11
Grim Tales
As predicted, my failure to help cement Callista’s new “friendship” with Alicia meant that I’d not only lost Callista’s support, but I’d been demoted to the misfit circle with Ivy. Callista did not meet me in the hallway each morning to join her entourage. Tables in the dining hall were suddenly full when I approached. All the girls in dance class had partners. No one wanted to take turns fetching arrows at my target in belomancy. If not for Ivy and Alicia, I wouldn’t have seen any friendly faces all day.
Well, Phillip was friendly. He cheeped happily the moment I walked through my bedroom door, flying to my shoulder and nuzzling his little beak against my cheek. But he was a bird, so I didn’t think he counted.
By the time Callista was done telling her version of the social, a large portion of the student body had been told that I’d thrown myself at poor, defenseless Alicia McCray demanding her absolute loyalty before over-indulging in fruit puddings and vomiting in a rhododendron. Oh, and I’d faked claiming the Mother Book with Mrs. Winter’s help – I wasn’t even all that powerful, just look at my abysmal classroom performance.
She might have had a point there.
Of course, Callista pretended to know nothing about this when I found her in my dormitory room Friday afternoon, as I finished some last-minute tasks before my visit “home.” She seemed to be searching for something, pacing back and forth in front of my desk. The Mother Book? It was still locked in its special cabinet. I could see the padlock dangling from the latch. The warded key was in my pocket. But I did notice that the window had been opened and Phillip was missing from his special perch.
Callista whirled as the door opened, all welcoming smiles and sweetness, though her eyes narrowed when she spotted the book in my arms. I crossed to the window and whistled softly. Phillip came zipping back through the window and landed on my hand. I closed the window and turned back to Callista, brow lifted. I would have to read up on wards. I was under the impression that the school’s magic wouldn’t allow students to enter each other’s rooms without permission. Maybe Ivy would have some advice.
“Callista,” I began, keeping my tone even and crisp as Mrs. Winter’s when she was correcting Mary. Before I could complete my thought, which was “remove yourself through the door before I make use of the window,” Callista practically shouted. “Say no more, darling, you don’t even have to apologize. I know that the social was your first gathering of cultured, refined people. Not like your simple farm people from Cambridgeshire. It was overwhelming for you. And I’m sure you didn’t mean to insinuate yourself into my conversation with dear Alicia, especially when it was going so well.”
Callista crossed the room and took my hands into hers, squeezing them tight. Her grip was so tight, the press of metal against her skin had to hurt, but she never even registered the pain. She tsked over me, as if my social ineptitude was something to be pitied. “For future reference, a good friend would help me by complimenting me and playing up my attributes while I’m trying to forge an important social connection. She wouldn’t stand there like a lump, distracting that potential friend with her awkward, country ways.”
I blinked at her owlishly. Had we been attending different parties? Callista thought that her conversation with Alicia had been “going well?” Did she really think she could bully her way into a friendship, just because she thought it would benefit her?
As if my mark could sense my annoyance, the metal dragonfly on my palms seemed to heat up all at once. Callista hissed, dropping my hand.
“I will keep that in mind for future reference,” I said, offering her the barest hint of a smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
A soft knock sounded at my door. Callista didn’t budge from her spot, seeming relieved at the excuse to stay. I frowned, uneasy at having Callista in my room for a moment longer than necessary. I called, “Come in!”
The “important social connection” herself skipped into my room on her tiny slippered feet, carrying a spray of flowers and a book. You could barely see Alicia through the odd floral arrangement, certainly not comprised any variety of roses I knew. Each blossom was a different color, and the tightly bound petals were shiny and slick.
Alicia stopped short at the sight of Callista, and frowned.
“Little Alicia, darling!” Callista exclaimed. “How are you?”
“Just fine, thank you,” Alicia said, in a frosty tone that would have impressed my patroness. Because while it seemed acceptable for me to call her “little” in my head, I was certainly socially savvy enough to know that I shouldn’t say it aloud. Callista made a welcoming wiggle of her fingers, to lure her into a… hug, maybe?
Alicia ignored her, walking past her to hand me the flowers. “For you.”
“Thank you! They’re lovely.” I touched the center flower, a lovely bright bloom in Castwell green, and it fluttered open. I realized that while the greenery was fresh and fragrant – almond leaves for gratitude – the rose was made of a long silk ribbon rolled tightly into a blossom shape. As it snaked through the air, the ribbon folded itself and looped like a pair of wings, flapping with purpose across the room and landing in a neat roll on the bed. Phillip flitted toward the ribbon to peck at it, as if he didn’t appreciate some other thing flying in his space.
Delighted, I laughed and clapped my hands.
“Fantastic!” I exclaimed. This was the reason to study magic, I told myself, the ability to produce such wonder. One by one, I touched each rose and their ribbons followed suit, unfurling into a ribbon-butterfly and flying across the room.
“They’re for you, to say thank you for the social,” Alicia told me, beaming sweetly. Feeling slightly guilty for not reading the card before I tugged my bouquet apart, I plucked the card from the foliage. I read it aloud, “With sincere thanks, to replace the kind gift that you gave my sister. Your humble servant, Gavin McCray.”
My smile was so broad that it nearly hurt my cheeks. I’d never received such a lovely, thoughtful gift, and I certainly never received such a gesture from a boy. And this particular gesture coming from this particular boy had an ecstatic warmth flooding my whole body. He’d noticed me! And even better, he’d noticed a kindness I’d done his sister. Not the cut of my gown or the smoothness of my complexion, but something true and good in me. Somehow that justified the moments I’d devoted to thinking about Gavin over the last few weeks. He was a sweet boy, who loved and protected his sister. Compared to some of the other Guardian boys I’d seen, he was practically mythical.
And I’d completely forgotten that Callista was still in the room. And that she planned to hook Gavin like a plate-bound trout. Callista plucked at one of the ribbons on my bed with a disdainful sneer she could not hide. “What an odd and unseemly gift.”
“Really?” Alicia asked, her eyes wide with feigned wonder. “Because he put so much thought into it. He really wanted Cassandra to know the depth of his appreciation. I helped him choose every ribbon at Madame Beamis’s millinery shop.”
My lips twitched as Callista tried to row backwards, to recant the insult, but she couldn’t. “Well, Alicia, I was hoping to catch you before we all left for the weekend. My mother and I would just love it if you came to tea tomorrow. And if you happened to bring your brother with you, well, that would just be lovely for everyone, now wouldn’t it.”
Alicia and I both shot Callista incredulous looks. Gavin McCray had to be three years older than us. And, as my Papa would say, Callista was about as subtle as five pounds of fertilizer in a three pound bag. Alicia flushed a pale pink and shook her head, clearly searching for some sort of excuse as to why she couldn’t oblige, so I jumped in.
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you to offer, Callista,” I said, looping my arm through Alicia’s. “But Alicia has already accepted an invitation for tea at Raven’s Rest tomorrow.”
There was an awkward moment, when Callista clearly expected me to include her in the never-issued invitation, but I smiled blithel
y as she stewed like one of my mother’s braised apples.
“Some other time then,” Callista sniffed. With her nose in the air, Callista swept from the room.
I laughed, shaking my head, re-reading the card, admiring the precise block printing of Gavin’s card.
“She’s a delight,” Alicia muttered, making me snort.
Just then Ivy came bustling into my room, out of breath. She collapsed against my vanity seat and gasped out, “Callista is on her way here.”
“Yes, she just left,” I said, pouring Ivy a glass of water from the ewer on my nightstand.
“I overheard her telling her minions that she was planning on looking around your room while we were on the belomancy range,” Ivy said, mopping delicately at her face with a purple lace-trimmed handkerchief and flopping on my bed – no minor feat in her cumbersome day dress. “And I tried to get up here, but Rosemarie pinned my hem to the ground with a quiver full of arrows. Do you know how long it takes to yank a dozen magically-planted arrows out of the ground and then run up the steps? In a bustle?”
“You have suffered,” Alicia said, patting her hand delicately.
“I appreciate your efforts,” I told Ivy as she drained the water.
“Why would Callista want into your room so badly?” Ivy asked, as I poured her another glass.
“I don’t know,” I said, biting my bottom lip as I gazed around the room. Nothing in my room hinted at my origins. Could Callista be searching for something incriminating? Could there be rumors circulating about my roots already? “Maybe she’s just trying to make trouble for me?”
“She did mention the Mother Book a few times,” Ivy said. “But she also mentioned your blue silk fan, so she could be out to steal either one of those. It’s a habit of hers, you see. You do something that she doesn’t like, she steals something of yours that you do like.”
“What has she taken from you, Ivy?” Alicia asked.
Ivy took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Nothing I’ll miss.”
“I feel like I owe you an apology,” I told her. “For all of the times I should have spoken up when Callista was being, well, herself. I should have said something. I was too worried about saving my own skin and… I made the wrong choice.”
Ivy shrugged. “I understand. You were new. You were just trying to survive. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. And I’ll admit I did reject friendship from you at first. I just couldn’t stand the idea that I might start to like you and you’d turn out to be another Callista.”
“Fair enough. And I’ll find a way to get whatever she took from you,” I insisted. “Because I’m the Translator and being able to read the Mother Book should rank some sort of special magic, like reclaiming lost objects from hateful wenches.”
“I’m certain that’s written in the very small print on the very last page,” Alicia said. “Speaking of the Mother Book, I brought something else for you, a special request I had to make of my brother and my mother, but both thought it would do more good for you than in our dusty old vaults.” She placed the beautifully wrapped rectangle in my hands and with a touch at the center of the bow, the paper fell away to reveal a weathered brown leather journal with thin vellum pages. “This is the journal of my great-great-great-grandmother, Calpernia McCray. She was the last known Translator.”
Grimstelle House Sigil
My mouth fell open as I turned the book over in my hands. Calpernia’s name and 1773 stamped were on the cover. “But this is a family heirloom. I can’t take this.”
“It will do you more good than it will me,” Alicia said. “It’s just sitting around our house, collecting dust. My family would consider it an honor if it helps the new Translator. My mother insists.”
“Thank you.” I gently turned the pages. Calpernia had left plenty of diary entries and sketches, but none of them featured owls.
“Actually, I did have a question.” I said, opening the Mother Book and showing her the page depicting the House sigils. I’m familiar with all of the House symbols, but I must admit that I’ve never seen this owl before.”
“That’s the Grimstelle owl.”
When I shook my head, she sighed. “Well, I only know because my brother used to tell me the stories to scare me when I was little. He was allowed to read Calpernia’s journal as a future head of our house. The information has been lost to other families and we don’t share it with just anyone. He just loved sitting at my bedside, reading me horror stories of the Ancient House of Grimstelle. It was one of the original seven Great Houses, the only one from France, but it grew weaker over time.”
“How does an ancient and noble house grow weaker? I thought that was the point of the inter-marrying and political connections, to build power bases and plot against each other.”
Alicia cleared her throat and stroked a finger over the owl illustration. “Well, Grimstelle was once the house to watch, generations ago, long before the Restoration. Their specialized skill was connecting with the afterlife. They were highly skilled mediums that could bring forth a host of spirits to speak to the living. They grew very rich, lining their pockets with offerings from people who wanted to bid loved ones goodbye or ask long-lost grandmamma where they’d hidden the key to the silver cabinet, that sort of thing.
“And while they used their riches to further their studies, they barely bothered with other aspects of magic. Eventually, the Grimstelles learned to manipulate the dead, calling their spirits back to their bodies and moving the flesh. As they grew in power, the more the Grimstelles were able to accomplish more with the dead. They could make them walk the streets, do their bidding. A few of the Grimstelles were powerful enough to use the dead in their homes as servants. Eventually, they began to use them in less than savory ways to rid themselves of certain enemies, mostly members of the Mountfort household. That brought their actions under scrutiny from the Coven Guild.”
Ivy mopped the last traces of sweat from her brow. “So they used the dead as their personal assassins? That’s awful.”
Alicia shrugged. “There’s a certain amount of sense to it. As soon as the enemy was disposed of, the Grimstelle ended the spell, and the corpse dropped to the ground like a puppet without strings. The authorities couldn’t take a dead man to jail for murder. And there was no way to tell whose spell animated the corpse. It was the perfect crime.”
Ivy tilted her head as we stared at Alicia. “You’re just a little bit scary, aren’t you?”
She grinned. “Well, that may be true. However, the Grimstelles were scarier. The rumor was that before the Guild stepped in, the House was tinkering with spellwork powerful enough to raise an army of the dead.”
I didn’t change expressions. “I would ask why, but I’m sure there is some disturbing reason that will keep me awake at night.”
“Well, just imagine it, an unstoppable, mindless fighting force that doesn’t fear being injured or killed? They could overthrow our entire civilization in a matter of days.”
I shuddered. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked. And where are the Grimstelles now?”
Alicia gave a shrug of her thin shoulders. “Who knows? The Guild put strict sanctions on them, severely limiting the magic they were allowed to do. They weren’t allowed to communicate with the Other World at all. They were fined heavily, wiping out the wealth they’d built up. They were out of practice with the other branches of magic and left without a way to support themselves. Some of the Grimstelles became no better than Snipes, an embarrassment to Guardian culture. Mentioning their name in polite society became taboo. The daughters were quietly married off to other Houses and a good number of the sons changed their names or claimed to be related to other Houses. They became a cautionary tale to young Guardian children. Don’t abuse your magic, or you could end up like the Grimstelles. Over the course of five or six hundred years, they simply faded away.”
Ivy huffed, “Well, I will think of you both over the weekend, when I’m home, alone, staring up at the canopy, unabl
e to sleep.”
Alicia giggled.
“Thank you, for the gift, Alicia. I’ll take it to Raven’s Rest with me and lock it up safe with the Mother Book until I have more time to explore it.”
I pulled the key from my pocket, the special key Headmistress Lockwood had enchanted so that only I could use it. I twisted the padlock and felt the warm hum of the lock accepting my magic. With the weekend coming, I was allowed to take the Mother Book home with me, but only because Mrs. Winter contacted the school’s governing board – including the unpleasant Mr. Crenshaw – and demanded it. And then she wrote me a letter to demand it. She wanted it known that Mother Book was sheltered at Raven’s Rest, even if it was just a few days.
The cabinet was empty.
The Mother Book was gone.
My stomach dropped so fast I felt dizzy. I thought back to that last little triumphant smirk Callista had thrown my way as she walked out of my room. She’d taken it. She’d taken my book. Somehow, she’d managed to outwit a magical lock and steal something that had been entrusted to me. I was sick of this. I was sick of this stupid, spoiled girl causing havoc, never suffering any of the consequences. The dragonfly buzzed angrily on my palms, heating up and sending that burning pain up my arms.
To my right, the long, gauzy green curtains burst into flames.
“Oh, dear,” Ivy said.
“We’re assuming that Callista took it, yes?” Alicia suggested, pursing her lips while I seethed in the direction of the empty cabinet.
“Who else?” I demanded. “Ivy said she steals things from people she dislikes. She was lurking in my room. She’s trying to pay me back for not helping her ‘acquire’ your friendship.”
Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1) Page 15