Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)

by Harper, Molly

  “The same way I have ‘gotten away with this’ for the past decade. With determination, stiff spine and with minimal whining. How many times have I told you, Cassandra, if you believe something badly enough, it becomes real.”

  “Maybe that doesn’t work for everybody.”

  She laid her hand on my shoulder. “It has to work for you.”

  Martha peeled the blankets back on my bed and I crawled in. Mrs. Winter pulled the blankets up to my chin. “Goodnight, dear.”

  Martha moved silently out of the room while Mrs. Winter touched the crayfire lamp and turned the light low. She traced the rune for “sleep” in the air, without her blade, but the symbol’s purple outline still glowed against the dim light of my room. The outline wafted toward me, losing shape as it became a warm, calming fog that seeped over my bed.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Winter.”

  She nodded and shut the door.

  I turned over, punching my pillow into shape and burying my face in it. How would we all survive this? What would happen to me? Or my parents, what must my parents think? One daughter getting the other banned from the only place she’d ever wanted to call home. Would they be angry with me on Mary’s behalf? Would Mrs. Winter decide that I was more trouble than I was worth?

  I hated Mary.

  I didn’t think it would be possible, but at this moment, I honestly, truly, hated my sister. As much as she claimed not to resent me for my weakness, for having to watch out for me all of these years, I’d spent just as much time captive to her jealousy, her “sensitivity,” her constant need to be assured that she was the prettiest girl in the room, that one day, if she was just patient enough, Owen Winter would be hers.

  She’s destroyed both of our lives over a boy.

  My eyes drifted shut as the calming warmth of Mrs. Winter’s spell seeped into my body. I tried to concentrate on the bright spots of the evening, Alicia’s excitement, Ivy’s face when Owen asked her to dance, Gavin… Gavin McCray was definitely a bright spot.

  I shoved the image of Gavin’s smile away from my mind’s eye. I didn’t need to think about Gavin right now. Obsessing over a boy was what got Mary into this state in the first place. I had more important things to worry about than Gavin McCray, like being dissected by Guardian Enforcement. Surely, the possibility of being dissected was more important than some boy’s perfect smile.

  My mirror remained clean and clear of any messages from Ivy or Alicia.

  Mrs. Winter’s attempts to brazen her way through the wake left by my disastrous debut were not appreciated by society at large. She sent summons to her usual minions for afternoon tea. They were ignored. Expected invitations to the Benisse’s New Year’s Eve Ball were not forthcoming. The parlor was silent, empty of callers and messengers. Gavin’s regular letter did not arrive, no matter how many times I willed the ringing doorbell to mean a forthcoming note to me.

  It was as if Raven’s Rest was holding its breath, waiting to find out just how badly Mary’s tantrum had impacted us all. Mrs. Winter was so distracted, she’d forgotten to renew the wards on the kitchen after the party, so I was able to walk right through the door and see my mother. I sat at the scarred worktable, struggling to fight the skirts of my lilac day gown under the tabletop. Mum didn’t say one word about not being allowed to see me or talk to me. She simply poured me a cup of tea, set some of her blueberry scones on a plate and brought them to the table for me.

  While she doctored her own tea with milk and honey, I stared around the kitchen. I couldn’t believe how small the room seemed now that I’d spent time in bigger accommodations. How had all three of us managed to work in such a cramped space? But it was nice to see something was still the same. The same old smoke-stained stove. The same copper pots with the ruthlessly scoured bottoms. Mum’s special blue-glazed mug that Papa had given her for her birthday.

  I did notice that Mum was digging into the scones without one care for them being special “family” teatime treats. That was different.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Frightened,” Mum said. “Mary was sent home, the moment she was dismissed. I had to stay to take care of things for the party. When we came home, she was gone. She ran away and no one’s seen her since. I didn’t want to come to work today, just in case she came home, but your father insisted.”

  Mum’s lip trembled. “We could have found her another position, maybe moved her to another city. South, where my cousins live. Maybe even Wales. But it wasn’t the position she was angry about, it was that boy. She couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing him every day, while you…”

  She paused and took a sip of her tea, cheeks flushing.

  Frowning, I tried to find it in my heart to worry about Mary, to wonder where she was, but I was still so angry with her. I could only shake my head.

  “Mum, I’m sorry this happened. But Mary made this mess herself, and I can’t fix it.”

  “I know,” Mum said quickly. “I know we let Mary get away with too much. We were always so worried about you, and Mary was such a pretty, easy child. I thought if I gave her enough time, she would grow out of her feelings about Mr. Owen. I thought it was just a phase. I never thought it would go this far. What’s happened isn’t your fault, sweetheart, none of it. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did in the parlor that day. I was just so scared.”

  “I know,” I said. “And I can’t say I would have handled it differently, if I were you. I just wish you had told me.”

  “Well, it wasn’t as if there was a handbook for what to do when your child is born with magical powers she shouldn’t have.”

  “Mum, I don’t know what’s going to happen to me now. There are rumors circulating about me and I could lose this new life I’ve tried to build before it even gets started. I might be able to come home-”

  “No,” Mum said firmly, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. “You were meant for greater things than working in this kitchen until you die, letting some rich family decide what you do with your life. You do your best to stay at that school, finish your education. And if that’s not possible, find some other way to make your place in their world.”

  “But what about my place in your world? With Mary gone, you and Papa are all alone and you’ve never… You don’t… Mum was it my fault? The way we are? You and Papa not talking to each other. Papa’s drinking. The distance between us. Is that because I was born the way I am?”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Mum’s mouth flopped open, but I noticed that she didn’t deny it. “Who’s to say? Our life isn’t easy, knowing that you’re never your own person, that there are so many limits. And maybe you being born with magic did push us all apart, but the cracks were already there. I didn’t treat you the way I should have, and I’m sorry for that. But no, this isn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong. You didn’t ask for this.”

  She stood and leaned across the table to kiss my forehead. “I’ve never been more proud of you. Not because you’re magical, but because you’re strong and you’re kind.”

  I swiped at my eyes with my hands. “Thank you.”

  Mum sat back with a sigh. I gave her a watery smile and sipped my tea.

  “Now, can we talk about that mark on your hands?”

  I snorted tea into my nose. “I knew that was going to come up.”

  By the second week of December, Mrs. Winter decided that we’d spent enough time moping around the house and that we would show Lightbourne at large that everything was absolutely normal by spending an obscene amount of money shopping. Mysteriously, Madame Beamis’s millinery shop was so busy that the clerk couldn’t see us in the crowd of four customers to wait on us. There was no table available at Mrs. Winter’s favorite tea house. And finally, I knew we were in real trouble when we walked into Swansea’s Potioneer Shoppe, and every woman in the store stopped talking.

  Mrs. Winter attempted to smile and greet several of her friends, but they glanced around the room for anything to look at but us. I had never seen Mrs
. Winter so unsure of herself, so unsteady. It was downright unnerving riding home with her in the silent carriage.

  We arrived at Raven’s Rest to worse news. We could hear Owen yelling in his father’s study from the front door.

  “You had to have known it would come to this! You have to tell them something. Surely, one of mother’s cousins will vouch for her story, if she puts enough pressure on them. That, together, with whatever paperwork you can get from the forger, should be enough to convince the inquiry committee, shouldn’t it?”

  Sharing a worried glance, Mrs. Winter and I walked into Mr. Winter’s office with its stark grey walls and abundance of bird skeletons. Owen was more riled than I had ever heard him, his hair disheveled and dressed only in his shirtsleeves. It didn’t get better when Mr. Winter answered, “Yes, if I can grease the right palms, it should be enough, but Owen, you must accept that while we may come out of this situation, Cassandra may not. Our hopes for her may be nothing but that, dashed hopes.”

  Mr. Winter stopped speaking when he saw us in the doorway. Mrs. Winter cross the room and slid her arm through his. The gesture was more affectionate than anything I’d ever seen between the Winters, and I found that oddly comforting. Owen was staring at me as I approached Mr. Winter’s desk.

  “I’m so sorry,” I told them. “I’m sorry it’s turned out this way. Maybe it would be better if I just disappeared. You could send me to work for some Guardian family overseas. I could leave the book with you and disappear. I wouldn’t use magic again.” I glanced at my hands and the dragonfly that glimmered there. “I could wear gloves.”

  “No, we’re too invested, now.” Mrs. Winter shook her head. “It would look like we have something to hide.”

  “Which is convenient because we do have something to hide,” Owen muttered, and didn’t wait to be corrected, adding, “Sorry, I know that’s not helpful.”

  “It is at times like these that I wonder whether I went too far in asking your family to fake your death,” Mrs. Winter wondered.

  “Just now, at times like this?” I asked. But instead of glaring at me, a beaten Mrs. Winter merely shrugged.

  “School,” I suggested after a few awkward moments of silence. “The institute accepts borders, girls who can’t go home over the winter holidays. I would be safe there, I think. It would give you time to do some damage control.”

  “A solid suggestion,” she conceded.

  “They can’t stand up to you forever,” I told her, my lips twitching. “Eventually those newly minted spines will crumple under the weight of your icy glare.”

  Mrs. Winter’s tone was scolding, though there was the slightest pleased expression on her face. “Oh, honestly, I don’t know what you are talking about. You are so silly sometimes.”

  17

  School for Scandal

  My move to the school was handled quickly and quietly. Miss Morton was the only teacher left at Miss Castwell’s over the break, having no family to visit for the holidays. Only a handful of girls remained, a few students from America and some sulky senior girls who seemed to think they were punishing their families by staying away for the season. Miss Morton was thrilled to see a friendly face willing to help her catch up on shelving in the library. Even she’d heard about my “difficulties” at the party and assured me she didn’t believe a word of it.

  “Obviously, you are a very talented witch, Miss Reed. You have the sort of power than can only come from a strong Coven Guild family line,” she said, cupping my chin in her hand. “In a few weeks, some other scandal will pop up and this will all be forgotten. In the meantime, you must restore your balance, build up your energy stores. Meditate over the book and find that peace within. No matter what, you must push through your fatigue and spend more time with the Mother Book. And in the meantime, we’ll have a very merry Christmas here at school.”

  I tried to believe her. I tried to look at my time at the school as quiet vacation, a chance to gather my strength. I joined the small group of students left in the mostly empty dining hall for meals, where a single table had been laid out with tempting spread of holiday treats. I was surprised to find Callista sitting there. I knew that Jeanette Drummond’s family was traveling to France to visit distant relatives in Provence, a venture complicated by Jeanette’s allergy to lavender. And Helena Mountfort preferred school to the tense atmosphere at home, where her stepmother had redecorated away any evidence that Helena’s beloved late mother ever existed. Jeanette and Helena gave me perfectly polite smiles, but immediately turned to speak to each other. Not exactly a snub, but a civil way of avoiding conversation.

  But Callista was supposed to be the cherished darling of her family. Why was she here at school? I was tempted to sit down and ask her that very question. But when I took my seat at Miss Morton’s right and caught sight of Callista’s triumphant grin, I found I didn’t care all that much. Clearly, she was enjoying the chaos she’d sewn by spreading what she’d heard the night of Mrs. Winter’s party. I may or may not have made Callista’s water goblet disintegrate in her hand.

  “I think I’ll take a tray in my room for here on,” I told Miss Morton, as Callista squawked about water spots on her precious dress.

  “That may be for the best, dear,” Miss Morton nodded, dabbing at Callista’s dress with a napkin.

  For more than a week, it felt like all I did was sleep, read, Translate and attempt to contact Ivy and Alicia over scry message. Over and over, I ran the tip of Wit on the glass of my vanity, writing out carefully worded pleas for contact, but they never responded. Gavin’s pen was also silent; no letters, not even a card that said, “I’m sorry we can no longer be seen in public together.” Phillip abandoned his perch and made his home on my shoulder, nuzzling my cheek, making comforting little cooing sounds.

  Callista avoided me, which was a refreshing change of pace. After a few days, Jeanette and Helena issued invitations to join them for late-night chats, but I was too tired to stir from my room. Maybe it was the silence and stillness of the school, normally so filled with life and chatter. Maybe it was not knowing what was happening at Raven’s Rest. But I felt like my very soul had been drained out of me.

  I was listless and couldn’t seem to find the energy to do more than crawl back and forth between my vanity and the bed. I lost track of the days, sleeping away afternoons and waking up in the library with my face pressed against the pages of the Mother Book. I barely ate, except for what Miss Morton brought to me.

  The book revealed nothing new to me, except nightmares. I had strange dreams where I was chased down dark cobblestone streets, chased by armies of Revenants. I dreamt of Miss Morton standing over me, forcing my hands onto the pages of the Mother Book. I dreamt of Ivy and Alicia turning their backs on me.

  I skipped breakfast most mornings and buried myself in the library. Miss Morton had too much to do, so most mornings, she would tell me which sections of the library needed re-shelving, and then rush out to handle some matter of vital school importance, like Gilded Lily eating the school’s entire supply of shrinking violets or Tom’s replacement, William, being unable to build a fire in the dining hall without setting a tapestry ablaze. None of the girls staying at the school would stoop to setting foot in the library when they weren’t forced to, I had it all to myself. I dedicated an hour or two to Miss Morton’s shelving.

  And then, I used the keys she unwisely kept on a hook by her desk chair and to search some of the restricted archives. In my defense, she left it hanging right there where I could see it. And it turned out that asking the card codex for information on revenants in a much louder voice didn’t not produce results. So, really, I didn’t have a choice.

  While the restricted archives did have an extensive selection on curses that could turn someone inside out and soul-stealing candles, there were no revenant-related titles. I did find a huge cache of books on the genealogy of “lesser” families. I didn’t make judgments. The shelf was actually labeled “lesser families.”

&nbs
p; I searched any books about families based in France, where the Grimstelles were supposed to originate. I was hoping to find some evidence of Mr. Crenshaw being related to the Grimstelles. On this particular afternoon, I was comparing the French bloodlines with the family trees in House Mountfort – Mr. Crenshaw’s Mother House. But I found that every branch of his family, even the brides, was related to some known major House. Yawning, I wiped my eyes and set aside the Mountfort records. No wonder Mr. Crenshaw was so frustrated with his lack of authority in the Guild. Someone with his pedigree should have been heading a Senate office all to himself. Mr. Crenshaw must have been terrible at his job.

  Frustrated with my lack of progress, I slowly shelved the restricted books back and locked the door behind me. I hung the key on Miss Morton’s hook and flopped into the chair where I’d left the Mother Book.

  I was so tired. My eyes were aching and it felt like I had cotton stuffed in my head. I promised myself I would go upstairs to take a nap in just a few minutes. But first, I opened the Mother Book on the table and touched the dragonfly’s wings on either edge of the cover. I cleared my mind and took a deep breath.

  “Show me something,” I whispered. “Please.”

  The pages flapped open to show the house sigils page. Again.

  “Very helpful,” I muttered, slapping the book shut.

  Something fluttered from the back pages of the book. I picked up the maroon, papery ovals and sniffed at them. Nightglove petals. I flipped through the last few pages and found a sprig of nightglove pressed between the paper. But how was that possible? The only person I knew at the school who favored nightglove was Miss Morton, and she hadn’t handled the book in months. I’d stopped bringing it into the library after Callista took it from my room.

  I sniffed the flower’s faded, spicy sweet scent.