Antebellum Awakening (7 page)

“Thanks for waiting, Papa,” I said, settling into a wooden chair. A tray of food sat on the small table we’d used since I’d arrived. Before I lived with Papa he’d always eaten in the Gatehouse with Tiberius. Now we ate breakfast together every morning that he wasn’t on a mission. A loaf of fresh bread, four eggs sunny side up, a crock of strawberry preserves and another jar filled with butter awaited. My stomach growled in anticipation. It had been awhile since I felt hungry. Perhaps the running inspired my lacking appetite.

“Here’s your fork,” Papa said, and we dove in. Fina had stopped sending up plates with our food because we never used them. It had always been like that, even when Mama was alive.

Plates,
Papa always said with his roguish smile,
are for formal occasions, not family.

“How’d the lesson go?” he asked, squinting at me through the bright sunshine that rose above Letum Wood.

“Great,” I said, slathering a thick piece of warm bread with butter that instantly melted. “We went for a run.”

“Was it hard?”

My annoyance wasn’t contrived. “Yes. I’ve lost a lot of my endurance.”

Papa stared into the lower bailey with a tight jaw. I wondered what he’d think if I told him the truth. Part of me wanted to talk to him about everything that had happened. About my hatred of living in Chatham Castle, missing the forest, wanting to see Grandmother’s little shop, the Tea and Herb Pantry, again. But I wouldn’t, even though I knew he wanted me to. He’d tried hard enough to get me to open up about how I felt. Talking about it only brought pain, so I avoided it, even though I saw the same agony in his eyes every time I refused.

It’s for the best, Papa. You’ll see.

At least, that’s what I always told myself. Thankfully, Papa didn’t question me further about the run. His thoughts had moved on already.

“And what do you think of Merrick?”

“He’s heartless,” I quipped. Papa tilted his head back and laughed. It was a deep belly laugh that rolled out in long waves. I smiled, unable to stop myself. Papa’s mirth relaxed some of the tension in my shoulders, and for just a moment, the strained magic eased off inside me.

“He’s focused,” Papa corrected with a wink. “Not heartless. I chose him for the job because I know he’ll get results. He must. His career as a Protector depends on his success with your training and he knows it.”

I thought that over and chewed a bite of Fina’s pillowy bread.

“Where does Merrick come from?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” he said vaguely. “He doesn’t talk much about himself.”

Papa piled two of the eggs between slices of bread and bit into it. I pushed my questions about Merrick aside and turned to more worrisome thoughts.

“Has the Council said more about removing you as Head of Protectors now that the secret is out?” I asked.

When the High Priestess asked Papa to become Head of Protectors, he was unmarried but deeply in love with Mama. Unfortunately, tradition as set forth by the first High Priestess stated that the Head of Protectors, the Head of Guardians, the High Priest, and High Priestess, were not allowed to be married or have a family. Their jobs demanded total focus. Guardians and Protectors could marry and have children, but they would lose their chance for leadership.

Papa could have taken the job and left Mama behind without a word of explanation. No one knew about her. But he refused to leave her. He divulged the truth to the High Priestess. He would take the job, but he wouldn’t leave Marie. If she’d allow it, he’d shoulder the position of Head of Protectors and keep Mama a secret, only visiting when his responsibilities as Head of Protectors allowed.

To his surprise, the High Priestess eventually agreed. It was a terrible breach of tradition, one they both knew would incur severe consequences if discovered, but the High Priestess was willing to risk it. I came along less than a year later.

Papa had lived a double life, sneaking away to be with us whenever he could while leading the most talented band of brothers, or spies, that Antebellum had ever known. Mama and I were his best-kept secret until she died, and then the world and the Council found out the truth.

“No. They won’t remove me from the Protectors right now,” he said, swallowing a bite and forcing an easy tone. “Not with the Western Network tripling the number of West Guards at the Borderlands between our Networks. Don’t worry about it, B. You focus on learning how to defend yourself.”

“Yes, Papa.”

A knock on the apartment door echoed through the room. Before I could stand up to answer, Tiberius welcomed himself inside. His curly blonde beard hung down his chest in a long plume and wagged whenever he spoke. He resembled a brick wall with his beefy shoulders, paunchy belly, and ham-like arms. A pile of envelopes tied by string preceded him, falling onto the table with a thud.

“More reports from the Borderlands,” he said, striding over. “Our man is reporting increased activity from the West Guards.”

Tiberius grabbed three pieces of bread and the last egg and threw himself into a chair. Papa shifted back into Protector mode, his eyes sharpening as he grabbed the envelopes.

“Please come into our apartment and eat our breakfast,” I said to Tiberius with a wave of my hand over the food. “Don’t mind us.”

“I will,” he said, helping himself to a spoonful of preserves, which he spread on his egg before jamming the bread back together and biting into his sandwich. I laughed in spite of his horrid manners. His suspicious, bulbous eyes regarded me.

“I hear you’re learning from Merrick now,” he said through a mouthful of food. A few flecks of bread came out with his words.

“Yes.”

“What, you want to become the only female Protector?”

“Maybe,” I shot back. He snorted.

“You and your father have broken enough traditions,” he said. “I don’t think you should try to shatter that one. Although you, of all witches, probably could do it.”

Amongst the many traditions of the Central Network was another unbroken law: No female could serve as a Guardian or Protector. There were legends of women who had tried to convince the leaders to make an exception, but the tradition remained solid.

“Sounds like a good challenge to me.”

Tiberius gave a
humph
and dove back into his sandwich. Papa sorted through the envelopes and broke the wax seal on the thickest. The more he read, the deeper the stress lines around his eyes became. I watched the transformation with great sadness. Papa’s eyes flew up to Tiberius from one letter he’d just opened.

“They are certain the West Guards are unloading big wooden crates full of shovels at the border?” he asked in concern.

Tiberius nodded. “Zane just got back from one of your little spy circuits. He’s waiting for you in the Gatehouse to brief. Sed sum fin ith happneeng.”

I dodged a bit of egg yolk flying from Tiberius’s mouth and looked to Papa for clarification. The number of West Guards congregating at the Borderlands had been increasing for some time, but nothing definitive had taken place yet. At news of this development, my stomach churned with fear.

“What could they be using shovels for?” I asked. Papa hesitated.

“Tiberius and I think the Western Network is going to try to divert the Borderlands River to their Network. It will cut off the water supply to our crops and possibly throw us into a famine.”

My eyes widened.

“Can’t you stop them?”

“It’s speculation at this point,” Papa said wearily, running a hand through his dark brown hair. A few strands in front stood up on end. “At least it was until Zane observed the shovels. If they are planning on digging, it’ll take them awhile, so we may have some time to figure out a plan.” He shot me a look. “Please don’t speak of this to anyone, B.”

“Of course, Papa,” I murmured.

The two of them stood.

“Love you, girl,” Papa said, a hint of longing in his voice. “You look like your Mama today.”

He placed a kiss on the top of my head, squeezing my shoulder with a firm hand.

“I don’t love you, rotten female child,” Tiberius said, lowering his massive hand onto my face and pushing me away. But his touch was gentle and he shot me a wink. “I don’t even
like
you, but I’ll tolerate you.”

The two of them trooped out the door, leaving a still apartment in their wake. My powers welled back into a tense knot in my chest, and I leaned into my palm with a sigh.

Have You Missed Me?

T
he halls of Chatham Castle were equal parts elegant and simple, cluttered with the occasional sofa, stuffed chair, or small table. Paintings lined the wall, and elegant drapes and greenery covered the space near the floor-length windows. Camille and I had become experts at picking the locks on closed doors to find forgotten rooms in the long halls. It gave me a little thrill that I missed but rarely sought out anymore. Despite my less-than-busy lifestyle, I often felt exhausted with the littlest task.

After breakfast I made my way to the Witchery through a back hall I rarely used, and paused to inspect an elaborate wall sconce with twisting golden leaves like the ivy in Letum Wood. Next to it, a detailed painting of winged creatures painted directly onto the wall caught my attention.

“What are these?” I whispered to myself, running the tips of my fingers over the distorted faces that were half-bat, half-human. Their fangs dripped with red blood and their beady eyes looked dull and lifeless. I stared at them in both revulsion and fascination.

“What are you doing up here?” A shrill, annoyed voice caught up with me from behind. “You don’t normally walk down this hall.”

Oh, Mrs. L,
I thought as soon as I heard the nasally hum behind the tone.
You grace me with your pinching presence yet again.

Mrs. L had been the housekeeper at Chatham Castle for so long no one remembered when she started. She had piles of grayish blonde hair on top of her head that towered like a pillar of clouds. Her thin lips, bony hands, and slender frame were as tight and anxious as her personality. Not only was she the best housekeeper in the Central Network, but she also kept abreast of every scrap of gossip. Nothing passed her notice.

Not even my walking habits, apparently.

Her particular vendetta against me started when I met her in the winter while trying to earn my first mark by attending the Esbat, a monthly meeting for Network leaders. In order to get into the meeting I had to insult her. Unfortunately, Mrs. L did not forget anything.

I kept my eyes on the hideous bat-like creatures while she came up behind me. I tried to figure out an escape plan. Would running away be too obvious of an escape? Yes. She’d holler at me, lest I fall and bleed on something. Transporting? I could just disappear in the middle of the conversation. No, she’d track me down. Enduring the crotchety old housekeeper was my only option.

“Mrs. L, do you know what these are?” I asked, pointing to the painting and feigning a deep interest in the work. Mrs. L came up to my side and studied it with her head tilted back.

“Clavas,” she said with a sniff. “They transform into humans from their bat-like form. Very powerful fighters. It’s Almorran magic and hasn’t been used since the Networks were formed. This painting has been here since the castle was built, actually, and depicts the Almorran witches using Clavas in the Mortal wars. The Clavas almost killed Esmelda, you know.”

“Jikes,” I muttered and she shot me a sharp look.

“Watch your language, young lady. It’s not attractive to use profanity like that.”

I turned back to the painting.

“Almorran?” I clarified. “Are you sure?”

The Almorran witches had been our ancient enemies. They lived back in the time when witches co-existed with mortals before the five Networks formed. The Almorran Priests exiled the mortals, sending them across the ocean to their death or salvation, no one knew. Brutal curses and dark magic were the Almorran legacy.

“Of course I’m sure!” she said.

“Yes, however did I doubt you? Thank you for that explanation, Mrs. L, but I really must be going now! Merry part.”

“Wait, where are you going?” she demanded. “I don’t trust teenagers. They have no control over their impulses, especially teenagers without parents around.”

No wonder we don’t get along, you old bat,
I thought.
I have no control, and you need too much.

I ground my teeth together and forced a warm smile.

“I’m just going to see my friends, Mrs. L. I’ll save the subterfuge for another day.”

“Where are your friends?” she asked, her eyes darting around. “They aren’t up at that turret, are they? I watch you girls. I know you’re conspiring up there.”

“Conspiring?”

“Yes, conspiring! That pale girl takes books up there all the time. What is she trying to learn? It’s odd that she studies so much. I don’t like it.”

“I agree, Mrs. L,” I said in a droll tone. “Leda is odd. Perhaps she’s trying to figure out the composition of your cleaning potion. You should talk to her about it. One can’t be too careful.”