The door to the black SUV slammed closed as James settled into the back seat next to Lady Goodfellow. She had her elbow resting on the door by the window levers and her chin resting in her palm. They did not look at each other, not until the boarding school was little more than a spec in the rearview mirror.

"The headmaster wants to suspend you for two weeks." Lady Goodfellow said at last, dropping her hand to her lap and snaring James with her gilded eyes.

It did not feel like she was looking at James, rather inside him. When James was younger, he thought that Lady Goodfellow could read his mind.

"Will he, though? Truly?" James asked. He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze.

Lady Goodfellow chewed the inside of her cheek, turning away from him and watching the trees blur by as they turned off the highway, and onto the exit which would take them up the mountains.

"No." She said, "I've talked him down to three days. When you see him on Thursday, keep your head down and express how deeply I'm sure you regret your actions."

"I don't." James said suddenly, with more force than he expected. This time, he did meet Lady Goodfellow's eyes and tried not to flinch at the ice behind them.

"I would do it again too." James said, "The way they talked about Uma-- they were despicable. They deserved every hit they got."

Lady Goodfellow appeared to be at a loss for words and since her words failed her she ended up just turning away. The trees got darker and thicker and the road a bit less even and soon they were at the iron gates of St. Mary's Convent. Two angels looked down upon them as the doors were dragged open by their driver before he got back into the SUV and took them to the garage. James was immediately put to work, given a shovel and a pair of muck boots and coveralls and sent to the horse stable near the old chapel.

James' boots crunched over the gravel pathway, the shovel resting on his shoulder like a sword as he trudged onward. According to the Convent's historical records, the Chapel had been built first, and after the congregation grew substantially, they received a donation from a wealthy churchgoer and the convent was built around it. It was a massive structure, one which rivalled large villas or small castles, with a sprawling square courtyard filled with well groomed hedges and flower beds. There was a large fountain at its center and statues guarding each cardinal direction. Towards the western most corner was a glass green house, the bronze frame had oxidized, giving at an almost otherworldly presence against the sepia backdrop.

And then there was the Chapel. The roof and walls were beginning to slouch, and the wooden steps had to be replaced time and time again. Despite its age, the Chapel still held service on some occasions. Some people would ask to be married in its sacred walls. When James was a boy, Christmas and Passover were hosted in the Chapel. Just beyond the Chapel were the Stables and the horses within them. What purpose horses had at a convent were anyone's guess, supposedly Lady Goodfellow had an affinity for horse racing, but James didn't believe that. Lady Goodfellow was a perfect example of temperance, after all.

James wished he could be even a fraction of the person that she was.

Unfortunately, he was not and didn't think that would ever change. So instead of going to the stables like he was told, he pushed open the Chapel's old wooden doors and rested the shovel against the wall. The Chapel smelled like rotting wood and fresh paint. James slouched forward going to one of the pews towards the front and collapsing into its embrace. Early afternoon light was filtering in through stained glass windows, turning the room into a dazzling array of green and pink. James closed his eyes and began to drift.

When he woke, it was to the sound of the Chapel door creaking open. He expected Lady Goodfellow or one of the other nuns had finally gone looking for him and was mentally preparing for the second scolding he was in for.

Instead, in the amber hues of late afternoon, Uma peered over him from the pew behind his. James stared up at them, lips parting as he took in Uma's night black hair and endlessly dark eyes. They were wearing the schools uniform, a white shirt under a burgundy sweater. Red did not suit them, it made the pink of their cheeks seem irritated.

"Why are you here?" James said, going for an accusatory tone, but it didn't land. He was too breathless.

"I live here."

"You also live in the dorms."

They stared at each other for a long time, Uma leaning further down. James could feel their breath ghost over his forehead, could smell the remnants of whatever flowery tea they would drink when they visited the sick ward.

"I heard about what you did." Uma said at last, "In the bathroom. Did you really break Fowler's nose?"

Did he? James flexed his fist, thoughtful, "He deserved it."

"Why?" Uma asked, and if James was foolish, and he was, he might have thought they sounded a little awed.

"Because I wanted to." James said, "Because I wasn't going to let him say those things about you."

There was more he could have added, but he never got the chance. Instead, Uma pressed their soft lips against James' before retreating to the Chapel doors. James sat frozen in the pew, bathed in glorious iridescent light, his heart thundering in his ribcage.