Say It Again - Catherine Bybee Page 0,2
and guarded gates of Richter and stopped when the stern-faced uniformed “greeter” stepped out of his box.
She lifted the visor of her helmet and met his unsmiling eyes. “Headmistress Lodovica.”
“And you are?”
“Sasha Budanov.”
Placing her visor back over her eyes, she turned toward the gates, expecting them to open. When they did, she gunned her bike and sped through the familiar tree-lined drive to the main entrance of the school.
A splattering of children followed her path with turns of their heads, but they never stopped moving to stare.
Always in motion.
One of the many things Richter had taught her.
She left her helmet dangling off the handlebars and swung one long, leather-clad leg off the back. Her neck stretched as she looked up at the five stories of the main hall. It hadn’t changed. Even the shrubs surrounding the stone building didn’t appear to have grown.
Some people had told her that when they returned to their childhood homes after extended periods away, the houses looked smaller.
So why was it that Richter looked just as imposing now as it did then?
Cutting off her thoughts, Sasha climbed the vast steps to the ten-foot ornately carved wooden doors.
They opened before she could grasp the handle.
Her lips lifted into a rare grin. “Charlie. I can’t believe you’re still here.” Her heart swelled with warm memories of the man standing in front of her.
“That’s Checkpoint Charlie to you, Miss Budanov.”
The irony always made her grin. The man in charge of assuring that anyone entering the doors of Richter belonged had been dubbed Checkpoint Charlie long before Sasha attended the school. The fact that he was German and not American, but spoke with a perfect American accent, had all the students wondering if he was an international spy. Truth was, none of them knew if Charlie was even his real name.
She approached with her hands at her sides. They didn’t hug . . . it wasn’t allowed.
“You look well, Sasha.”
“As do you. Keeping everything protected here, I see.”
“No one comes in, or out, without me knowing.”
Sasha tilted her head to the side.
Charlie’s playful smile slid. “Not since you rappelled off the north wall, crossed the grounds without hitting one sensor, and scaled the fence before calling Headmistress Lodovica from twenty miles away to tell her she needed to tighten her security.”
Sasha forced down the pride she felt with the memory.
“I couldn’t let that French twit . . . what was his name?”
“Mr. Dufort.”
“Right . . . Pierre Dufort.” Her male antagonist in her final year at Richter. “I couldn’t let him challenge me and not deliver.”
Charlie shook his head and lowered his voice. “The senior class has attempted every year since, and has yet to repeat your actions.”
“That’s too bad.”
He scowled. “How so?”
“That either means your students are unworthy or your teachers are slipping.” Sasha felt the smile in her eye as she turned.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.
She paused. Was she back?
Shaking the question from her head, Sasha walked down the overgrown hall to the administration offices.
The quiet space of the teachers’ area at the school did seem as if it had shrunk. A receptionist she didn’t recognize greeted her. “Miss Budanov?”
“Yes.”
“The headmistress is ready for you.”
She tried not to show surprise. The headmistress didn’t drop everything for anyone. Since Sasha came unannounced, she expected to wait at least a short time.
Her eyes glanced toward the office of the woman in charge. “Thank you.”
Sasha hesitated at the door. Should she knock?
The buzz of the door being unlocked by the receptionist answered her question.
Sasha lifted her chin and turned the knob.
An unfamiliar chill of the unexpected washed down her spine and brought gooseflesh to her arms. Usually those sensations would be met with Sasha watching her back and pulling a weapon from wherever it was hiding. Only that wasn’t necessary here.
Passing through the threshold flooded her with memories.
The poised and elegant woman behind the desk was exactly how Sasha remembered.
“Sasha. What an unexpected pleasure.” Headmistress Lodovica stood. In black dress pants and a long-sleeve button-up blouse, her clothing choices hadn’t changed. Behind her desk was a coat stand; on it was a hanger where she draped her robe. Sasha had seen the woman without her robe, but it was a very rare occasion.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
She rounded the desk. For one brief, frightening moment, Sasha thought the woman was going to hug her.
Instead the headmistress indicated a sofa on the far end of her office. “I’m anxious to hear what has brought you back to our halls.”
They both