by Katie Cross
My mind kept pulling me back into the caves of the Eastern Network and to the Northern Network throne room. Away from Isadora’s calm departure and into the darkness of Mabel’s mind. Even Isadora’s reassurances couldn’t banish my confusion. How could I feel compassion and rage for the same witch?
“It’s hard to believe Isadora’s gone,” Leda murmured once Stella finished speaking, dispelling the dark memories I’d been cycling through in another futile attempt to understand. “She’s always been here.”
Two Protectors milled around the clearing, although I couldn’t imagine we’d come to any harm with all the dragons stomping, unseen, through Letum Wood. Papa stood to my left, his hands folded in front of him and his eyes narrowed.
“Where are the West Guards now?” I asked Papa, watching as Camille led a group of witches in collecting two summer flowers, one for each grave. Their low murmurs evoked a reverent feeling in the meadow. Leda still hadn’t spoken with Camille, though she kept eyeing her, as if she longed to but didn’t know how.
“Standing in formation at our border,” he said. “They’ve taken over the Borderlands. The battle over the Western Covens will begin tonight.”
He stared deep into Letum Wood, his gaze so distant I couldn’t be certain that he saw anything at all.
“And what do you think of it?” I asked.
He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “I think we’re going to fight a crucial battle very soon.”
His wry tone startled me until I realized he was trying to make light of an intense situation for my benefit. I hazarded a smile, but it didn’t last long.
“Isadora mentioned the Book of Light to you last night,” I said in a low voice that no one else could hear. “What did she mean?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But Pa—”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Then leave it at that.”
Although I longed to argue with him, I didn’t. I could see in his gaze that he’d say no more. For now.
“Can Tiberius hold the West Guards at the Western Covens?” I asked, giving voice to my other greatest fear. “Are we strong enough to keep them away from Chatham City?” If Chatham City fell, I feared we’d lose Chatham Castle.
“I’m not sure. Marten, Zane, Tiberius, and I are meeting about it tonight. But one thing is certain: We won’t give up. We’ll make a stand, no matter where it leads. Peace isn’t free, Bianca.”
A heavy lump rose in my throat. What if Isadora hadn’t told Papa what future possibilities she saw because we were destined to fail? Perhaps she didn’t want to scare us earlier than necessary, to fill our last days in Antebellum with despair and hopelessness.
“Yes, Papa,” I said, forcing my dark thoughts into the deepest recesses of my mind.
He pulled me into his side in a warm, tight embrace. “Don’t worry, B. We can’t predict the future. Not even Isadora knew it with certainty. Come on. Let’s head back before witches start wondering where all the leadership has gone.”
Unexpected Visitors
If the witch I passed in the hall later that day hadn’t been so sickly thin, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed her.
Her ramrod-straight back and pinched nose caught my eye. Another woman shuffled along beside her, draped forward, looking almost like a gargoyle. I smiled, but as they seemed to know where they were going, I said nothing as I walked by.
Ten minutes later, I came to a fast halt at the top of the Witchery stairs, gazing around in wide-eyed shock. Half-packed bags littered the table and chairs. Clothing and lace clotted the floor in a vast array of material. Garments, books, and trinkets flew across the room, no doubt under a sorting incantation. Camille ran from her dresser to her valise, heaping all the clothes she’d just packed back into the dresser drawers.
“Bianca!” she cried, panting. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. Can you help me out by straightening up a little? I’m trying to make it look like I still live here, and I don’t want it to be a mess. Maybe just … just make it look like I’ve been doing homework?”
Paperwork littered the desk in a disaster of half-opened scrolls, books, quills, and old ink bottles. “Camille, it already looks like you’ve been doing homework.”
Objects moved so haphazardly around the room that I had to duck to avoid a flying shoe. I blocked a vase from falling off a bookshelf when a comb collided with it.
“What’s going on?”
“Ridiculous old bat,” Camille muttered, dodging a book as she grabbed another armful of clothes. “I never asked her to come!”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Bettina! My horrid Aunt Bettina is coming. She simply can’t know that I’m married. Oh, I’ll never hear the end of it. She’ll probably lecture me for hours, never mind that I’m nearly eighteen.”
Camille dumped a pile of clothes onto Leda’s bed, sliding the curtain closed behind her.
“Leda will be furious if she sees all of your stuff on her side of the room,” I said, grabbing a fork that whistled through the air and nearly stabbed me. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Not if she doesn’t know! Please help? I don’t have time to fold all of them and put them away. Bettina won’t look on Leda’s side of the room. She’s a huge stickler for privacy. Oh, please!”
“Of course I’ll help,” I said, grabbing a dress off the back of a chair. “But you can’t hide your marriage forever.”
“Oh, yes I can!”
“Camille—”
“I know!” she wailed, wringing her hands. “I know. I’m just … I’m not ready to tell them yet. My parents were hand fasted when my mother was seventeen, and Bettina was adamantly against it. She didn’t even go to the ceremony! And now she’ll never stop lecturing me. Even though it was terribly romantic.”
“It’ll be all right, Camille,” I said, moving into action. Just as we finished tidying things up—or more aptly, putting all Camille’s loose belongings on Leda’s side of the room—I heard feet climbing the stairs. Camille threw herself into a chair at the table and grabbed a quill.
“Look busy!” she hissed. I grabbed a book but didn’t have a chance to sit down before a knock sounded at the door. Camille’s hands flew to her hair, which had come undone in the chaos and looked like a tattered bird’s nest. I cast a quick spell to straighten it, readjusted a pillow, and indicated all was ready with a satisfied exhale.
“Don’t mention Brecken,” she whispered, pleading with her wide hazel eyes. “Please.”
I agreed with a quick nod. Taking courage, she used an incantation to open the door, facing Bettina with a bright smile.
“Merry meet, Bettina! It’s so good to finally see you here!”
The sickly woman I’d passed in the hall stepped into the room. Bettina’s narrow expression and thin lips made the crotchety housekeeper Mrs. L seem like a warm grandmotherly type. I couldn’t imagine how vivacious Camille had survived under such a rigid guardian. No wonder Camille never goes home.
Bettina inclined her head in greeting. “Camille.” Her dark eyes slipped over to mine in silent question. Camille, picking up on the glance, shut the door with a spell. “This is my best friend, Bianca,” she said. “I’ve told you about her before.”
“Yes,” Bettina said, looking away, her nose tilted back. “I know all about her.”
I felt dirty at the way the words rolled off her tongue, like she felt a moral obligation to make me feel small. I would have responded with a sharp retort if not for Camille’s harried, apologetic glance. I smiled to reassure her instead and stepped back, giving them a wide berth.
“So this is the Witchery,” Bettina said, enunciating every word as if she wanted to flick them off her tongue one letter at a time. “It’s much cleaner than I expected.”
She clasped her hands in front of her wiry body as she sauntered around. If she’d been any stronger in attitude, I would have asked her if she had a relative named S
carlett.
Bettina ran her finger along the top of the mantle, which, thanks to a last-second collection spell, remained dust-free. Camille made a sheepish noise under her breath, but her flared cheeks gave her away. Fortunately, Bettina was too busy scouring the room to pay much attention to her niece. I used a spell to straighten a crooked painting on the wall just before Bettina turned to face the spot. I smiled when she gave me a suspicious look. She glanced out the window, and I fixed Camille’s rumpled bed skirt with another spell.
“It’s a lovely view,” Bettina said. “I’ll give you that.”
“Yes.”
“What’s this? Your personal closet?” Bettina asked, reaching for the curtain that separated Leda’s area from the rest of the Witchery. I blithely slid into her path.
“That’s Leda’s personal space,” I said. “She keeps the curtain drawn all the time. I’m sure you remember what a private person she is.”
Bettina’s hand stopped just short of the curtain. “Oh. I see.”
From the other side of the room, Camille blew out a long, relieved breath. Thank you, she mouthed when Bettina faced away from her.
“Well, Camille. It certainly is … livable,” Bettina said. “From your lengthy letters, I expected it to be a bit less…”
“Hot?”
“Shabby.” Bettina pursed her lips. “But then, you are still quite young. Who did that awful sign above the fireplace? It looks like your work. You’ve never been talented at sewing.”
Bettina gestured to the embroidered sign that hung over the fireplace. Camille had stitched it shortly after she first arrived at the castle. She’d meant it to say The Witchery, but all she’d managed was The Wits. It had hung there ever since. All the color drained from Camille’s pretty face.
“That’s mine,” I said, clearing my throat. “Camille has been teaching me how to sew. Thankfully, she celebrates my accomplishments and not my failures.”
If Bettina caught the subtle jab, she didn’t let on except for a quick flash of her eyes aimed in my direction. Like most bullies, she seemed to back down when I fought back. Camille’s breath came so fast she was close to hyperventilating. I walked behind her to sit at the table, brushing her shoulder as I passed. When I whispered a calming blessing, the tightness in her body seemed to release.
“I expect you’re behind in your school classes like usual,” Bettina said, stepping forward.
“No, Aunt Bettina. In fact, I’m on track to graduate by the third month of winter.”
One of Bettina’s thin eyebrows arched halfway up her forehead. The other didn’t even move. “Oh?”
“Miss Scarlett has helped me, and her Assistant, Priscilla, has been my personal tutor.”
Bettina stared down her long nose. “I see. And what else are you doing to fill your time?”
“Oh,” Camille said, her voice wavering. She swallowed. “This and that. I started working with Henrietta, the castle seamstress. She employs me three days a week now. I used to go into Chatham City, but, well, you know how it is with the war. Nothing, er, too exciting.”
Her strangled nonchalance couldn’t have gone unnoticed, but Bettina drew no attention to it. She’d turned her attention to a portrait of the first High Priestess, Esmelda, that I’d dragged from the depths of the castle for our little lair.
“Where is Aunt Angie?” Camille asked, filling the vacuum of awkward silence.
“She couldn’t make it up so many stairs, as I’m sure you’re aware. All this traveling has weakened her fragile temperament.”
“Speaking of traveling,” Camille said. “Why are you here, Bettina?”
Bettina sucked in a sharp breath, her limbs rigid. “We came to see you.”
“But why?”
Bettina’s eyes closed, and her lips rolled together, betraying the first sign of emotion I’d seen from her. “Hansham was attacked by West Guards a few nights ago,” she said. “Our house was destroyed.”
Camille’s eyes popped wide open. “Hansham?” she whispered. “What about Leda’s family?”
“Their house remained untouched, thankfully. I don’t know what else they’d do with all those children. The apothecary was burned, along with one or two other places.”
I expected Camille to burst into tears at the news of the devastation, but she didn’t. She gazed calmly at her aunt, her hands clasped in front of her. Bettina cleared her throat, her austerity back in place. She whirled around.
“Everything is gone. We need a place to stay. I was … that is … Angie and I were hoping you could direct us somewhere.” Bettina shifted her shoulders back and cleared her throat. “You seem to know a few more witches than we do these days, especially with Angie’s ill health.”
“Of course,” Camille murmured. “A place to stay…”
“We don’t expect a room at the castle, of course,” Bettina said, sniffing. Her voice became small and a little shrill. She didn’t look Camille in the eye. “But we haven’t, ah, we haven’t the funds for an inn. Nor is there any availability.”
Camille looked at me. “Do you know anywhere safe, Bianca?”
I nodded, hoping Camille wouldn’t hate me for what I was about to suggest.
“My friend,” I said. “Tabby Jameson. She lives in Newberry.”
If Bettina hadn’t been standing there, Camille would have hexed me for even suggesting it. Her arms tensed at her side, and she looked for a moment like she’d pass out. The strange expression on her face faded before Bettina took note of it.
“Yes,” Camille said, swallowing. “That’s a … a wonderful idea. Tabby is a very kind witch.”
“Who is this witch?” Bettina asked. “I won’t stay with just anyone, you know. I don’t like strangers. They’re not safe. Angie and I need to be safe!”
Camille’s gaze lingered on mine, searching desperately for strength. I smiled and nodded. She drew in a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back, and turned to Bettina.
“The Jamesons aren’t strangers,” she said. “They’re … they’re my family.”
“What are you talking about?” Bettina snapped. “This is no time for games, Camille. We don’t have any family. If we did, I certainly wouldn’t be here.”
“Aunt Bettina … I’m married.”
Bettina’s eyes tapered to slashes. “You’re what?”
“Married. I eloped with a Guardian named Brecken Jameson a few days ago. His parents live north of here, in Newberry. They have a large house, and I’m sure they would allow you and Angie to stay until we can find you a more permanent residence.”
Bettina paled. Camille braced herself, her jaw clenched, but Bettina’s sudden show of bluster faded. Her arms relaxed.
“I should have known,” Bettina said, gazing away, disapproval staining her tone. Though if I had any talent at reading witches, I’d say she looked wounded behind all her raging disapproval. “Married at seventeen. Just like your mother. The pear never falls far from the tree, they say.”
“It was a last-minute decision.”
“Of course it was!” Bettina snapped. “Just like your mother’s hand fasting. She didn’t even invite me.”
Camille paused. “Mama said you didn’t approve.” Bettina’s shoulders shifted back, as if she couldn’t quite reach an itch.
“I didn’t. Your father was as young and childish as your mother, plus he had no real income to support her. But … she still didn’t invite us.” Bettina’s voice stretched into a little squeak. “We would have gone.”
Camille blinked several times in astonishment. “Bettina, did you want to go to my hand fasting?”
“Well, it’s too late now!” Bettina snapped. “Whatever I did or didn’t want doesn’t matter, does it?”
A half-smile stretched across Camille’s lips. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Bettina shot her a withering glare. “Of course we care, Camille. We may not be as vivacious as you, but we did raise you, and we loved our sister.”
“I … I’m sor
ry, Bettina,” Camille said. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, you’ve already done it. The past can’t be changed,” Bettina said, rallying with admirable aplomb. She dabbed at her eye with a bent knuckle. “This is a very dusty room. Angie is waiting downstairs and losing energy by the moment. If you’re willing to help us, let’s go. If not … we’ll find something.”
“Of course, Aunt Bettina,” Camille said, rushing forward. “I’ll take you to meet Brecken right now, and we’ll send him to ask Tabby.”
Bettina cast one more disapproving glance around the room, glossed over me, and headed down the stairs with the sedate energy of a walking stick. Camille shot me a look filled with gratitude, mouthed the words thank you, and disappeared down the turret stairs in silence instead of with her usual, comforting prattle. No doubt Bettina didn’t appreciate anything that didn’t have a purpose, and I imagined it would take Camille some time to really get her bearings around her aunts again.
“Good riddance,” I muttered as soon as they left. I put several spells into motion that repacked Camille’s bags and cleaned Leda’s side of the room. Once I finished, I grabbed the book on potions Leda had requested and headed back to help take care of the wounded Guardians.
Marten rubbed a hand over his head that afternoon, his eyes closing with weariness. A Chatterer scroll flashed new headlines behind him almost every twenty minutes, describing the tens of thousands of West Guards preparing for the invasion of the Western Covens that evening. He gazed into the distance before yawning.
“You look exhausted,” I said.
He ran his hand across his face. “No more than everybody else, I’m sure.”
“Were you and Papa up all night planning?”
He nodded but said nothing more. I leaned back against my desk because I couldn’t tolerate the thought of sitting behind it for another moment. The bright outdoors drew my gaze, and I stared out with longing, feeling the pull to run under Letum Wood’s high canopy. I felt empty without the whispers of the forest, but I didn’t dare leave the castle. If Mabel caught me, she’d kill me on sight. Not to mention that it would be selfish to run while witches prepared for imminent death in the castle.