Antebellum Awakening (31 page)

“Then don’t go with anyone,” I said, peering down another hallway on the right. An occasional window shed light on the wooden floors, highlighting a few old paintings and dusty divans. “Just go without a date.”

“Without a date?” she asked slowly, as if she’d never pronounced the words before. “Are you mad?”

I shrugged. “Just an idea.”

“Oh, I don’t know what to do!” she wailed in a forlorn voice, running her fingers along the wall. “I’ll decide later. I’m too tired today and—”

She trailed off and didn’t pick the thought back up again. I hid a smile. The pathetic worry on her face was so innocent, so sincere, that I couldn’t help but think of a lost little girl.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Let’s head back. I’m tired of thinking about boys. Michelle is supposed to bring lunch to the Witchery. I hope she brings chocolate," she muttered. “Gobs of it.”

We walked back to the occupied region of the castle in silence, both lost in our own reveries. I thought of Miss Mabel, of my birthday just two days away, and allowed the usual feeling of dread it brought. The emotions made me feel jittery, but I embraced them instead of turning them away.

I’m nervous and scared, but I’m also strong and determined. I can beat Miss Mabel.

The fear soon faded as I thought about running through Letum Wood to work the energy out.
Tonight,
I thought, instinctively reaching to my side where Viveet usually rested. She wasn’t there now, I’d left her in my room to avoid suspicious looks and Mrs. L’s probable wrath. I wished I could take her everywhere with me. I felt safer with Viveet in my hand.

Camille started prattling about something she’d overheard while on a walk in the gardens, but I didn’t pay attention until she said, “Jikes, Bianca! I almost forgot.”

I looked up to see Miss Scarlett walking toward us.

“Do you have a test?” I asked.

“Yes,” Camille said with a heavy breath. “I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“No,” she said with uncharacteristic confidence. “It’ll be fine.”

Miss Scarlett’s broad frame cut into the sun from the windows. She wore a long sleeved navy blue dress and her black hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. The low, singing tones of her bracelets preceded her.

“It’s good to see you again, Bianca, Camille,” Miss Scarlett said as she approached us.

“Merry meet, Miss Scarlett,” I said, curtsying.

“Not much has changed, I see,” she said, eyeing my poor display. “I hope that’s not the way you curtsy for the High Priestess.”

“Yes, it is. She finds it deplorable.”

Her pursed lips and narrowed eyes told me she had her opinions about my etiquette at the castle. Now that summer had come Miss Scarlett spent most of her time at Chatham Castle. Rumor had it that the High Priestess planned on making her the next Head of Education. Miss Scarlett turned to Camille.

“Are you ready for your test?”

“Yes, Miss Scarlett,” she said. Miss Scarlett stared at her in unmasked surprise.

“No hysterics?” she asked. “No begging or pleading to delay it?”

“No,” Camille said, as if they discussed the weather. “I’m ready.”

“Well, very good. Let’s go to the library then. I’ll meet you there after you gather your things.”

Miss Scarlett turned to me as Camille walked away. “How have things been for you lately?” she asked. “I haven’t seen much of you. It seems that you’re always outside training.”

“It’s kept me very busy.”

“Have you come to terms with your father’s new position?”

I thought my response over before answering. “No, Miss Scarlett. I’m not sure I ever will.”

“I think that’s a very normal response,” she said, bestowing a silent approval I couldn’t help but be grateful for. Despite her rigid rules and high expectations, I respected Miss Scarlett and wanted her to like me. “Do you know where Leda went? I’m having a hard time finding her.”

Join the club.
Leda had been more elusive and slippery than ever. Although I knew she had to be doing more than just working for Jansson, I couldn’t peg down what she did or where she went. When I asked, she brushed me off and changed the subject.

“Have you checked the library?” I asked.

“I was just on my way. Let’s walk there together.”

“Yes, Miss Scarlett,” I said, following behind her.

“Scarlett,” said a male witch who tipped his head when he passed us. She replied with a nod, her steps never faltering. As always, I was in awe over her ability to glide with her spine so straight and her gait so perfect. Surely a more composed witch never walked these halls.

“Miss Celia told me that you stopped by and talked to her about Mabel back in the spring,” Miss Scarlett said, interrupting my silence. My throat squeezed in a nervous spasm. That had been so long ago, almost like another time, that I’d almost forgotten.

“Yes. I just had a few questions.”

“About Mabel?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you ask about her?”

I shrugged, telling only a half-truth. “I guess I just wanted to understand why she killed my mother.”

To my surprise, I found the magic stirring inside me as I spoke. Miss Scarlett’s shrewd eyes said she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t press the matter further. Taking it as a draw, I turned to the right, grateful to see the library close. Leda glanced up as we moved in, turning her two mismatched eyes on us.

“Merry meet, Miss Scarlett,” she said, bobbing a curtsy I was sure looked more awkward than my own had. I smiled.

“I came to give you and Camille your tests,” Miss Scarlett said. The eye she cast on both of us really meant,
I wanted to make sure you are representing yourself with the utmost decorum and ensure you aren’t wasting your time here.
As usual, Miss Scarlett had her mind set on upholding the rules.

“Yes, I’m ready,” Leda said, quill in hand, taking herself altogether too seriously.

“How are things going with Rupert and Jansson?” Miss Scarlett asked.

“Things are going well for me, Miss Scarlett.” There was an extra chirp of happiness in Leda’s voice, one that could only mean she’d been studying for hours and thought she was in heaven. “I’ve just finished the analysis on the Mansfeld Pact and its implications on our upcoming war.”

“Very good. What are your views?”

Leda just stared at her.

“My . . . views?” Leda asked, taken aback. Even I stared at Miss Scarlett in surprise. She had never solicited our opinions before.

“Yes,” Miss Scarlett said, as if she didn’t notice our gaping mouths.

“I-I think the Eastern Network will stick to the Mansfeld Pact,” she said, slowly warming to it. “They won’t get involved in any business or war that doesn’t directly involve them.”

Miss Scarlett turned to me next.

“And what do you think?” she asked.

“I think Leda’s right,” I said, pulling myself together enough to form a coherent response. “The East will wait for the Western Network to get through us before they get involved. Why put their witches in danger when they can hide behind us?”

Miss Scarlett thought our assessments over with pursed lips.

“What of the Southern Network?” she pointed out. “They’ve been training their army for months now. Will they break the pact?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I think the South will break the Mansfeld Pact and form an alliance with the West. Both will advance on us, and then the East will follow. That’s my assessment,” Leda piped up, her voice thick with gloating. She shot me an expectant look and I scowled.

“Very interesting,” Miss Scarlett said. “Leda, here are your tests. Please sit at an empty desk to take them. You have no time limit.”

Leda took the proffered scrolls just as Camille came bouncing into the room, her face flushed.

“Find a table,” Miss Scarlett commanded. “You have one hour, Camille.”

Miss Scarlett handed Camille a daunting scroll, one that may have been as big as all three of Leda’s combined. I felt a twinge of pity for her. To my surprise, Camille took it with a self-assured nod. “Thank you, Miss Scarlett.”

I wasn’t the only one startled by her reaction. Miss Scarlett studied Camille again and responded with a slow drawl.

“You’re welcome. Best of luck to both of you,” she said. “Bianca, come with me.”

Camille shot me a wink as Miss Scarlett started to walk away.

“I just found this in the Witchery when I got my things,” Camille whispered to me, motioning to the corner of a small envelope in her skirt pocket. “I got a letter from Brecken!” She squeezed my hand and headed to a free table with a little spring in her steps, humming under her breath. I smiled and caught up with Miss Scarlett.

We moved to the other side of the library where a large map of Chatham City covered the wall. Though the map had been there for ages, many of the shops were still in business. Market Street, normally crammed with the vendors from farms and the outlying cities, was one of the five main roads. Miss Emma’s Bakery, Miss Holly’s Candy Shop, Owens Pub, and a few others, were still open on Market Street today.

“If you seek answers regarding Mabel, perhaps I can help. I can’t verify this for you with any certainty,” Miss Scarlett began in a low tone that only I could hear. “But I will tell you that there’s a little pub here, toward the outskirts of Chatham City, which Miss Mabel went to infrequently.”

I wanted to ask Miss Scarlett how she knew but bit my lip. Miss Scarlett, while a talented and devoted teacher, had been a spy for the High Priestess all the years that she worked at the school. She must have followed Miss Mabel more than a few times, trying to figure out her wicked plots.

“Who did she meet there?” I asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Miss Scarlett said with a frown. “I never followed her inside, but I’m certain she went there to meet someone.”

Miss Scarlett ran her finger along a road just across from Letum Wood in the seediest part of Chatham City. “Here,” she said, tapping the little square that represented the pub. “This is it.”

I looked from the map to her. “How will this help me find answers?”

“I can’t be sure it will,” she said and I thought I heard regret in her voice. “But I felt like I should tell you all the same. There may be a few breadcrumbs there. Of course, as your teacher, I cannot support the breaking of any rules.” She gave me a severe glance. “But I cannot be held responsible for what I don’t know.”

“Then why are you telling me?” I asked, searching her eyes. I’d never known Miss Scarlett to bend the rules. To my surprise, she softened just a little.

“Let’s just say that I know how haunting unanswered questions can be,” she said in a steady tone. She reached to her wrist and slipped one of her bracelets off. The crimson beads gave off a dull sheen in the light. “Wear this when you go. It will protect you.”

I hesitated. “Protect me?"

“It’s a charm. The High Priestess gave it to me when I started working at Miss Mabel’s for extra protection. I give it to you now.”

Miss Scarlett walked away before I could thank her. I watched her go, uncertain how I felt about this new information, and what the roiling in my chest meant, if it meant anything at all.

•••

Finding the pub Miss Scarlett directed me to proved easier than I expected. I wasted no time getting there. The moment Miss Scarlett turned away, I left the library, ran to the Forgotten Gardens, and transported to the outer wall of Chatham City.

Though it blended in with the rest of the aging, decrepit hovels that surrounded it, something drew me to the correct building. It had no porch, no stairs, and only one window at the front. I stood across the street in the alley, watching to see what kind of people walked in and out. When no one had entered or exited after I’d held vigil a full ten minutes, I wasn’t sure if I felt relief or greater fear.

“Now or never,” I whispered to myself. Miss Scarlett’s bracelet clung to my right wrist, pressing up against my circlus. Without the rest of her bracelets to clank against it didn’t sing, but every now and then I felt a little shiver of warmth from it.

Despite the section of Chatham City I was in—no one would recognize me here—I kept my head down and walked quickly across the street, hoping to keep my courage. Once I stepped inside the small pub, the world outside seemed to fade away.

The interior didn’t fare any better than the outside in my estimation. Four moldering tables and about twice as many chairs were scattered across the small hovel, which was completed by three booths across the back wall. A middle-aged woman stood behind a counter that stretched along the left wall. Glass jars filled the counter space, holding various shades of gold and amber liquid. It smelled sour, like stale yeast.

“Whatchya want?” the witch called as she flipped her hair over her bony shoulders. Light blonde roots at her scalp told me that black wasn’t her real hair color. She was thin. Too thin. Her pale skin stretched over her jutting bones, and her eyes hung down in bags.