Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(53)

I felt an angry hum sweep along the metal wings on my palms. I winced, rubbing a hand over the aching burn.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whined. “I could have helped you. I don’t know how you did it, but I could have convinced them that I’m magical, too. And I could be living with you in the lap of luxury, no more chores, no more work. I could be wearing a fancy lady’s dress and a bonnet that cost more than our whole house. I could be having breakfast, lunch, and dinner with Owen every day!”

“Do you really think that’s what happened?” I demanded. “Mary, I didn’t fake anything. The thing with the vase just happened. I still don’t know what I did to make it float like that, really. Even after weeks at Miss Castwell’s, I couldn’t tell you how that worked.”

Mary stared at me, for a good long while, her eyes lingering on the neckline of the silk dress I was wearing, as if she sensed there was something not quite right lurking under the material. She gave me a little smile, the smile that meant I was forgiven and everything was right again. But frankly, I didn’t know if I was interested in her “grace.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah, you know I didn’t mean it. My temper gets ahead of me sometimes, but you know I’d never really be angry with you, yes?”

I nodded, wincing a bit as her strong hands clasped around my wrists.

“You were always the better-natured of us, anyway. Always the good girl,” she teased. “And you can keep being good to us. You can use your new place in the household to make life a little easier for us, yes?”

“I don’t have any power here.”

“We both know that’s not true, don’t we?” she sniffed, the bitterness creeping back into her voice.

“I’m still as much of a servant as you are, Mary.”

“Servants who don’t work aren’t servants. They’re pets,” Mary retorted.

Darn it, if she didn’t have a point there.

“And as their little pet, you will be able to change things in the household. Schedules, my duties, which areas of the house I’m allowed to enter,” she said, her voice far too casual as she toyed with the green ribbon that secured my bonnet under my chin. “And you can help me find ways to spend time with Owen.”

“Mary,” I groaned.

“He wants to see me, too!” she insisted. “I can tell by the way he looked at me the other morning when I snuck out to bring fresh towels to his bathroom. He misses me, Sarah. This new schedule – the one Mrs. Winter set to keep us from seeing you – keeps me from seeing Owen. So really, it’s your fault that we’re apart. Even with you away at that school during the week, she’s keeping up the new schedule so we can ‘accommodate ourselves to the change.’ But you, you can convince Mrs. Winter that you won’t try to see us. Then, she’ll lift these silly restrictions.”

“So, to help you, I should pretend that I don’t care to spend time with you?”

“Please, please, please, please!” she wheedled in a sugary-sweet tone.

“I’ll try,” I sighed. “Now, would you please tell Mum and Papa that I miss them?”

“Of course, of course,” Mary said, picking up her basket. “And you’ll talk to Mrs. Winter?”

“I said I would try,” I told her.

“Always such a good girl,” Mary teased, kissing my cheek and scurrying down the hallway.

“Emphasis on the word try,” I called after her.



I didn’t try.

I felt like a horrible sister, lying to Mary. It went against everything in my gut to pretend I didn’t want to see my family. I also couldn’t help but feel that it was better for Mary to have less access to Owen. Her infatuation seemed to be spiraling out of what could be considered normal and into something desperate and dangerous.

Overall, it was a lonely weekend. Now that Mary had tugged her promise out of me, there was no point in talking to me. I didn’t see my mother, who stayed in the kitchen under Mrs. Winter’s orders. And when I looked down from my windows and saw my father in the garden, he waved, and then turned his back on me. I ran onto the balcony and called out to him, but he hobbled away on his unsteady legs, ignoring me.

To add insult to loneliness, Ivy was unable to make it for tea on Saturday. Her regrets appeared in the form of a note, scrawled in bright pink script on my vanity mirror after breakfast. My shriek of surprise brought Mrs. Winter bustling into the Lavender Room, where I babbled an explanation of someone sneaking into my room and writing on my glass with lip rouge. Mrs. Winter gave me a very amused smile, as she pointed to the note,

“Dear Cassandra, I am sorry I will not be able take tea at your house as planned. My mother planned a series of visits with my Cowell cousins while I’m home without talking to me. Trust me when I say I would rather be taking tea with you. I’ll see you at school on Monday.

– Sincerely, Ivy Cowell.

Post-script – Alicia took ill just before I left Castwell’s and was not able to make the trip home. So I assume she will not be able to attend, either. I hope that we can make arrangements for a visit to Raven’s Rest at some other time.”

Just as I read the last of the post-script, it disappeared and another glowing message appeared. Post-post-script – I just found out that Mother is planning to take me for a torturous dress-fitting while I am home. Send HELP.”