Protecting Truth by Michelle Warren Read Free Book Online

silverplated kettle with a long spout, curved like the neck of a swan. The kettle, reflecting the wall colors, hangs in his hand, high above the cups as he pours. He finishes without spilling a single drop. Then the attentive man tilts his body toward Bishop. “Would you like the usual, Mr. Bishop?”
    “Yes, but surprise us with a few extra items, please.”
    “Yes, sir.” The man ceremoniously bows, closes the surrounding curtains, and steps backward out of our private alcove.
    “You do come here a lot.” I smile and reach for the tea. I sip slowly, testing the temperature. Mint leaves swirl on the surface.
    “I photograph food for their menus and website and then trade the photos for free dinners.”
    “Aren’t you enterprising.”
    “It helps when you don’t have money.”
    “Well, I guess that will change for us in a few weeks.”
    “Yes, the Oaths Ceremony will change everything,” Bishop says thoughtfully. He plays with his napkin, eyes lowered.
    The oaths are as ominous as they sound. It’s the day that we dedicate our lives to the Society of Wanderers. It occurs in our junior year by no accident. They give you the first years to decide if this is the life for you—a trial period, of sorts. Since my goal is finding and saving my mom, I’m still in.
    Some liken the ceremony to becoming a nun, but I think that’s only half true. The part that’s similar is that the Society hopes that you will feel a “calling” to serve. The part that’s different is the lack of a vow of poverty and, thank goodness, chastity. Although, I haven’t been lucky enough to worry about that last part yet. Bishop’s a perfect gentleman in every unfortunate way.
    The poverty part will be remedied by the large allowance that we’ll receive weekly. This includes a new, loaded bank account, credit card, and unlimited access to whatever our hearts desire. In most students’ eyes, the Academy just gets better and better. To me, their lavish gifts feel like a bribe.
    “Are you nervous?” Bishop asks.
    “A little.” I squirm. “Most people don’t have to decide their future when they’re sixteen.” I sigh. “What if I change my mind?” As soon as the words come out, I regret them. If I change my mind about being in the Society, that means I change my mind about being with Bishop, as his Wanderer, at least. And if I’m going to keep him, I need to be one hundred percent committed to our relationship and our Wandering team.
    “I mean—” I stammer, looking for the right words, ones that won’t hurt his feelings.
    “It’s okay, Sera. I understand. It’s a lot of pressure to be someone you never knew existed until a year ago. It’s a lot to absorb by anyone’s standards.” He smiles and reaches for my hand, comforting me. He turns my palm upward and traces the creases across the skin. His touch soothes, my shoulders drop, and I slouch into my feather seat.
    “You’re right.” I smile.
    Before long, plates piled with food in colors of gold, purple, green, and brown cover our table. Bishop explains each dish and watches me sample them. He laughs when I scrunch my nose with dislike for a few dishes.
    When we finish dinner, Bishop wraps his arm around my waist and we step out from the sauna of rich perfumes and into the city streets. The air, cool and gentle, refreshes me.
    We slowly make our way toward the embankment under a cloudy sky. A long string of light bulbs runs the length of the riverbank. Glowing hazes wrap like nests around each light.
    Bishop tours me past his favorite photography spots. The Millennium Bridge, with its twisted steel, arches gracefully across the Thames River. We stroll past the Globe Theatre and Tate Modern Museum. He explains that he only visits to photograph people, tourists in particular. Farther away, he points out the National Theatre, set aglow with purple spotlights, and finally the Royal Festival Hall.
    Our route winds inland for a short time and then through a tree-lined