War of the Networks

by Katie Cross

  “What?”

  I swallowed, already regretting it. Having a fairy in my debt was one thing, but being in debt to a fairy was another. Her request could get ugly. She could fly back to her pack, tell them the news, and ask any sort of strange or outlandish favor. I’d be obligated to fulfill it. Dafina seemed to know what she was doing, which didn’t bode well for me.

  “If you deliver the message to my friend and can prove that you did it, I will owe you a favor.”

  Dafina dropped until she floated right in front of my face, so close I almost went cross-eyed.

  “Does the daughter of the Central Network swear on the magic of the fairies?” she asked, one eye narrowed.

  “I swear.”

  “’Tis done,” she said. “I will fulfill your request.”

  Once I told her about Zane and gave her a question to ask him so that his answer proved she’d found the right witch, she flew away without a sound, leaving me in stunned silence.

  “Desperate times,” I said, shaking my head. “Desperate measures.”

  High Priestess of the Western Network,

  Your presence is requested before Their Majesties Farah, Samantha, and Geralyn immediately.

  Sincerely,

  Wolfgang, Northern Network Head of Guardians

  Don’t Provoke Her

  An aged butler with flecks of gray in his reddish-brown hair met Mabel and me on the outer wall of Balmberg Castle when we transported to the Northern Network for the second time. As it was our second visit, we weren’t forced to go through the usual formality of being tied, tossed into the back of a cart, and bounced over endless roads. The butler bowed when he saw us and motioned to the hall with a white-gloved hand.

  “Their Majesties await,” he said. “Please, follow me.”

  The moment I stepped into the throne room, trailing just behind Mabel, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. An uneasy pit opened in my stomach. Mabel clenched her jaw and drew in a deep breath, her fingers tapping a staccato rhythm on the folds of her dress. I searched for Merrick out of the corner of my eye but found only rose-colored window panes and gilded mirrors. Disappointment weighed on my heart.

  Farah, Samantha, and Geralyn sat on their thrones, as regal and indifferent as I remembered from our first visit. Wolfgang escorted us into the room, dressed in a metallic armor that gleamed in the sunlight. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword. There was no small talk—no tour—this time. In fact, Wolfgang didn’t speak at all. The air in the room felt thick and awkward with latent tension.

  “Odd,” Mabel muttered under her breath, staring right at Wolfgang. Her gaze moved to Farah, then Samantha. The silencing magic burned in my throat, preventing me from asking her what she meant.

  “Mabel,” Farah called. “Thank you for respondin’ so promptly.”

  “As promised, Your Majesty,” she said in a halting voice.

  Farah didn’t shrink away from Mabel’s silent challenge but instead matched her with an equally intense gaze. For a long minute, neither of them spoke.

  “I have come for your answer,” Mabel finally said. Her hands stopped moving, remaining stiff at her side. “I’m sure no one wants to waste time with forced trivialities.”

  “Agreed,” Farah said. “I’ll get right to our official response. We are not willin’ to join a non actio concensi bindin’ with you.”

  She threw the binding scroll on the floor. It landed with a thunk and rolled to Mabel’s slippered feet.

  “We do not feel it’s in our best interests.”

  Mabel’s eyebrow arched. “Indeed? And why not?”

  The question Mabel didn’t ask seemed to hang in the air: Did Derek get to you first? I certainly hoped so.

  Farah’s gaze turned cool. “You forget yourself,” she said. “I don’t answer to you. You are a tyrant and a fool, resurrectin’ an ancient magic responsible for the deaths of so many in the annals of history. We shall not support a witch with such a dark agenda.”

  Farah’s display of force, while impressive, sent a bolt of fear shooting through my body. No, I wanted to say. Don’t provoke her.

  But it was too late. Mabel smiled in a coy, sultry way that only meant trouble. Her darkness tugged at my mind. I pressed a hand to my head, frightened by the chaos I could feel building within her. Wolfgang took a step forward. Farah didn’t move.

  “A tyrant and a fool?” Mabel said. “We shall see who the fool is.”

  The fragile strings holding Mabel together shattered. A stream of black smoke burgeoned at her feet and slithered across the floor. It wrapped around High Priestess Samantha, smothering her. Geralyn leaped from her throne and grabbed her sister, but the smoke swallowed her as well.

  “You shall die with your sisters, Farah, you fool!” Mabel screamed, her fingers outstretched like long tentacles. “I warned you!”

  The weight of the air felt so heavy I could hardly breathe, an indication that she was using powerful Almorran magic. I backed as far away as I dared, turning away from the smoke. Farah stepped back, putting the throne between herself and Mabel.

  A familiar whisper surged in my consciousness with such strength and clarity that I lost myself in it for a moment, remembering the horrible eternity of pain and darkness I’d endured in Mabel’s mind.

  She left me.

  Almorran magic compressed the air as the black fog crawled with lightning speed toward Farah’s throne, disintegrating it into dust in moments. I shook my head, trying to force the encroaching darkness and all its familiar whispers away, to no avail. The pain sucked me back into Mabel’s mind. The whisper grew to an agonized cry. I was losing.

  Make the fire stop!

  Mabel’s gaze snapped over to me. The smoke hovered a few paces from Farah, who hadn’t moved. Taking advantage of her momentary hesitation, I threw my body into Mabel’s, knocking both of us to the ground. The black smoke faltered. Farah disappeared. I was sucked away, back to the darkness of Mabel’s mind again.

  Voices exploded in my head, drowning me in a sea of pain again. Instead of encompassing darkness, I floated in a red current of rage. A bone-deep fatigue, so strong it overcame everything else, weighed me down. There was no room for hatred here. The only thing stronger than exhaustion was an insatiable desire to win. The voices of the past didn’t haunt Mabel now. Her own voice chattered in the background, alternating between weary fatigue and fanatical madness.

  It’s too much.

  I will prove I am stronger than them. I will prove I am stronger than them. I am more than my mother. I will prove I am stronger than them.

  But I can’t do this. The magic is so strong.

  I must see it through. That’s all. I will see it through to the end. I will prove that I am stronger than them. I will.

  A faint whisper persisted, a haunting response to her own declarations.

  It’s too much.

  Images flashed through my head at an alarming rate. West Guards. A woman with black hair and cold eyes. The arm of a young girl, bleeding and swollen. An unmarked grave. A dark room with no candle. The Book of Spells open on a desk.

  The delineation between Mabel’s mind and my own started to evaporate. Whatever life I’d had before this moment faded, and I melded into the images. Blood dripping off a wrist. A dark forest at night. Angelina smiling, her arms open. Her cold embrace, so foreign.

  I’m so tired.

  I’ll show them I’m strong, I said in response, and it sounded like Mabel. Because she left me.

  Above the fatigue and uncertainty swam a beautiful light, a wave of gold that danced back and forth. I sought it, trying to capture it, but it didn’t want to be caught. On and on I tried, seeking the thin thread until it broke, spilling its strength on me. Power. Excitement. I knew it from the first moment it filled me with strength and renewal.

  Almorran magic.

  Just when the bliss of Almorran magic bore me above the fatigue and desperation, a lingering voice in the background called out. The voice beckoned, and
I answered, falling into a memory hidden in the deepest darkness.

  “You’re a stupid girl, Mabel.”

  The woman stood in front of a warm hearth, facing a window that looked out on a snowy winter night. Snow fell in soft drifts, collecting on the windowpane in tufts like lines of melted marshmallow fluff. My arms smarted, but I didn’t look at them. I stared at the soft snow in the safety of silence instead.

  “You failed your exam.”

  Grandmother. The witch I hated more than anyone, with her thin face and voluptuous black hair. She held a homework scroll in her hand. When the firelight flickered across her severe features, she reminded me of a raven. She threw the small scroll into the fire, causing a spray of bright blue sparks.

  “Put out your arms,” she said, reaching for a long stick near the fireplace. “You shall receive your just punishment.”

  Impassive indifference had become my forte, even though the ball of heat in my stomach flared with such strength it made me sick. I lifted my arms. She wanted me to flinch, but I stared at the window with steely determination instead.

  Prove how strong you are, I thought. Prove it.

  I heard the hot crack of the stick tearing through the sensitive flesh of my arms before I felt the burn. Tears rose in my throat, but I pushed them back. May wanted me to show weakness. I would never give her what she wanted.

  The thin piece of wood had a stringy end that wrapped around my arm with every blow. Once she finished with the right side, she moved to the left. A trickle of blood dripped from my elbow. I slid my foot over to catch it before it hit the floor. I didn’t fancy scrubbing again this week. Except for the crack of the wooden stick and the burn of the fire, no other sound joined the bitter symphony.

  Once May finished, she stepped back and surveyed her work.

  “Go to bed,” she said, using a spell to send the stick back to the fireplace where it rested, waiting. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

  Always waiting.

  The memory faded, leaving me in the agitated burn of my—no, Mabel’s—mind. I sifted through the hatred, finding a sense of comfort in it. Hatred was familiar, after all. Hatred. Agony. It was all I’d ever known.

  Leave, Mabel’s voice hissed. Leave my mind!

  But why would I leave? Where would I go? Was the anger not my home? My saving grace? What else was there for me to know?

  “You came,” Mother said, meeting me with outstretched arms. Letum Wood proliferated around us in a world of green ivy and wildflowers. The heavy humidity of summer rested on my shoulders.

  “Yes,” I said, stopping just short of her embrace, imagining that her foreign touch would burn my skin. She folded her hands together with a small, understanding smile, the way any normal mother would. Then again, Angelina wasn’t a normal mother. No normal mother met her daughter for the first time in the forest when she was fourteen years old. Although I didn’t want to acknowledge it, we shared many facial characteristics. Without a doubt, she was the witch I’d always sought. And now that we’d met, I wished I hadn’t looked so hard. The disappointment rang through my chest like a hollow bell.

  “Well, thank you for coming,” she said. “I didn’t know if you’d respond when I sent you that letter, but I was so happy when you did. I know this isn’t easy for you, but I’ve wanted to explain why I haven’t been in your life for the last fourteen years.”

  I wore a long-sleeved, white muslin dress that Celia had just finished sewing. It fitted to my wrist, covering my ugly scars. The slightest bit of sleeve moved up Angelina’s arm, revealing a hint of puckered, scarred skin. So it wasn’t just me that May tortured with whips and magical fire. My stomach hardened in a cold knot of anger. How I already hated her, this false mother.

  But perhaps she could be useful. If she’d wanted to meet me badly enough to risk May’s wrath, maybe she would take me away from this life. Away from the pain. I’d happily endure Angelina’s desire to be my mother if it meant escaping May.

  When I said nothing, Angelina motioned to a log. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “No.”

  “Shall I just … go ahead and explain?”

  “I need to be back in twenty minutes,” I said, surprised at how easily the lie came. I didn’t want to be in the forest with Angelina, whom my grandmother called a whore. The witch who had dropped me off in a torturous prison and never looked back.

  The mother that left me.

  “I’ll make it fast, then,” Angelina said, rubbing her lips together. Her eyes shone with affection. “You are very beautiful, Mabel. Very beautiful, just as I knew you’d be.”

  Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach up and touch my hair, but she kept it at her side.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “I owe you an explanation for why I left you with your grandmother instead of keeping you myself.” Her eyes softened. “Has she been terrible?”

  The tone of her voice told me that she knew, firsthand, the horror of May’s parenting. She knew the cutting remarks, the impossible expectations, the days without food, the nights without candles, and the lingering burn of magical fire dancing on her skin.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I had no choice.” She spread her arms in a helpless gesture. “I was pregnant, alone, abandoned by your father, with no currency. I gave birth to you by myself in the forest and almost died. I tied you to me and crawled through the bracken because I was too frightened and weak to transport with you. What if I hurt you? I loved you too much to do that.”

  Love. The disgusting, horrid emotion that I’d fought for every day but never found. For a moment I wanted to lean into it.

  No, I thought. She left me here. If she loves me so much, let her prove it by taking me away.

  She looked at the forest, swallowing a lump of emotion. “I went to the only place I knew: my home. But Mother had forbidden me from returning, so I left you on the porch and hoped for the best.”

  I swallowed. Why hadn’t she just let me die in the woods? Why hadn’t she just taken me with her? The questions overwhelmed me.

  “I see.”

  “No, Mabel,” she said, stepping toward me and taking my hand. I jerked it away. Pain flickered in her eyes. “Please, let me make it up to you.”

  “Take me away from here.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, Mabel, I want to. I love you very much. But I have another family now.”

  I reared back. “What?” I hissed.

  “I have children back at home and a wonderful husband who loves me. I have a life, and I can’t … I can’t reveal to them who I really am, or all will be lost. They can’t know you, and for the time being, it’s best that you don’t know them.”

  Her excuses felt like a slap in the face. She’s leaving me again, I thought. She’s sending me to hell to stay. She is no mother.

  “Why are you here?” I asked, trying to control the rage bubbling from deep within. “Why are you here if not to take me away?”

  “Because I have a grand idea,” she said, an eager smile spreading across her face. “A goal, if you will, to enact justice on all those who have wronged me. And those who have wronged you, of course, for you are the best part of me.”

  A shining light glimmered in her eyes. Although brief, the force behind the gleam piqued my interest. Revenge? As much as I hated her, I wrapped my mind around the idea and felt a stirring of hope. While I could never trust Angelina, I could use her.

  Achieve my own ends.

  “You have my attention, Mother dearest,” I said with a brittle smile. She beamed, adoration and relief in her gaze. She didn’t even notice the loathing behind my smile. She doesn’t want to see it, I thought. Good. All the easier to manipulate her.

  “Good,” she cried, her eyes alight. “For I have a marvelous plan to take over the Central Network and then all of Antebellum, and we shall do it together.”

  The memory blurred, returning me back to the agony. Angelina. How
wonderful it had felt to see her die. To enact the retribution she’d always dreamed of herself. The irony had been delightful.

  Just delightful.

  “Competitors, line up.”

  Three other students stood apart from me in a line in the dark yard of Miss Mabel’s School for Girls. Torches flickered on the rails of the fence, making it look like the bushes were rustling. I curled my right hand into a fist when the quiet chatter of the other girls met my ears in the chilly night.

  “I can’t believe she’s competing. She’s just a first-year! What could she know?”

  “This’ll teach her not to be so arrogant. She’ll lose, for sure.”

  “She might be beautiful, but that doesn’t mean she’s better than we are. I think she’s just doing it so she’s the only first-year to ever win.”

  “She’s related to the Head Witch. I hope she doesn’t get shown favoritism because her grandmother runs this school.”

  I scoffed. Favoritism? May would kill me before she allowed me to win. She’d be furious if her fifteen-year-old granddaughter beat her at her own game.

  Which was just what I planned to do.

  “Students!” May stood near the old estate with four envelopes in her hand. “Your challenge lies within these envelopes. The first two girls back will advance to the next round.”

  I shook my head. May was so cold, so businesslike in all her dealings. Why couldn’t she be charming? Warm? Alluring? Surely there was more safety in pretending to be nice than blatantly refusing to be. I promised myself—not for the first time—to never be like her.

  The envelope soared through the air and into my waiting hand. Once it opened, a gauzy, ethereal butterfly with wings of red and black slipped out from the folds of paper and spun around my head. It disappeared into Letum Wood. I watched it go, my eyes narrowed. A butterfly? What was May’s angle? With May, nothing was ever what it seemed.