Antebellum Awakening (33 page)

There was a great fire in the library, Anjel, started by our enemies. Almost all the books are gone. Oh, how I wept! The Great Histories of the World, as transcribed by Coven Leaders of the past, all burned into ashes. A few of our Almorran treasures have been lost as well, the Book of Spells amongst them. I tried to salvage as much as I could from the wreckage, but most had turned to soot and cinder. The loss of our connections to those that have gone before us are deep and devastating indeed. We can never regain our lost knowledge. No, never.

I sucked in a deep breath. The
Book of Spells
. Like the wicked Almorran priests of legend and lore, it was almost a myth. The dark magic that defined the Almorran race was reputed to have existed in one grimoire. All the spells and incantations, all the secret potions and charms, gathered as a single volume. But, as the letter said, it had been lost.

Or so the stories went.

Many witches throughout history claimed that they had found the book and resurrected the magic. Most of them had been stuffed into dungeons, regarded as heretics or insane. But what if they had been right? What if the
Book of Spells
wasn’t lost after all?

The power contained within would certainly draw a witch like Miss Mabel. If she resurrected the old Almorran powers by using the
Book of Spells
, all of Antebellum would fall. We only escaped the wicked black magic of the Almorran priests by sheer luck and tenacity during the Mortal Wars. What would save us this time?

I released the scroll. It bounced back together with a little hiss and I set it aside, a cold feeling of dread holding onto my heart. All the ugly arithmetic of Miss Mabel’s vile plans began to line up.

The real question now was whether Miss Mabel had found the
Book of Spells
yet, and if she had, what was her plan?

Do You Feel Stronger?

“Y
our birthday is tomorrow, isn’t it?” Merrick asked the next morning. A blanket of hot air sat on the new world. Since spring moved out and summer stormed in, Letum Wood had boiled to life. Green walls of ivy surrounded the Forgotten Gardens on all sides, eradicating any sign of stone. Tufts of grass grew in between the rocks below in a thick carpet. The air, too heavy and hot to allow a breeze, just hung. Sweat caked my back and neck, dripping down my face in long rivulets.

“Yes,” I said, attacking the wooden dummy Mikhail again. Viveet’s glowing blade bit into the wood, chipping off a piece that flew through the air and landed a few paces away. I took another swing, arcing Viveet up through the air to slice up through the arm. It fell off with a loud thud. Merrick waved his hand and the limb leapt up, adhering itself back to the dummy. He cast me a concerned look I ignored.

“Worried about something?” he asked.

Yes. I will die tomorrow if I don’t kill Miss Mabel first. Oh, and I think she’s resurrecting an ancient evil magic to wipe out the world but I can’t tell anyone about it because my secret binding won’t let me.

The thought gave me a second surge of power. I used it to lop Mikhail’s head off. Viveet’s blue flame danced in slow licks until I set her aside. The light and power faded as soon as I released her. She rested on the stone wall, nothing more than a sharp piece of metal without me.

“No,” I lied. “Just practicing.”

“Let me guess: You don’t like birthdays?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow. His green eyes matched the emerald flora. Sweat poured off him too, darkening his sandy hair at the roots. The lightest shade of a blonde beard ghosted against his strong jaw.

“Not really,” I said. “When I was growing up, birthdays only meant I’d get older.”

“I guess when you have an Inheritance Curse threatening to kill you, the day loses some of its excitement. This year you should celebrate. It’s your first birthday without fear, right?”

Oh, how I wish.

“Sure. When are the Protectors going to vote on you?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. The thought of tomorrow weighed enough on my mind that I didn’t want to discuss it with other witches. “Isn’t that supposed to be soon?”

An unmistakable tension crept into his shoulders.

“Yes,” he said. “Any day the Protectors want to vote.”

“You mean they don’t tell you when?”

He shook his head. “They could be voting right now, in fact. They won’t say anything. They’ll just inform me as soon as they’ve decided.”

“So you have to just keep working in the meantime?”

“Yes. Speaking of work, it’s been a few days since you and I have had a proper spar. Let’s see what you can do.”

Yes,
I wanted to agree.
Let’s see if I have any hope of defeating Miss Mabel before she kills me tomorrow.

“Sure,” I said, forcing a sarcastic smile. “Let’s see how sad you are when I prove that I’m better than you.”

Merrick never announced the beginning of a fight; he just started it and expected me to pick up the defense. Today was no different. He came at me with a high swing. I called to Viveet and she flew to my palm just in time to block his sword from slicing me in half. Although Merrick’s strength was twice my own, my powers quickly bounced to life and held him at bay.

We fell into a familiar, but always changing, attack-and-defend dance. He moved forward, I worked back. My feet never crossed, my sword never dropped. Viveet and I sang, whirling, twirling, and dancing in a sweet kind of symphony that could only come from the interplay of swords and magic.

Despite all my work over the past several months, I couldn’t beat him in skill or speed, and probably never would. Near the end of the sparring session, when the sweat on my roughened, calloused hands made it difficult to grip Viveet’s hilt, Merrick kicked her from my hand and snatched both of my wrists, holding them behind my back.

“This is one of the most common holds you’ll see,” he said right next to my ear. “They’ll get both hands behind you and twist them up your back until your shoulders pop out of socket. You’ll be almost useless.”

He took both my wrists and pushed them up between my shoulder blades. I bit back a yelp of pain by grinding my teeth together.

“How are you going to get out?” he asked. “You can’t transport because someone else is touching you.”

I tried to wrench free my left hand, the weaker of the two, but he just held onto it and laughed. When I struggled further, he shoved them higher up my back.

“Not going to work.”

Each time I tried to stomp on his toes, he simply moved his feet back and pushed harder on my arms. My muscles started to protest in earnest now.

“Don’t focus on the toes. Go for something that will make them release you and not be able to grab you again. If your opponent is in pain it will be harder for them to use magic to fight back.”

“A curse?”

“They can counter it without letting you go. Think bigger.”

“A head butt?”

“They might be taller than you.”

I gazed down.

“Your knee?”

“Exactly. If someone has you from behind and you can’t break free, do a back kick. Reinforcing it with magic will make you strong enough to break their leg or at least shatter their knee. Even if they anticipate it, they’ll have to step back, which moves their focus.”

He released my arms. I shook them out with relief, tired from the early morning workout and long sparring session. Merrick, however, looked fresh and ready to fight again. Unwilling to back down and admit my weakness, I brushed the fatigue aside and waited for his next lesson. He grinned.

“Now,” he drawled. “Let’s talk about poking someone in the eye.”

Our conversation came to a sudden halt when a folded piece of messenger paper zipped in front of my face. The purple ink on the front nearly stopped my heart.

Miss Mabel.

“Who’s that from?” Merrick asked. I snatched it from the air and stuffed it into the pocket of the breeches I wore.

“No one,” I said, breathless. “Eyes, right? Poking them out and such.”

Merrick held my gaze.

“Is it from Derek?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I snapped. “Let’s get back to work.”

The question in his eyes seemed to move like the cogs in his eyes as he decided whether he should press the question. I waited, hoping that my face remained impassive.

“Fine,” he said. “If someone attacks you from the front and . . .”

His words faded into the background. I listened to the rest of the lesson, but could hardly pay attention, doing little more than mimicking his motions until he finally dismissed me with a frustrated growl. Once free, I forced myself to walk back to Chatham Castle at a normal pace until I made it into the back stairwell and bolted to the top of the Witchery at a sprint.

Both Leda and Camille were in the library working on their classes, so I tore into the envelope immediately, my heart pounding.

Dearest Bianca,

How time flies! I so look forward to seeing you tomorrow. It will be a joy watching you fulfill your part of our little contract. Keep your eyes open. A ball is certainly an easy place to hide, isn’t it?

I’ll see you soon, darling girl.

Miss Mabel.

In the aftermath of her message, my heart stuttered over and over again. I crunched the message in my fist. Our confrontation finally felt real now in a way it hadn’t felt before. I glanced up to the wooden blocks on the mantle with a grim clench of my teeth. Their numbers taunted me.

Tomorrow.

•••

Letum Wood enveloped me that evening in a humid, damp hug. I transported from my bedroom once Papa fell asleep, gently snoring on the old divan. The dark night filled the world like the liquid in an inkwell as I walked down a forest path. Viveet rested at my side, her constant presence reassuring my anxious heart. I wore a pair of loose pants just in case, more comfortable with my fluidity of movement when I didn’t have a bunch of skirts dancing around my ankles. Once I saw the lights of Isadora’s cottage through the wood I let out a long breath.

“Come in, Bianca,” Isadora said when I stepped onto her porch. She sat in a rocking chair, her hands folded in her lap. She wore a light pink dress with white lace around the collar and her hair tucked back away from her face. I moved inside, leaving the door open to the night, and gasped. Candles scattered across her shelves lit up her once-lost china collection. Every square, cup, tray, and pot sat where it had a year before, when I first met Isadora.

“Your china is back.”

“Yes. Sit,” she said, motioning to a chair across from her with a nod of her head. “Now that your power is under better control I can trust you with it.”

“You took it down because of me?” I asked, gaping. She nodded once.

“You were very angry that day and didn’t have your powers under control yet. There were too many possibilities, so I did the safest thing. In the end, you got away without breaking anything.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry if it’s too late to come speak with you.”

“It’s not too late,” she said. “I knew you were coming. I’m not allowing Miss Mabel’s to open for school in the fall, so I haven’t been very busy.”

“I’m not surprised,” I admitted. “Not with things in Antebellum getting worse. What will the students do?”

“Learn at home. They’ll have the option to learn the marks still, just not here. What can I help you with tonight, Bianca?” Isadora asked.

“I came to talk to you about Miss Mabel.”

A flicker of something dark passed through her eyes, disappearing a moment later. She peered at me through the dim light.

“I can’t give you want you want, Bianca. Unlike my sister, Sanna, I cannot save you by yelling at your monsters and scaring them away.”

“Sanna told you we met?” I asked, smiling with one corner of my lips in a sheepish way. Isadora nodded.

“There isn’t much that Sanna doesn’t tell me. She gives me a headache, most days. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

My eyes fell to the floor as I thought over why I had come to talk to her. Tomorrow brought my birthday and possibly my death.

“What do I want?" I asked, hardly aware of it myself. A heavy jumble of guts, nerves, and fear sat inside me. If I hadn’t learned to control the magic the past three months, I would have been a walking explosion.

“Reassurance,” Isadora said. “You came for reassurance.”

She was right. I wanted her to tell me that I wouldn’t die tomorrow, that I’d be strong enough to kill Miss Mabel before she killed me. I wanted to know that my friends would survive the many hells that Miss Mabel and Angelina, if my suspicions were correct, would release on the Central Network. But even those weren’t my biggest fear.

I want you to tell me that Papa won’t die,
I wanted to say. “Yes,” I whispered instead. “I suppose you’re right. I do want reassurance.”