Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(71)

She stood and leaned across the table to kiss my forehead. “I’ve never been more proud of you. Not because you’re magical, but because you’re strong and you’re kind.”

I swiped at my eyes with my hands. “Thank you.”

Mum sat back with a sigh. I gave her a watery smile and sipped my tea.

“Now, can we talk about that mark on your hands?”

I snorted tea into my nose. “I knew that was going to come up.”



By the second week of December, Mrs. Winter decided that we’d spent enough time moping around the house and that we would show Lightbourne at large that everything was absolutely normal by spending an obscene amount of money shopping. Mysteriously, Madame Beamis’s millinery shop was so busy that the clerk couldn’t see us in the crowd of four customers to wait on us. There was no table available at Mrs. Winter’s favorite tea house. And finally, I knew we were in real trouble when we walked into Swansea’s Potioneer Shoppe, and every woman in the store stopped talking.

Mrs. Winter attempted to smile and greet several of her friends, but they glanced around the room for anything to look at but us. I had never seen Mrs. Winter so unsure of herself, so unsteady. It was downright unnerving riding home with her in the silent carriage.

We arrived at Raven’s Rest to worse news. We could hear Owen yelling in his father’s study from the front door.

“You had to have known it would come to this! You have to tell them something. Surely, one of mother’s cousins will vouch for her story, if she puts enough pressure on them. That, together, with whatever paperwork you can get from the forger, should be enough to convince the inquiry committee, shouldn’t it?”

Sharing a worried glance, Mrs. Winter and I walked into Mr. Winter’s office with its stark grey walls and abundance of bird skeletons. Owen was more riled than I had ever heard him, his hair disheveled and dressed only in his shirtsleeves. It didn’t get better when Mr. Winter answered, “Yes, if I can grease the right palms, it should be enough, but Owen, you must accept that while we may come out of this situation, Cassandra may not. Our hopes for her may be nothing but that, dashed hopes.”

Mr. Winter stopped speaking when he saw us in the doorway. Mrs. Winter cross the room and slid her arm through his. The gesture was more affectionate than anything I’d ever seen between the Winters, and I found that oddly comforting. Owen was staring at me as I approached Mr. Winter’s desk.

“I’m so sorry,” I told them. “I’m sorry it’s turned out this way. Maybe it would be better if I just disappeared. You could send me to work for some Guardian family overseas. I could leave the book with you and disappear. I wouldn’t use magic again.” I glanced at my hands and the dragonfly that glimmered there. “I could wear gloves.”

“No, we’re too invested, now.” Mrs. Winter shook her head. “It would look like we have something to hide.”

“Which is convenient because we do have something to hide,” Owen muttered, and didn’t wait to be corrected, adding, “Sorry, I know that’s not helpful.”

“It is at times like these that I wonder whether I went too far in asking your family to fake your death,” Mrs. Winter wondered.

“Just now, at times like this?” I asked. But instead of glaring at me, a beaten Mrs. Winter merely shrugged.

“School,” I suggested after a few awkward moments of silence. “The institute accepts borders, girls who can’t go home over the winter holidays. I would be safe there, I think. It would give you time to do some damage control.”

“A solid suggestion,” she conceded.

“They can’t stand up to you forever,” I told her, my lips twitching. “Eventually those newly minted spines will crumple under the weight of your icy glare.”

Mrs. Winter’s tone was scolding, though there was the slightest pleased expression on her face. “Oh, honestly, I don’t know what you are talking about. You are so silly sometimes.”





17





School for Scandal





My move to the school was handled quickly and quietly. Miss Morton was the only teacher left at Miss Castwell’s over the break, having no family to visit for the holidays. Only a handful of girls remained, a few students from America and some sulky senior girls who seemed to think they were punishing their families by staying away for the season. Miss Morton was thrilled to see a friendly face willing to help her catch up on shelving in the library. Even she’d heard about my “difficulties” at the party and assured me she didn’t believe a word of it.

“Obviously, you are a very talented witch, Miss Reed. You have the sort of power than can only come from a strong Coven Guild family line,” she said, cupping my chin in her hand. “In a few weeks, some other scandal will pop up and this will all be forgotten. In the meantime, you must restore your balance, build up your energy stores. Meditate over the book and find that peace within. No matter what, you must push through your fatigue and spend more time with the Mother Book. And in the meantime, we’ll have a very merry Christmas here at school.”

I tried to believe her. I tried to look at my time at the school as quiet vacation, a chance to gather my strength. I joined the small group of students left in the mostly empty dining hall for meals, where a single table had been laid out with tempting spread of holiday treats. I was surprised to find Callista sitting there. I knew that Jeanette Drummond’s family was traveling to France to visit distant relatives in Provence, a venture complicated by Jeanette’s allergy to lavender. And Helena Mountfort preferred school to the tense atmosphere at home, where her stepmother had redecorated away any evidence that Helena’s beloved late mother ever existed. Jeanette and Helena gave me perfectly polite smiles, but immediately turned to speak to each other. Not exactly a snub, but a civil way of avoiding conversation.