by Katie Cross
“Advanced Curses and Hexes.”
Leda sputtered, coughing out some of her warm cider. I pounded her on the back and waved Miss Celia off when she ran forward to check on her.
“What?” she whispered as soon as everyone faded into the background. “Is that mark offered anymore?”
“I guess it is.”
Leda shifted, uneasy.
“That isn’t good, Bianca. Not good at all.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Be careful,” she warned. “I don’t like the feel of this. Miss Mabel isn’t …” she trailed off with a breath of frustration. “She’s not predictable but neither is she unorganized.”
The thought made me uneasy. I’d spent most of my life plotting against Miss Mabel. I didn’t like the thought of her doing the same.
“Have you ever thought about why Miss Mabel is still here?” Leda asked.
“What do you mean?”
“If Miss Mabel cursed your grandmother because she supported Mildred, then that meant Miss Mabel supported Evelyn. Mildred executed all of Evelyn’s followers when she took power.”
Leda let the implication hang in the air.
I blinked. “But not Miss Mabel.”
“Exactly. It’s worth finding out. In order to not be killed, Miss Mabel must have proven her loyalty to Mildred somehow, don’t you think?”
I looked out at the yard and thought it over. Why hadn’t I considered that before? Miss Mabel would have been in league with Evelyn, like her grandmother. But then why wouldn’t she have removed my grandmother’s curse when Mabel was executed, if she was on Mildred’s side?
“You’re right,” I said.
“We should probably go check on Camille.”
Leda motioned to the table of desserts where Camille stood, proudly pointing out her pie to anyone that would look at it. I could see the dark edges and bumpy crust from where we stood. Someone attempted one little slice, likely Miss Scarlett, who stood off to the side with a pinched look on her face, taking it upon herself to be fair and try all the desserts. Most of the other confections had disappeared into the greedy mouths of students who couldn’t get enough sugar.
“She looks okay,” I said. Miss Celia bustled to the table, the prize basket of goodies in her hand.
“Yes, she is now.” Leda let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. “But she won’t be when Miss Celia announces that Brianna has won. Camille doesn’t love anyone when there’s pastries on the line.”
We quickly made our way to the table, arriving just as Miss Celia called out for everyone’s attention. But my mind was far from the applause and the gentle, surprised smile on Brianna’s face or the flash of red embarrassment that faded to disappointment on Camille’s.
I forced a smile for Camille’s sake when she wandered over, dejected, her shoulders slumped. Then I pushed the thoughts of my grandmother, of Miss Mabel, far from my mind. Instead, I took Camille by the hand, and we plunged into the festivities, laughing until the light faded and the feast began beneath the pumpkin-colored sky.
Hexes
Miss Mabel came in the next morning with a mangy white cat trailing behind her, inching along with a limp. Clumps of fur were missing, one ear bled, and the ribcage jutted out from beneath the hair.
Still burning in the aftermath of her betrayal of our contract, I entertained myself by wondering how she would look if I put a boil on her face. My wrath sat deep in my chest, near my heart, pinching with every beat, threatening to crowd it out. I pushed it away so I could focus on the lessons, but it throbbed in the recesses.
“Hexes are too simple to dwell on for very long in an advanced class,” Miss Mabel began. “We’ll review a few of the main hexes today, and I’ll test you on them later. After that, we’ll move the majority of our emphasis to curses.”
She spoke with ease, as if she didn’t notice the hungry feline behind her. The cat let out a feeble mew and settled near the fire. I stood and handed Miss Mabel the scroll from yesterday. She tossed the homework on her desk without another glance.
“How are hexes different from curses?”
“They are generally milder,” I responded, my eyes on the cat. “Curses last over time, while hexes rarely last more than a few hours. Hexes cannot be inherited,” I added as a bitter aside.
“Exactly,” she said and waved toward the cat. “This revolting little creature wandered into the kitchen this morning. He must’ve been in a fight awhile ago. His back leg is infected. He’s going to die, making him a fantastic model to practice a few hexes on.”
Appalled, I met her eyes.
“Miss Mabel, I can’t–”
“You have to,” she interrupted firmly. “You can’t receive the mark without the ability to perform these hexes.”
“Is this required in every advanced class?”
“No, but it’s required in mine. He’s going to die,” she scoffed in a patronizing tone. “It won’t hurt him.”
The poor creature looked miserable, licking a swollen, red leg. My mind raced to find another plan. Even if it was going to die, I didn’t want to torture him through the last hours of his life.
“It’s a cat, Bianca. Get over it. You’re an Assistant now. Stop acting like a first-year. Let’s get started. I want you to cast a simple hex. Something elementary, like the itching hex.”
The itching hex was short-lived but easy, more of an annoyance than a serious hex, like the sensation of a blade of grass constantly running along the skin. It generally lasted fifteen minutes, but I didn’t know how it would affect a cat holding onto life by only a few days. Maybe less.
Miss Mabel folded her arms across her chest and arched her eyebrow when I hesitated. Her short-lived patience had already expired. My mind raced for a way to get her out of the classroom for just a few moments.
“Go ahead,” she said.
I hesitated, staring at the poor creature. I’d come up with the outline of a plan, but chances that it would work were slim.
“Miss Mabel,” I protested, hoping she’d get mad at me again, “he’s dying. I don’t want to–”
“Yes, very good Bianca. He is dying,” she spoke as if she were addressing a child. Her tone sharpened. “Maybe this will help him die faster and stop his misery. Do it. Now.”
Taking advantage of the precious moments she gave me as she spoke, I cast a silent incantation. Then I stared at her, acting speechless. Miss Celia’s voice floated up the stairs, interrupting the tense moment.
“Miss Mabel? There’s a problem down here I need some help with.”
It took all my concentration to continue the spell and stare at Miss Mabel without changing my expression. Every word I said in my head was mimicked as Miss Celia. I hadn’t expected it to work but felt a new power inside me give it strength. Where that power came from, I didn’t know. But releasing it felt good.
“Take care of it,” Miss Mabel said. “I’m busy.”
“It’s urgent!”
Miss Mabel hesitated.
“What is it?” she called back.
“A question regarding the order the grocer sent.”
“That’s urgent?”
I hesitated, lost.
“I think the milk is poisoned!”
My panic brought out a shrill note in Miss Celia’s voice, which seemed to motivate Miss Mabel.
“Oh fine,” she muttered, perturbed. I fought the urge to let out a sigh of relief, my heart beating a sharp staccato beneath my ribs. “I’ll be right down.”
Miss Mabel shot me a dangerous look as she took a few steps back.
“It would be very wise of you to complete the hex before I return.”
As soon as she disappeared, I headed for the cat. He gave a pathetic little mew when I approached, clearly afraid but too tired to do anything about it. I scooped the bony figure into my arms and started to my bedroom.
A warm ray of light rested on my blanket, and I set him inside it. He attempted another weak sound but nothing came out.
I had no food in my room so I offered him some water from a glass on my desk. His puny attempts at drinking took a long while. By the time I had made him comfortable, Miss Mabel’s voice filtered up the stairs.
“Yes, Miss Celia. Just two minutes ago. It’s all right. I’ll figure it out.”
My plan to avoid hexing the real cat wasn’t a good one. It put me in a poor position, especially considering Miss Mabel’s obvious ill humor with me already. Now she’d be suspicious because Miss Celia hadn’t called for her. The cat curled into a little ball and tucked his nose into his tail.
After straightening up, I cast a deception spell. A second pathetic cat appeared on my bed, identical to the first.
“Come on,” I whispered. The second cat followed me, hobbling like the real one. Miss Mabel’s steps echoed down the corridor below; she was heading for the spiral stairs by the time I closed my bedroom door. Although I wanted to reach out and move the cat along, I didn’t touch it lest the deception spell break. Miss Mabel started up the spiral stairs as I got the cat back into the classroom. Then I hexed the deception-spell cat and prayed Miss Mabel wouldn’t ask me any important questions. If she caught me lying, she’d know this wasn’t the real cat.
The cat suddenly let out an annoyed sound, much louder than any it had managed before, and raised itself up on all four legs. Then it turned in circles, trying to reach something on its back.
Miss Mabel walked in and threw me a suspicious look. After taking in the annoyed cat’s angry hissing, she lifted an eyebrow but let the moment slide.
“See?” she muttered, folding her arms across her chest. “That wasn’t so hard.”
My palms were sweaty, and my heart pounded in my ears, but I managed a shrug. Even though the deception-spell cat wasn’t real, the awful feeling that I tortured something else wouldn’t leave. She stared at the cat in disdain as it chased its own tail.
“Nasty little thing. Now remove the hex.”
My first attempt yielded minimal results. The cat stopped his agitated chasing but wouldn’t settle in one spot. It circled around, uncomfortable. Miss Mabel corrected my speech, and with the next repetition the cat settled, standing like a weak pillar in front of the fire. Miss Mabel scrutinized me from her perch near the doorway, far from the reach of the cat.
“Let’s try something else, like the double vision hex. That’s more complicated.”
Still uneasy, I cast the hex. The cat immediately jumped, looking around in confusion. Miss Mabel tilted her head as she watched, appearing both disgusted and amused as the cat wobbled around like a drunk.
“All right, now take it off.”
The cat stopped tripping over his own feet after my second attempt. It ran under my desk and cowered. My heart broke.
Miss Mabel regarded me through narrowed eyes.
“I think your problem is your concentration,” she decided. “The reason it’s more difficult to remove a hex is because the magic is already at work. Magic is not stagnant. You have to really focus to make it stop. It’s almost like pulling the magic back together. Does that make sense?”
Trying to stay mute, I forced myself to nod.
“Do you have something on your mind that would take your concentration away from the counter-hex?”
Her question didn’t seem purposeful, but my heart stuttered all the same.
“No,” I lied, grateful that the deception spell worked in my favor.
“Then it’s a matter of practice. Keep working on it tonight. We’ll try it again tomorrow afternoon.” Her eyes fell on the cat. “If that nasty feline is still alive, we’ll use it.”
I nodded to acknowledge her orders. After casting one last uncertain glance at me, she disappeared into her office. The cat hid underneath my chair, peering at me with yellow eyes. I waited for several minutes before reaching forward to touch it. The deception-spell cat dissolved into a mist as I stroked its tail, grateful that the lesson was over.
For now.
Poke Root
Sorting through the herb pantry for the right concoction of herbs for a healing paste proved to be more time consuming than I’d planned. Worse still was how long the poultice took to prepare. By the time I was ready to wrap it around the kitty’s swollen leg, lunch had started. The cat stirred as I cleaned the open gash and applied the sticky mixture. But he was too weak to protest and didn’t move after I was done. I sighed in worry. An infection poultice at this stage was like a feather trying to stop an open artery.
After wrapping the leg, leaving some water nearby, and covering him with my blanket, I slipped down the stairs and into the dining room with the hope that my friends would have some advice.
Leda looked at me in surprise when I sat down.
“You smell like jasmine,” Camille said, sniffing.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Why are you so late?”
“I’m not that late,” I said, motioning to her untouched food. “You haven’t even started.”
“That’s because I was on kitchen duty.” Her dramatic sigh turned into a pout. “Stephany yelled at me because her biscuit was cold. She’s as nasty as Priscilla. But look! I dished up a plate for you even though you weren’t here and I didn’t know if you were going to come.” Camille gave me a pointed look. I smiled at her in appreciation.
“Thanks, Camille.”
Satisfied, she turned to her own plate and dove into her mashed potatoes, exclaiming over how creamy they were.
“So,” I said a few minutes later, attempting a light tone. “Have either of you ever used poke root before?”
Both of them stopped mid-bite to give me a skeptical look.
“You want my advice on herbs?” Camille asked. “Are you kidding? You’re the Assistant.”
“That doesn’t mean I know everything.”
“I don’t know anything about poke root,” she said, slathering raspberry preserves on a piece of bread. “This bread, however, needs some more flour. A bit soggy.”
“Didn’t you used to work with an apothecary?” I asked her, recalling a time when Camille talked about working with a grumpy potionmaker named Fitz.
“Yes, but I sorted herbs. I never put them to use. Well, maybe once–”
Her face twisted in thought as I waited, holding my breath.
“No, actually, wait!” she cried. “I think I did. No. No, I’m wrong. I didn’t. I don’t know anything about pole root.”
“Poke root.”
“Whatever.”
Leda shot Camille a questioning look. “So becoming an apothecary is off the list of possibilities now?”
“Yes,” Camille responded with a careless shake of her hair. “Too much memorizing. But I’m not hopeless in the job search yet. I’m only sixteen and still in pursuit of beauty.”
“Poke root is poison,” Leda said, turning to me. “Why do you need to know about it?”
“It can be,” I agreed, “if used in the wrong dosages.”
“Is it for you?” Camille asked.
“No.”
“Then who is it for?”
“I found a stray cat. I want to try and nurse it back to health, but it’s in pretty bad shape. It’s so sick I think I may need to use poke root to kill the infection. My grandmother talked about it, but it’s so strong she hardly ever used it.”
Camille’s face turned down in instant sorrow.
“Oh, poor kitty! What are you going to name it?”
“Name it?” I asked. “I don’t know. I’ll just be happy to keep it alive.”
“There’s a massive book on herbs in the herb pantry,” Leda said. “It has listings based on use of the herb and function. I’d start there. A paste won’t be as strong as a tincture though, so you would be safer with that.”
“I’ve got a poultice on it now,” I said. “I’ll see what that does. I might be working against fate as it is.”
Miss Bernadette interrupted our conversation by walking up to our table. Camille let out a squeak of happy surprise.
“Hi Miss Bernadette!”
Miss Bernadette gave her beautiful smile in response. Her short hair had grown out just enough to begin curling at the base of her neck, giving her an impish look.
“Bianca,” she turned to me, “Miss Mabel said you are going to participate in our Geography class for the next month. She wanted you to get a deeper understanding regarding the layout of our Network, especially Letum Wood. You and I will have a separate class emphasizing Chatham City, the interior of Chatham Castle, and the borderlands by the Western Network.”
“Yes, Miss Bernadette,” I said, noticing Leda’s ruffled forehead.
Camille silenced her yelp of excitement by stuffing a fist over her mouth.
“We’ll meet outside at the large oak tree by the front gate. Bring a cloak. We’ll start with Letum Wood. Reading up from the book The Complete History of Letum Wood would help.”
“I’ll go find the book today.”
Miss Bernadette smiled at us and departed, leaving her flowery scent behind. Leda shot me a look with one eyebrow lifted.
“I wonder why Miss Mabel is having you study the Borderlands between the Western and Central Networks?”
I shrugged, wondering the same thing myself.
“Maybe she wants me to learn more about the desert.”
“What are you going to do about Miss Mabel’s conversation with the High Priest?” she asked next. “Have you heard back from your father?”
“No,” I growled, annoyed at the reminder. “He hasn’t written me back. Until he does, there’s nothing I can do.”
This wasn’t something I wanted to think about, not until I knew more of what Miss Mabel’s plan involved.
Leda picked up on the finality in my tone and spent the rest of the meal buried in her thoughts and visions. Camille prattled off about a letter she’d received from her aunt Bettina, informing her that one of her friends from home was sick, and I tried to smile and keep up with the conversation but like Leda found my thoughts slipping far away.
Miss Celia swept into the dining room a few minutes later, dismissing everyone to their classes five minutes early.