Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)

by Harper, Molly

  Mrs. Winter, however, was perfectly poised, basking in the attention as if it were her natural right. “Well, I was young and didn’t have the control over myself that I did now.”

  Owen came forward, looking far more polished and un-gangly than any boy of fourteen had the right to be, and bowed to us both.

  “Deep breath,” Owen whispered as I rose from my curtsy. “I don’t think I could haul you off the floor wearing that much dress.”

  An ever-flowing fountain of comfort, Owen Winter.

  Still, his sarcasm broke through the strange paralysis, and I straightened my shoulders. I lifted my chin, putting on my “best smile.” Audacity, Mrs. Winter told me. I would need a touch of audacity.

  The students of both schools gathered on the dancefloor, some of them already coupled off. Headmistress Lockwood welcomed us all to the first social dance of the fall semester and announced that Mrs. Eugenia Dalrymple, a Miss Castwell’s alumna and grandmother to Ivy Cowell, would serve as this afternoon’s hostess. Students were to find their appointed partners and prepare to dance a Spring Reel, a complicated English country dance that was meant to encourage a long and prosperous growing season. As I had a “strained ankle,” meaning I had never danced a Spring Reel in my life and wasn’t going to be able to start now, my “dearest cousin,” Owen, would be escorting me around the room, making introductions and preventing other Palmer students from asking me to dance. While I found this plan suited my “not exposing my dance ignorance to the Guardian world at large” needs, it did upset my “not wanting to spend the afternoon being subtly mocked by Owen Winter” preferences.

  Mrs. Winter didn’t give one floating fig for my preferences.

  “Owen, please go introduce your cousin to our hostess. A distant cousin of mine, you’ll remember her from the Yule celebrations on my side of the family.” Mrs. Winter waved casually to a woman across the ballroom, who seemed to be trying to taking flight, given the way she was flinging her arm about. She turned and leveled us both with her frank blue eyes. “Children. Behave.”

  I let loose a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Owen was staring at me.

  “She meant you,” I told Owen.

  “I’m not the one who was raised in a literal barn,” he muttered back.

  “And yet, you’re the one with the bad manners,” I told him, ever so subtly stomping on the instep of his foot under the cover of my puffy skirt. To his credit, his face barely registered the pain.

  “They’ve armed you with pointy shoes,” he grumbled.

  I giggled behind my hand, Owen led me to a green silk settee where a plump, jowly woman with thick white hair was seated, her black satin skirts furled around her.

  Owen’s voice was impossibly smooth as he bowed slightly and made the most proper speech I’d ever heard come out of his mouth. “Mrs. Dalrymple, may I present my dear cousin, Miss Cassandra Reed. Cassandra, Mrs. Eugenia Dalrymple.” Mrs. Dalrymple peered at me through a pair of silver lorgnettes, her lips pressed into a thin line. I could make out white apple blossoms embroidered on the high collar of her dress, marking her as a Brandywine by birth.

  I glanced over my shoulder to where Mrs. Winter was holding court. She gave me a frosty smile, though I’m sure it was more of a facial reminder than a bolstering gesture.

  Fortunately, Owen stepped in. He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Dalrymple, I was just telling dear Cassandra about your impressive greenhouses. My cousin has an interest in plants. She just completed a school project on drosera plants. Headmistress Lockwood was very impressed by her analysis of their feeding habits.”

  Mrs. Dalrymple’s considerable grey eyebrows shot up, as did mine, because I didn’t know how Owen was aware of my first-day tangle with Headmistress Lockwood’s carnivorous plant. Did his mother tell him? “Really, my dear? Is Headmistress Lockwood still lording her drosera aureus specimen over the underclasswomen?”

  “Does she really use the younger girls to feed the plant?” I asked, barely containing the quirking of my lips. “I suspected as much, but I was afraid the other girls would laugh if I asked.”

  Mrs. Dalrymple shook her head, her grey curls bobbing. “Oh, no, she’s always fed that dratted plant from the school’s flock of chickens. But she lets the younger girls believe they could be selected to ‘donate’ to the cause. It serves as a behavioral deterrent.”

  “I will do my best to behave,” I told her.

  “Or at least give the appearance of behaving,” Owen said in mock solemnity.

  I frowned at him and tapped his wrist with my fan, making Mrs. Dalrymple chuckle.

  “I don’t believe any lady should accept censure from you on proper behavior, young man,” Mrs. Dalrymple scolded. “Now, go fetch your lovely cousin some punch while we become better acquainted.”

  “Of course,” Owen said, inclining his head. “And would you like some strawberry tarts, cousin?”

  I narrowed my eyes at my “cousin.” Strawberry tarts were at the top of the list of “forbidden” party foods as they were awkward to eat and capable of producing awful stains. And Owen knew that I’d developed a taste for them before leaving for school.

  I shook my head, while giving him the slightest glare. From his expression, I could tell he wasn’t the least bit sorry. Mrs. Dalrymple made an exaggerated show of moving her skirts aside so I could sit next to her on the settee. I dropped gracefully to the seat, praying I wouldn’t whack the hostess’s ankles with my underskirts.

  “Are you enjoying Miss Castwell’s?” she asked. “Is it very different from what you are used to? Where was that again? Cambridgeshire?”

  As Mrs. Winter instructed, I considered the question – and any hidden pitfalls therein – before answering. “Yes, it is very different from Cambridgeshire. And my cousins have been very kind to me, indeed. I don’t know where I would be without them.”

  Technically, it was true. Without Mrs. Winter, I had no idea whether I would be locked up at some Coven Guild Enforcement facility.

  “And school? Are you enjoying your classes? Making friends?”

  “Everyone has been very kind.”

  “And the book? I understand you made quite the stir on your first day.” She glanced at the mark on my palms.

  Now, we had arrived at the heart of it. How to respond to what most Guardians would consider incredible good fortune and privilege, when so far, being chosen as Translator has only meant confusion and strange new skin conditions for me. Mrs. Winter had warned me to be quietly and appropriately proud, but not tiresome. So I simply smiled and said, “I hope that I will be able to Translate useful spells as soon as possible.”

  “I am glad to hear it. You must meet my granddaughter, Ivy. I’m sure she would be happy to introduce you to some of the younger people here. Your cousin seems to have disappeared in his search for punch. Tragic story. It happens more often than you would think.”

  I didn’t know how to tell Mrs. Dalrymple that I’d not only met her granddaughter, but had stood by and done nothing while Callista terrorized her. So I settled for blushing horribly as Mrs. Dalrymple beckoned Ivy from across the room. She clucked her tongue as Ivy approached in a green dress accented with burnt prune lace. “I don’t know why my daughter insists on dressing her in the Cowell house colors. They flatter no one.”

  I did not let my expression change, because I was having enough trouble marinating in my shame over my treatment of Ivy, even while she fed me information about Callista’s wardrobe insecurities. My classmate dropped a curtsy to her grandmother. “Yes, Grandmama?”

  “Ivy, dear, have you met the lovely Miss Reed?”

  “Yes,” Ivy said, carefully, nodding toward me. “We are acquainted.”

  “Wonderful,” Mrs. Dalrymple banged her cane on the floor. “Now, do take her around and introduce her to some of the more pleasant young people.”

  “Oh, Grandmama, I couldn’t do that.”

  “It’s really not necessary,” I protested.

  “Of course, it
is,” Mrs. Dalrymple assured me. “Now, run along and be charming.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, curtsying even as Ivy sent me a miserable look. And despite the fact that Mrs. Winter and a good portion of magical society was watching

  “I’m so sorry,” I told Ivy. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Why, because you’re afraid Callista will see you walking with me?” Ivy asked pointedly. “Afraid she won’t hand you your bonbon this week?”

  “No.” I stopped in the middle of the crush of well-dressed people watching the students dance in intricate patterns on the ballroom floor.

  “It’s not like you’re the only one who stands by and does nothing,” she said, her voice softening a bit. “And it’s not like I’m her only target, merely her favorite.” She cleared her throat and offered me a brilliant smile. “Now, let’s introduce you to at least three people, so I can claim that I fulfilled my promise to my grandmother. And then I’m going to go hide behind a potted fern and eat profiteroles.”

  “I may join you,” I sighed. “I love profiteroles.”

  Ivy snickered and dragged me along. It was difficult to accomplish, moving through the crowd as if I had the right to be there, to enjoy myself, instead of carefully maneuvering around wide hoop skirts and oblivious men while hefting a heavy tray of punch cups. How could I be vivacious and bright when, in my head, I was calculating exactly how many minutes I had before I had to collect, wash, and recirculate the silverware?

  But Ivy gamely made the rounds with me, tucking her arm through mine and adding thoughtful comments to her stammered introductions to some of the less intimidating students, such as “This is Kipling Cartwright. He collects exotic snake scales.” Or “This is Annalise Chun. She once brewed a dream draught so strong it ate through her cauldron, the table and flooring under it.”

  It was clearly as uncomfortable for her as it was for me, but I admired her for doing something that put her on edge, despite the help I’d never given her. Owen, on the other hand, had abandoned me completely, standing on the far side of the ballroom, laughing with his friends from Palmer. I thought about doing something that would call his absence into Mrs. Winter’s attention, when I heard a gasp from behind me.

  The undersized girl from the library, who as it turned out, was not a ghost, was standing near a bank of potted palms, her pretty, if a little juvenile, green silk dress had been stained with one of the dreaded strawberry tarts. The sticky red filling splattered across her waistline like a bloody wound. Given the way Callista’s crony, Millicent, was sauntering away with a triumphant little smirk on her face, I doubted very much the jostle that deposited the tart on the younger girl’s dress was an accident. And since Millicent had never had an original thought in her life, I guessed that this was somehow Callista’s handiwork.

  “Oh, no,” the stained girl whispered, glancing around the room, though I wasn’t sure if she was looking for help or checking to see who had seen the incident.

  “Oh, that poor little girl,” I sighed. “That’s low, picking on a first-year student, even for Callista.”

  “Alicia McCray isn’t a first-year student. She’s just small for her… our age. She’s not well, never has been.”

  I looked at the ghost-girl, Alicia, again, noting the wary wisdom around her eyes, the sardonic twist to her lips. She was older than she looked. What could this poor sickly girl have done to draw Callista’s “notice?”

  “Alicia was born with a condition called ‘reverberation.’ Her magic is strong, but her body isn’t capable of repairing itself from the energy drain involved when she uses it. So the echo of her magic turns inward and festers, I suppose, is the best way to put it. Sometimes, it can explode in large, destructive bursts, which only makes the patient suffer more afterwards.”

  “Is that why she’s small and pale?” I asked. The circumstances sounded all too familiar. What was it about magic that could drain a person’s health away so completely? It seemed so counter-intuitive that a force that was supposed to give so much to your life was able to make it so miserable. Then again, my magic was coming back into balance and I wasn’t exactly overflowing with happiness.

  “I’m not sure,” Ivy said. “I’ve never seen another reverb patient before.”

  With Callista crossing the room from the left, her eyes locked on the girl’s struggle to dab at the stain, I made another choice, and I wasn’t sure if it was wise or not. I straightened my shoulders and practically keelhauled Ivy across the floor until we cut Callista off from her trajectory and stopped in front of Alicia.

  “Until you can get it home to your laundress, there’s no help for it,” I told her softly, as she tried to rub at the stain with a handkerchief. “Strawberries and silk do not mix.”

  “I’m usually not so clumsy,” she muttered. The Snipe in me, who had seen enough stained party clothes to know one never rubbed at stains, winced.

  “I don’t think so,” Ivy told her. “Millicent is a walking accident – for other people.”

  I pulled the smaller girl behind a bank of enormous potted palms, large enough to hide us from the rest of the room. I reached into my hair, fumbling against the large satin bow tucked under my hair. With Ivy’s help, I finally managed to undo the knot, I stretched the ribbon between my hands and wrapped the wide edge around her waist like a sash. The improvisation hid the offending strawberry marks, and the darker green looked quite nice against her light green silk.

  “Keep it, maybe you’ll be able to wear the dress again,” I said, tucking loose ends of hair back into my coiffure.

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly let you do that,” she insisted, shaking her head.

  “I’ve never been one for poofy hair bows,” I promised her. “I think they make my head look like a sailboat.” I splayed my hands behind my head like antlers. She giggled, making her shoulders and face relax a bit.

  “Really, I think it looks lovely. I don’t think we were officially introduced the other day in the library, when you disappeared after giving me some maddeningly unhelpful advice. I’m Cassandra Reed. This is Ivy Cowell. She enjoys laughing at my expense at the breakfast table. And you are?”

  “Alicia McCray,” she said, extending her hand to touch mine as she curtsied.

  McCray House Sigil

  “Lovely to officially meet you,” I responded as I returned the courtesy, a near impossibility in the tight corner we’d chosen for our encampment.

  “And you as well,” Ivy said, dropping in a much more graceful curtsy than I could manage. “Though I’m not sure I enjoy laughing at your expense. It just happened.”

  “I would have believed that if the laughter hadn’t been so loud, but it’s possible I earned it later.”

  “Thank you so much for coming to my aid,” Alicia whispered. “I am terrible at these parties, really I am. I would much rather be in my room or in the library, doing, well anything, but talking to people I don’t know or do know and don’t particularly like. But Mother insists that if I’m going to be a proper young lady, I need to learn to ignore my ‘fits of pique’ and smile through it all.”

  I smiled at her, not sure whether it would make her feel better or worse to tell Alicia that I was just glad that she wasn’t a library ghost. I guessed it would make her feel worse.

  “That sounds very familiar,” I said, as we pushed carefully through the palms to ease back into the noise of the party. “And the ribbon was no trouble at all. I would hope that if my dress were damaged, someone would do the same for me. But given the attitudes of some of my classmates, I accept that it’s unlikely.”

  “Oh! Poor Alicia!” I heard a nasal voice exclaim behind me. Alicia jumped slightly at my side. And Ivy cowered. Cowered. And that made me angry.

  “Oh, my lady’s maid has just the thing to get that stain out,” Callista said, clucking under her tongue as she made a great fuss of moving Alicia’s improvised sash aside and inspecting the damage to her gown. “Of course, I only offer that help to my dearest, c
losest friends.”

  My brow lifted and I wondered why Callista was being so very overt about manipulating Alicia into a corner. What did Alicia have that Callista would want? She was young, so little, people barely noticed Alicia was there. She didn’t post any sort of threat to Callista’s hold on the school. Why would Callista orchestrate the collision that led to the damaged dress in the first place, so she would have a chance to “rescue” Alicia from her predicament… Wait. McCray. Alicia was a McCray, as in crayfire lamps and crayfire engines. Everybody knew that the McCrays were rolling in money thanks to our society’s dependence on their most recent inventions. Maybe Callista was trying to force a connection to that wealth through “friendship?”

  “And of course, as my dearest closest friend, you would introduce me to your family, including your charming brother.” Callista nodded significantly to a tall, dark-haired handsome boy standing with several of the older Palmer boys near the garden door.

  And there we had it. Callista was trying to strong-arm her way into a relationship with Alicia’s attractive and very rich brother. I contained my urge to roll my eyes, but it was a very near thing.

  “Sarah has a wonderful hand with laundry.”

  I started at the mention of my birth name, thinking perhaps Callista had ferreted my secret out, and that this was some twisted attempt to discredit me publically, and in high fashion.