Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(45)

Mr. Crenshaw, who I now realized had a pair of scales etched in the golden cufflinks at wrists, did not seem to have the same scruples. He was trying to mesmerize me, right here in a room full of people. And to what purpose? To make me embarrass myself, the Winter family? Or to gain some sort of unseemly control over me?

I was too shocked to form any sort of response. And I was surprised that instead of terror or paralysis, I felt anger. Indignation. Any control he hoped to gain over me was eroded by the all-consuming rage I felt toward Mr. Crenshaw. Who was this man that I barely knew and who did he think he was, to treat me so in a highly public place? I thought proper young Guardian ladies were shielded from this sort of behavior. I thought I was supposed to be some precious commodity, shielded from distress and boorishness. What was it about me that brought out this predatory urge in people? Could they sense the non-magical blood in me? Did I have an invisible sign on my back that read, “convenient target?”

A flash of heat ran from my chest, down my arms to my hands. The dry, acrid smell of burning paper curled up around my face and I realized it was my silk fan, singeing and smoking under the heat of my grip. Mr. Crenshaw’s nostrils flared wide. He glanced down at my hands. I found that I didn’t give a damn. Let him see. Let him know what I could do. I stepped forward, the heat in my hands building as I reached for the owl’s head cane.

“Sebastian, I see that you’ve met my lovely niece,” a cool, elegant voice sounded at my shoulder. Mrs. Winter slipped her arm through mine, giving my wrist a comforting pat while moving my hands away from Mr. Crenshaw’s cane. Ivy followed close at her heels, an anxious expression on her face.

“Actually, we haven’t been introduced,” Mr. Crenshaw intoned while ever so subtly releasing the hem of my skirt from the floor.

“Pardon me, Cassandra, dear, this is Mr. Sebastian Crenshaw, a distant... very distant cousin of Mr. Winter’s. He is a member of the Coven Guild Inquiry Commission. Mr. Crenshaw, my niece, Cassandra Reed. She just began instruction at Miss Castwell’s.”

And suddenly, I understood Ivy’s discomfort. The Inquiry Commission was the governing body for investigating “inappropriate” acts by Snipes and Guild Guardians alike. It wasn’t so much a law enforcement agency as an agency charged with investigating groups that could be considered subversive or potentially damaging to Coven Guild society. They had much more freedom than any branch of law enforcement, or government, for that matter. The Commission could pull people from their beds, in the middle of the night for questioning under “less than ideal” circumstances for an undetermined amount of time. If their targets were lucky, they would be dumped in the streets of the Capitol with no access to their magic for the next month. If they were unlucky, if they were found to be guilty of undermining the government, they would disappear. And their families would speak of them as if they were long-dead and not well-remembered.

With her pat on the arm, Mrs. Winter was telling me to be cautious. One misplaced word in front of Mr. Crenshaw could mean disaster. I pasted on my best false smile and curtsied prettily, keeping my hands folded against my gown. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Crenshaw.”

Mrs. Winter continued, “Still, even a novice student like herself recognizes an inappropriate introduction like this. I would hate for any of these girls to think a man could simply stomp up to them like a fishmonger and insist on their attention.”

“Surely, with my connections to the school, a little leeway is granted,” Mr. Crenshaw insisted, glaring at me.

“You’ll find that it is not granted,” Mrs. Winter said, her voice as cold as her name.

Mr. Crenshaw looked supremely annoyed to be interrupted, and I couldn’t help but feel a little frisson of gratitude for Mrs. Winter’s timing. “Yes, well, I imagine that we will be spending a lot of time together over the next few years. We will be monitoring your handling of the Mother Book.”

“I was under the impression that Cassandra would be under the supervision of the faculty of Miss Castwells, while she is performing her duties as Translator. I believe all previous Translators were granted a considerable measure of autonomy.”

“Previous Translators were selected before the Restoration. There is more at stake now,” Mr. Crenshaw said, drawing himself to full height. “We must make sure that Miss Reed is taking her role as Translator seriously and acting in the best interests of society. Or certain measures will have to be taken.”

From the menace in Mr. Crenshaw’s tone, I didn’t think those measures would include cookies and pats on my head.

Mrs. Winter smiled, the warmth of it not quite reaching her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure Cassandra will exceed your expectations.”

Mr. Crenshaw sniffed. “We’ll see about that. Enjoy yourselves, while you can.”

Mr. Crenshaw gave a quick nod of the head and departed. Somehow, the world was still turning. The pleasant chatter of the party and clink of punch cups and china plates had continued all this time. No one had noticed the hostile exchange with Mr. Crenshaw or my attempts to incinerate my fan.

“Please excuse us, girls,” Mrs. Winter said breezily. “Alicia, it’s wonderful to see you looking so well. Ivy, dear, that color lace is very interesting.”

Both girls curtsied and made themselves scarce. Mrs. Winter kept pleasant smile in place as she led me out to the front entrance. Owen had made himself scarce, by this point, and I envied him, so very much. Mrs. Winter signaled a Snipe footman to bring her carriage around and turned to brush imaginary lint from my sleeves.