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Reynie Muldoon is not sure, but he has a feeling that something is bad inside of him.He is four years old. He's got pudgy little fingers and pudgy little toes. He helps clean up at playtime and he sits and he reads lots and lots of books. He likes reading. He likes it a lot. Ms. Angie won't look at him.He sits quietly in the corner and watches. She looks at Brutus, who doesn't share very well and needs help blowing his nose because he sneezes glitter that makes things float. She looks at Neil, who is two years younger than Reynie and will be adopted soon, because grown ups are always asking if they can play with him. She even looks at Jack, who pushes a lot and is mean.She doesn't look at Reynie.Carefully, he stands up. He puts his book away and picks out one of the bigger stories, one with more words that's meant for the older kids. (He can read it fine, but sometimes the caretakers get upset about him messing with the big kids' things. They think he's playing pretend. He's not .) He walks over to her and doesn't trip over any of the toys, even the floating ones. He times it just right, after she finishes blowing Brutus' nose and before Jack leaves time out. He tugs carefully at her shirt, watches as the colours ripple and change as he touches it.There's a smile on her face when she turns. It falls, a little, when she sees that it's him."Oh, uh, Reynie…" she says.Reynie blinks at her. He shows his book. "Ms. Angie," he asks, and watches her face very hard, "Would you read to me, please?""Oh. Sure. Of course." Reynie frowns. Her words say, yes. Her face says, I don't want to. He sits down next to her anyway, because she's shifted the big book to cover her legs. (When Neil reads with her, he sits on her lap. So does Brutus. Even Jack gets cradled between her knees, though he thinks maybe that's just because it's easier to keep him still when he can't run away. Maybe there is a trick to it, though. Maybe he can ask.)The book is about Frog and Toad, and how they are best friends. Reynie follows along and only stops her once to ask what trembling means. Ms. Angie blinks at him a moment too long before answering him. It means to shake a lot, and it seems like it's a very useful word to use if you get tired of using the word shiver. Reynie keeps note.He keeps note, too, about how Ms. Angie tenses whenever he leans on her. He keeps note of the strange, sad look she gives him after asking what his favourite part was, when he answers her, "Oh. I like that Frog and Toad are friends! They're very nice to each other and always help out and I think that I want to have a best friend like that when I grow up." He pats Toad's head in the picture gently. "I'd like that a lot."She bows her head. Her brows scrunch. Her chin wobbles."Ms. Angie," he whispers to her. He has to stand up to reach her ear properly. "Are you going to cry? Do you want me to get a tissue?""I'm just fine, Reynie," she says, voice as wobbly as her chin, and stands up to go take care of Jack, who is trying to eat the toy food.Ms. Angie quits that same week. Reynie hides in the shadow of the big armchair and reads Frog and Toad Together by himself. Reynie Muldoon is seven. He is quite sure something is wrong with him.He gets picked out by some expectant parents on a rainy afternoon. The woman is a professor at a university, hair tied into a fraying bun and a forgotten pencil tucked behind her ear. The man is an engineer of sorts, and brings out a tiny model car with working gears for Reynie to poke at during their 'conversation,' though it feels more like a job interview in his mind. It's not a job he seems to be very qualified for, because no one ever asks for him to come back for a second round of negotiations.But Reynie is seven, and it is hard not to hope. It seems to grow out of him like moss on a log, this shy and stubborn feeling that maybe this time, this time it will be different. This time the prospective parents will turn to Mr. Rutger and declare that Reynie is the one that they want. "Yes, Mr. Rutger," they'll say, "we've looked at every boy in this orphanage and none other than Reynie Muldoon will do."It's a silly idea. There's something off about him, and everyone can see it. For weeks after their Curses and Cures unit, the other boys had poked fun at him, wondering loudly whenever they could get away with it if perhaps Reynie had been cursed to be strange or odd or boring. They had shied away from his touch, hollering about curse cooties being infectious.Reynie hides under his covers anyway and turns the interview over in his mind. I made her laugh, he thinks. The husband was impressed by how much I knew about cars. Maybe this time… Then he tells himself to go to sleep, because staying up all night won't change the outcome, but will leave him tired come morning.Reynie is tired regardless, but the verdict is a positive one; the professor and the engineer are back, and they want to see him again. Reynie returns to the small armchaired room reserved for meeting with potential parents with some mix of amazement and trepidation. This time, the husband has brought a project with a mini propeller, and Reynie carefully assembles it and lets it spin around the room. This time, the wife asks him about his favourite books, and he starts out cautiously at first before leaping full heartedly in. He thinks he talks more in an hour than he has in maybe three whole weeks. It's amazing . It's like flying with his feet fully planted on the ground.It feels even more amazing when they ask him to come back the next day. And then the next. The other children start shooting him those looks, the jealous longing looks that always paint themselves on the boys' faces when they start thinking that one of their ranks is going to be pulled out, that they're going to go join a real family and leave everyone else behind.Reynie stares at the ceiling and hopes and hopes and hopes until it fills him to the bursting. On the fourth day, Reynie gets called out of the cafeteria. He walks along the familiar halls and up to a by now familiar door. He has a book picked out from the library, one he thinks that the professor might like if she hasn't already read it. When he arrives, Mr. Rutger is in the room and the door is partially closed, voices creeping through the crack. He stops a couple of feet away, a small figure in the shadows, and is unsure if he should continue or not. The thin brown cover stays clutched in his hands."And you're sure?"Mr. Rutger's tone is something like kind and most definitely firm. "Certain.""We could still do it. We could take care of him…""Could we? Do we really want a child who- Think about it, May. Could you love him with everything you have knowing what we know now?"Reynie's grip tightens until it's white. What? he thinks. Knowing what? The professor never responds, or gives a wordless reply he isn't privy to. Uncertain, he knocks on the door and is greeted by Mr. Rutger, who lets him in and leaves the room without a word."I brought a book," Reynie says, too quickly, words spilling loose. The grownups are following Mr. Rutger's example, silent as the grave, but he's never needed words to understand people. Not really. Just looking at their faces feels like falling back down to earth. It feels like something is over. It never had a chance to begin.The meeting peters out early, and the professor and the engineer exit the orphanage in a hurried fashion, shooting pained smiles over their hunched shoulders. Reynie Muldoon doesn't get called back to the office that week.He never gets called back at all. Reynie is ten years old (almost) and something is wrong.It's an inkling feeling, one that pools in his stomach late at night and makes itself at home. There is something wrong with him. There is information he is missing, lost in his crevices of his own self. People seem to look at him and can read it all over his skin, even if the problem never shows up in the mirror. He should know. He's spent enough time analysing his own reflection to be sure of it.Maybe it's a type of vision that comes with age, this ability to look at someone and sense there's something off about them. No matter where he goes, the grown ups' faces fill with a small and quiet dread. The older kids bully him on sheer principle. The younger children, sensing the adults' fog of displeasure, avoid him. Miasma is a word that means a noxious atmosphere or influence. It is a word referring to a long abandoned theory on the spread of disease. Sometimes Reynie thinks that the term was just being used out of context. It was never meant to be for illnesses. It was meant to be for this, for the miasma that follows him wherever he goes."You don't mind, do you, Reynie?" his teacher asks, and he smiles at him weakly. It is the sixth group project this semester, and he is yet again without a partner. "It's just that you're quite far ahead of the other boys-""I can do it," he says, and he can. His pencil is sweaty in his grip. The teacher is already turning away, his sentence only half formed. He watches him pat another boy on the shoulder, a silent reminder to quiet down a tad, and quickly redirects his gaze to his paper. The words blur.He could do that. He could be that loud. Maybe then the teacher would come and place a hand on his shoulder, too.It's a silly thought. Reynie's voice is small, these days, tucked somewhere in the back of his throat. He likes to save it, for when he reads aloud to himself, or for Seymore in the early mornings when the cat is butting against his legs and at his most affectionate.He finishes his schoolwork early and hauls out the twelfth grade workbook that last year's teacher had provided him. He's finished it, of course, but sometimes he enjoys rereading the short stories. At the very least, it feels productive.(Today the words all meld together, and he doesn't get very much done at all.)He goes to the library after. A few feather dusters bob ineffectively around the room, the spell keeping them aloft in need of replenishing. Seymor is curled up in a sunbeam, and Reynie carefully lowers himself down cross legged next to him, not daring to encroach on the light and disturb his friend. Outside, the other kids laugh and yell as they tumble their way through a round of tag. Inside, Reynie breathes very slowly. He has a book of classic fairytales in his hand, but he's not reading it. Turning the pages can sometimes scare Seymore away.He waits. Finally, as the sun passes the window by and takes its warmth with it, Seymor sits up and stretches, spine arching. He treads closer, and Reynie holds his breath. He stares at the pages very hard. Seymor plops down into his lap. His fur is soft against Reynie's knees, sun-warmed. It sends shivers down his spine regardless, like a shock of cold water. He fights with himself to keep still. The first time, he had moved too quickly, too eagerly, had been blinded at the idea of having something to hold that was never really his to keep. Now he knows better."Hi," he whispers. Seymor rumbles and settles in, claws catching on his shorts. Reynie doesn't mind. "It was a bit of a rough day today," he says.As carefully as he can, he runs a finger down the cat's spine. Seymour's ear twitches, but he doesn't get up, so Reynie places his hand fully onto his back. A feather duster mistakes the top of his head for a shelf and ruffles his hair. "I wonder if I should ask Mr. Rutger about going to another school again."The cat mews."Maybe not, though. Maybe- maybe just a tutor. He might be more agreeable to that. What do you think?"In the shadow of the library post dusk, it's too dark to read, and his conversation partner is lacking in some critical human vocal cords. Reynie doesn't mind that either. The feel of Seymor under his hands is more than enough.He sits there until Mr. Rutger knocks on the door to call lights out, turning to leave with complete faith that Reynie will hurry on to bed with no need for further prompting. Most nights, this is true. Most nights, Reynie soaks in the warmth of a successfully coaxed Seymor on his lap for a few more minutes before hurrying off to bed before the other boys can arrive and conveniently 'lose' Reynie's pyjamas.Tonight, Reynie takes advantage of the fact that they're alone and gently displaces the disgruntled cat before hopping to his feet. "Mr. Rutger," he says, taking a few quick steps forward. "Sorry, sir- I just have a request. Sir.""Reynie, I've already told you; a school won't be-"In a move that feels daring, Reynie interrupts. "Actually, sir. I've come up with a different idea. A- a compromise of sorts."Mr. Rutger pauses. The old floorboards creak. "A compromise.?He bobs his head up and down, his neck creaking in protest almost as much as the floorboards. "Yes, a compromise. You see, I know you believe a school to be a bad idea, but the fact remains that I've completed the entirety of the gradeschool's curriculum. I was, well, I suppose I was hoping if perhaps we could organise a tutor instead. Someone who would come to the school and cover new material."For a moment, there is a dull silence as the orphanage head thinks it over. He can hear the shuffle of the other boys as they head to the dormitories, and Reynie can guess already that he'll be sleeping in his day clothes tonight. He considers Mr. Rutger's face. The way his frown grows, twisting his cheek and stiffening his jaw. Reynie's stomach sinks to his knees. It's not going to happen. His request is going to be denied.Then something almost as odd as Reynie himself occurs.Mr. Rutger glances at him, and pauses. His brows furrow. "How old are you, Reynard?" he asks.Reynie blinks."I'll be ten in a month and a half." It's difficult to avoid phrasing it as a question, but he manages it. The rest of his attention is narrowed on Mr. Rutger's face as it flickers through a variety of emotions, like he's considering something. Like he's weighing the pros and cons."And this is what you want? Really want, Reynard. Not some passing fancy. A tutor?" A little lost, Reynie nods sharply nonetheless. Mr. Rutger turns and, perhaps for the first time in the entire conversation, looks him in the eyes. He sighs."I suppose it couldn't hurt," he mumbles to himself, and then stiffens his spine. "Alright then, Reynard. You'll get your tutor. I'll make the arrangements tomorrow."And with that, Mr. Rutger strolls further down the hallway. The tiny fire spirits that illuminate the lamps go dormant as he passes. It leaves Reynie in the dark, wondering what had changed the man's mind. The pots and pans wash themselves, and Reynie Muldoon tries very, very hard not to be too nervous. He wishes he could take over the washing, grab the enchanted sponge and scrub until his fingers pruned. He wishes he had a book, something to read and take his mind far far away, but all he's got is a pencil and a sharpener, and an eraser that one of the older boys had poked full of holes.It's still dark outside, grey and overcast with the shallow grip of an early dawn. One of the restrictions put on the tutoring was that it was to occur in the mornings, before the other boys could wake up and complain too much about exceptions and special privileges. For this same reason, the tutoring is to take place in the kitchen. "Out of sight and out of mind," Mr. Rutger had said, "That's the key, Reynard. Out of sight and out of mind."So Reynie sits at the small oak dining table, half a slice of toast stuck in his throat after stopping prematurely on its way to his gut. No matter how much he swallows, it refuses to budge. Mr. Rutger, next to him and quite poorly hiding how cross he is at his own early start, taps the table impatiently. Hope is a fickle thing, a sapling he keeps quiet and tucked away under his ribcage. His doubt is a crown around his head, heavy and aching. It's possible she just won't come. Maybe she could sense that Reynie was wrong just from looking at his papers, and decided that she'd rather go work with more regular children. It's not even six yet, he scolds himself, at least wait and see until then. Under the table, he wrings his hands. The clock above the sink ticks forwards. 5:49AM. 5:52AM. 5:59AM.6:00AM.Just as the clock reaches 6:02AM and all his treacherous hope is about to deflate like a balloon, the sound of knocking echoes through the room. For a moment, Reynie sits perfectly still. Then he realises that Mr. Rutger is looking at him, expectant, and he bursts to his feet with a small screech of his chair against the tile that makes him wince. He swallows frantically around his toast. The brass knob is cool under his fingers, and he quickly unlocks the door and pulls it open.There is a woman standing at the doorstep, black hair in a neat bun and a small smile on her face that brightens further when her eyes land on Reynie. She has a bag tucked under one arm, but she reaches her free hand out to him without a hint of hesitation. "Ah," she says. "You must be Reynard. My name's Miss Perumal."Reynie stands there for too long, staring at her hand. Then he shakes himself into action, taking it gingerly into his own like it is something fragile, something his touch can break. But his new tutor proves to not be made of glass, her grip strong and steady. Her palm warm. There are garden snakes that lounge on the cobblestones when the sun is out, and suddenly he perfectly understands why. "Call me Reynie," he says, sounding nervous for all he had practised with Seymor the past few days. "I'm really pleased to meet you."Miss Perumal's eyes apparently crinkle when she smiles wide enough, and she has a dimple that forms on her left cheek. "The pleasure's all mine."The rising sun parts the clouds as dawn properly gets underway. Reynie feels it on his face as the light spills in. He feels it, too, in his chest. There is a small flower hiding there, he thinks, and for all his doubts it just might be unfurling.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Reynie's telling a story, one hand waving out wildly for emphasis and spilling a few pieces of kibble onto the floor, which Seymor the cat scarfs up with all the fervour of the starving. The fact that there had already been some food remaining in his bowl hardly matters. Miss Perumal, watching this, is doing her very best not to laugh. She's found that making too much noise can send Reynie scuttling back into a nervous shell, shoulders scrunching up to his ears and voice tilting towards quiet.
Miss Perumal has found out many things. She's found that Reynie Muldoon is one of the most brilliant and most nervous children she has ever met. It's like there is a whole sunrise in his chest that he's trying to hide behind the cup of his hands, unaware of all the light that seeps through the cracks. Unaware of how lovely he is.
It makes those rare moments he relaxes all the more special.
Miss Perumal stirs her tea. Reynie neatly avoids tripping over Seymor's frantic dive for his food bowl with the ease of long practice. He turns and grins at her, socks slipping slightly on tile as he hurries back to his seat. "So
then,"
he says, "Mr. Bloomberg was so distressed that he didn't have enough gingersnaps that he went back to the store
again,
and came back with enough boxes that everyone got to have
two
extra cookies, and I received four as an apology for the mishap."
Two of the very gingersnaps had been wrapped in a napkin and saved for her, with half of one still remaining as she slowly made her way through them. She has never been one for sweets in the early morning, but she wasn't about to reject Reynie's gift and make the poor boy feel bad. She was only thankful that Seymor had provided ample distraction and he hadn't noticed.
At least, she was hoping he hadn't noticed. Reynie always proved more perceptive than first thought.
"My question is," she says, nudging the remaining piece of gingersnap his way and nodding encouragingly as he hesitated in taking it, "is how on earth he missed you in the first place."
"I was in the library, and apparently there was an error in the itinerary of current residents. Mr. Rutger says he's fixed it now." Reynie shrugs, awkwardly, and grins crookedly at her. It strikes her, again, always again, over and over and over, how very
ten
he looks. Childish and young. The rarity of these small moments always pierce her straight through.
She clears her throat.
"Well," she says. "Stonetown Library's received a new shipment, and the librarian was kind enough to grant me first pick."
Reynie perks up further, as intended, and she cannot fight her helpless grin. Hauling her bag onto the table, she takes out a selection of books that the bemused librarian had let her check out, a wild assortment of college level maths and children's literature and a random biography of an astronomer thrown in for sheer novelty. Reynie sits on his hands, awkward and patient and entirely unwilling to appear rude. The spark in his eyes is bright.
She nudges his side with a laugh, and he blinks at her, blank for a moment that he always is whenever she pokes at him. Then he sheepishly grins and reaches out, dragging the thickest of her collection over the sun soaked-wood.
It's a peculiar sight, a little boy with his feet just skimming the floor on the tall kitchen chairs, a book almost as thick as his head resting in his lap. He's already absorbed, eyes flicking over the pages and taking him far away. Reynie tends to forget he's not alone when he's reading, and sometimes Miss Perumal wonders if that's on purpose. It's hard to feel alone if you don't feel
here.
(She was a lonely kid once, too.)
"Do you have any plans for your birthday?" she says, and Reynie's head snaps up with a jerk. He shrugs with one shoulder, a robotic up and down. His smile is small and plastic on his face, and Ms. Perumal feels her heart sink.
"There will be a cupcake. Nothing too exciting."
"Ah," she says, and the words come bubbling up in her throat. They could throw a party. They could take a trip to the beach. They could go to the bookstore, and she'll buy him as many books as he can carry. They could do something, and it would make him smile properly, and the world would be set to rights.
Miss Perumal swallows the words down. They're all offering things she can't really gift him, not as his tutor. It's not her place.
Reynie Muldoon is many things. Intelligent, yes, but sweet and lively as well. Thoughtful. Kind. A tad quiet. Empathetic to a fault.
Reynie Muldoon is many things. He is not hers.
The tea is growing cold.
"Well," she says, because even if she can't offer everything she can still offer
something,
"you only turn eleven once. We'll have to do something to celebrate on Monday, and you can report on the quality of the cupcake."
Reynie averts his eyes, but he's smiling. She can tell. She always can.
And just like always, Miss Perumal takes a mental picture, and she saves it.
DEAR MISS PERUMAL STOP YOUR SERVICES ARE NO LONGER REQUIRED STOP YOU WILL FIND YOUR FINAL PAYCHECK DEPOSITED BY THE FOLLOWING MONDAY STOP THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE WITH REYNARD STOP
DEAR MR RUTGER STOP I WAS SHOCKED TO SEE YOUR TELEGRAM STOP MAY I ENQUIRE WHY REYNIE NO LONGER REQUIRES TUTORING STOP HAS HE STARTED A NEW SCHOOL STOP MAY I IMPOSE FOR A CLOSING VISIT STOP REGARDS STOP
DEAR MISS PERUMAL STOP ALL IS WELL WITH REYNARD STOP YOUR SERVICES ARE NO LONGER REQUIRED STOP
DEAR MR RUTGER STOP I TRULY BELIEVE A FINAL MEETING WOULD BE BENEFICIAL FOR REYNIE STOP WHEN WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO SCHEDULE ONE STOP
DEAR MISS PERUMAL STOP THERE ARE NO MORE MEETINGS NECESARY STOP THE MATTER OF REYNARDS EDUCATION IS HANDLED STOP
DEAR MR RUTGER STOP DOES THAT MEAN HE'S AT A SCHOOL STOP I COULD PROVIDE MY INSIGHTS ON REYNIE AS A STUDENT ON MY OWN TIME STOP I JUST NEED A NAME STOP
DEAR MISS PERUMAL STOP THAT WILL NOT BE NECESSARY STOP. HAVE A FINE DAY STOP.
Miss Perumal is at her wits end.
She has sent telegrams. She has sent letters. She has called the singular hundred year old phone located in the orphanage office, the one with the broken ringer, approximately three dozen times. She has walked down to the orphanage on her days off. She has walked down to the orphanage on the days she has been working too, requesting the right to a visitation with her pupil, with Mr. Rutger, with anyone who could give her some
answers.
Everything has been entirely for naught.
Reynie has vanished into thin air. One moment, and he is a part of her day five days a week, three hours of shining conversation and shared tea. The next she has empty slots in her schedule and emptier slots in her heart. The worry is a living thing inside of her chest, and the mood-changing petunias in her window sills have been a sickly looking yellow for nearly three weeks.
She hasn't seen Reynie in nearly three weeks.
Miss Perumal visits with her mother in the hospital and tries not to let any tension find its home on her face. Miss Perumal deep cleans the apartment and tries to make it feel meaningful. Miss Perumal helps her other students and tries not to find Reynie in their laughter, their idle chatter, the crooked lines of their handwriting.
Miss Perumal writes more telegrams and more letters. She starts substitute teaching again, in the vague hope that she'll step into a classroom and find a perfectly ordinary extraordinary child sitting at one of the desks, or spot a mop of brown hair passing by in the halls. She gives herself blisters from walking to and fro Stonetown Orphanage, from the endless stream of requests and petitions and wringing her polishing cloth around old silver.
Three weeks slips by into four, and then to five.
"You look tired,"
her mother says, and sits up just enough in her hospital gown to braid her hair.
Six weeks pass.
The librarian mentions the latest shipment of books. Miss Perumal, for the first time in her life, does not want to read.
Seven.
Reynie Muldoon vanishes into thin air, and Miss Perumal- who does not much see the point in tears- sits on her couch and cries furiously into her fists as she waits for the kettle to boil. It should not be possible to hold this much worry for one person. It should not be possible to hold this much love.
On a Tuesday afternoon, fifty three days since she's last seen Reynie Muldoon, Miss Perumal approaches the small kitchen door that used to be a part of her life almost daily. If Mr. Rutger will not give her an audience, she will demand one. The front doors are always locked, barred and grand and imposing, but with any luck someone will have forgotten about this entrance.
And if there is no luck, she will make some. She has always been terrible at casting and charms, but she has a book in her bag on opening spells, and she has determined she will use it. These past two and a half weeks, her bedroom and bathroom doors have suffered from her numerous attempts.
It cannot be helped.
(If the protective wards on the orphanage have been altered to exclude her, then it's all for naught. The very thought of it rattles her down to her ribs, but she breathes through it. One thing at a time.)
The alleyway is grey and slightly dreary, as it always is. It smells faintly of garbage and unfortunate bodily fluids. There is an oily puddle leaking out from under a rustbucket of a car. Miss Perumal walks through it all without a wince. Smell and gloom will not deter her now.
A voice calling after her, sudden and jarring in the quiet of the evening, just might.
"Ma'am! Yes, hello, sorry to bother-"
She whirls around. An older man, his hair a shock of white and his nose a prominent bulb, hustles forward with some speed and determination. He looks slightly frazzled, as if he'd just stuck a fork in an electric shock and decided the best cure would be to walk it off.
His eyes are a startling green
A few feet away, he pulls to a stop. Miss Perumal does her best to look unfrazzled, or at least less frazzled than the man is. She tries to look like she belongs, and her heart beats a rapid tempo against her throat.
"Yes?" she asks.
"Ma'am," the man repeats, and runs a hand through his wild hair before clasping them in front of him. "I'm sorry for the imposition. My name is Nicholas Benedict, and I'm looking for a boy named Reynard Muldoon-"
Her spine stiffens. Her grip on her bag tightens until her knuckles go pale. There is an urge, sudden and wild, to grab the man by the lapels and shake him until the answers come out.
"What do you know about Reynie."
"An unfortunately small amount," Nicholas responds, his face a painting of genuine remorse. "You see, I have some dealings with magic, and a few weeks ago now I felt-" his face falls. "I fear I'm already too late."
"Too late for
what?"
Nicholas Benedict swallows a deep breath of air, as if trying to calm his emotions. His large brows are furrowed. His rumpled green plaid suit creases at strange angles, like he's been sleeping in it.
"There is a boy," he says, voice careful and slow. "His name is Reynard Muldoon. He has the traces of a terrible curse upon him. I would stop it if I could."
The dread that runs through her is real and terrible. It is a near physical sludge, making itself home in her veins.
A part of her wants to reject it entirely, wants to dismiss it as a cruel joke. Mr. Benedict is no more than a stranger, after all. He does not look like much.
(He does look kind.)
It is her turn to breathe. Her turn to gather the frazzled reservoirs of her strength and composure and tie it into something that can hold together. She says, keeping her voice steady by some half miracle. "I'm his tutor, and seven weeks ago the orphanage director dismissed me abruptly. I- I haven't had any contact with Reynie since."
Nicholas' frown grows deeper. He glances at the orphanage, and for a moment Miss Perumal smells a lick of magic, and then it's gone. "He's still in there," he says, and she believes him. "I have no affiliation with the orphanage," he says, and Miss Perumal thinks of the wards.
"I do."
She marches up to the kitchen door and touches her fingers upon the handle, something ballooning inside of her that is very close to rage. Worry fills her all the way down to her toes.
A twist, and a tug and-
The door swings open.
For a moment it is seven weeks ago and all this is normal. Reynie will be at the table and Seymor will be crying for his dinner. They will make tea and Reynie will take his with too much honey.
But just a moment.
The kitchen lights are off, and the table's usual sheen is hidden under a layer of dust. Miss Perumal holds her hope and her bag in a knuckle-white grip and steps inside.
It's too early for anyone to be asleep. She can hear the chatter and clamor of young boys, and another adult somewhere calling for quiet. She tucks an old card game into one of the kitchen cupboards and practises her excuses; if anyone questions her, she's simply forgotten some of her supplies and is back to retrieve them.
She passes through to the foyer and risks a glance into the cafeteria, scanning the crowds for one Reynie Muldoon. She pokes her head into the schoolroom and finds his desk empty of his school supplies, some boy named Kevin in his seat. She checks the library and finds it dusty and stale, enchanted feather dusters collapsed on the ground. She wanders the hallways until she finds the dormitories, and finds Reynie's bed based on his descriptions of its location. It's a mess, unmade and strewn with clothes that are far too small for her boy. A hockey stick is pressed against the far wall, and she knows for a fact that Reynie never played.
At one point, she half throws herself into a closet when she hears Mr. Rutger's voice echoing from down the hall. She holds her breath as they pass, not wanting to be found. She holds her breath as they pass, not wanting weeks of worry and frustration and accusation to come pouring out of her. She holds her breath, and she counts to ten.
The voices fade.
She wanders deeper into the orphanage. She investigates, one by one, the kitchen and the pantry and the store rooms. She slips inside of offices. She peeks through the window to the dreary yard outside. Surely, if she searches long enough, hard enough, she will find a trace of him. Surely.
Nearly an hour later, she has hidden in two more side rooms. Nearly an hour later, and she feels no more close to finding Reynie than she had three weeks ago. Something builds inside her chest, likely a scream or more useless, useless tears.
Maybe he was adopted. Maybe someone did what she wouldn't, and took him home.
But why hadn't Mr. Rutger mentioned that, then? Why hadn't Reynie?
Why had Mr. Benedict said that Reynie Muldoon is still in the building?
She fills her lungs and lets it go. She marches onwards, deeper into the hall-
And Seymor appears out of nowhere.
They stare at each other. Miss Perumal feels judged, and keeps herself perfectly still as the seconds drag by, as slow as molasses.
Then Seymor chirrups and turns around, trotting down the hallway.
She follows after him.
It is a labyrinth of twists and turns, an old building that has endured far too many renovations. Miss Perumal keeps her eyes on the cat and keeps her ears on the lookout for trouble. She keeps track of the odd landmarks of their journey- the three legged chair and deflated football. The painting of a lamb in a storm.
Their destination is a set of stairs that look older than her mother, old paint cracked and peeling. Seymor hops up them gracefully, and Miss Perumal follows after, wincing at every creak.
It is an attic, where all the old and tired things go. Seymor weaves through boxes of unused Christmas ornaments and old toys that nobody plays with in a casual display of ease. Miss Perumal tiptoes after him and resists the urge to sneeze. She spots bags of winter coats and large cases of items labelled for donations. The room feels like a tomb.
Seymor meows.
She almost does not want to look.
She looks anyway.
There.
There.
Tucked between a rack of old costumes and a bike with a broken wheel, forgotten and a little dusty and looking very small-
Reynie.