by Katie Cross
Find your butterfly, the note said. When I looked up, two girls had already left, following the disappearing trails their butterflies left behind. I crumbled the note in my hand, let it burn into ashes, and plunged into the forest.
Letum Wood held me in a constricting tunnel of dying leaves for hours. Everywhere I looked, all I could find was darkness. No moon. No stars. Nothing pierced the high, haunted canopy.
“Ridiculous,” I muttered, the tips of my fingers numb. I’d been walking the forest all night, attempting every incantation possible, to no avail. Surely two other girls had already returned, but I couldn’t quit.
“Won’t quit,” I said, steeling myself. “I won’t quit.”
Just as I started to wonder if there was no butterfly, a flicker of red caught my eye. My butterfly bobbed up and down in the air in front of me in a beautiful taunt. I started forward, but it moved away. Frantic to win, I ran after it.
At the crest of a hill, my leg gave way beneath me. I slid down the hillside, my shoulders slamming into rocks and my back scraping against exposed tree roots, to slam into an old oak at the bottom of the slope. I tried to breathe, but pain shot through my side with every attempt.
“Damn,” I whispered, my breath billowing out in front of me. I braced an arm around my midsection, certain I’d cracked a rib. My right ankle throbbed, and shots of heat ran through my legs. I shifted aside my dress to find the bone in my lower right leg oddly askew. The discomfort intensified. I gasped.
“I figured as much,” May said, appearing in front of me. “I knew you’d never win.”
Shame burned hot and fast in the back of my throat, almost as strong as the burn of my broken bone. Of course she’d be here.
“You set me up,” I said. “You enchanted the butterfly to fly over a hidden hole so I’d fall.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t. Either way, it proves you don’t pay attention the way you should. You were so focused on the butterfly that you weren’t watching your surroundings. You’d fail as a High Priestess because you’re too focused on proving yourself to me. You allow too many emotions to control you. A smart witch uses logic. If you’d been thinking with any kind of strategy, you would have used magic to capture the butterfly instead of chasing it like a fool.”
No, I thought. I’m too focused on how much I hate you.
“I broke my ankle,” I said, shifting. The pain overwhelmed me. I could hardly breathe. “And a few ribs. I need … I need help getting back. I can’t transport while I’m in so much pain.”
Admitting my need nearly choked me. May raised an eyebrow.
“Good luck.” She stepped backward. “If you haven’t returned by tomorrow evening, I’ll send Celia looking for you.”
I stopped the memory in a rage. How dare that surface? How could it come up now? I’d buried it too deep for that.
Angelina peered at me from across the room, a slight smile on her lips. As always, her radiant beauty was without competition—porcelain skin kept bright by the sea air, dark curls resting on her shoulders, and a striking gaze softened by affection, yet firm with control. A look she reserved only for me … and that stupid second family she spoke of. My lip curled back in bitter annoyance. Love that she gave to her “family” freely. Love that kept her with them and away from me.
No bother. I hadn’t needed her then, and I didn’t now at almost thirty.
“Well?” she asked, the corners of her lips tilting upward. She raised her hands with a breath. “Can you believe that the day has finally come? That horrid witch is gone. May can haunt us no more. Executed for treason. What a wonderful phrase.”
I smiled stiffly at her because that’s what she expected. Even now, years after our first meeting, she never noticed the loathing behind the gesture. She didn’t want to. Her face fell.
“Are you not happy, dear daughter, to be rid of May?”
“Ecstatic,” I said, forcing a blithe smile. But not as happy as I’ll be when you’re dead, you horrible old crow.
“Good,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a terrible, dark light that spurred me to a moment of jealousy. No witch would be terrible and dark with power except me.
Eventually, I reminded myself. Be patient. My time for greatness will come after I’ve exacted my revenge on Angelina. After all, she left me.
Angelina strode over to the bookshelf. She ran her fingers along the alphabetized titles until she stopped on a thick volume and pulled it from the shelf. It sank in her grip. Her gaze shone.
“Here it is,” she whispered with reverence. “The beloved Book of Spells. I knew May had it, although she tried to hide it from me. She failed in her quest to become High Priestess and resurrect the ancient magic, but we shall not.” Angelina’s eyes lifted to mine. “Don’t you think so, pet?”
“Of course, Mother dearest,” I said, managing to keep the bite out of my tone by sheer willpower. I smiled. “We shall be great together.”
Angelina’s face brightened. She closed the book with a snap of her hands.
“Delightful,” she murmured. “I am the more powerful of the two of us, so I shall take the Book of Spells first. It will take many years for me to master such a strong, wonderful magic without drawing attention, but then I shall teach it to you. We shall have to be patient while Mildred is in power. But she won’t last forever, will she? Once a new High Priest or Priestess takes over, we shall act before they learn what they need to know. In the end, we’ll be great together, a true mother-daughter pair.”
I smiled. “Yes, we shall be together.”
As soon as I am strong, and things are set into motion, I shall take your life, I thought with a thrill of excitement that she mistook, as always, for love. The magic will be mine.
And so will the Central Network.
Leave now, said a familiar voice, pulling me out of the memory. I experienced a moment of disorientation before I remembered that I wasn’t Mabel.
Leave, Bianca. I cannot bear it.
The voices faded. My power dimmed. One minute I swam greedily in the sweet, delicious anger, and then it disappeared, like I’d slammed into a stone wall. The exhaustion took over.
My eyes fluttered open.
The War of the Networks
A quiet murmur of voices filled the background, all of them vague and distant. I surfaced through the layers of consciousness slowly, my head throbbing in sync with the slow plod of my heart. I blinked. I lay beneath a stone ceiling with a beautiful arch in the middle. Sun streamed through the windows, warming my face. A familiar brown gaze hovered just above me.
Papa, I thought, staring at him in surprise. Why is Papa here?
“B,” he said, tapping me on the cheek. “Wake up.”
“Papa.”
“Hey,” he said, his brow furrowed into deep lines. “Are you hurting anywhere?”
I pressed a cool palm to my head to stop the room from spinning. “I … I don’t think so. Where am I?” I asked, glancing around us. Vague details replayed in my mind. Mabel’s burning red eyes. Black smoke. A throne disappearing.
“You’re still in the Northern Network. You connected with Mabel’s mind again, I think. You’ve been out for a few hours.”
Blinking cleared my blurry vision. Merrick stood near a window off to the right, his profile illuminated by the buttery sunlight. He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword, his concentration on something outside. Wolfgang crouched next to Papa.
“Feeling any better?” Papa asked. The heavy weight of his hand on my shoulder felt like a reassuring dream. Was I really in the North? Was Mabel gone? Although my head still pounded, it banged with less gusto now. My whole body felt sore.
“A little better,” I said.
“Do you want to sit up?” Papa asked, and I nodded. He slid an arm under my shoulders. The room spun, but it settled when I leaned against him. His arm felt firm and strong behind my back. The comfort of his presence seemed almost too good to be true.
“What are you doing here?” I
asked.
“I transformed into Wolfgang before you arrived so I could be here in case things went wrong,” he said. “We suspected Mabel would act rashly once the North refused to cooperate with her, so Wolfgang transformed into Farah to protect the High Priestess.”
“What about Samantha and Geralyn?” I asked. “Did the black smoke kill them?”
The muscles in Merrick’s jaw flexed as he looked down. Wolfgang let out a heavy sigh.
“Yes, but they were two of my best Guardians, not Their Majesties,” he said, hanging his head. “My best. But they died with honor, protecting their High Priestesses and Network.”
With a flicker of pain on Wolfgang’s behalf, I recalled Mabel’s intent stare. “She knew something was wrong,” I said. “She must have sensed your magic.”
“She may have sensed something, but I doubt she knew exactly what it meant, or who was hiding behind the magic,” Papa said. “She couldn’t have been surprised that the High Priestesses weren’t here in person to reject her. We had to hope that her desperation for the North’s neutrality would motivate her to continue even if she grew suspicious, and so it came out. If she had known I was here, I think she would have left right away. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. We have you back. That’s all I care about.”
“Where is she?”
“Back in the West,” Papa said. His eyes drooped a little, looking dimmed and fatigued. Like usual, his hair stuck out at many angles, but I noticed that he’d lost weight. The war, or perhaps my kidnapping, had taken a heavy toll on him.
“We tried to kill her before she left,” Wolfgang growled. “She was too fast. Once you knocked her down, she managed to untangle herself from you and escape, but only barely.”
“And she just left me?” I asked.
“Well, she didn’t have a choice,” Papa said, glancing at Merrick. “Merrick came after you when you fell, and I attacked Mabel. She transported within moments. She seemed to be on the verge of losing consciousness as well, but I’m not sure.”
Time passed so differently under the Almorran spell. Within seconds Mabel and I had shared years’ worth of memories, just like before. Or had the connection maintained even over a wide distance? Perhaps the link between our minds had strengthened after a second time.
“How did this happen?” I asked Papa. “I connected with her mind again, only this time it was … different. Stronger. She didn’t come into my head. It was like she pulled me into hers.”
“We aren’t sure,” Papa said, exchanging a look with Wolfgang. “At least, not with certainty, but Zane had a theory that I think is right.”
“That you hoped was right,” Wolfgang said with a snort. Papa agreed with a wry, pained nod.
“Yes, and we were lucky,” he said. “Zane believed that Mabel accidentally created a connection between your minds that night in the Eastern Network caves. A connection that regenerates whenever you’re in Mabel’s presence and she’s using Almorran magic.”
“How did he figure that out?” I asked, rubbing my temples in a circular pattern.
He gestured to my wrist. The manacle was gone.
“Her use of Cudan magic. And Zane said that the magic protecting her chamber wasn’t Almorran either. We believe Mabel was forced to use a lesser, non-Almorran magic so you couldn’t see into her head.”
“A theory Mabel just proved,” Wolfgang said.
Pieces of my time in the Western Network clicked together. “Zane was right,” I whispered, running through all the instances when I’d mentally heard her voice.
“Your description of what happened in the Southern Network really clued Zane in,” Papa continued. “You said Mabel lost her temper and started to torture Mikhail with Almorran magic, and you heard her voice again.”
“So, you hear voices in your head, eh?” Wolfgang asked, watching me dubiously.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m half-crazed.”
He nodded, appearing impressed.
“We took a calculated risk,” Papa said. “But I had a gut feeling we were right, and my gut is rarely wrong. To my eternal gratitude, Their Majesties here in the North were willing to help me get you back.”
Farah, Samantha, and Geralyn were nowhere in sight, and I was glad. I wanted some time to absorb all this information before meeting new witches. My head hurt too much. I’d sort through all the threads of this complicated tapestry later.
“I see,” I said, grimacing.
“Want anything for the pain?” Wolfgang asked, lifting a jeweled goblet. I waved it away.
“No, thank you. It will go away on its own. Potions don’t help. At least, they didn’t last time.”
His eyes narrowed, changing the structure of his face even more. “This really has happened to you before?”
“Unfortunately.”
The deep, reverberating blast of a horn rippled into the room from outside. Wolfgang and Merrick looked out the window.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A call to war,” Wolfgang said.
“War?”
Wolfgang let out a long, drawn-out sigh, exchanging a dark look with Papa. “Her Royal Highness Farah has declared that the Northern Network is going to war.”
“Against Mabel?”
He nodded. “Against Mabel.”
The two of them were grim-faced and dour. “But this is a good thing, right?” I asked. “We have help. Our chances are better with the North on our side, aren’t they?”
“There are no good things when declaring war on other witches,” Wolfgang said.
“And no sign of the Book of Light.” Papa ran a hand through his hair. “Without it, I fear we don’t have much hope. We have no way to subdue Almorran magic.”
Their stony silence left nothing but the dying resonance of the war horn.
“So all of Antebellum is going to war against a magic we can’t stop wielded by a witch who has nearly lost all sanity?” I asked.
“Yes,” Papa said, squeezing the back of my neck. “It’s the war of the Networks.”
“Merrick will bring you back in the morning when you’re feeling better,” Papa told me a few hours later. “I don’t want you transporting until some time has passed. You need to regain your strength.”
Papa, Merrick, and Wolfgang had worked out the particulars of the North’s involvement in the war. The North would send two thousand Guardians to join the fight. Considering they had no time to prepare, they gave far more than expected and their aid would be a boon. A hearty meal of potato stew and fresh bread sat heavy in my belly, a welcome variation from my diet of seeded bread in the West.
Although Papa could transport me so I wouldn’t have to do the magic, I felt too wrung out and exhausted to deal with the extended stress of transporting back home. While I longed for the close comfort of the Witchery and the sound of Reeves puttering in our apartment, I wanted to sleep until my next birthday.
“I’m sorry. I need to go back,” Papa said, pitching a stack of letters he’d just answered into the fire. “Zane is reporting increased activity in the Western Network. He said West Guards are pouring into Custos City.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Papa set his jaw. “Mabel’s lost her leverage and is sufficiently angry; she’s preparing for battle. Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen overnight, so you stay. Recover as best you can.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I think that’s a good idea. I’d like to spend a little more time at Balmberg anyway.” I glanced around at the thick wooden beams and rose-colored windows. “Seems like a lovely place.”
Papa put a hand under my jaw, turning my face up to meet his intense gaze. “I almost lost you, B,” he said, his eyebrows wrinkling over his dark eyes. “I would never have been able to live with myself. I’m glad it all worked out. Good job staying calm under pressure. I’m proud of you.”
I managed a crooked smile. This wasn’t the first time we’d had a conversation like this. “It seems like we’re always stressing each
other out, aren’t we? But it always works out in the end. You saved me.”
He looked away, his lips turned down like an old man’s. “Not this time. This time was different. Or it could have been.”
I put my hand on his wrist. “I’m alive, Papa. Let’s not worry about it. You have a war to win.”
He grabbed my neck and pulled me against his chest. I wrapped my arms around him and breathed deep, smelling spearmint and leather and safety.
“I love you, Bianca,” he said in a husky voice. “More than anything. More than the Central Network. Once this bloody war is over, you and I will go find a place to hide in Letum Wood for a month and live off the land.”
I laughed. “Sounds like heaven.”
“Wild child,” he muttered, ruffling my hair.
Tears of relief surfaced in my eyes. “I love you too, Papa,” I said. When he pulled away, he cleared his throat, blinking fast.
“You’ll be safe here with Wolfgang and Merrick,” he said, his deep voice indicating he’d switched back into High Priest mode. “I can’t ask for better protection for my daughter than a Head of Guardians and one of his Assistants, can I?”
The words one of his Assistants rang through my head. I stared at Papa. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Papa froze.
“His Assistant?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
Papa closed his eyes. “Jikes.” He ran a hand through his messy hair. “I forgot, B. I’m sorry. You don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
“Merrick,” he said, gesturing toward my best friend with a nod. “Merrick’s from the North. He works for Wolfgang.”
My heart sank into a cold pool of water. I glanced past Papa to see Merrick talking with Wolfgang near the door, his arms folded across his chest. Shock rendered me momentarily mute. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. I recalled his perfect accent, his unexpected presence in the North, and the strange way he’d never really spoken of himself.
“He’ll explain everything to you later tonight, all right? I need to head back.” Papa paused, shifting uncomfortably. “Don’t … er … be too hard on him.”