Antebellum Awakening (10 page)

An hour later I had a walloping headache, a suspicious librarian tailing me at every turn, and no progress on my goal. Could a binding be destroyed? I began to have my doubts. If it could, I found no evidence of it, which disheartened me. A male voice the next row of books over stopped my perturbed thoughts in their tracks.

“Derek deserves to be exiled,” it said.

My powers woke with a sudden start, surly and ready to fight. I paused, waiting, trying to identify the witch on the other side. There were no slats in the shelves in this section of the library, so I couldn’t peer through the tops of the books to see who stated those traitorous words with such ease.

“You’re taking on a big cause,” said a different voice with little inflection. Another male witch. Older, if the drawling tone meant anything.

“Yes, perhaps. But it’s a worthy cause, no doubt,” the first voice replied in a rush. “Derek lied to the entire Network! Our first leaders set up the rules against leadership having family for a reason. He willingly defied that tradition. Willingly! It’s insulting, that’s what it is, to all that went before him and made the sacrifice.”

“Some will argue that he still did his job well.”

“He fulfilled his duties, yes. So what? He lied the entire time. The real question is this: In a time of war, how are we to trust Derek to make the right decisions?”

A long paused stretched between them.

“The question is one you may choose to act on however you feel is best, Clive. I cannot stop you, but I would advise you to have a plan. The Council will not accept a petition that is poorly executed or presented.”

Clive.

The very name sent a cool chill through my blood. Clive had been the Coven Leader over Chatham City for the past five years. Because Chatham City was the biggest city in the Network, its Coven Leader had a lot of power. Usually, the Coven Leader eventually became a Council Member. No doubt Clive wanted to pad his career by getting rid of Papa, hoping to advance into the Council upon the next vacancy.

“I have a plan,” Clive said with a self-assurance that made me want to punch him. I balled my hand into a fist instead. The magic burned behind my ribs like a pile of coals. “Starting tomorrow, with your approval of course, I’ll begin holding rallies all across Chatham City. Once I gain the requisite 50,000 signatures from the occupants of the city, I’ll bring the petition to the Council.”

“You’re talking about Derek Black,” the deeper voice said. “Not an initiative to change taxes. You may meet some resistance.”

“I respectfully disagree. Derek is no favorite anymore, Council Member Jansson.”

Since Jansson oversaw Chatham City, it made sense that Clive was speaking to him about this. I hadn’t spoken with Jansson directly, but saw him working often with the High Priestess and Papa.

“You know of Derek’s waning popularity better than anyone,” Clive continued. “I wouldn’t be able to get five hundred people to sign something in support of him. But to remove him? I’ll get plenty of signatures. Chatham is foaming over it.”

And so are you,
I thought, wanting to rake my nails across his face.
You dirty snake.

“I came here today to ask for your support,” Clive said when Jansson didn’t reply. I whispered a cloaking incantation and stole to the edge of the bookshelves as the icy spell ran down my body, concealing me from sight. When I peered around the corner to see the two of them standing together, conspiring, my anger ignited again.

Jansson drew in a deep breath.

“As your leader, I urge you to be cautious. Everything you do reflects on your career in some way. But as you are petitioning the people for their opinion, and are free to have your own, I cannot withhold my support to continue.”

“Thank you, Council Member,” Clive said with audible relief. “It’s greatly appreciated.”

The building power slipped out of my control for only one second, but it was enough. Books exploded from the shelves near Clive and Jansson, raining on top of them in a fall of paper and ink.

“Jikes!” Clive shouted, leaping out of the way. Jansson deflected a few volumes that almost tumbled onto his head with a quick spell. A final tome several inches thick caught Clive on the shoulder. Two librarians rushed to the scene, clucking and pecking after the torn pages like a bunch of hens.

Take that, Clive.

With the librarians cleaning up the mess, Clive and Jansson started walking toward me. Clive’s rat-like face, wide ears, and sharp nose contrasted with the droopy skin and mild, rounded features of Jansson’s face.

“Haunted, I tell you. Just like the southern turret,” Clive muttered, brushing his fingers through his hair to straighten it. “Or that batty old librarian did it.”

I retreated as they neared and pressed my back to the bookshelf. Clive, already jabbering about his plans for the first rally, soared past. Jansson, however, glanced over his shoulder.

If I hadn’t had so much faith in the integrity of my magic, I’d have said he looked right into my eyes.

•••

My breath came fast, hot, and with great pain the next morning.

I jogged along a well-worn trail in Letum Wood that the Guardians used for training runs. Merrick remained just behind me, trailing at my heels like an overeager puppy. The last tendrils of night still clung to the heavy canopy of Letum Wood, reluctantly giving sway to the rising sun’s greater power. The air was cool and crisp.

The steep hills with jagged spines made of boulders and roots challenged my weakened leg muscles. Despite my two-month break from running, I found my body eagerly gobbling up the familiar motions of pounding down the trail. I was used to pushing past physical fatigue. Although it would take time to gain my speed back, in essence the running rhythm was already returning in full force. My mental capacity to face Letum Wood, however, was as feeble as ever. I felt like my body was a traitor to my mind. I didn’t want to enjoy running again, but I couldn’t help the small sense of elation it brought me. Papa spoke of running as an outlet for my emotions, but he was wrong. It only made them stronger.

“Faster,” Merrick said, barely winded. “Push yourself.”

Irritated, I picked up speed, but the burst cost me. I’d never be able to maintain this pace and fight back the memories, so I slowed down again. Avoiding the recollections was my first priority.

Flashes of white ghosted by me in Letum Wood every now and then, sometimes followed by a stray giggle. I held them off by translating words into the language of the Ancients, forcing my mind to conjugate verbs over and over. But I wasn’t stronger than whatever power I fought. Any moment now and Mama’s memory would plague me again.

The sway of the canopy high above mocked me as I scampered past, tripping over roots and nearly breaking my toe. A few birds hopped from branch to branch, staring at me with their heads cocked to one side. I allowed myself an occasional glimpse into the darkness now and then, wondering if my dragon friend was near.

All the forced thoughts that ran through my mind came to a sudden halt when a familiar little girl with gray eyes ran onto the trail in front of me, her ghostly hair waving behind her.

I skidded to a stop with a gasp. Even though I expected the memories, the shock was still brutal. The child hopped up and down, trying to catch a butterfly with gauzy green and blue wings. Mama stepped out of the forest.

No, Bianca,
she said, rushing over to the little girl. She grabbed her hands and pulled them down.
Don’t hurt the butterfly. If you hold still, it’ll come to you.

My heart raced, my blood pumped, and the magic stirred with painful stabs, threatening to slip away. I turned, unable to bear it.

“What?” Merrick asked, gazing around. “What’s wrong?”

“Stitch,” I lied through a gasp, doubling over and grabbing my side. “I just need to gain my breath.”

“Breathe through it, then. You need to keep running.”

I hesitated. The memories would continue to come. I could feel it in the violent surges of power.

“No,” I said in a panic, my eyes squeezed shut. “I’m done.”

“No, you’re not. Let’s go,” he said in a firm tone.

Explaining my real reason would be far more painful than dealing with Merrick’s disapproval, however it stung.

“I can’t, Merrick,” I whispered. Tears choked my throat, but I forced them back.
No weakness. No tears.
“I’m done.”

See?
Mama’s voice asked, resurrected from the deepest, most vulnerable parts of my mind.
If you’re patient, the butterfly comes to you. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

I wanted to scream just to hide the sound of her voice. The tears building up in my throat threatened to explode in a violent sob.

It was real once,
my heart whispered.
You can’t deny that.

But it’s not now,
I thought.
She’s gone. Mama’s in the past.

“You can’t keep giving up.”

I opened my eyes and looked at the trail through sweaty tendrils of hair. A memory of Mama and Papa together in Letum Wood stood a few paces away, their gossamer existence as fragile as my own control. They murmured quietly together, their hands clasped. The unsettled power stirred like a mighty storm, robbing my ability to temper it.

“I told you I can’t do this,” I said. “I’m done. This was far enough.”

“Bianca—”

“No! I’m done. I’m not ready for this. I told you I wasn’t.”

Merrick opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t wait around to hear it. I transported back to Chatham Castle, landing in the middle of my bedroom. Once I recognized my arched window and the plumes of deep blue satin draped around the four-poster bed, I pressed my back to the wall and sank down with an unsteady breath. The tears surfaced, stinging the insides of my eyes. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyelids, refusing to let them out.

I will not be weak.

I. Will. Not.

Isadora

“B
ianca, I already went over the rules with you,” Leda said with a long-suffering sigh the next afternoon. “When you’re playing
Networks
, a Guardian can’t take out a West Guard on their own. They only move forward across the Network Line, remember?”

I glared at the pieces of the well-loved board game. My half-slain row of Guardians and dying handful of Protectors stood facing Leda’s double row of West Guards. She hadn’t lost a single one yet. Her eyebrow lifted in a gentle smirk. No matter what move I made, she’d be able to kill my High Priestess. Since she’d killed my High Priest at the beginning, I’d have no one left to ascend the throne. She’d won this game and she knew it. I just had to find a graceful way to admit it.

“Oh, fine,” I growled, pushing the last of my Protectors into a new position. “Take over.”

With a little shout of glee, Leda waved her hand. “West Guard to High Priestess,” she declared. A West Guard pawn slid forward and knocked my High Priestess over. The rest of my pieces wilted on the spot, as if someone had taken a flame to them. I let out a long, bitter sigh.

“You win again, Leda.”

“Yes. I always do,” she said.

“Well at least you’re humble about it.”

“I think you’re mad for playing against Leda at all,” Camille said, pulling a lollipop from her mouth with a
pop
. “She’s been playing
Networks
since she was a little girl.”

Leda grinned and swept the pieces, now restored to their previous form, into the velvet bag.

“I’m particularly fierce when I play as the West Guards,” she said. “But I use more strategy with the Eastern Guards. The Eastern Network has excellent political strategy.”

I straightened my back, working out the kinked muscles as I stood up. Rain drizzled from the sky, settling on the cobblestone outside with a gentle patter. Fog crept toward the castle from the depths of Letum Wood with a slow, easy crawl. The sweet scent, cool air, and low murmur of the rain made me sleepy. But there was little time for sleep. I had a plan for today.

“I love rainy days,” Leda said as she pushed the checkered marble board onto a shelf near her own window and looked outside with a sigh. “I think I’ll go into the library and curl up with a good book.
Advanced Algebra
should hold my attention. Don’t bother me.”

Camille, who lounged on a set of massive pillows on the floor in her knickers and binder, acted as if she were gagging and rolled her eyes. Leda didn’t notice and trounced down the stairs, humming under her breath.

“I hate it when it rains,” Camille lamented. “There’s nothing to do. I’d much rather walk through all the pretty gardens.”

“I like the rain,” Michelle said quietly. She sat in front of a large scroll, transcribing recipes from a book she’d borrowed from Fina. “We were always glad when it rained at home because it was good for the crops, and that meant we’d have food.”