A Breath of Frost

by Alyxandra Harvey

  Jane pulled a folded square of parchment from the platter. “Percival MacTavish.”

  She spun on her heel, the way Emma and her cousins had done when they were little to make themselves dizzy. She stopped without opening her eyes and pointed to a girl with long brown hair and freckles on her nose. She gasped, clutching her fingers in excitement. Her friends hugged her as if she’d just received an actual proposal of marriage.

  “Tobias Lawless.”

  She turned and turned, but when she stopped, her hands remained at her side. She opened her eyes, shaking her head. “No one here.”

  Several girls sighed, disappointed. Tobias was handsome for all that he rarely smiled. And he would be an earl one day. “He’s frightfully choosy anyway,” someone said, consoling herself out loud.

  Jane read out another name. “Simon Watkin.” She turned again, eventually pointing to Catriona. The white of her cheeks, her hair, and her nightdress made her look like moonlight. She blinked. “But I didn’t even put a name in.”

  “All the same.” Jane shrugged.

  “I’ve seen his death,” Catriona murmured. The girl next to her stepped away, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders, as if Catriona’s gift was contagious.

  Jane just reached for another piece of parchment. She giggled. “This is the name of one of the footmen.”

  “Yes, but a handsome one,” someone replied with a smug smile.

  Jane closed her eyes and dutifully spun around again. Emma wondered if she was getting nauseated. She stopped and shrugged. “No one’s going to marry the footman.”

  “That’s all right.” The girl who’d put in his name grinned wickedly. “I actually only want him to kiss me.”

  “There’s a spell for that,” someone else suggested, grinning just as wickedly.

  “One more circle, Jane,” Daphne interrupted, watching her carefully, like a hawk circling over a field. Emma wondered whose name she’d put in. Jane reached for the last three pieces of parchment.

  “Cormac Fairfax.” She flicked open the other two and laughed. “They all say Cormac Fairfax.”

  Emma hadn’t written down a name. Three other students had entered Cormac into the pile. For some reason, the thought made her cheeks flames and her back teeth grind. Which was ridiculous. He wasn’t the one for her, he’d made that plain. And he’d obviously been kissing as many girls as the gossips claimed, to have his name written down three times.

  Jane twirled and twirled. The candles flickered. Emma’s breath clogged in her throat.

  Jane stumbled to a stop.

  Slowly, so slowly, she raised her arm. Her finger extended, pointing to Daphne.

  Daphne smirked, catching Emma’s eye.

  Jane, however, kept turning.

  She pointed again, this time to two girls Emma didn’t know.

  After one last circle, she pointed again.

  This time, it was directly at Emma. She jumped, as though she’d been physically prodded. Her witch knot tingled.

  “I’m sorry,” Jane said finally, opening her eyes. “I just don’t know who will marry Cormac.”

  Chapter 32

  Emma went from learning to maneuver with antlers on her head to maneuvering the social pitfalls of a betrothal supper attended entirely by witches.

  Since both Jane and Charles were from witching families, this first celebration had a very select list of guests: the kind of people who wouldn’t faint if Emma’s glamour accidentally slipped and she took a turn about the room wearing antlers. And to think, not so long ago she’d worried about being a wall-flower.

  “Quit fidgeting,” Daphne snapped when they paused, waiting to be announced. They’d ridden together in the school carriage, equipped with more outriders armed with muskets and swords than a group of schoolgirls usually warranted. Daphne lost no time in telling them it was because she was the daughter of the First Legate of the Order and her father always saw to her safety. “Mind you don’t tread on my hem when we go in.”

  “How about your head?” Gretchen shot back. “Can I tread on that?”

  The butler, luckily, chose that moment to interrupt.

  “Lady Daphne Kent, daughter of the First Legate.”

  Daphne’s entrance was graceful and well rehearsed. The candlelight gleamed on the silver beaded flowers on the hem of her gown and the pearls woven into her hair. She glided between rows of orange trees decorated with crystal teardrops. An orchestra played softly on an upstairs balcony. The ballroom was beautiful, filled with silk gowns and diamond necklaces and cravat pins.

  But now that Emma could see past the magical glamours, she noticed details she was amazed had remained hidden for so long. How did one not notice a glowing turquoise-and-green peacock, for instance? Even if it was someone’s familiar and made mostly of magic. Above, several glowing doves circled the room between the glittering candelabras. A cat, two hedgehogs, and the sound of a horse outside in the rosebushes weren’t the only indication that this was no ordinary event.

  For one thing, a waterfall of sparkling water cascaded from the railings of the gallery, dissipating into sparkles and tendrils of mist where it braided into rivers of fire from a glittering candelabra, spelling out Jane’s name. She stood below, smiling prettily, and looking nothing like a girl who’d recently eaten three handfuls of toffee while weeping that her life was over.

  Daphne greeted her with a curtsy, before she and Sophie and Lilybeth smiled at a group of Ironstone students, drawing their attention. Some of the focus was pulled away again, however, when the cousins were announced.

  “Lady Penelope Chadwick, Lady Gretchen Thorn, and Lady Emma Day.”

  By the time Emma’s name reverberated through the ballroom, everyone had turned to stare.

  “Are my antlers showing?” Emma whispered, turning her Fith-Fath ring frantically on her finger. It was the first time she’d been out in such a crowd with her antlers.

  “No,” Penelope assured her out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Blast,” she said. “So it’s just me?”

  “Mother warned me this might happen.” Penelope winced. “Witches or not, it’s still polite society. And they love a good scandal. You’ve seen how they still look at Mother.”

  “This doesn’t feel particularly polite,” Emma muttered, lifting her chin. Still, she’d faced the magisters on the ship, she could face this. She couldn’t help but scan the guests for Cormac but didn’t see him anywhere. She wondered who else was searching the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of those dark eyes and that wicked smile.

  “Well, come on,” Gretchen said, marching them forward as though they were about to take on Napoleon’s army. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Is that them?”

  “Which one’s the mad witch’s daughter?”

  “The red-haired one, has to be.”

  “Oh yes,” Emma said drily, as gossips tracked their progress around the edges of the room. “This is so much better than being ignored as a wallflower.”

  Penelope grinned. “I’m half-afraid Gretchen is going to stab that old man with his own cane. You just know she’s picturing it as a sword.”

  Emma had to grin back. Let them stare and whisper behind their hands. She could only feel sorry for them, without friends such as her cousins. They made their curtsies to Jane, who studiously avoided meeting Emma’s eyes, and then hurried off to the refreshment table.

  “I wonder where the library is,” Gretchen said.

  “I wonder if there are any handsome young men willing to dance a waltz?” Penelope added hopefully.

  “I wonder if we can hide under the tablecloth,” Emma put in.

  Their hiding spot was slowly but surely encroached upon, until they stood with their backs against the turquoise silk-papered walls, surrounded by curious guests. Gretchen snarled and Penelope smiled at all of the young men. Emma held up her painted fan to cover as much of her face as possible. It helped her feel less exposed. As the questions grew more numerous an
d less polite, Gretchen eased along the wall, shoving Emma gently, who in turn had to press against Penelope or risk toppling over. Daphne was pouting on the edge of the crowd, narrowing her eyes as the young men abandoned her and her friends to catch a glimpse of the daughters of the Lovegrove sisters.

  “Tell me,” an elderly duchess asked Penelope, “will your mother be making an appearance?”

  “No, I’m afraid not, Your Grace.”

  The duchess sniffed. Penelope’s smile slipped, turning slightly feral at the edges. By the time the duchess turned to Emma, there were silvery spiders crawling up Penelope’s dress. She squeaked when she saw them, smacking at herself with her fan.

  “They’re not real,” Emma reminded her gently.

  “They’re still spiders.”

  It took another three quarters of an hour before Gretchen found an opportunity to save them all. “Quickly!” She shoved her cousins through the French doors and into the gardens.

  “Why did you do that?” Penelope asked, stumbling against the stone balustrade. “I was finally talking to someone I was hoping would ask me to dance. He looked sturdy.”

  Gretchen rolled her eyes. “You don’t need a sturdy dance partner,” she said. “You need one with a brain in his head.”

  They went down the steps, crossing into the formal gardens. The stone paths wound around yew hedges whose shapes changed from swans to unicorns. “Illusion charm,” Gretchen said, touching her ear with a wince. “Though it would work better with fewer poppy petals in it.”

  “Is your head hurting?” Emma asked, concerned.

  “Not hurting, exactly. But there’s a strange buzz when I’m around magic that isn’t quite right. It stops when the magic clicks together properly like a puzzle. Apparently as a Whisperer, I can create new spells and fix old ones so they work better.”

  “Like a doctor of magic?” Penelope asked.

  “I suppose.” She wrinkled her nose. “According to Mrs. Sparrow it’s very rare.”

  “Does she shout ‘Control!’ at you until you go cross-eyed?” Emma asked sympathetically. “I swear she starts and ends every sentence she says to me with that caution.”

  “She’d make a decent general in the army,” Gretchen agreed. “I vow, we haven’t had a moment to ourselves since we were tossed into the academy. Have you burned at the stake lately, Penelope?”

  “Happily, no. But I don’t take off my gloves anymore if I can help it. I accidentally brushed against the edge of a painting in the gold parlor at Rowanstone and I was suddenly a footman with blisters on his heels and a bad belly from Stilton cheese.” She sighed. “I was hoping to see something more romantic.”

  “Have you heard from your father, Emma?” Gretchen asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Blighter.”

  She choked out a laugh. “I don’t think you’re allowed to call earls names.”

  “Bah. Godric will be earl one day and I fully intend to keep calling him names. Especially now.” She lowered her voice, sounding worried. “He’s drinking rather a lot.”

  “He’s seventeen and home from Eton,” Penelope pointed out. “It’s expected.”

  “Even so.” She worried at her lower lip. “It’s different. He’s not as cheerful and you know Godric, he’s always cheerful, even when Maman is flitting about him. This ghost thing has him discombobulated.” She absentmindedly tugged on one of the hedges. A green leafy swan nipped at her fingers. She pulled back sharply. “Ow, that’s rude. Even for a magic bird.”

  “I’m sure he’ll get used to it,” Emma said. “After all, I’m getting used to the antlers.” She froze, groaning. “Daphne’s on her way over here. That can’t be good.”

  “Into the hedges!” Gretchen exclaimed.

  “No use, she’s just spotted us.”

  “At least she looks like a cat on bath day,” Gretchen added smugly. “She can’t stand sharing the attention of all those people.”

  “She can have it,” Emma snorted.

  “There you are,” Daphne announced. Sophie and Lilybeth trailed behind her. “Everyone’s talking about you. I supposed no one’s asked you to dance though.”

  “Nor you,” Penelope pointed out, nettled because it was the truth. “Or else you wouldn’t be out here bothering us, would you?” Sophie, safely behind Daphne, hid a smile.

  “We’ve decided it’s time you proved yourselves to us,” Daphne said.

  Emma rolled her eyes. “As if we care about that.”

  “All the Rowanstone girls have to prove themselves,” Lilybeth said, sounding shocked that the cousins weren’t leaping to do their bidding. “I had to eat spelled iced cakes and they gave me feathers instead of hair for an entire week! And Sophie had to sneak down into the apothecary pantries to steal the rose-petal candies for Jane.”

  “And now it’s your turn,” Daphne declared with a brittle smile. “Unless you’re too scared.”

  “Scared is it?” Gretchen snapped, instantly defensive. Emma and Penelope exchanged glances.

  “If you’re not scared, then you’ll sneak out right now and visit the House.” When they didn’t react, Daphne sighed. “The Greymalkin House. Really, where did you three even grow up?”

  “You want us to leave the ball altogether?” Penelope said blandly. “How surprising.”

  “The house is near the Park. Turn left, then right. It won’t take you long. Simply pick a flower from the other side of the gate.”

  “After which you send Keepers to chase us down?” Emma asked. “No, thank you.”

  “We’ll tell them you’re in the ladies parlor, fixing Penelope’s hem,” Sophie assured them, looking uncomfortable. Emma really couldn’t figure out why she’d chosen Daphne and Lilybeth as friends. She seemed far too amiable for their schemes. “This isn’t about getting you into trouble, truly. It’s tradition, that’s all.”

  “It’s tradition that Daphne is put out because no one is paying her any attention.” Penelope rolled her eyes.

  Daphne tossed a curl over her shoulder. Her emerald earrings glittered. “I told you they wouldn’t have the courage.”

  “Is that so?” Gretchen asked tightly. She nodded once, with military precision. “Right. Let’s go.” And then she vanished through the shrubbery, slapping at the mercurial hedges as she went.

  “Oh honestly,” Emma muttered as she and Penelope followed her. “I wish, just for once, she could let a dare pass her by.”

  Chapter 33

  It was strange to be walking out at night, even in Mayfair. Girls were only allowed to shop, or walk in Hyde Park, during the day and always while trailing footmen or maids. Even distrusting Daphne’s motives, there was something freeing about the feel of the wind on Emma’s arms and the sturdy pavement under her shoes. The gas lamps flickered above, half shrouded in the thick clinging London mist.

  “Where do we turn right, do you think?” Emma wondered. The lanes between the houses were private mews for stabling horses and the first street led to a cul-de-sac. They kept walking.

  “I think we’ve arrived,” Penelope finally said, sounding strangled. She stopped to stare down the street. “What’s that?” She shivered. Emma and Gretchen also stopped to stare.

  The house was faded, with peeling gray paint and a broken shutter that stuttered loudly against the wall. A black iron gate heavily decorated with scrollwork and a magpie design in the center enclosed the wilted garden. Even the shadows were gray, clinging like mold to every surface. “Why haven’t we ever noticed that house before?” she wondered. “It’s positively dismal.”

  They waited for a lone carriage to pass before stepping off the curb to cross the street. This had been the fashionable neighborhood before Mayfair. The houses had a certain faded elegance, still beautiful in a way the Greymalkin House wasn’t. It had been lovely once, when it was full of warlocks, but now only the bones remained along with the taint of neglected spells. Wilted and scrubby plants pushed through the fence.

  “Let�
��s get it over with then,” Emma said, reaching for a vine of green leaves with curling tendrils and red berries. It was covered in a fine layer of dust or mold, she couldn’t be sure. She was just glad she was wearing gloves, even if they would be ruined. She’d barely brushed against it when some kind of dark energy traveled through the fence. She could have sworn that a ghostly hand clamped around her wrist. It seared through her, bruising and burning through her gloves.

  It wouldn’t let her go.

  It pulled until she was slammed painfully against the iron scrollwork.

  “Something’s got me!” Emma squawked. Gretchen and Penelope tried to drag her away. The push and pull made her bones hurt. She felt some insidious magic traveling up her arms, weakening her. Her visions went gray.

  Gretchen and Penelope gave such a mighty pull, she was ripped away. It was exactly like an arrow being pulled out of her, sharp and scorching in its agony. The momentum flung her back and she stumbled off the sidewalk onto the uneven cobblestones. A carriage bore down on her, horses whinnying shrilly. The coachman yelled. But even with such brief contact, the magic of the house had sapped her. She couldn’t seem to react quickly enough. Gretchen was sprinting toward her, looking terrified.

  Someone yanked her out of the way.

  Cormac glowered down at her, his dark hair falling over one eye. One very infuriated eye.

  “Thank you,” Emma said as the last of the draining magic faded. She shivered, feeling ill.

  “Are you crazy?” he demanded. “It’s not safe out here. Shouldn’t you be at the academy?”

  “We were at a nearby betrothal ball actually,” she replied as Gretchen and Penelope swarmed around her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Patroling for the Order,” Cormac replied.

  Gretchen frowned, half stepping in front of Emma. “You’re not hauling her off again. Even if you did just save her life.” Her familiar walked out of her body, a massive wolfhound with fur like hoarfrost and teeth like icicles. It growled.