Chapter 6
Marta pressed her elbow into my thigh. “Wake up, Isla. We’re here.”
I’d been dreaming my hair had been cut short with dull scissors. A mirror in the dream reflected a sickly version of me, jagged tufts sticking out straight from an exposed scalp.
“We’re where?”
“Wake up. Here’s your bag.”
It was morning, dawn, and we had arrived at a pretty place of brick buildings draped with blossoming purple flowers. The wind passing through the car’s window was warm, smelled of salt, and the sun flicked through a shelter of gnarled oak trees.
“Slide out of the car, girls,” Ms. Hardin said, waving us out to a winding brick driveway.
Sluggish, I pushed out. My mind was thick and groggy, my lips and tongue severely parched. All I could think of was Papa and Perrin frantically searching fo
