pulls the truck up to a dock that is blackened from years of seaweed and moss and he gestures to the lake flanking the road.
“Here is our pride and joy - the Strangford loch. Strangford means strong fjord in Gaelic as there are fast flowing narrows where the loch meets the sea. Those over there are called drumlins.” He points to the flat,
grassy hills poking up out of the water that look like the backs of sleeping sea creatures. Seagulls scream overhead as quaint fishing boats with crumbling white and blue paint sit idly on the calm inlet.
“It’s nice.” I say lamely and he studies me for a moment
before putting the truck into drive. We continue down the main road which has boxy row houses with slanted gray roofs in varying shades of yellow, beige and sage green. A dense belt of yew and ash trees peek out from the top of the
buildings and the greenery is so thick that it’s almost jungle-like, if it were not for the small grey stone castle sitting off in the distance. I think that I could enjoy Strangford in an ‘I’m-here-for-the-weekend-passing-through’ kind of way but right now it’s terrifying in that ‘oh-my-God-I-can’t-believe-I-live-here-where-is-the-Starbucks’ kind of way. As if sensing my panic Niall drives us through the center of town to point out the hotel with a restaurant and a few of the shops.
“How many people live here?” I can barely manage to conceal
the disappointment in my voice and Niall glances at me sideways.
“About five hundred or so, though it gets very busy in the summer time with the tourists.”
Five. Hundred. People. There were over a thousand kids at my last high school alone. I can’t think of any way to respond to that so I just nod. He drives on, pointing out places of interest and waving at people on the street. He seems to know everyone - not that it would be hard in a place this
size.
“Where is the house exactly?” I ask impatiently even though I’m dreading seeing where I’ll be imprisoned until the minute I turn eighteen and can hightail it back to California.
“We are about a ten minute drive outside of town.”
Great. I’m not even going to be living in what barely passes for a town; instead I’m going to be living in the country. I shudder at the thought. I’m holding my breath when we finally pull up to the rusty gate of my
new home. Niall gets out of the truck and pushes it open and I lean forward to peer out the windshield at the ‘English Tudor Style Manor’ that the lawyers’ notes described. One look at it has me thinking that to call it a manor is an
insult to manors the world over. It is long and rectangular with tall narrow windows and a steeply pitched roof that dwarfs the rest of the house. The roof is covered in sickly-looking green moss and has a crumbling red brick chimney
dominating its center. The front of it is covered in dingy gray-white stucco that is crisscrossed with chevrons of faded black wood. One of the windows is boarded up, more moss grows at the base of the house and there is a trail of
what looks like rust staining one of the far walls.
“Welcome home, miss.” Niall says almost apologetically. “Wait until you see the inside; she’s truly a beauty but she’s seen a lot of years and she can be a bit of a challenge to keep up with.”
Understatement of the year I think to myself, while silently wondering if Niall refers to all inanimate objects as females. As the truck rattles up the leaf strewn driveway past the overgrown bushes and tangled thickets of roses I get a glimpse of the rest of the grounds. The house is set back from the road overlooking the loch and there is a weathered boat dock that stretches out into the water. I jump out of the truck and walk across the lawn, my pink flip flops slapping a staccato against the wet grass. The air is damp
and it sends a chill right through my denim jacket. Niall takes my bags from the truck bed and trudges toward the house. He opens the front door and I follow him in, watching as he sets my bags down on the gray marble floor. It is
bigger than it looks from the outside with a high ceiling and a curved staircase made of mahogany.
“The living room is to the right through those doors, study and library are beside that and the kitchen is at the back. The bedrooms and
facilities are upstairs and your room is at the end of the hall. My son and I live to the left in the servants’ quarters. It‘s a separate wing that was built on to the house some years ago so you needn’t worry about having your privacy.”
He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and it almost feels like he’s waiting to be dismissed.
“You have a son?” I say to break the silence.
“I do. His name is Rowan and he helps me take care of the
place. Is there anything else you need, miss?” He asks, clasping his hands together.
“Can you call me Lily? Miss just seems a little… Lily would be great.”
“Of course… Lily.” He tries it out then he does this kind of
nod-slash-bow thing that makes me want to die of embarrassment and scurries off down the hall. I stand for a moment in the big empty foyer with a suitcase in each hand, then climb the massive staircase to search for my room at the end of
the hall.
My room is painted my favorite shade of powder blue; a color that I love because it reminds me of the California sky. It is spacious with a canopied queen-sized bed, a tall dresser and a desk all painted in an antique
white. There is a large window flanked by two smaller diamond-patterned glass windows looking out on to the backyard and loch. The attached bathroom contains a simple white pedestal sink and claw foot tub, though it has been updated with a new-looking standup shower. That has to be courtesy of mom and just thinking
about her starts the dull ache in my chest again. Taking a deep breath I walk into the bathroom to check myself in the mirror and I see that my long blond hair is in one huge tangle from sleeping on it on the plane. I have the kind of
unruly hair that no matter how many flat irons I take to it always ends up falling into the same loose waves. I study the girl in the mirror critically. She has the same slightly hooded sea green eyes and the same cupids bow mouth
with dark pink lips that make lipstick unnecessary. She has the same narrow nose and high cheekbones and the same heart-shaped face. She looks like me but somehow different. She looks tired. Something has changed in her eyes and it’s almost as if a light has gone out. I sigh and make a half-hearted attempt at getting
a brush through my hair before deciding that I need a shower in a major way. After ten minutes under the hot spray I feel marginally better, so I slip on cropped cotton pants and a fitted tank and roll out my yoga mat, happy to be
doing something familiar to me. I love yoga. Mom and I used to do it together on the back patio every morning before school. I loved watching her tall, willowy frame as she executed each move so gracefully; nothing like my
five-foot-six frame that is all legs and more angles than curves. I stretch out into downward dog and breathe deeply to center myself, reflecting back on today. It’s hard not to feel like I’ve been transported to another planet. And
while I’m used to being independent, as an only child with parents who travel for work it’s kind of inevitable, I’m not used to being all alone - and there’s a big difference. A loud bang snaps me from my meditation and I run to the window to see what it is. That’s when I see him. He is lifting large pieces of
lumber from the garden and tossing them into a pile. He is broad shouldered and wearing a ratty Iron Maiden t-shirt that reveals a set of muscular arms. When he turns toward the window I can see that one of his arms is fully covered in
tattoos down to his wrist and the other arm has scrolling black ink that peeks out from just beneath his short sleeve. It surprises me since he seems close to my age and most parents wouldn‘t go for such a permanent fashion statement.
Though I can’t tell exactly from where I stand he looks tall, definitely over six feet, and his skin is fair which is in stark contrast to his curly dark hair. He is handsome in a rugged and not overly obvious kind of way. I slide open the window and the mingled scents of salt and fresh cut grass assault my
nose just as he bends down to lift another piece of wood. I’m not sure how to introduce myself or what to say so I just yell down to him.