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

by Katie Cross

  “Wow,” Camille whispered, her eyes growing wider. “This is amazing! Look, they brought in Miss Jasmine. She’s the most talented Diviner in this part of Letum Wood. Maybe she’ll tell me about my future husband!”

  Her voice turned into a shrill squeal. She charged forward, running into the group of girls gathered around Miss Jasmine and disappearing into the sea of black and gold fabric.

  I gazed around, trying to hide my sudden flood of nervous insecurity. My school uniform stuck out like a specter in this sea of ebony. With everyone’s black dresses twirling and moving in the crowd, my only tie to the group was the fragile hair ribbon still in my hand.

  This is what you get when you set yourself apart. My attempts at self-soothing had little effect. You can’t save yourself from Miss Mabel and be like the rest of the students.

  The curse took away something I’d never have the chance to be a part of again. This girlish phase of friendship when dress up, in whatever form, was just another part of life.

  Leda, as if reading my mind, grabbed the ribbon and pulled at my hair.

  “Don’t worry about them. You need the break today, after Miss Mabel pulled a trick like that.”

  I’d been too distraught to explain the disappointment of Miss Mabel’s betrayal, but somehow Leda had known. She’d stopped me before I explained with a shake of her head, and I never had to say a word. Despite the lingering depression of being nothing more than a puppet for one of the most evil witches in Antebellum, the jovial mood of the yard did have a buoyant effect.

  Leda tugged my dark hair into a ponytail at my neck. Priscilla and Jade weren’t far away, surrounded by most of the third-years. Priscilla wore a sparkling black dress that hung from her shoulders to the floor, unlike the first-year dresses that cut off around the knees. By comparison, she made everyone look like the schoolgirls they were. Most students couldn’t take their eyes off her, though their expressions said that they hated her for making them look so young and insignificant.

  “Let’s just have a good time,” Leda said, tightening my bow with a vicious yank that made me grimace. I wasn’t sure which of the two of us she was trying to convince. “Eat some pumpkin spice almonds and apple slices with caramel, and then go where we can’t hear Priscilla and Jade laughing so much. It’s nauseating.”

  Once she finished, we went to the table to peruse the piles of goodies, where Miss Celia shouted directions to a new piece of silver.

  “Drat that platter!” she cried. “I wish Mabel hadn’t insisted on getting rid of the old ones. They always did just what I wanted. I’m not familiar enough with the new trays. That makes them unreliable. Oh, dear. Grab that end, Rebecca!”

  The round silver platter, leaves etched into its sides, dropped to the table with a clatter, spilling steaming cider onto the white tablecloth and upsetting a ceramic tray of pumpkin swirl cake.

  Michelle approached with another tray loaded down with sugar-roasted cranberries, and I gave her a friendly smile.

  “Merry meet, Michelle.”

  “Merry meet,” she whispered, averting her eyes at first, but then looking back with a smile. “I hope you’re enjoying the fun.”

  I gazed at the melee.

  “Yes,” I said without conviction. “It seems great.”

  Miss Celia let out a bellow from across the yard, and Michelle started like a terrified deer.

  “Michelle!”

  “I have to go!” she said, and her burly form moved with surprising speed, arriving just in time to stop a heaping tray of Miss Celia’s fresh cinnamon rolls from toppling over and rolling across the yard. Leda handed me a cup of cider.

  “Michelle moves pretty fast.”

  We stood on the edges of the party, feeling as awkward as I knew we looked.

  “Care to talk about that stack of books Miss Mabel has you studying?” Leda asked. The troubled storm returned to her eyes.

  “Not really,” I said, but it wouldn’t matter. Leda had her mind set on figuring it out.

  “What mark are you completing now?”

  I looked at the two triangles on my wrist and felt a little shudder just saying the words aloud. Eventually, the Esbat symbol wouldn’t be the only mark there.

  “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.

  31

  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 t
hat, 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, peerin
g 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.

  32

  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.”