Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(38)

Phillip seemed to sense when I needed quiet, resting sedately on his perch until it was time to hop on my shoulder to remind me of a meal time or peck at the page of the book I was studying to point out an answer. He accepted little crumbs of the almond cookies I snuck out of dining hall, but refused the sesame biscuits, which I thought showed good taste. The sesame biscuits were the one menu item I didn’t like. I felt more settled when Phillip was near. While having Phillip perched on my shoulder while I attempted to Translate the Mother Book didn’t make more pages appear, I felt a little more hopeful about working on it with him near me.

Unlike most of the familiars, who wandered freely around the school, Phillip kept to my room. He went so far as to flit away from my shoulder as I walked out to classes each morning, preferring to sit on his perch and stand watch over the Mother Book. Hearing his contented little chirps from my bedside table helped me focus on something besides my worry over the social and go to sleep.

The morning of the social dawned bright and clear, the perfect fairy tale beginning. And yet, I considered any flimsy reason not to attend the “practice” party. I could feel a vicious cold coming on. I was too exhausted from my first week of school to be charming and effervescent. My dress didn’t fit. But I knew that Mrs. Winter wouldn’t accept any of them, particularly the bit about the dress not fitting. So I allowed Hannah to strap me into the traditional Castwell spring green silk party dress with a wide flounced skirt and short, puffed sleeves. Madame DuPont had embroidered tiny white apples in repeating floral patterns along the hem to show Brandywine allegiance. Hannah had taken special care with my hair, piling it on my head in elegant coils.

I was being watched. The parents, all wealthy Coven Guild adults, stared at me as subtly as possible from behind lace fans and spectacles. Further, since so many of the girls were cowed by Callista’s aggressive claim of friendship, they didn’t dare approach me to make the proper introductions to their parents. So I stood there, silently, keeping my hands folded with the metal dragonfly pressed firmly against my skirts. Mrs. Winter had written specifically to tell me not to wear gloves to the event, as she wanted it to be well-known that I was the Translator. I felt awkward and uncomfortable, as if the other guests could see through the pretty dress and see the real me underneath. Poor, fraudulent Sarah Smith who didn’t want to be seen or studied. I wanted to be in the kitchens preparing trays of food, invisible with no special metal tattoos on my hands or expectations on my shoulders.

I was so nervous about being silently inspected by the magical adults, powerful people who could recognize me as a Snipe far more easily than their daughters, I spent that time mentally reviewing Mrs. Winter’s etiquette lessons - no eating awkward foods that would stain my dress, no holding my tea cup from the bottom, no refusing dances from prospective partners, just because I found them physically or morally repulsive.

I didn’t even talk to the other girls around me. I barely registered Callista lingering at the top of the stairs, waiting for her mother to arrive. Ivy paced beside me, gnawing at her fingernails and staring off into the distance. The fact that both girls, so far separated on the popularity spectrum, were so agitated made me nervous. What exactly happened at these social dances?

Mrs. Winter was fashionably late, of course. She wasn’t the last parent to arrive, but she certainly wasn’t the first, sweeping into the school’s black-and-white tiled atrium in a silk gown of peacock blue. It was fascinating to watch the sea of wide, ruffled skirts part before her, making way. Even the adults who smiled at her with empty, polite expressions still got out of Mrs. Winter’s way when she approached me. Mr. Winter had elected to stay home, as he did not enjoy this sort of gathering… or the people who attended them.

I managed a decent curtsy without falling over or knocking over bystanders and considered it an accomplishment, especially with so many people watching. Mrs. Winter looked… pleased by my efforts? It was an unexpected surprise from a woman who’d spent most of my life peering down her nose at me with a less than enthusiastic expression.

“You are looking lovely, dearest,” she pronounced, just loud enough for the other parents to hear as they inched closer. “Madame DuPont was right, this sleeve length is perfect for you. Very appropriate.”

“Thank you, Auntie Aneira.” I leaned forward, barely close enough to brush a casual air kiss near the vicinity of her cheek. I whispered, “My family?”

“Oh, we’re all just fine at home, dear,” she said, watching my face carefully. “Missing you terribly, of course, but managing as best we can.”

I nodded and gave my best impression of a smile.

“How are your classes? Are you making friends?” she asked. The question felt loaded. And all I could do was nod before Callista swooped in and locked her arm around mine.

“Oh, Cassie and I are the best of friends already,” she said, loudly, before dropping a deep curtsy to Mrs. Winter.

Mrs. Winter’s face tightened into an unpleasant mask I recognized as “most seriously displeased,” the sort of expression she made when it rained on the mornings of her garden parties. I wasn’t sure if it was Callista’s use of a nickname like “Cassie” or Callista’s personality that provoked this response. I was just glad it wasn’t directed at me.

“I’ve been introducing her to the most suitable girls, keeping her from the worst of her missteps,” Callista continued.