Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(48)

“Yes, she just left,” I said, pouring Ivy a glass of water from the ewer on my nightstand.

“I overheard her telling her minions that she was planning on looking around your room while we were on the belomancy range,” Ivy said, mopping delicately at her face with a purple lace-trimmed handkerchief and flopping on my bed – no minor feat in her cumbersome day dress. “And I tried to get up here, but Rosemarie pinned my hem to the ground with a quiver full of arrows. Do you know how long it takes to yank a dozen magically-planted arrows out of the ground and then run up the steps? In a bustle?”

“You have suffered,” Alicia said, patting her hand delicately.

“I appreciate your efforts,” I told Ivy as she drained the water.

“Why would Callista want into your room so badly?” Ivy asked, as I poured her another glass.

“I don’t know,” I said, biting my bottom lip as I gazed around the room. Nothing in my room hinted at my origins. Could Callista be searching for something incriminating? Could there be rumors circulating about my roots already? “Maybe she’s just trying to make trouble for me?”

“She did mention the Mother Book a few times,” Ivy said. “But she also mentioned your blue silk fan, so she could be out to steal either one of those. It’s a habit of hers, you see. You do something that she doesn’t like, she steals something of yours that you do like.”

“What has she taken from you, Ivy?” Alicia asked.

Ivy took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Nothing I’ll miss.”

“I feel like I owe you an apology,” I told her. “For all of the times I should have spoken up when Callista was being, well, herself. I should have said something. I was too worried about saving my own skin and… I made the wrong choice.”

Ivy shrugged. “I understand. You were new. You were just trying to survive. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. And I’ll admit I did reject friendship from you at first. I just couldn’t stand the idea that I might start to like you and you’d turn out to be another Callista.”

“Fair enough. And I’ll find a way to get whatever she took from you,” I insisted. “Because I’m the Translator and being able to read the Mother Book should rank some sort of special magic, like reclaiming lost objects from hateful wenches.”

“I’m certain that’s written in the very small print on the very last page,” Alicia said. “Speaking of the Mother Book, I brought something else for you, a special request I had to make of my brother and my mother, but both thought it would do more good for you than in our dusty old vaults.” She placed the beautifully wrapped rectangle in my hands and with a touch at the center of the bow, the paper fell away to reveal a weathered brown leather journal with thin vellum pages. “This is the journal of my great-great-great-grandmother, Calpernia McCray. She was the last known Translator.”



Grimstelle House Sigil



My mouth fell open as I turned the book over in my hands. Calpernia’s name and 1773 stamped were on the cover. “But this is a family heirloom. I can’t take this.”

“It will do you more good than it will me,” Alicia said. “It’s just sitting around our house, collecting dust. My family would consider it an honor if it helps the new Translator. My mother insists.”

“Thank you.” I gently turned the pages. Calpernia had left plenty of diary entries and sketches, but none of them featured owls.

“Actually, I did have a question.” I said, opening the Mother Book and showing her the page depicting the House sigils. I’m familiar with all of the House symbols, but I must admit that I’ve never seen this owl before.”

“That’s the Grimstelle owl.”

When I shook my head, she sighed. “Well, I only know because my brother used to tell me the stories to scare me when I was little. He was allowed to read Calpernia’s journal as a future head of our house. The information has been lost to other families and we don’t share it with just anyone. He just loved sitting at my bedside, reading me horror stories of the Ancient House of Grimstelle. It was one of the original seven Great Houses, the only one from France, but it grew weaker over time.”

“How does an ancient and noble house grow weaker? I thought that was the point of the inter-marrying and political connections, to build power bases and plot against each other.”

Alicia cleared her throat and stroked a finger over the owl illustration. “Well, Grimstelle was once the house to watch, generations ago, long before the Restoration. Their specialized skill was connecting with the afterlife. They were highly skilled mediums that could bring forth a host of spirits to speak to the living. They grew very rich, lining their pockets with offerings from people who wanted to bid loved ones goodbye or ask long-lost grandmamma where they’d hidden the key to the silver cabinet, that sort of thing.

“And while they used their riches to further their studies, they barely bothered with other aspects of magic. Eventually, the Grimstelles learned to manipulate the dead, calling their spirits back to their bodies and moving the flesh. As they grew in power, the more the Grimstelles were able to accomplish more with the dead. They could make them walk the streets, do their bidding. A few of the Grimstelles were powerful enough to use the dead in their homes as servants. Eventually, they began to use them in less than savory ways to rid themselves of certain enemies, mostly members of the Mountfort household. That brought their actions under scrutiny from the Coven Guild.”