In an ordinary job, in an ordinary place, the persistent stench of stale smoke that surrounds Jake Henshall would without a doubt be the worst thing about him. The stuff clings to him for hours after, and he wraps himself in it, relishes it with the same satisfied smirk he retains for all his sins. He knows it bothers Frankie, too, in the way heavy smokers can spot ex-smokers by how their fingers twitch when someone lights up; she could swear he smokes double when he knows she’s going to have to spend time around him. And it’s not simply that the smell teases the decades-old craving that still lurks in her throat, it’s that it reminds her unavoidably of her tenure at Dorley Hall, of stepping out into the woods on cold, wet nights and grinding one sodden, lipstick-stained filter after another into the dirt, trying to regain her equilibrium after a night spent debasing some doomed boy-girl.
Because that’s the fucking thing, isn’t it? This isn’t an ordinary job and this isn’t an ordinary place. This is the manor at Stenordale, whose empty halls could swallow Dorley thrice over, whose grounds were rotten with death even before Crispin Smyth-Farrow began burying girls in the central quad, and the job Frankie’s taken up is the same one she walked gratefully away from fifteen years ago. If she could, she would snatch the cigarette from Jake’s mouth and with it start a fire to consume them all.
THE SISTERS OF DORLEY
A closeted trans girl discovers a secret forced feminisation facility and exploits it for free transition healthcare.
