Still, I’m too exhausted to fill in the blanks. Instead, I slip my head in the helmet and secure it the way Macy showed me.

“Ready?” she asks once I’ve got my face and head as protected as they’re going to get.

The answer hasn’t changed since Philip asked me that same question in Fairbanks. Not even close. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

I wait for Macy to climb on the snowmobile before getting on behind her.

“Hold on to my waist!” she shouts as she turns it on, so I do. Seconds later, we’re speeding into the darkness that stretches endlessly in front of us.

I’ve never been more terrified in my life.

   2

Just Because

You Live in a Tower

Doesn’t Make You

a Prince

The ride isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

I mean, it’s not good, but that has more to do with the fact that I’ve been traveling all day and I just want to get someplace—anyplace—where I can stay longer than a layover. Or a really long snowmobile ride.

And if that place also happens to be warm and devoid of the local wildlife I can hear howling in the distance, then I’m all about it. Especially since everything south of my waist seems to have fallen asleep…

I’m in the middle of trying to figure out how to wake up my very numb butt when we suddenly veer off the trail (and I mean “trail” in the loosest sense of the word) we’ve been following and onto a kind of plateau on the side of the mountain. It’s as we wind our way through yet another copse of trees that I finally see lights up ahead.

“Is that Katmere Academy?” I shout.

“Yeah.” Macy lays off the speed a little, steering around trees like we’re on a giant slalom course. “We should be there in about five minutes.”

Thank God. Much longer out here and I might actually lose a toe or three, even with my doubled-up wool socks. I mean, everyone knows Alaska is cold, but can I just say—it’s freaking cold, and I was not prepared.

Yet another roar sounds in the distance, but as we finally clear the thicket of trees, it’s hard to pay attention to anything but the huge building looming in front of us, growing closer with every second that passes.

Or should I say the huge castle looming in front of us, because the dwelling I’m looking at is nothing like a modern building. And absolutely nothing like any school I have ever seen. I tried to Google it before I got here, but apparently Katmere Academy is so elite even Google hasn’t heard of it.

First of all, it’s big. Like, really big…and sprawling. From here it looks like the brick wall in front of the castle stretches halfway around the mountain.

Second, it’s elegant. Like, really, really elegant, with architecture I’ve only heard described in my art classes before. Vaulted arches, flying buttresses, and giant, ornate windows dominate the structure.

And third, as we get closer, I can’t help wondering if my eyes are deceiving me or if there are gargoyles—actual gargoyles—protruding from the top of the castle walls. I know it’s just my imagination, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t half expect to see Quasimodo waiting for us when we finally get there.

Macy pulls up to the huge gate at the front of the school and enters a code. Seconds later, the gate swings open. And we’re on our way again.

The closer we get, the more surreal everything feels. Like I’m trapped in a horror movie or Salvador Dalí painting. Katmere Academy may be a Gothic castle, but at least there’s no moat, I tell myself as we break through one last copse of trees. And no fire-breathing dragon guarding the entrance. Just a long, winding driveway that looks like every other prep school driveway I’ve ever seen on TV—except for the fact that it’s covered in snow. Big shock. And leads right up to the school’s huge, incredibly ornate front doors.

Antique doors.

Castle doors.

I shake my head to clear it. I mean, what even is my life right now?

“Told you it wouldn’t be bad,” Macy says as she pulls up to the front with a spray of snow. “We didn’t even see a caribou, let alone a wolf.”

She’s right, so I just nod and pretend I’m not completely overwhelmed.

Pretend like my stomach isn’t tied into knots and my whole world hasn’t turned upside down for the second time in a month.

Pretend like I’m okay.

“Let’s bring your suitcases up to your room and get you unpacked. It’ll help you relax.”

Macy climbs off the snowmobile, then takes off her helmet and her hat. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without all the cold-weather gear, and I can’t help smiling at her rainbow-colored hair. It’s cut in a short, choppy style that should be smooshed and plastered to her head after three hours in a helmet, but instead it looks like she just walked out of a salon.

Which matches the rest of her, now that I think about it, considering her whole coordinating jacket, boots, and snow pants look kind of shouts cover model for some Alaskan wilderness fashion magazine.

On the other hand, I’m pretty sure my look says I’ve gone a couple of rounds with a pissed-off caribou. And lost. Badly. Which seems fair, since that’s about how I feel.

Macy makes quick work of unloading my suitcases, and this time I grab two of them. But I only make it a few steps up the very long walk to the castle’s imposing front doors before I’m struggling to breathe.

“It’s the altitude,” Macy says as she takes one of the suitcases out of my hand. “We climbed pretty fast and, since you’re coming from sea level, it’s going to take a few days for you to get used to how thin the air is up here.”

Just the idea of not being able to breathe sets off the beginnings of the panic attack I’ve barely kept at bay all day. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath—or as deep as I can out here—and try to fight it back.

In, hold for five seconds, out. In, hold for ten seconds, out. In, hold for five seconds, out. Just like Heather’s mom taught me. Dr. Blake is a therapist, and she’s been giving me tips on how to deal with the anxiety I’ve been having since my parents died. But I’m not sure her tips are up to combatting all this any more than I am.

Still, I can’t stand here frozen forever, like one of the gargoyles staring down at me. Especially not when I can feel Macy’s concern even with my eyes closed.

I take one more deep breath and open my eyes again, shooting my cousin a smile I’m far from feeling. “Fake it till you make it is still a thing, right?”

“It’s going to be okay,” she tells me, her own eyes wide with sympathy. “Just stand there and catch your breath. I’ll carry your suitcases up to the door.”