Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(67)

Mr. Winter snorted, covering it with a cough. His humor, and the pride that lit Mrs. Winter’s eyes from across the room gave me courage enough to relax my shoulders ever so slightly. Mr. Crenshaw didn’t seem to share Mr. Winter’s amusement.

“As the Translator, your lack of contact with this committee is unacceptable, Miss Reed,” he growled.

“I sent letters to my uncle, reporting what I’ve learned from the book so far,” I said. “Did he not share them with you?”

Mr. Crenshaw bristled. “Yes, of course, but it was hardly the sort of information we expected from the Mother Book, a good deal of it is information we already have. We expect results, Miss Reed. We expect revelations.”

I tilted my head, my stare drifting back and forth between Mr. Crenshaw’s bloated face and the owl-head cane topper. What sort of revelations was he expecting?

While I pondered this, Mr. Crenshaw continued, “You should have appeared before us after the book chose you. You do not have the right to keep that information to yourself. Mrs. Winter has failed in presenting you to us. That is a failure we’re addressing now.”

I took a deep breath. “Am I to understand you chose to interrupt the social event of the season to chastise me for not answering an invitation you never issued?”

Mrs. Winter smiled at me. This was a good sign.

“You should have known to contact us,” Mr. Crenshaw said.

“And how would I have known that?” I asked. “There hasn’t been a Translator in almost one hundred fifty years. I wasn’t familiar with the protocol. I wasn’t even aware that such a commission existed until you mentioned it at the school social, which, now that I think about it, was a perfectly polite opportunity to discuss scheduling a meeting – which you failed to do. But I do apologize. The next time an ancient artifact of immense magical power chooses me as its conduit to magical society, I’ll be sure to send you a note.”

While my back was straight and my tone firm, my stomach was practically twisting inside out. I was sassy-mouthing the very authorities I’d spent so much time fearing. These men could take me away. They could lock me in some Guild Enforcement facility where the Mother Book would be my only company.

But I was so tired of being afraid. All of my life I’d been afraid of people like Mr. Crenshaw. I wasn’t that scared little girl anymore. I was powerful. I was the Translator. Magic had chosen me, when it had every reason to pass me by. I wasn’t going to be pushed around by a man with a silly cane-topper.

“Young lady, do you understand your position here?” Mr. Crenshaw thundered. “You are a child. A mere slip of a girl, barely schooled. You are not qualified to Translate the text on your own. You need our supervision.”

“I understand my position perfectly well, Mr. Crenshaw. I don’t understand yours.” I told him.

“My position – my position?” Mr. Crenshaw thundered. “You should know that your selection as Translator is under review. If necessary, we will take the book back from you until we believe you are fit to serve.”

“The book chose me, not you. I do not need your supervision. I will provide you with a complete list of spells and information the book has presented to me since I began Translating. Not because I am afraid of your disapproval, but because they could be of help to other people. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am missing a rather lovely party that my aunt and uncle spent quite a lot of time organizing.”

Mrs. Winter inclined her head at me and mouthed the words, “Well done.”

I spun on my heel and walked out of the room – without a curtsy – while Mr. Crenshaw fumed. But once I got into the hallway, all of my righteous indignation drained out of me. I needed to hide. I wanted to run into the kitchen and cry to my mother. I wanted to eat about a dozen petit fours.

I heard footsteps beside me and I was relieved when Gavin’s voice asked, “Are you all right. You’re very pale.”

“Just a little light-headed,” I told him. “This dress is so heavy and the room is rather warm.”

“Should I got get you something?” Gavin asked, his hands closing around my arms, much like that morning when he’d hauled me up from the sidewalk. Did he remember that, I wondered dizzily. Why didn’t he remember that? “A glass of water? Tea? Alicia always liked peppermint tea when she’s ill. I’m at a loss, here, Cassandra.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” I insisted weakly.

“McCray?” Owen’s voice sounded behind us. “What are you doing? Cassandra, are you all right?”

Gavin glared at Owen as I gave a small shake of my head. Owen looked around and looped his arm through mine. He said, loudly, just in case some of the guests could hear, “This is what happens when you over-indulge in lemon tarts, cousin. You know you’re allergic. Let that be a lesson to you.”

I gave him a weak slap on the arm.

“I’ll take it from here, McCray. Try the punch.” Owen said as he led me into one of the lesser parlors, the room where Mrs. Winter had couriers wait while she wrote correspondence. This was good. Quiet and cool air were just what I needed.

“Why do you antagonize him? He’s a nice boy.”

“Because he’s a nice boy and I can,” Owen told me. “Now what’s wrong with you?”

Owen closed the door behind us and I bent over the parlor chair as much as I could in my cumbersome gown.