Antebellum Awakening (17 page)

“What do you mean by
power
?” I asked.

“May loved controlling things, and people. Unfortunately, so did Miss Mabel. The two of them were constantly trying to control the other one. Even as a young child, Miss Mabel could be extraordinarily manipulative to get what she wanted. The good gods know I tried teaching that child the right way, but she just didn’t care. Once Evelyn appointed May as her personal assistant it was a welcome relief. Miss Mabel took over the school and May left to live at Chatham Castle.”

I thought that over while Miss Celia cut the large rectangle into smaller sections. A little residual flour and cinnamon dusted her hands and apron. My gaze drifted over the warm brick walls of the kitchen, past the large hearth and fireplace, to the windows edged in black and the sky beyond.

“Did you ever meet Miss Mabel’s mother?” I asked, knowing it would be tenuous ground. Angelina seemed to be an apparition, a ghost. The lack of information about her made me curious.

“Angelina?”

“Yes.”

“No. I was here the night Angelina left Miss Mabel on the doorstep. I was the one that heard her crying first. May had already kicked Angelina out by the time I arrived. She was a wild child.”

“What do you mean?”

“May had a hard time controlling her. Angelina was quite talented with magic, according to some of the teachers that knew her. Far more powerful than her mother, and May didn’t like it.”

“Sounds like May didn’t like anything,” I muttered. Miss Celia agreed with a little hum. Her fingers flew over the dough, deftly accomplishing their goal.

“Miss Mabel told me that her mother looks just like May,” she said in a musing tone. “Black hair, a curvy figure, and eyes that could cut right through a witch.”

An unusual jolt hit me in the gut, leaving me breathless.

“Miss Mabel knows her mother?”

“She must.” Miss Celia shrugged. “Although she never really talks about Angelina. Maybe she saw a painting of her?”

“Is there a painting of Angelina?” I asked, leaning forward. Although I couldn’t explain why, something told me that Angelina had something to do with this.

“No. May wouldn’t allow it.”

“And you never met Angelina?” I confirmed and she nodded. “Do you know who Miss Mabel’s father is?”

Miss Celia shook her head. “No, and I doubt she knows either. If she does, she’s never mentioned him.”

My thoughts churned like the foam of a wild river as I watched Miss Celia roll the pastries into small buns and set them in perfect rows. The buttery little blobs would soon swell, a little like how my brain felt with all this new information.

“Were you surprised when Mildred executed May?”

“No,” Miss Celia said with a guilty little sigh. “A bit relieved, perhaps. Like I said, May was not a good witch. Miss Mabel was downright giddy the day May died. She twirled around the school singing for the whole day.”

“Have you been happy working with Miss Mabel?”

“Yes,” she said with a sad little smile. “I couldn’t have children of my own, so it was like I got a chance to be something of a mother. I raised that girl since she was a wee baby and I’ll love her till I die. Anyway, she’s good to me. The wages she gives me for working here are enough to meet my needs. She trusts me more than May ever did, anyway, and lets me do my work.”

I had my doubts that Miss Mabel could trust anyone, but didn’t say it to Miss Celia. A maternal warmth had crept into Miss Celia’s tone, despite the apparent fear, as well as love, that she felt for Miss Mabel. I wondered how it must feel, to have both terror and compassion in your heart for the same person, knowing you raised her to be something that she never would be. Whether or not Miss Celia saw Miss Mabel for who she really was, I couldn’t decide. Perhaps she didn’t want to see.

My headache began to throb. All this thinking of Miss Mabel made the magic burn in my chest. The sound of footsteps came down the hallway, accompanied by the familiar chime of Miss Scarlett’s bracelets.

“Well,” Miss Celia said with a sudden, forced brightness in her tone that told me she’d say no more, “I’ve got some cinnamon buns just about ready to take from the oven. Why don’t you take one back with you?”

“Yes,” I said, grateful to be done with the conversation. “I’d love that.”

Miss Scarlett entered the kitchen with all the warmth of a grizzly bear.

“I thought I recognized your voice,” she said, straight-backed and rigid as usual. Her hair lay in a braid today instead of its usual bun, which made me wonder if even Miss Scarlett let loose just a little when the students were gone.

“I had a pining for a cinnamon bun, Miss Scarlett,” I said with a smile. “I dropped in on the hopes that she’d have some.”

Miss Celia beamed, all vestiges of darkness from our conversation erased.

Farther Than Yesterday

I
found Michelle at the Witchery table by herself, writing a letter to her family, when I returned from visiting Miss Mabel’s. She smiled in greeting.

“Merry meet, Bianca.”

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Camille is eating lunch with the Guardians in the dining room. I saw her when my shift ended. She had a bunch of books around her, but I don’t think she was getting much studying done.”

The cinnamon roll sat heavy in my stomach. I pressed a hand to it with a happy sigh. The sweetness of the thick layer of frosting Miss Celia had smeared on top lingered in my mouth with the warm flavor of fresh vanilla bean and sugar.

“Leda’s probably in the library,” I said. The information Miss Celia had given me on May and Miss Mabel wouldn’t help me destroy the binding, which meant I still had one more thing to research. “I need to run to there myself. Would you like to come?"

“Sure,” Michelle said, quickly folding the messenger paper. When she finished it popped up off the table and zipped out the open window, headed off to her family in the southern covens.

Michelle spoke quietly about her day as we went down, providing a low chatter to my whirling thoughts. She mentioned Nicolas telling her about recent dragon conspiracies while helping her with a heavy bag of flour, and then talked about a new apricot turnover recipe Fina wanted her to try when the apricots were ready. I nodded every now and then, only distantly aware of what she said. My mind spun back to my conversation with Miss Celia and then to the West. Was Miss Mabel’s mother Angelina still alive? Should I go to the West and destroy the binding tomorrow?

“Are you sure Leda will be in the library?” Michelle asked.

“No,” I admitted as we stepped through the stained glass doors and into the expansive library foyer. “Leda’s an enigma most days.”

“She’s been gone a lot lately,” Michelle said, her thick forehead furrowed into lines. “I can never find her, especially in the afternoons. It’s odd.”

“Yes,” I said with a little sigh, having noticed her absences myself. “But everything about Leda is odd, isn’t it?”

Michelle agreed with a shy smile.

We walked through the foyer and into the main library. Books lined the three-story walls at every crack and seam, crawling to a stop at the ceiling, which formed a dome painted with murals of Letum Wood. Even in Chatham Castle I couldn’t escape the vines and leaves of the forest. The quiet hush of the librarians and the bustle of witches walking by filled my ears. Ladders moved along rolling tracks by the bookshelves, following the librarians as they walked from spot to spot.

I spotted Leda the moment I walked in. Books, scrolls, jars of ink, and molted feather pens filled a table built for ten in the middle of the library. Leda sat in the middle of the organized array, her lips moving wordlessly as she read from one book in her lap, then turned to look at another sitting on the table next to her.

“Can you see her in between all the books over there?” I asked Michelle, pointing her direction. A daunting tower of books blocked Leda’s head the closer we walked.

“It’s hard to tell.”

“Look for hair,” I said. “You can’t miss anything so white.”

Leda’s head popped up, armed with her usual thin glare.

“I heard that.”

“Oh good,” I said. “You’re alive. I thought the scrolls drowned you.”

“Are you here to study with me?” she asked with an arch look. “If not, leave. I have no time for you.”

“Right,” I scoffed, running my eyes over the towers of books and scrolls. “I came to study because I just love it. What are you working on today?” My eyes caught on the gold lettering of a tome nearby.
The Political History of Antebellum Before the Reformation.

“I’m finishing up my political history class. Miss Scarlett is going to test me tomorrow. She had to go back to the school to get a copy of the exam.”

I know. I just saw her,
I almost said, but stopped just in time and reached for the book instead.

“Stop touching things, Bianca.”

Despite her protests, I pulled
Policies and Procedures of the Central Network
from the top of a pile. It landed on the table with a heavy thud.

“Be careful!” she muttered, shooting me another glare. “That’s borrowed.”

“Grief, Leda. You’re only seventeen. Did anyone tell you that? We’re supposed to be off getting in trouble, not reading about policies and procedures.”

She sniffed with an air of haughty importance.

“You do that enough for all of us.”

Ignoring her jab, I ran my fingers over the old cover and peeked inside. Several styles of handwriting filled the pages, testament to the many years, and many Councils, the book had been through.

“Where did you get this?”

“That doesn’t matter,” she snapped, trying to snatch it back. I turned and blocked her with my shoulder, perusing the writing. “Just give it back! You can’t ruin anything or I’ll be in trouble!”

You could use a little trouble,
I thought.

A movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I looked up to see Camille walking next to Brecken. Without his Guardian armor on, he was hardly recognizable, but his dark curls were unmistakable. Something he said made Camille smile with a warm flush and jabber in excitement.

“What’s this?” I asked quietly, setting the book aside. Leda snatched it, then followed my gaze, the color returning to her face.

“Camille is in the library?” she gasped, her mouth going slack.

“She’s in the library with Brecken,” Michelle corrected quietly, as if we were observing a deer. “Doesn’t she hate him?”

“She adores him, but I thought he didn’t like her.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Michelle said. “Not with that smile on his face.”

“Let’s find out. Merry meet, Camille!” I called, waving to her. A nearby librarian hushed me with a quiet hiss. Camille jerked to attention and froze mid-step in the library walkway.

“Oh, merry meet,” Camille stammered, her cheeks and ears blooming a bright red. “W-what are you doing here?”

I cast an eye at the algebra book tucked under one arm and then up to Brecken, who smiled and nodded, as if strolling around the library was a common thing for him.

“You didn’t show up for your algebra class with Miss Scarlett today,” Leda said with impressive haughtiness, as if Camille’s slack approach to education offended her on a personal level.

“I-I was busy,” Camille said, tugging on her skirt.

“The date for the test hasn’t changed. You’ll still have to pass even if you don’t show up for classes.”

“I know,” she said simply, readjusting the scrolls in her arm to hide the book beneath them. “I-I’ll be ready.”

Brecken took a step back with an awkward wave.

“Well, I’d better be going. Merry part, ladies. Camille, I’ll see you later.”

She stared after him in surprise, managing a weak “Merry part” to his back. She remained that way until he disappeared from the library. When she looked back at us she struggled to put an innocent smile on her face.

“Want to go see if Fina will let us have some of her fizzy water?” she asked with a hopeful tilt of her voice.

“All right, what’s going on?” Michelle asked, looking to where Brecken had gone and back at Camille. Camille opened her mouth and hesitated. Her shoulders slumped.

“Oh, fine,” she sighed. “I can’t keep it from you any longer. Brecken is tutoring me in algebra.”

Leda’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked.

Camille nodded. “Yes. He stumbled on me during a . . . well, let’s just say I was having a bad day and couldn’t figure out an equation. He prevented me from throwing the book against the wall and taught me how to do the problem. Then I asked him to tutor me.”

Her cheeks bloomed bright pink yet again. I grinned.

“It’s all part of your plan to win his heart, isn’t it, Camille?” I asked in a droll tone. She ran a hand over her curls and straightened her dress.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a purse of her lips. “Anyway, all this studying has me parched. Fizzy water or no?”