Chapter 3

I sat slumped in the passenger seat as Andrew drove me home from the lawyer’s office, late Monday afternoon. It had taken all my energy to act eager and willing as I signed Andrew’s slave contract, mindful of Andrew’s warning that if I looked as if there were any duress, and if the lawyer exhibited any visible suspicion that I didn’t want to sign, Andrew would just take me to another lawyer. The signing had to be done to Andrew’s satisfaction. The alternative was being whisked away to spend the rest of my life as a stranger’s mistreated puppyboy, losing forever my chance at the Academy; so I took my own role in surrendering my freedom very seriously.

The worst part had been when the lawyer’s assistant had come in to sign as the second witness. She had looked over the contract, and on seeing the names asked me, “Oh, are you married already?”

I’d forced a smile. “He’s my brother.”

The assistant had beamed at me. “Oh, that’s really special. I was just thinking how often we work with people having divorces, with all the anger and loss. It’s so nice to be part of a happy event for once. Did you always want to be your brother’s slave?”

“Uhh, no,” I replied. “It’s kind of a recent thing.”

“Well, I’m glad you two can be close. One of my friends has a brother, and they can hardly stand each other.” To my relief, the woman had finally signed the contract and gone back to her office, waving a cheery goodbye to both of us.

In the car now, I reminded myself that the contract would never go into effect anyway.

It still upset me.

In my hand, I clutched an envelope containing my copy of the contract. It would do no good, I knew, to find Andrew’s copy somehow, wherever he might hide it, and rip it to shreds. The lawyer had one in his files.

Slaves, of course, were often taken with no contract at all, and sometimes with little or no consent on the part of the slave. There were other ways to prove ownership, in accordance with various local customs, and it was rarely questioned in any case. This contract, unassailable as a fake for the good reason that it wasn’t one, was mainly for Dad’s benefit. It wasn’t enough that Andrew could satisfy the authorities that he owned me. It would take more than mere possession to prove his ownership to Dad.

“I’d tell you this makes me even more determined to get into the Academy, but it doesn’t. I couldn’t possibly want it any more than I already did.”

Andrew snorted and shook his head, his eyes on the road. “Wow, that hanging bitch really wrapped you around her little finger, didn’t she?”

Every muscle in my body suddenly was seized in a cramp. I stared straight at Andrew, my mouth a wide O of shock. He could never have heard Miranda say that phrase! I looked at his face as closely as I had ever looked at anyone’s. There was no sign of irony written on it. He had only used a commonplace way of expressing his perceptions, and gave no evidence that he knew what that particular metaphor meant to me.

What it meant to me.

My entire day with Miranda passed through my mind in a flash, every word, every event, every gesture. The way Miranda had made the most significant men in my life behave in exactly the way she had wanted them to. The way she had brought them under her control. The way she had wra— ... I suddenly didn’t want to hear that phrase again, not even in my head.

And the way Miranda had somehow steered me, who before that day had barely even known what the Hanging Academy was, into a passion for attending the Academy that overwhelmed every other possible future ahead of me. Do I really want to go? Or did Miranda ... put that into me somehow?

When I finally got home, I bounded up the stairs. Flinging my bedroom door closed behind me, I bounced onto the bed on my knees, facing Miranda’s head.

“Miranda! Is it me or is it you?? Were you helping me or controlling me? Did you see something inside me, or did you put the Academy in there yourself? Tell me! Tell me!!!”

Miranda’s head was silent.

I can’t do it. I can’t go to the interview. It’s less than two days away, it’s in the morning day after tomorrow, and I can’t do it. Dean Porter will read me like a book. He’ll know how confused I am. He’ll know I don’t understand where this need came from, the need to be an Academy student. Miranda! What did you do to me?? Did you work your magic on me? Was it just because I was the last girl you’d be able to talk to in your life? I wasn’t really special to you, was I? Was I just somebody available you could mold in your image?

I hugged myself on my knees on the bed, my face rubbing the sheets, crouched in a fetal position, my body wracked with sobs. Miranda, help me, help me!!

I’ll just cancel the interview. There’s no point. I can’t go in there like this. I can’t pass the interview, not messed up like I am.

I suddenly realized I would be Andrew’s slave as soon as I cancelled. I couldn’t get in the Academy, and that meant the contract was in force. My whole life was in ruins. Just days from now my brother would own me, he would have my body as he’d been wanting to. He would use me, force me to service him, impregnate me. Over and over again, for as many children as he wanted—for himself or to make Dad happy.

I fell over on my side and, fully clothed, still in a fetal ball, I sobbed until I exhausted myself and fell asleep.

I woke up with my head pounding, my eyes rough and red. For a moment I thought it was still the same afternoon, but the sun was slanting through my bedroom window at a morning angle. I’d slept through the whole evening and night, not that it mattered particularly. I wasn’t much interested in anything. My eyes wandered vaguely around the room, the only part of my body that wanted to be awake. I didn’t move any other muscle. I couldn’t summon up the will.

Tuesday morning. Interview tomorrow. For what it’s worth. Something associated with the girl I had thought I wanted to be. It didn’t relate to me now.

There was a knock on the door. Melville’s voice came through the wooden panels. “Miss Amy? Is everything all right? You’ve usually had breakfast by now. I don’t believe you went to dinner either.”

I sighed. I guess I’d better answer. He’ll just get more alarmed. Maybe food would be more inviting once I’m looking at it. In a croaking voice I called out, “I’m not feeling very well, Melville. Could you maybe bring something up here?”

“Certainly, Miss Amy.” His footsteps receded down the hall and the stairs.

A few minutes later I was looking at a tray laden with a bowl of cereal, a fruit salad, and a glass of orange juice. No, I was wrong. It doesn’t look any better than it sounded. I have to eat something, though. I picked listlessly at a bit of sliced fruit sticking out of the salad.

“Should I call a doctor, Miss Amy?” Melville was still standing there.

I shook my head, and winced at the ache across my forehead. “Probably just a little bug going around. I’ll be okay later. It’s okay, you can go.” I hoped that wasn’t too brusque. I didn’t like to be rude to the only person in the house who seemed really to care about me.

“Yes, Miss Amy.” He nodded and left, leaving me alone—as I wanted to be.

I made myself finish most of the breakfast, since it seemed to be making my head feel better. The next fifteen minutes were spent in internal discussion over whether a shower would help. I finally shrugged and managed to creep into the bathroom.

The shower did seem to raise my energy level, though when I came out, I still didn’t feel like putting on clothes. I locked my bedroom door to keep Undesirables out, and lay back on the bed, trying to avoid looking at Miranda.

The thought came to me at last: if I can’t have the Academy, maybe that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m stuck with Andrew.

After a few minutes I sat up, as creakily as if I were an eighty-year-old man, and made myself go to the desk and turn my computer on.

I began searching online for all the information I could find on the laws of slavery. There were some details of law that applied differently to voluntary or involuntary slaves, though the bulk of the laws applied equally to both. I went from one reference source to another, trying to find something that might get me out of my contract with Andrew.