Haven

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events,
real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,
places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination,
and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
First Simon Pulse hardcover edition February 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Kristina Cook Hart
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction
in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks
of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For
more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers
Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at
www.simonspeakers.com
.
Designed by Mike Rosamilia
The text of this book was set in Berling LT Std.
Manufactured in the United States of America
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cook, Kristi.
Haven / by Kristi Cook. — 1st Simon Pulse hardcover ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Violet McKenna’s life started falling apart when
a premonition of her father’s murder came true, but at a new school,
Winterhaven, she finds friends with psychic gifts and an alluring boy whose
destiny is entwined with hers in a critical—and deadly—way.
ISBN 978-1-4424-0760-2 (hardcover)
[1. Psychic ability—Fiction. 2. Supernatural—Fiction. 3. Boarding schools—Fiction.
4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Orphans—Fiction. 6. New York (State)—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.C76984Hav 2011 [Fic]—dc22 2010021803
ISBN 978-1-4424-0762-6 (eBook)

For Vivian and Eleanor,
the coolest kids ever.
Seriously.

I
’ll never forget that first glimpse of Winterhaven as we pulled up the long, curving drive—gray stones bathed in the lavender haze of dusk, looking like an old European university, all flying buttresses and stone spires reaching toward the sky. Leaves in every shade of the autumn spectrum—red, yellow, orange, brown—littered the ground at my feet, crunching beneath my boots as I stepped out of the car and looked around. This was it—my new home, my new life.

Typically, I had just been dumped there as unceremoniously as had the luggage at my feet. My mom hadn’t even bothered to come along for the ride. Okay, technically Patsy is my stepmother, but since my real mom died when I was four
and my dad married Patsy about, oh, two seconds later, she’s all I’ve got. She was always clear about her priorities, though—my dad, and her career, in that order. I think I made the list somewhere between the Junior League and Jimmy Choo shoes.

To give Patsy credit, though, she
had
made an effort to spend more time with me after my dad died. I thought we were making progress when she took an entire Saturday afternoon off and invited me out to lunch. But that’s when she dropped the bomb—she’d been offered a job in New York, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, she called it. So less than a month into my junior year, Patsy gave me a choice: stay in Atlanta with Gran, or move to New York with her.

There were no other options, no one else to foist me off on. No living relatives except for Gran, my real mom’s mother. And as much as I adore Gran, I just wasn’t sure that she was up to having me move in with her and Lupe, her companion/housekeeper. After all, Gran was old, set in her ways. I didn’t want to be a burden.

And, okay . . . I’ll admit that there was more to it than that.
Way
more. I can’t really explain it, but once I saw that Winter-haven brochure in the pile that Patsy had dumped in my lap, I somehow
knew
that this was the place for me. I’d been so sure of it that I’d actually refused to apply anywhere else.

And so . . . here I was. Time to see if my instincts had
been correct. I made my way up the stairs toward the largest of the buildings, the one marked
ADMINISTRATION
. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open a set of double doors at the top of the stairs and stepped inside, looking around a huge rotunda. On either side of me, two staircases curved up, like a swan’s wings. Up above was a stained-glass-tiled dome, a huge chandelier hanging from its center. Directly below it stood a bronze statue cordoned off by red velvet ropes.
WASHINGTON IRVING
, the plaque read. The school’s founder. Which, I had to admit, was pretty cool.

Letting out a low whistle of appreciation, I turned in slow circles, admiring the view.
Wow.
The glossy brochure hadn’t done this place justice. I hoped it was costing Patsy a fortune.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, I froze, my heart thumping loudly against my ribs. A tall woman with graying auburn hair came into view, smiling as she hurried toward me, her high heels clicking noisily against the black-and-white checkerboard marble tiles.

“You must be Miss McKenna,” she called out. “Welcome to Winterhaven,
chérie
. I’m Nicole Girard. Are these all of your belongings?” She nodded toward the two trunks the driver had left at my side before disappearing without a word.

“That’s it,” I answered, my voice a bit rusty. “I had the rest of my stuff shipped.”

“Very good. Just leave them there, and I’ll take you right up to the headmaster’s office. Dr. Blackwell is looking forward to welcoming you.”

“Great.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. Glancing back one last time at my trunks, I followed Mrs. Girard up the stairs on my left and down a long hall lined with portraits of stern-looking old men in suits. Former headmasters, I guessed.

Finally we stopped in front of a large, arched wooden door that looked like it belonged in a medieval castle. Mrs. Girard knocked three times before turning the brass handle. “Dr. Blackwell?” she called out, stepping inside with me trailing behind. “The new student has arrived.”

A leather chair swiveled around, startling me so badly that I took a step back and nearly tripped over my own feet. A man sat behind the massive desk, watching me. His hair was totally silver, but his skin was surprisingly smooth except for crinkles at the corners of his eyes—eyes as silver as his hair. With his wire-rimmed spectacles and a pipe between his teeth, he looked just like I imagined a headmaster should.

“Welcome, Miss McKenna. What a pleasure to meet you.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” I stammered.

“And how was your journey?”

“I think I slept through most of it,” I answered truthfully.

“I do hope you were able to explore the city a bit before
coming here. I told your stepmother there was no rush.”

“I did, thanks.” I had spent two weeks helping Patsy settle into her new apartment on the Upper East Side.

“Very good.” He nodded. “Thank you, Nicole. I’ll ring the bell when I’m ready for you to show Miss McKenna to her room.”

“Very well, sir,” the woman replied, then took her leave with one last smile in my direction.

Dr. Blackwell motioned for me to take a seat opposite him, so I settled myself into the chair across from his desk.

“Well, then,” he said, laying down his pipe and shuffling a stack of papers. “I have your transcripts right here. Quite impressive. Windsor Day School, advanced classes, honor roll. A fencer.” He took off his glasses and looked up at me. “Hmm, on the state championship team, it says.”

“Yes, sir. I’m recovering from an injury, though.” Almost out of habit, I reached across to rub my right shoulder.

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that we’ve quite a fencing program here at Winterhaven. Our instructor is an Olympic gold medalist. I’m sure there will be a place for you on the girls team.”

I shifted in my seat. At Windsor we’d had just one team— and I had been the only girl on it.

“As to your schedule, we’ve made some placements based
upon your credits, but you’ll find our class offerings a little different here from those at Windsor Day. If anything doesn’t appeal to you, let us know at the end of the day tomorrow and we’ll make the necessary adjustments.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I took the page he pushed across the desk.

“Breakfast is served in the dining hall from seven till eight thirty, lunch at noon, and dinner from five to six thirty.” He shuffled through some more papers on his desk. “Let’s see, you’ll be in the East Hall dormitory. Mrs. Girard is house-mistress there, and her word is law. I’m sure I needn’t tell you that smoking and alcoholic beverages are strictly forbidden. Mrs. Girard will inform you of the remaining dormitory rules when she shows you to your room.”

I must have looked panicked, because he smiled a gentle, grandfatherly smile. “I assure you, they are nothing too strict. Now then, have you any questions for me?”

“Um, a roommate?” I asked hopefully.

“Ah, yes. You do have a roommate, and she’s eagerly awaiting your arrival. Miss Cecilia Bradford. I believe you’ll get on famously.”

I nodded, hoping he was right. I wanted to fit in. To
blend
in.

Dr. Blackwell steepled his hands beneath his chin, silently
watching me for a moment. “I’m very sorry about your father’s death, Miss McKenna,” he said, startling me.