12
Dad speeds his Bugatti Veyron convertible around another curve in the road. He and I are following the coastline of Nova Scotia on our way to the drop-off point for the Wheeler Institute. We should arrive in the next five minutes or so, which is when I’ll meet Headmaster Prescott. The last headmaster I had was a ghoul, so whoever this dude is, he’s bound to be a step up.
I lean back in the convertible, close my eyes, and let the sunlight warm my face. It’s late September here in Nova Scotia, and the air has some of the sizzle of summer with the crisp undertones of fall. The ocean surf pounds onto the rocks along the shoreline. It’s beautiful, but in a lonely kind of way.
I miss Lincoln.
Dad takes another turn at high speed. As an angel, he really doesn’t see speed limits as applying
