Miss Mabel's School for Girls: The first book in the Network Series

by Katie Cross

  “You’ll probably have the whole library read by the time you graduate.”

  “I plan on it,” she said in a serious tone, taking me by surprise. Apparently Leda had more aspirations than I had given her credit for.

  I couldn’t help wondering what her foresight could mean for me in the Competition. “Is what you see guaranteed?” I hoped she didn’t hear the edge in my tone.

  “When it’s in the very near future,” Leda shrugged, leaning back against the wall, stretching out legs covered with the thick white stockings that enslaved us all. “I mean within minutes, then what I see is pretty certain. Miss Bernadette is going to come back to the school from her cottage in a few minutes, for example. As time passes, the options narrow. Everything else I see is just … something that could happen.”

  It was difficult to know what to say. My initial horror had faded because she didn’t seem malicious. We sat there for several minutes in silence.

  “Were you born with it?” I finally broke the quiet.

  “No. Someone cursed me.”

  Stunned for the second time, I just stared at her. I’d never met another witch my age with a curse. Having a curse was like having a disease, ostracizing and terrifying. Everyone assumed you had it because you did something wrong.

  “What? You’re cursed?”

  “No, it wasn’t Miss Mabel,” she said, anticipating a question that hovered on the tip of my tongue. “It happened when I was a baby. My father made a stupid decision and hurt a friend. His friend cast a curse on me in his anger. I believe his friend really thought he was doing my father a favor, giving him a daughter that could see possibilities in the future to stop him from making any bad mistakes again. But it’s far from that. It’s a nightmare.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said quickly. “My father is a great guy now. That’s all it took to shape him up.”

  I managed a smile, and she looked away with another sheepish blush.

  “His friend won’t take the curse away?” I asked.

  “The man died. He had no family or relatives, either, that would be able to remove it after he passed.”

  She spoke about it with an ease that I envied. Sometimes I wished my curse could just be something in the background, and not an existing presence, looming just above me with its hands around my neck.

  “I don’t want anyone to know about my curse, so why are you telling me about yours?” I asked.

  Her reply was simple and wry, as if she wasn’t sure whether she’d come to terms with it or not.

  “Because we could be great friends.”

  Something about her strange eyes and white hair made me like her. Leda was all edges, like a broken piece of glass, but it worked for her.

  “Aren’t you going to ask the most important question of all?” she asked.

  I understood by her tone exactly what she meant.

  “No,” I stated with a firmness that took us both by surprise.

  “You don’t even want to know what could happen at the first match of the Competition?”

  I came to my feet, uncomfortable with the temptation. Of course I wanted to know. But what if it showed me losing? Knowing what could happen would play with my mind, and I’d become obsessed, or paralyzed, by what she saw.

  “No. Don’t tell me. I won’t tempt fate. If I win, it has to be because I did it. On my own.”

  “Good for you,” Leda said in a quiet voice. A new glimmer came into her eyes. And I hoped, for the first time, that we really would become great friends.

  A knock came at the door, surprising both of us.

  “Miss Bernadette,” Leda murmured. She went to the door and pulled the chair away. “Come in!”

  The door creaked open, revealing Miss Bernadette’s warm brown eyes and heart-shaped face.

  “Hello Leda, Bianca.”

  I stood, our voices echoing the same words in sync.

  “Miss Bernadette.”

  “I’m glad I found you, Bianca.” she said, breathless and flushed. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Miss Mabel moved the time of the match.”

  My stomach dropped, already guessing what she was about to say.

  “It’s tonight. The first match is tonight, after the sun sets.”

  7

  Play It Smart

  I felt an odd sense of calm when Miss Scarlett called us forward.

  “All right, Competitors, I have your envelopes.”

  The fading blue tones of twilight, normally so calming, put me and everyone else on edge. Six torches flickered in a line along the wrought iron fence in front of the school. Beyond their circle of light, the forest faded into black. Our breath misted out in front of us as we waited. The entire school stared at our backs, only a few steps away. I got the sense that they weren’t the only ones watching.

  To my right stood the only second-year volunteer, Elana. Her clenched fists and compressed lips made her seem a formidable opponent, despite her petite body and pale face. She met my eyes for a second and then looked away. Michelle lurked to my left with her stocky, broad shoulders. Her lips and nose were too big for her face, making her eyes look small and beady. She hunched her shoulders forward, as if she was trying to make herself small, out of place in a world so far from her usual work in the kitchen.

  Priscilla, Stephany, and Jade stood together several paces away from the rest of us. Priscilla caught my eye and sent me a little wave and smile. A heavy cloak lined with white fur framed her porcelain face, and her red hair fell in perfect curls onto her shoulders. If the mocking laugh that followed her gesture hadn’t come soon after, it would have almost looked kind. I acted as if I hadn’t seen her.

  Focus, Bianca, I thought, sucking in a calming breath. If you don’t think about failure as an option, it won’t be.

  The students chattered like nervous chipmunks in a huddle by the back door. Miss Celia attempted to calm them by handing out steaming mugs of cider and cinnamon sticks to stir with. I wished I had one to wrap my cold hands around to quell the nervous ache in my belly.

  The blonde second-year advisor, Miss Amelia, stood with Miss Bernadette in quiet conversation off to the side. Once we left, Miss Scarlett would tell the students our challenge. For now, they were as blissfully ignorant as the Competitors.

  All sound dropped from the air when Miss Scarlett stepped into the rings of torchlight. I straightened up. Six familiar envelopes filled her hands.

  “The match begins as soon as the envelopes are open, not a moment before,” she said, swiveling to make eye contact with each one of us. “Good luck.”

  She threw them straight out, and they headed toward us with all the velocity of a dart. I caught mine with a flinch. Miss Mabel’s familiar wax seal sat on the flap. I tore through it, almost dropping the envelope when something gossamer drifted out.

  It was a butterfly made out of a sheer substance, like a wisp of smoke. The wings shimmered green and blue, like a rolling ocean wave. It stayed in front of me, hovering a few inches from my face. I studied it for several moments before remembering the letter.

  Dearest Bianca,

  I always look forward to these matches, but never more than when a first-year volunteers. Since this is your first match, I would like to give you some advice.

  Play it smart.

  Each Competitor is paired with one another. Whichever witch out of the pair finds her individual butterfly first will win. The butterfly you see is specific to you. Your objective is to find and catch it before Michelle discovers hers. If you find your butterfly and return to the school first, you will advance to the second round and Michelle will not.

  Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Another piece of advice: Nothing is ever what it seems.

  Your doting teacher,

  Miss Mabel

  I glanced up at Letum Wood with an uncertain eye. Nothing in that forest would make this as simple as it sounded. The eerie darkness cr
ept about like a lazy fog, filled with unknown shadows and creatures you couldn’t always anticipate.

  The rest of the Competitors finished their letters, and Priscilla showed off her transformation skills by folding her letter up and turning it into a little bird. It fluttered over to a few students on gentle wings before settling on the shoulder of a girl with bright green eyes and letting out a quiet cheep.

  Michelle gave me a quick sideways glance. Her silver butterfly sparkled with every move. Mine fluttered in a circle around my head and finally faded from view.

  I closed my eyes to block the students out. When my thoughts gathered together, I could hear the whisper of my father’s voice in my mind.

  Magic is nothing but the reorganization of elements. Because you change the way things are, it leaves an impression behind.

  My butterfly was magical, which meant that as it flew, it would leave an impression behind. All I had to do was search for the impression of my butterfly with a revealing spell. A dozen other methods came to mind, but following the impression would be a more obscure magic, something the other students wouldn’t attempt. Having a plan eased my tension somewhat.

  But my mind soon wandered over the possibilities, making me uneasy. A sense of foreboding overcame me when I opened my eyes and took Letum Wood in one more time.

  Nothing is ever what it seems.

  The movement of girls filtering through the brush broke my worried thoughts. The row of Competitors disappeared, leaving only Elana and me behind. Michelle headed to the left in her awkward, heavy gait, toward the pitch forest that swallowed the girls one by one.

  Elana nodded once, set her shoulders, and moved away. The cat rubbed against my leg with a stuttering purr.

  “Go, Bianca!” Camille called. “You’ll do fine!”

  A few twigs cracked beneath my feet when I started forward. The chilly air hurt my throat. When the darkness of the tree line hid me, I turned around. The sense that someone watched from the shadows increased. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  The drapes in the largest of the four attic windows stirred and fell back into place.

  Light from the torches faded fast. Stumbling over tree roots and stones in the darkness kept my pace slow. Even the stars couldn’t poke through the bare canopy. Without the moon as a guide, it was impossible to keep my bearings.

  When the lights of the school lay far behind, I stopped and listened. No noise. Not even the rustle of a bird’s wing. It was unnatural, this quiet gloom.

  Willing myself to not think about the ghoulish possibilities, I grabbed a handful of dirt and whispered the revealing incantation Papa taught me at eight years old. My fingers opened one at a time, revealing a mound of white sand. The perfect tracker.

  When I blew on the pile, it billowed out like a muted powder. The cloud spread, thinned out and drifted higher. Then it disappeared into the treetops without a trace, detecting no impression. If my magic had left a trace, the sand would have turned a bright blue color and lingered. Any other color would indicate a different witch.

  A magical impression was easy to miss. I could saunter right past it, send out the detection powder a few steps away, and miss it completely. It may not spread far enough, or the impression could be old enough by the time I found it that a powder wouldn’t change.

  This isn’t a good plan, I thought.

  Good plan or not, I didn’t have a choice. I had to press on while thinking of something better. Branches raked my skin when I passed through their gnarled, spiny fingers, seeking the next spot to send out the revealing spell.

  I repeated the same ritual an innumerable number of times and never stopped moving. The night air crept in with cramping chill, making my movements sluggish, like a toddler scratching at the dirt with chubby fingers. Once bent, my stiff fingers had a difficult time unfolding. I blew on them to no avail.

  “Cursed night,” I muttered.

  And then a noise came from the right.

  I stopped, crouched on the balls of my feet. A panicked rush of blood hurried past my ears, making it difficult to hear. My mind raced. The noise could be anything, or nothing.

  No, not nothing. Whatever it was, it moved fast.

  Don’t panic, Papa’s voice whispered in my ears. When you feel fear, never panic. Fear is an ally. It tells you something is wrong, like pain. Think through it and be calm. What is it? Where is it coming from? What assets do you have?

  My breath evened. Think through it. Although I couldn’t see well, the night did nothing to muddle my hearing. I forced a long breath out, diminishing the heartbeats clogging my ears. The sound came again and I turned toward it. A snapped twig. Shuffling, heavy steps. Grunting breath. I straightened, searching again for visual cues in the dark.

  Thirty yards away and closing in.

  Based on how often I heard the footfalls, it had four legs. It would be at least three times my weight. Letum Wood held creatures that most witches had never even heard of. Four legs to my two, and not to mention my almost perpetual blindness.

  Beautiful odds for survival, Bianca, I told myself. What have you gotten yourself into now? No matter. The secrets of the forest are nothing to wait around for.

  I abandoned the dirt and jumped to my feet. The darkness made it impossible to work through the trees with any kind of grace or ease, so I stumbled through the twigs and vines, heading right into a thick underbrush that snagged my cloak and hair. My heart thudded dully in my chest.

  Relax, my father’s voice said. I was a young girl again, standing in front of a hulking brown bear that I’d stumbled across, in a different part of Letum Wood. Papa stood at my back, facing the monster with me. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my spine, the rhythmic thump of his heart. He put a hand on my shoulder. His steady voice reassured me. Papa had no fear, but my hands shook with every raspy breath the bear took.

  Breathe deep, Papa said. Think. Don’t panic. Just relax. Keep your shield out in front of you. Yes, good, just like that. You know how to fight if you have to. Use the skills you have, but only if there is no other choice.

  This time I didn’t have a shield, and Papa didn’t have my back.

  Use the skills you have.

  I skidded to a stop on a carpet of leaves, turning my ear to the direction I’d just come from. This time I felt the creature before I heard it. The ground pulsed beneath my feet in a fast, staccato rhythm. Running.

  Batting aside a spiny twig, I ducked around a large oak and pressed my back to it. Running would only guarantee an injury, not an escape. I slid down the tree and groped around until my hand closed on a thick, fallen branch. I hefted it, feeling only a bit better with a weapon in hand.

  Twenty yards.

  Another noise came from my right.

  I froze, hearing an uneven, gasping sound, and waited several seconds to see if it would come again. When it repeated, I paused, wondering if I should call out.

  Fifteen yards.

  My hesitation won when I realized it could be a Competitor.

  “Hello?” I called, crouching down.

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  A shaking voice replied.

  “Bianca?”

  A dead bush slapped my face when I headed toward the girl’s voice. It wasn’t until I almost tripped over her that I made out Elana’s figure on the ground. In the inky air, I couldn’t tell what she was doing down there.

  I fell into a crouch next to her.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I sprained my ankle running away,” she whispered. “That thing sounds like it’s going to eat us.”

  “It won’t.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “Just stay here.”

  “What are you doing?”

  I silenced her with a tight squeeze of my hand and turned toward the crunching branches. Ten yards. The thicker undergrowth of this area, probably a dried stream bank, had slowed it down. It was close, probably circling around, scenting us out.

  Silence. />
  I busied myself with gathering a bunch of pine needles, commanding them with a silent incantation while keeping my eyes up, glancing around despite the blackness that met me on every side.

  Elana grabbed my arm and pulled me close.

  “Are you crazy?” she whispered, so lightly I could barely hear it. “Get out of here while you can!”

  I ignored her.

  The pine needles congealed into a cool poultice in my palm. I wrapped it around her swollen ankle, the putty clinging to her skin like a slug. Within moments her breathing evened. It would only take a few minutes to numb the pain. I grabbed my wooden club and straightened up again. A twig snapped to my right. I whirled around, rotting branch at the ready.

  Darkness.

  Come on, mangy animal. I want to live far more than you.

  Another twig snapped, and another. The huffing started again. The footfalls so close that I could smell a rotten, musky odor. I lifted the branch so it hovered a few feet off the air when a low growl sounded just a few steps away. The darkness hid her quarry.

  Then a stomp, a rustle, movement. The sounds faded, disappearing into the night. The creature was running away. Five minutes later and I could no longer hear it, even when I strained. I let out a heavy sigh and finally dropped the branch. My arms trembled.

  “It’s gone,” I announced in a quiet voice. Elana peered at me through the darkness.

  “What was it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I helped pull her to her feet. The dirt shifted beneath her when she put weight on the offended ankle.

  “Thanks,” she said. “It feels great now. I think I’ll be able to walk.”

  “Good.”

  “What did you put on it?”

  “A little family secret my grandmother taught me. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, a little too quickly. She cleared her throat. “I’ll be fine. I still have to find my butterfly. You should go. I’ve kept you here long enough.”

  I held out the thick wooden stick. “Here, take this with you. It’ll give you some protection if you need it.”