The High Priest's Daughter

by Katie Cross

  He motioned to Leda with his head.

  “What happened?” Papa asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t know, but someone saw her run out of the crowd and shove Jansson into the building right before the explosion went off. She moved him just in time. Both of them fell to the ground, which saved them from the strangling smoke.”

  The back of Leda’s neck turned bright red, but she boldly met Papa’s questioning gaze. My stomach turned with sudden nervousness on her behalf. She’d have to explain how she knew Jansson would need saving, which meant she’d have to explain her curse. Jansson, meanwhile, moaned from his spot at the chair while Stella worked.

  “I’d like to talk to both of you once all this has settled,” Papa said to Leda and me. “Tobias, you may go.”

  The door slammed, and a bevy of witches filled the room: High Witches, Coven Leaders, and other influential business witches from Chatham City. They spoke in a mad flurry of voices I couldn’t—and didn’t try—to understand. Amidst the scramble of arms and voices, I caught a familiar glimpse of wide ears. Clive. He stood in the midst of all of them, bellowing in rage, exacerbating the chaos instead of soothing it. I scowled, wondering if he didn’t have something to do with the whole mess.

  “Out!” Papa bellowed, herding them all back into the hall. “Now!”

  The sudden onslaught departed as quickly as it had arrived, taking their chattering madness into the hall for Papa to deal with. Two Apothecaries arrived and hovered over Jansson with incantations, bandages, and several potion bottles that bobbed in the air.

  “How do you feel?” I asked Leda, studying a bruise forming on her forehead.

  “Like dancing,” she retorted, but a hint of a smile lingered at the corner of her lips. I grinned.

  “You’ve basically guaranteed yourself a position as Assistant somewhere in the Network after such a heroic move.”

  “That’s not why I did it, Bianca,” she said imperiously. “But that wouldn’t be unwelcome, by any means, I suppose.”

  “Were you frightened?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes but everything happened so fast that I didn’t have a lot of time to think about what I was doing. I just … reacted.”

  “Are you hurting anywhere, Leda?” Stella asked, slipping up to my side. I scooted back to make room for her. She sat on the very edge of the divan near Leda’s legs. “How are you feeling?”

  Leda dropped the attitude for Stella. “I’m all right, High Priestess.” She wiggled her shoulders with a wince. “Just a bit sore, with a slight headache.”

  Stella pressed her gentle fingers to the swollen area around Leda’s forehead. “You have a little bit of a bump but nothing concerning. Do you hurt anywhere else?”

  “Not too much.”

  “I’ll get you a potion for the headache,” Stella said, squeezing her arm with a warm smile. “You saved Council Member Jansson, you know, and by doing that, maybe Chatham City. Had he died, the chaos would be unmanageable right now. Thank you.”

  “It was … I mean … Thank you, High Priestess.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you how you saved Council Member Jansson?”

  Leda froze, her mouth half-open. She remained that way for several long seconds before admitting the truth.

  “A witch cursed me when I was a baby with the Foresight Curse. I saw it was a possibility a few seconds before it happened.”

  Stella reared back in surprise. “That’s rare and complicated magic.”

  Leda sighed. “I know. Poor luck, isn’t it?”

  “And you still have it?”

  “Isadora says I will always have it. The witch who cursed me was more powerful than we thought.”

  “You’ve worked with Isadora?”

  Leda nodded. “She’s taught me how to control my thoughts enough to make sense of what I see. I’m not very strong with it. Sometimes I can see for other witches, sometimes I can’t. I don’t have anywhere near the ability that Isadora has and never will.”

  Stella’s lips pressed together. She made a little noise of surprise in the back of her throat. “Well,” she said, “that was certainly an unexpected response. Have you told Jansson?”

  “No!” Leda said emphatically, shaking her head. She grimaced and stopped, putting a hand to her forehead. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I mean no, I haven’t. I … I don’t know how he’d respond. It makes some witches uneasy and downright awkward.”

  “I can imagine. Take my advice, Leda, and come clean to Jansson about it. I believe his reaction won’t be as strong as you believe.”

  Leda nodded meekly. “Yes, High Priestess.”

  Stella looked over at me with a heavy sigh. “You and your friends, Bianca,” she murmured, turning away. “If one of you isn’t getting into trouble, the other is.”

  I smiled half-heartedly. “We take turns, High Priestess, so one doesn’t bear the brunt of the burden.”

  To my relief, Stella smiled. “Give me just a minute, girls, and I’ll have that headache potion for you. Then you can go to your Witchery for the rest of the day. Just take it easy, will you? No more jumping to the rescue will be needed, I hope.”

  “Go ahead,” Papa said later that night as he walked into the apartment and sank into a chair. “I just spoke with Leda about her Foresight Curse, and now you owe me an explanation of your clairvoyance.”

  I set aside the book on archery that Merrick had loaned me. The corners of Papa’s eyes tugged down in exhaustion, like usual. But he wore a new intensity that I knew came from this strange mystery of my dream.

  “Is everything settled in Chatham City?” I asked. He scowled.

  “As settled as it can be. Thirty dead in all. Ten seriously injured, on the brink of death, and a handful of others that will make it but need continued attention.”

  My stomach churned. It seemed that the Central Network was attacked on all fronts.

  “How many were gypsies?”

  “None, thank heavens. Jansson was the target. A Head Witch died and a Coven Leader is seriously injured, but it wasn’t targeting the gypsies.”

  “Was it Angelina?”

  “If the red A painted on the door to Clive’s office means anything.”

  I drew in a shaky breath at the confirmation, even more frightened to admit the truth to Papa now. What would he say when he learned about my strange connection?

  “This is just one example of why I need you to be more careful, B,” Papa said, rubbing a hand over his face. “There’s no telling where danger lurks. That’s why Stella made you promise not to run in Letum Wood. Danger can, and will, spring up anywhere but especially in a dark, dangerous forest.”

  “Yes Papa,” I murmured, wounded at the reminder.

  “I have a meeting in a few minutes, so I just stopped by briefly. You were dreaming about something just before you woke up,” Papa said, straightening. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s going on, B?”

  I hesitated. Papa and I hadn’t spoken in private for weeks. This certainly wasn’t the conversation I would have picked. Although I understood the reasons that kept him away, I couldn’t help resenting his absence.

  Magic swirled in my chest like an agitated dragon, but I forced it down. “Yes, Papa. I was dreaming. I was … I was dreaming about Angelina.”

  He motioned for me to continue with a wordless nod of his head.

  “I dream with her every now and then.”

  As I expected, my choice of wording wasn’t lost on him. “With her?” he asked. “What exactly does that mean? And what are you dreaming?”

  “Well, it’s not just a dream,” I admitted, tucking my feet up underneath me. “It’s more like a conversation.”

  He leaned forward. “What?”

  “She wants me to let Miss Mabel go,” I said, frightened by the sudden intensity in his expression. “She tells me to do it all the time, but I always refuse. Sometimes … sometimes after the dreams something terrible happens. I told Isadora about i
t a while ago, and she thinks Angelina is communicating with me through Almorran magic.”

  “You didn’t think to tell your father? Jikes, Bianca! How can I protect you if you won’t talk to me?”

  “How could I tell you? You’re never here. The Network is at war. Why would I burden you with more? Nothing happens to me in the conversations, except sometimes they foretell awful events.”

  “Like today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Start with the first dream.” He stood up to pace, dragging a hand through his hair. “Tell me everything you’ve seen, everything she’s said.”

  And so I told Papa everything. How they started, when I had them, and what I’d seen. He listened without interruption, but the more I spoke, the deeper the lines in his face grew.

  “I see,” he murmured when I finished.

  “I don’t know why she’s speaking to me!” I cried, feeling responsible for the communication even though I had nothing to do with it. “I’ve never even met her.”

  “She’s using you to get to me.”

  “I don’t think so, Papa,” I said. “She’s never once brought you into it, never once mentioned you. I think she’s using me instead of you. Because I’m not as strong or something? I don’t know.”

  He sent me a sharp look of reprimand that stung. “No more secrets, B.”

  “It was never a secret, Papa,” I whispered. “It was a burden.”

  “That’s what I’m for,” he snapped. “You’re supposed to share all your worries and burdens with me.”

  “Am I?” I shot back before I could stop myself, regretting it when he recoiled. His voice sharpened.

  “What does that mean?”

  It means I miss you. It means we don’t know each other anymore. It means I’m angry and scared and frustrated, and I need to run through Letum Wood, but I can’t.

  My heart ached. I couldn’t share everything with him because I didn’t want him to know the strain his job put on me. The sleepless nights when I feared he’d die just like Mama. The empty days when I wondered if Stella would tell me he was gone.

  “Nothing,” I said, dismissing it. I didn’t have the heart to tell him. “I’m sorry, Papa. I’ll tell you whenever I have a dream now.”

  His eyes darkened. He opened his mouth but eventually closed it without saying anything. Everything we left unsaid lingered in the air, as choking as the cloud of death Angelina had released on Chatham City.

  “I need to talk to Stella about this and think it over,” he said, his voice tight with tension. “We’re going to have to figure out a way to keep you safe from these dreams. Don’t wait up for me tonight. I have to return to the Southern Covens in an hour.”

  “Papa, are you mad at me?”

  “Yes.” He strode to the door, pulled on the handle, and stopped with a heavy exhale. His voice dropped low, as if he carried all the weight of the Central Network.

  “I love you, B. That’s why I’m upset. You kept a secret from me again, and that makes me very … sad.”

  You keep secrets from me all the time, I wanted to say, but I bit my bottom lip, not trusting my voice. I don’t want protection. I want you.

  “I love you too, Papa,” I said, and the door closed resolutely behind him. A long tear slid down my cheek, and I didn’t bother to wipe it away.

  Troublemaker

  The second month of spring brought a strange lull in the fighting. Thanks to whatever the Protectors did behind the scenes—Papa wouldn’t give specifics—the West Guards halted their attacks on our cities.

  The Southern Network stopped attacking the border, and everything lay still, as if Antebellum held its breath. Even in the calm, Papa rarely returned to the apartment, and when he did, he paced, spoke to himself, or brooded over plans. Jansson healed from his injuries and didn’t seem to mind Leda’s curse at all. She started predicting when Coven Leaders would arrive late to meetings, which greatly increased his productivity. Camille spent half her time with Brecken while he healed, and the rest of it helping Michelle plan her wedding.

  “Marten, I think Angelina’s getting desperate.”

  He looked over at me in surprise. We stood on the edge of the Central Network and the Borderlands, staring out at the strange fields of sand that stretched to the distant horizon. A few lizards scuttled by. The sun felt so warm it seemed as if winter had never been. I wondered if it would be hot on my feet if I ran across the sand. Surely it couldn’t burn as hot as the magic broiling inside me, more temperamental than ever since my disagreement with Papa.

  “Your father told me about your dreams,” he said, returning his gaze to the setting sun in the distance.

  I quirked an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m crazy?” I asked.

  He chortled. “I thought you were crazy long before that.”

  “Angelina must be getting desperate,” I said, continuing my thought with restless energy. “Why else would she have tried to kill Jansson or Leda? She’s trying to get to me so that I’ll release her daughter. It’s the only conclusion I can come to.”

  “You might be right. With Derek’s blood in you, you might be able to release Miss Mabel.”

  I mulled the thought over, uncertain whether I could set Miss Mabel free, even if the magic allowed it.

  “If I am right, we need to act while she’s desperate because it makes her vulnerable. We need to do something. I feel like this war rests on my shoulders, but no one knows it. Can’t we do something?” I asked. “Can’t we stop Angelina?”

  “You talk as if we haven’t been trying. We can’t even find her. Derek has pulled Protectors from the fighting to look for her to no avail. We just don’t know enough about her.”

  “I know, I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just … there must be something I can do.”

  “Are you willing to give Mabel to her?”

  I watched a lizard slide up a sun-baked rock and perch on the top, head cocked to the side. I’d already asked myself that question a hundred times.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I could.”

  “This war will happen regardless of whether Angelina communicates with you through dreams. It has nothing to do with you, Bianca.”

  “She tried to kill one of my best friends four days ago,” I said, finally giving vent to the thoughts that I’d trapped inside. It felt good to let them out, releasing the building pressure in my chest. “She’s going to go after Papa next. I can feel it.”

  Marten’s eyes snapped to mine. “Did she show you that?”

  “No.” I shifted uneasily. “But it makes the most sense. It’s what I would do if I were her. I wish … I wish I could talk to Isadora about it, but every time I go to her cottage it’s empty. She said there’s another book, but she doesn’t know much about it. I’ve looked but—”

  “The Book of Light,” he said. I pulled my eyes away from the red glare of the sunset off the hot sand.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I spoke with her a few days ago.”

  “Is there anyone you don’t talk to?”

  “No.”

  I snorted. “Well, with the war, I doubt she’s had any time to look for the Book of Light. But what if Bartie Stacey knew something about it? What if I went to talk to him?”

  Marten’s brow furrowed. “Why would Bartie know? Not even I had heard of it.”

  “I think his story about the Book of Spells is the most credible we’ve found. He knew more than I thought he would. It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”

  “Would it make you feel better?” Marten asked in his quiet way.

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Then go, but be careful. The Southern Covens are no place for witches right now. If you were any less trained, I wouldn’t allow it, but considering how stubborn you are, I might as well. You’d likely just go on your own.”

  He smirked, and I thanked him with a smile.

  “I’ll visit the rest of the border towns here,” he said, nudging me. “Go
see if you can find him now. I’d rather you go during the day when attacks are less likely. But keep in mind that the Southern Covens have fallen apart; most witches have fled. You may not be able to find him.”

  Which was exactly what I feared most.

  I decided to start with the easiest plan: going to Bartie’s dilapidated farmhouse to see if, by some miracle, he’d stayed.

  I transported from the Borderlands, leaving Marten to troop through the sparse, dusty villages alone. Bartie’s quiet farmhouse showed no signs of life. Not even the fresh grass poking from the ground seemed to stir. The eerie sense of stillness honed my senses. I held my breath and listened but heard nothing except the occasional flutter of a bird nearby.

  “Hello? Bartie? Are you here?”

  The front porch felt strangely empty without his dog to growl in warning. The aged boards seemed to groan on their own, telling me he wasn’t here. It was so empty that I wondered for a brief moment if I hadn’t imagined Bartie Stacy.

  “Get out of here!”

  I collapsed to the ground under a paralyzing incantation, smacking the back of my head on a rock. Although I could still breathe and see, I couldn’t blink, grimace, or respond to my surroundings. I’d been paralyzed before—plenty of times during training with Papa or Merrick—but still couldn’t get used to the inability to command my own limbs.

  A gruff, old man with thick, reddened skin moved into my line of sight, scowling. He kicked me onto my back and leered over me, white hair hanging off his head through a hat made of straw.

  “What do you want here, troublemaker?”

  Using silent magic that Merrick had taught me, I overpowered the paralyzing incantation by putting a powerful, invisible protective shield around myself. Luckily, the farmer wasn’t strong with magic, so it was easy enough to do.

  “I want to talk to Bartie,” I said, and the old man reared back, nearly stumbling over his own feet.

  “Hey!” he cried. “You can’t move! I paralyzed you.”

  He tried another spell that my shield absorbed. I sat up, holding my hands in the air in a gesture of surrender.

  “It’s all right. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m Bartie’s friend.”