War of the Networks

by Katie Cross

  “You can speak to Papa and me about it whenever you need to.”

  “Please,” he straightened, panicked, “do not allow this rumor to spread. Angelina, in the eyes of Antebellum, is by all accounts a different person than my grandmother. If my Network found out, all trust in the Aldana family would be lost. Chaos would reign. Mabel, as you say, would certainly take over the world.”

  “Your secret is safe with us. It has been the past six weeks.”

  He let out a breath. “Thank you. That is appreciated.”

  “Talk to Papa,” I said, squeezing his hand. “He’ll support you.”

  For the first time since we’d entered the cabin, Niko gave me a smile filled with hope. “Thank you, Miss Monro—”

  “Bianca,” I said. “Please, call me Bianca.”

  “Mees Beeanca,” he said with an exaggerated accent. “You have given the Eastern Network much hope.”

  A powerful blast rocked the boat, throwing me off the wicker chair. The tempestuous black cloud on the horizon brought the Western Network ships ever closer. West Guards scurried around the decks, rushing to prepare for battle. Niko looked over my shoulder and smiled.

  “You should be going,” he said, taking my hand to help me stand. “We will have a fight on our hands soon, but don’t worry. I can take care of this. Go. And we will talk more when I discuss this with your father on an official visit to the Central Network.”

  You Have Graduated

  The hot shingles of the castle roof prickled against my bare feet the next morning, so I skittered to the top, where the view was the best, and sat on my dress.

  The sweltering summer sun beat down on the roof in hot, sticky waves. Sweat dripped between my shoulder blades. My hair flopped onto my neck in a long, black braid, nicely out of my way. Summer in the Central Network brought a broiling green forest to life, so I didn’t mind it, despite its wretched heat and humidity.

  Below me, the Captain of New Recruits belted out commands to a group of poor, scrawny witches, gangly and fresh out of adolescence. They scrambled to obey him, bumbling over their own feet and nearly hacking off their limbs in the process.

  “Where are you, Merrick?” I murmured. “This isn’t any fun without you here.”

  One of our favorite activities—watching the new Guardian recruits practice—held little excitement without his smart-aleck quips. I hadn’t heard from him in six weeks, and I missed the way the skin around his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

  “Guardians!” the Captain bellowed. “Stand at arms!”

  A few of them tumbled into position. I giggled. Merrick would’ve had some witty comment that I—

  “Bianca, why are you sitting on the roof? You’re eighteen now. Aren’t you a little beyond this?”

  The unexpected voice startled me. I jerked, lost my grip, and went sliding down the gritty, sun-warmed shingles. Clawing for balance, I pitched off the edge of the turret roof. The flagstones in the castle bailey seven stories below rushed toward me with frightening speed. I had just managed to remember the transportation spell when my back collided with a soft carpet. The sensation of falling ceased. I stared up at the sky, my breath held, running through a mental checklist.

  Still breathing. Arms intact. Hovering in the air.

  The tips of my fingers brushed something soft, and I relaxed. “Oh,” I whispered, recognizing the pliable fabric of the Volare. “Thanks, my friend. Fast work.”

  The Volare levitated me back up to the turret window where my best friend, Leda, waited with a queer expression on her face. I slipped off the rug and through the window.

  “Did you see that?” I asked, landing nimbly on my feet. “The Volare is so fast! I didn’t even call for it.”

  Leda rolled her eyes. “Why are you climbing on the roof?” she asked. “You know it’s not safe. And it’s not ladylike. I could see the backs of your knees.”

  I slipped into the Witchery, our own private turret, arching my brow as the Volare settled onto the ground next to me. Leda’s white-blonde hair was pulled back in a tasteful bun, accentuating her high cheekbones. A light blue dress with a beaded bodice and rounded sleeves capped her shoulders. She looked lovely in a fragile kind of way, with her pale skin and different-colored eyes.

  “You saw the backs of my knees while I was plummeting to the earth, you mean?” I asked. “Sorry. I wasn’t too worried about etiquette while plunging to my death.”

  She sniffed. “Decorum knows no bounds, Bianca.” Her brow furrowed. “Why were you up there, anyway? It’s so hot outside.”

  “No reason,” I said.

  A mischievous grin played on her lips. “You were watching the new recruits, just like you used to do with Merrick, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said, sighing. “I miss him.”

  “No sign of his return?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, I am sorry you haven’t heard from him,” she said, “but if you don’t hurry, we’re going to be late. I won’t be tardy to my own personal graduation ceremony. Especially not when it’s held by the Head of Education, thank you very much.”

  “Oh, no!” I cried. “I forgot!”

  “Oh, yes!” She pushed me toward the water bowl. “Clean up a little. I won’t have you looking like that. Camille, Michelle, and Priscilla are going to meet us in Miss Scarlett’s office.”

  After scrubbing the grit from my face and hands and using a spell to clean the stains off my dress, I passed Leda’s sharp inspection.

  “Better,” she said, her lips pressed together. “Let’s go.”

  “You didn’t mention Rupert,” I said as we spiraled down the Witchery stairs. “Will he be at your graduation?”

  Her back stiffened. She trailed the tips of her fingers along the wall.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Rupert, Leda’s boss and the Assistant to Council Member Jansson, had a savage crush on her. Despite being ten years older, he treaded carefully, like a puppy trying to court a lion. He must have done or said something she didn’t like. Getting her to talk about him was as fruitful as planting potatoes in the winter soil, but her hunched posture told me something was off. Hopefully I could coax it out of her.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  She gazed at me from the corner of her eye. “Not wrong,” she said, sounding choked. “Just … awkward.”

  “What happened?”

  Leda clenched her jaw and mumbled a response.

  “What? I can’t understand you.”

  “Rupert asked me to marry him yesterday!” she cried, burying her face in her hands. I stopped in the middle of the stairwell, aghast.

  “What?” I screeched.

  “Oh, it was horrible,” she growled. “He was so nervous he couldn’t stop stammering, and by the time I realized what he was trying to do, he had a cord of engagement in his hands and—” She broke off with a huff. “It was awful.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “Really?” I asked, suppressing a giggle. “I can’t believe he had the courage.”

  “Me either,” Leda muttered, with just a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  “No, of course,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh, Bianca. It messed up everything. Why did he have to go and fall in love with me? Everything at work is so awkward now. He started to cry!”

  If she hadn’t been so serious, I would have burst out laughing. Knowing she’d take great offense and stubbornly refuse to talk to me for weeks—she’d done it before—I suppressed my laughter and maintained an even tone of voice.

  “I guess you’re just irresistible.”

  She didn’t refute me, but the most hesitant signs of a smile appeared on her face.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Well, I’m not giving up my job,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “My family needs the currency more than ever now that my oldest brother has joined the Guardians. Rupert’s just going to have to put
up with seeing me every day.”

  I felt a moment of compassion for poor Rupert. Leda could be as stubborn as a brick wall when she wanted to be. Her courteous and professional air would torture poor Rupert, still so wildly in love.

  “Well,” I said, infusing merriment into my tone, “now that you’ve graduated and broken his heart, maybe Rupert will quit, and you can take his job. You can be a real Assistant instead of just an Assistant’s Assistant.”

  “That would be lovely,” she said with a little smile. We broke into giggles, then turned and hurried down the turret stairs before it was too late.

  Miss Scarlett’s office was a small, square room with a high window not much bigger than a book. A wall of bookshelves filled with titles ranging from Education in the Networks to How to Teach a Child Arithmetic took up the right side of the room, just behind a crimson divan and a chair with clawed feet. Not a single speck of dust nor an errant knickknack could be found. Just like her classroom at Miss Mabel’s School for Girls, the place smelled warm, like cumin.

  Camille beamed as we walked in.

  “Merry meet!” she cried, reaching out to squeeze our hands. “I’m so excited for you, Leda. Do you like my sign? I just finished it this morning.”

  A banner hovered in the air, blinking the words, Congratulations Leda. Enchanted confetti rose and fell in a waterfall over the whole room. Miss Scarlett’s gaze flickered to it every few seconds. If the flare of her nostrils meant anything, she didn’t appreciate Camille’s décor.

  Leda gave Camille a tight smile. “Uh … it’s great. Thanks.”

  Michelle and Priscilla stood near the back wall. Michelle tucked her large hands behind her, highlighting the small smudges of dough and flour on her apron, remnants from her job in the kitchens. Her small eyes disappeared into her face when she smiled. She’d only come around to our turret twice since marrying her beau, Nicolas, six weeks earlier.

  “Merry meet, Bianca,” she said with a quiet, shy smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

  I waved to Priscilla, who wore a mint green dress with a fashionably high waist. With her green-flecked eyes, brilliant red hair, blemish-free skin, and long lashes, she resembled a porcelain doll. Pale, graceful, and feminine. My perfect antithesis.

  Miss Scarlett stood behind her desk, a thin scroll in hand. A simple burgundy dress stretched across her broad shoulders, highlighting hints of red in her dark bun. She cleared her throat. “Let’s begin,” she said. “I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

  Leda stood in the middle of the room with her back to us, her spine as straight as a sword. She held her head high. Students who graduated early, like Leda, rarely received anything but their graduation scroll in the mail. Miss Scarlett, however, had agreed to a small ceremony to honor Leda’s dedication and hard work. I suspected that Camille’s unwavering insistence that Leda be acknowledged had something to do with it, although Camille took no credit.

  “Leda,” Miss Scarlett said. “You have graduated from the Network School system through the prestigious Miss Mabel’s School for Girls as of this day, the third day of the second week of the third month of summer. My compliments on your early graduation.”

  The thin scroll floated from Miss Scarlett’s hand over to Leda, who accepted it with a perfect, unwavering curtsy.

  “That’s it?” Camille hissed, leaning toward me. “I did all this work for two senten—”

  I slapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Thank you, Miss Scarlett,” Leda said, tilting her head with a regal nod, unbothered by the perfunctory service. “I’m honored to have attended the school and grateful that you took the time to give the scroll to me personally.”

  Miss Scarlett nodded. “Good luck in your endeavors.”

  Leda spun on her heels, a wide grin on her face. “I—”

  The staccato blast of a high-pitched bugle cut her off. My heart dropped into my stomach. That particular tune meant that West Guards were attacking somewhere in the Network. Marten and I would need to leave immediately to investigate and help the survivors.

  No, I thought. Not again. Not now. Give Leda her moment. Just let Leda have this moment.

  But the bugle repeated itself a second time. Resigned, I dropped my chin onto my chest with a heavy sigh. This war wound its way into everything with tenacious tentacles. Leda closed her mouth. Camille sucked in a breath, her face pale. Miss Scarlett looked at me.

  “Bianca?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry,” I said to Leda. “I have to go. I-I’ll see all of you tonight.”

  “Be safe,” Camille whispered.

  Their worried expressions faded from sight as the darkness of transportation fell over me, whisking me away.

  Dansbury

  The rubble of an entire village lay at my feet.

  Smoke billowed out of the piles of rock that still burned with black Almorran fire. The thick, oily flames licked at what little wood remained. Almorran fire could destroy anything, even stone. It had turned the sweet thatched-roof cottages and stacked stone walls of the village to ash. Water had little effect on the black fire until it dwindled to embers. With no counter magic, we had few ways of fighting the roaring inferno. Five or six witches stared at the wreckage, their faces drawn and haunted. Nothing remained but smoke and cinders.

  Dansbury was such a quiet, peaceful place, filled with rolling potato fields and quaint cottages. What could Mabel want from it?

  Nothing, I thought. Nothing except to scare us.

  “It happened so fast,” Marten murmured. He stood at my side, his brow furrowed. “And in the middle of the day. The West Guards normally attack at night.”

  “They must be changing their strategy,” I said, eyeing a piece of cloth flapping in the middle of the road. A small breeze overturned it, revealing a doll with a broken face. The wails of witches mourning in the background filled the silence. A heaviness hung in the air, typical of the aftermath of Almorran magic, as if there had been any doubt who was responsible for the destruction.

  Marten sucked in a deep breath, even though the air reeked of burning tar. “Well,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s be grateful that we don’t have to fight this time. Let’s get to work.”

  There was nothing left, so little could be done for the survivors except to find suitable lodging. They’d be sent somewhere else, just like all the other displaced witches who had lost their homes. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time Marten and I had been called to such devastation.

  We started into the village together, surveying the damage. Marten stopped when we came across a witch, dead on the side of the road. The flesh around the witch’s face had been stripped away, leaving it raw and red.

  “Flesh-eating potion,” Marten muttered, his jaw tight. I turned away, sickened by the sight. No matter how often I’d seen similar injuries on the Guardians who came through Chatham Castle, I could never get used to the brutality of war.

  “They store the potion in bottles,” Marten said, squinting. “When they throw them, the potion explodes, which means it can hit several witches or animals at the same time. They’ve been extremely deadly among the Guardians in the Southern Covens, but this is the first I’ve seen them in use against witches in the villages.”

  “There’s no stopping the potion either,” I said.

  “No,” he said, rummaging in his pocket, “but we can mitigate the pain. Stella gave me some of her healing oils. Let’s walk around and see if anyone needs it. We’re too late to help this poor soul.”

  A whisper of magic reached into my heart, warming my chest. I stopped. Only the magic of Letum Wood spoke to me that way.

  Fire, it wailed. Fire.

  “Marten,” I said, stopping him. “I’m going over there.”

  I pointed west, where the towering trees of Letum Wood rose nearby. Uneven black scars and smoking dirt told me that more than just the town had felt the devastating effects of today’s carnage.

  He hesitated but knew m
e well enough to yield. I wouldn’t be swayed away from the forest. “Stay within my line of sight,” he said. “And be careful. West Guards could still be lingering.”

  The keen of Letum Wood rang ever louder in my heart as I jogged toward the trees. When I reached out and touched the trunk of the closest tree, the collective voice of the forest splintered into many, filling my head with desperation and fear.

  Fire, they all cried. Fire!

  I pulled away, unable to bear it. A few saplings and bushes had been consumed. Inky soot replaced the undergrowth. The outside bark of several towering trees had been burned, but they would live. Thankfully, the damage wasn’t as extensive as I’d seen in other places. The fire had already abated, leaving the ground hot.

  Using an incantation, I turned the ash on the hot earth into water, soaking the dirt. Smoke billowed up in great gray plumes but receded quickly. The frantic edge of the frightened forest ebbed as I saturated the ground.

  “The fire is gone,” I said, staring into the high canopy once I finished. “The embers are out now.”

  The magic stirred softly at first, as if searching to see if I was right. After a pause, the voices faded, leaving only one behind. Retribution, it whispered.

  “You want retribution?” I asked.

  No more fire. No more loss.

  I heard footsteps behind me, heralding Marten’s approach. At least an hour had passed since we’d arrived. Blood stained the front of his clothes. A warm breeze rustled through the trees, blowing the curling smoke behind me.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “The fire destroyed some of Letum Wood.”

  Marten tilted his head back to study the canopy. “What does Letum Wood say when it speaks to you?”