The Black Iris
an excerpt

“We assure you, Mister Pelham, that you are making the right decision in leaving your son in our hands,” Madame Penelope De Winter sang cheerily to a craggy-faced gentleman in a charcoal business suit. As she bowed her head to him, her glistening black-and-gray hair fell from behind her ear and veiled her green left eye for a moment before she tucked it back into place with one perfectly manicured burgundy index finger. “All of our wards receive only the best education in the musical arts, not to mention the training they receive in non-musical entertainment. None of our children leave without wit, manner, and talent befitting their own existing potential.” When she smiled, she resembled a very attractive bleached skull.

Mister Pelham clapped his son Archer on the shoulder, sucked in a deep breath, and gazed at the wonder of the ornate architecture of Madame Archer's main hall. His mind wandered to thoughts of the price that was paid, and all that he was giving up. The gain, however, for both his son and himself, was worth every sacrifice on all their parts. Even so, sending his son off to the other side of the country to receive his education in a place that was not even an accredited school was not an easy thing for a man such as himself to justify. He reminded himself of the impeccable quality of the living quarters, the intimate learning atmosphere, the promise of his shy, strange son forming strong bonds with his classmates, and breathed a long sigh of resignation. “Indeed,” he said. “Well, Archer. Be seeing you. Try and remember to write. Here are your things. I'm off to the airport now.” Mister Pelham ever so slightly bowed his head to the stately skeleton of a headmistress, and briskly showed himself the way out.

Archer whipped his head about, and his unruly mess of gently waving strawberry blonde hair caught him across the face and stung his glass-green eyes as he did so. His jaw dropped as if to declare a goodbye to his father, but he thought better of it. He lowered his gaze to the floor, the fine black and white marble tiling, and Madame Penelope De Winter's remarkably shiny and dangerously high heels. “Yeah, love you too, Dad,” he muttered.