Short Stories from the Network Series

by Katie Cross

  She blinked, looking away. They fell into silence. When the strains of violins faded, delicate as a gossamer thread, Brecken didn’t release her. She tried to pull free, but he wrapped his fingers around her hand. They kept dancing into the next song. A waltz.

  “Camille,” he said in her ear. “Give me a chance to explain.”

  Her eyes narrowed. A shiver skimmed her shoulders and neck. “Explain why you ignored me for months?”

  “Yes.”

  Camille swallowed. She lifted her chin. “Fine. I’ll give you two minutes. It’s more than you deserve.”

  “I felt sad.”

  She reared back. “What?”

  “Sad. I felt sad.”

  She waited, meeting his intent gaze. “Well?” she asked when he said no more. “What else?”

  “I wanted you to be sad when I told you that I was leaving. You didn’t seem sad. So I figured you didn’t really care.”

  “You assumed.”

  “Incorrectly. Yes.”

  His curls bounced as he gave a little nod. Her breath caught in her throat. Egads. Did he know the power of his crystal blue eyes? So many questions rushed her from all directions. She didn’t know where to start. Why would he want her to be sad? Why did he ignore her?

  Why couldn’t men just talk about these things?

  “But you didn’t write.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, well, working at the Borderlands with the West Guards so near is frantically busy on a good day. There wouldn’t have been a lot of time to write letters anyway. But at first I was still angry.” His brow furrowed. “Actually, I think I was jealous. I need to apologize for that.”

  “Jealous?”

  He half-shrugged, looking like an adorable, lost boy. “Not sure. I’m new to this talking about feelings thing. You have so many Guardians talking to you. So many friends. Everyone at the castle knows you. I guess it made me jealous. Maybe. Not sure.”

  With a hand on her arm, he pulled her into an empty space near a painting of an oak tree that stretched into the rafters. Outside, shadows shifted in the distance. One window had been thrown open, spilling cool night air into the stuffy room.

  Her mouth worked up and down.

  “But if you were jealous, that means—”

  A shriek shattered the jolly, bright air, cutting her short.

  Camille whirled around. Violins squawked. The conductor’s arms fell, his face elongated in a horrified expression. Brecken shoved Camille behind him. She peered around his broad shoulder to see Bianca pushing her way through the crowd.

  “What—”

  A crack behind her made her duck. Glittering shards of glass sprayed over her back, bouncing on the black-and-white tile floor. A strange flap of wings and high-pitched shrieks followed. Camille peeked out to find black creatures winging through the air in droves.

  “What are they?” she cried.

  Brecken placed one hand on the hilt of his sword and crouched down. “Bats.”

  The double doors to the ballroom slammed shut. Witches caught in the middle of the ballroom ducked as the bats whirled in black-winged funnels, cutting skin and ripping hair with their talons and razor-sharp wings.

  “Leave!” the High Priestess commanded, her voice reverberating through the room. “All of you!”

  “Not until I say so,” drawled a familiar voice.

  Camille’s heart leapt into her throat. “No,” she whispered, grabbing Brecken’s arm. “Not her.”

  Only a few paces away, Miss Mabel strode forward, oblivious to the glass shards strewn across the floor. Billowing around her legs as she walked, a black silk dress undulated like liquid fire with every step. The garish diamond earrings—even her ice-cold eyes—glittered. She carried a tattered book in the crook of her arm.

  “Isn’t that Mabel?” Brecken whispered. “Head Witch of the Network school?”

  Camille’s mouth had turned to a desert.

  “Yes.”

  “Merry meet, Mildred,” Miss Mabel called.

  Camille let out a faint cry. “Brecken!” she whispered. “She’s right by Bianca.”

  Miss Mabel stood just in front of a trembling Bianca, who held her sapphire blue sword with white knuckles. If Mabel just turned to the right, they’d be eye-to-eye. Would Miss Mabel kill Bianca for good this time? Was Camille going to lose her best friend?

  “What is she doing here?” Brecken asked as Mildred stepped forward to challenge Miss Mabel. Every witch in the room silenced, focused on Miss Mabel’s awful beauty.

  “I can’t be sure.” Camille shook her head. “But I think it has something to do with killing the High Priestess.”

  “Killing her?”

  And maybe Bianca, Camille thought with a painful twist of her gut. She had to get to Bianca. Help her somehow!

  “I’m in charge here,” Miss Mabel cried, her voice ringing through the tomb-like air. “I came to accept your resignation.”

  The High Priestess didn’t flinch. “You came to accept your own death,” she said.

  “Is that a no?”

  “This is a no.”

  The chandelier burst into white flames. Heat rolled over Camille’s face. Brecken swore under his breath. Flaming bats dropped in fiery plumes to the ballroom floor, crashing into frightened witches. The surviving bats swooped down, morphing into ghoulish, half-witch figures with long fingers and pitch-black plumes.

  “Clavas,” Brecken hissed.

  “What are Clavas?”

  “A strong magical army. Get down.”

  She shrank back against the wall. Half-formed Clavas landed on the floor with bony, bare feet so white they appeared blue. Slashing at witches with long nails and screaming with jagged, bloodstained teeth, they fought with vicious tenacity. Terror rendered her paralyzed for half a breath.

  “Let’s go,” Brecken cried. “We need to find you someplace safe.”

  She hopped up, accepting his hand. Guardians leapt through the broken windows and into the ballroom from outside. Dragons roared with fire, swooping past the upper windows.

  “There,” Brecken cried, nodding to the other side of the room. “You can hide over there.”

  She followed. A Guardian locked in combat with a Clava stepped on her dress. A tear raced across the bottom hem. The long fingers of a nearby Clava sliced the back of Camille’s arm as they attempted to dart through the packed room. She suppressed a cry. Her heart pounded, thudding with fear. Brecken dodged a bat, releasing her hand to fight another Clava.

  Where was Leda? Michelle? What about Bianca? A cold, leathery hand grabbed her elbow and yanked her around. Camille spun to find a chilling face with gaping nostrils and an angular, half-human sneer. One claw grasped her dress while the other reached for her arm. The sharp bones dug into her skin. She wrenched free, grabbing a vase. The Clava ducked the wide arc of her swing, tightening his hold.

  “Let me go!”

  The Clava screamed, sending putrid breath and black spittle into the air. She cringed, scrambling back. The Clava jerked her close. Her sleeve ripped. She fumbled for the vase, but it had fallen out of reach. The bright flash of a familiar sword caught Camille’s eye.

  “Bianca!” she screamed. “Bianca, help!”

  Like a savior from the good gods, Bianca dodged through the crowd, driving her beautiful sword into the Clava without mercy. Camille disentangled herself from the cold hand.

  “Are you okay, Camille?” Bianca asked. She grimaced, pressing a hand to her head. Camille caught her before she fell.

  “I-I’m fine, I think,” Camille said. “Are we going to die? We’re locked in!”

  “No!” Bianca yelled. Flames sprang from Viveet, climbing high in the air. “You won’t die! Come on. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

  “Where?” she cried. “Nowhere is safe.”

  Two Guardians slumped against the wall nearest them, their glassy eyes staring at nothing. Bianca nodded to couches lining the wall, where Brecken had been leading her.

&nbs
p; “There,” she said. “Hide behind those until you can get outside.”

  “What about Brecken?”

  They both glanced behind them to see Brecken smite the leg from one Clava as another Guardian decapitated the second.

  “He’ll be fine,” Bianca said.

  “Where’s Leda? I can’t go without her.”

  “I’ll find her!”

  They pressed through the crowd together, dodging stray elbows and flailing torches swung in last-ditch attempts to kill the undead mercenaries. Sprays of blood flecked the couches. Bianca flipped one over, creating a small cave. Pools of blood leaked around her bare feet. Shards of glass glittered from the edges of her toes.

  “Bianca! Your feet!”

  “It’s fine.”

  A body fell behind Bianca, splattering in a pool of ever-widening blood. Camille stared at his face, squashed into the black-and-white tile floor.

  What is happening?

  “GO!” Bianca yelled, shoving her behind the couch and pressing pillows against the top. “I’ll find Leda.”

  The small cave enveloped Camille, blocking out the lesser sounds of the battle. For a moment, she drew in a deep breath, attached to reality by tenuous cords. Seconds later, Leda ducked behind the couch. Blood speckled her dress and cheeks.

  “Stay here,” Bianca said.

  “Wait!” Leda reached for her as she left. “I need your dagger.”

  Bianca’s brow furrowed, but she surrendered the small ankle dagger and pulled a few glass shards from her feet. When she looked back to Leda, her eyes had sharpened hard as stones.

  “Use the dagger if you need to. Don’t move until I come back!”

  After calling for Bianca one last time, Leda sank back, cramped in the small space, face pale and sharp. Camille grabbed her hand. Relief at seeing her best friend made tears prickle in her eyes, but she blinked them back.

  “Are you all right, Leda?”

  “Alive.”

  Camille swallowed. “We’re lucky so far.”

  The thud of a body falling on top of the back of the couch made both of them cringe. Camille let out a long, shaky breath.

  “Think there’s any chance we can help?”

  “Staying out of the way is probably best.” Leda met Camille’s eyes. “We aren’t fighters. We’ll just be a distraction.”

  Camille swallowed.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes again, but she blinked them back. “But I wish I was a fighter.”

  Leda squeezed her hand. “Me too, Camille.”

  Several long moments passed while they listened to the battle waging around them. Camille’s thoughts strayed to Bianca, to Brecken. She felt like a traitor, leaving them to fight alone. What would happen to the Central Network now? Would the High Priestess survive?

  “Think Bianca will be okay?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Are we going to lose her tonight?”

  Leda had fallen into a long stare. Her brow furrowed. She shook her head to clear it, but the glazed look returned. Her breath caught.

  “Camille, I … I think I see—”

  Leda dropped back into her haze, eyes distant. What felt like hours later, she blinked, nostrils flaring. Her grip on the knife tightened.

  “We aren’t going to lose, Bianca,” she said. “Not if I can help it.”

  Without another word, Leda bolted back into the battle. Camille followed.

  A sea of Clavas and witches littered the ballroom.

  Camille wondered how many minutes had passed. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Could it? Time moved so strangely now. The surge of Clavas left all the dead—Guardians, bat, and wraith alike—behind. Thanks to magical nets on the windows and dragons outside, this side of the ballroom had been abandoned. Nothing but a field of bodies and blood remained. The fight surged on the other end, near a wall of glass that ran from floor to ceiling.

  Brecken stood on what had once been a dessert table, surveying the battle from above. Blood streaked the side of his face. He barked orders to surviving Guardians, pointing them to different places. They ran over the battlefield, throwing themselves into the melee. More came, seeking orders. Brecken’s tactical mind viewed the field, barked more commands, and Guardians dispersed. Camille caught a glimpse of Luther’s harried expression before he dove back into the fracas.

  Camille and Leda picked their way over broken bodies and half-dead wraiths, dodging an occasional bat as they worked over to the window. Camille grabbed a small knife off a dead Guardian, and, with a shriek, stabbed a Clava hand that lifted toward her from the pile. A trickle of black blood flowed to the floor.

  Even though he didn’t reach out to her, Camille felt her courage grow the closer they came to Brecken.

  Leda grabbed Brecken’s arm, “I need your help now,” she said, yanking him close. “I need to find a book. No time to explain. Trust me: this is the only way to really stop the battle.”

  Brecken commanded another Captain into his spot. He joined Leda, casting a concerned glance over his shoulder to Camille, wordlessly telling her in no uncertain terms not to follow. Camille nodded, and the two of them disappeared.

  Camille skewered an annoying bat with a broken violin bow she’d found on the floor. Steeling herself, she used a spell to break a leg off an overturned table, and wielding it like a small club, she worked a path to the nearest wounded Guardian. Blood stained the bottoms of her slippers.

  “I’m Camille,” she said, leaning over him. He moaned, his right eye swollen shut. Fang marks pierced his cheek. “I’m here to help.”

  The battle waged on as she moved from witch to witch, propping them against the wall, conjuring cups of water, repeating healing incantations, and fending off the bats as they swooped down. She ignored the frenzy at the other end. Screams. Flashes of fire. Groups of fighting forms. All of it blurred into the symphony of death and dying. Only one layer of Camille’s gown hung past her knees; the rest lay in shredded, ripped layers. Then an eerie silence fell on the room.

  “An Apothecary will be here soon,” she said, pressing a cool hand to the face of an Assistant with a deep laceration down his arm. “It’ll be all right.”

  “Camille!”

  Camille shot to her feet with a jerk deep in her belly. Brecken broke out of the chaos and ran toward her, limping. Crimson and black blood smeared his handsome face. Leda lay draped across his shoulders, her face slack, arms flaccid. Through strings of hair, Camille caught sight her filleted skin.

  “The Clavas attacked her,” he said. “I couldn’t get through the crowd. I-I tried.”

  Blood flowed from Leda’s neck and face. Camille ripped the bottom of her dress off while Brecken lay Leda down. Camille bunched the material against Leda’s neck and whispered every healing incantation she knew. The blood slowly staunched, staining Camille’s fingers a vague pink. Clava’s disappeared, diving out the windows in torrents. Their screams as they left set her teeth on edge. Outside, plumes of fire echoed in response.

  Camille’s head jerked up when a triumphant cry rose through the ballroom. Fists littered the air. Derek stood high above the crowd, his voice bellowing over the witches’ cries.

  “What is it?” Camille asked.

  Brecken shifted, sword dripping with thick ebony blood. His chest heaved. “Mabel is captive.”

  Camille turned back to Leda.

  Time passed with a strange unreality. Brecken veered off to help the dying Guardians calling out from the floor. She didn’t leave Leda’s side. A deep weariness plagued her. She’d never used so much magic. She wanted to sleep for days. Guardians called out. Bats flopped on the ground, half dead.

  Finally, a hand landed on her shoulder, startling her. Camille whirled around to find Michelle and Nicolas standing there. Michelle only wore one shoe.

  “Let’s take her to an Apothecary,” Michelle said, her eyes on Leda. “They’ve opened the ballroom doors again.”

  Apothecaries spilled into the room in droves. More Guardian
s. Protectors. Witches with fresh, horrified faces. A cold chill spread through Camille’s body.

  “Bianca?” she asked.

  Michelle blinked. “Alive. Because of Leda.”

  Nicolas gingerly picked Leda off the floor. With one last glance over her shoulder, Camille followed them out of the room.

  I’m safe now, she thought.

  Camille waded through the layers of sleep slowly, like navigating a lush maze. Her body groaned with every little movement. She pulled in a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered open. Leda lay next to her, white as a sheet. Oh, lovely. Had they finally had a sleepover? Unusual. Leda never slept anywhere but her own bed, and she never even shared that.

  “Leda?” she whispered.

  “Yes, Camille. I’m okay.”

  Camille stretched her arms above her head, letting Leda’s words roll through her mind. Yes, Camille. I’m okay. Of course she was okay. Why wouldn’t she be okay? Camille’s muscles protested as she stretched. Her brow furrowed. Why did she hurt?

  The flash of a black wing in her mind’s eye startled her. Clavas. Ballroom. Miss Mabel. Attack. Camille gasped, shooting up.

  “Leda!”

  “Calm down,” Leda crooned. “I’m fine.”

  Bianca sat at Leda’s side, her gray eyes bloodshot and drawn. The tears that had been sitting heavy on Camille’s chest all night broke free. She buried her face in her hands. “Leda,” she cried. “We’ve been so worried! I thought you’d died. I was so scared.”

  Leda patted her back. “It’s okay, Camille. I’ll be fine.”

  While she asked Bianca about Michelle, Camille bit the inside of her cheek until it hurt. Get a hold of yourself, she thought. Don’t lose it! No matter how hard she tried, the dry hands and gaping nostrils of the Clava’s raced back through her mind, and fresh tears spilled out.

  Footsteps on the stairwell broke through Camille’s internal nightmare. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her shaking hand. Leda’s mother and Bianca’s father spilled into the Witchery at the same time. Camille shrank out of the way, her heart crinkling, as both of her friends embraced their parents. Even Leda appeared relieved.

  I’m safe now, Camille thought with stinging eyes. I’m safe. Someone out there loves me and is happy I’m okay, even if I haven’t found them yet. I’m safe.