Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(72)

But Callista was supposed to be the cherished darling of her family. Why was she here at school? I was tempted to sit down and ask her that very question. But when I took my seat at Miss Morton’s right and caught sight of Callista’s triumphant grin, I found I didn’t care all that much. Clearly, she was enjoying the chaos she’d sewn by spreading what she’d heard the night of Mrs. Winter’s party. I may or may not have made Callista’s water goblet disintegrate in her hand.

“I think I’ll take a tray in my room for here on,” I told Miss Morton, as Callista squawked about water spots on her precious dress.

“That may be for the best, dear,” Miss Morton nodded, dabbing at Callista’s dress with a napkin.

For more than a week, it felt like all I did was sleep, read, Translate and attempt to contact Ivy and Alicia over scry message. Over and over, I ran the tip of Wit on the glass of my vanity, writing out carefully worded pleas for contact, but they never responded. Gavin’s pen was also silent; no letters, not even a card that said, “I’m sorry we can no longer be seen in public together.” Phillip abandoned his perch and made his home on my shoulder, nuzzling my cheek, making comforting little cooing sounds.

Callista avoided me, which was a refreshing change of pace. After a few days, Jeanette and Helena issued invitations to join them for late-night chats, but I was too tired to stir from my room. Maybe it was the silence and stillness of the school, normally so filled with life and chatter. Maybe it was not knowing what was happening at Raven’s Rest. But I felt like my very soul had been drained out of me.

I was listless and couldn’t seem to find the energy to do more than crawl back and forth between my vanity and the bed. I lost track of the days, sleeping away afternoons and waking up in the library with my face pressed against the pages of the Mother Book. I barely ate, except for what Miss Morton brought to me.

The book revealed nothing new to me, except nightmares. I had strange dreams where I was chased down dark cobblestone streets, chased by armies of Revenants. I dreamt of Miss Morton standing over me, forcing my hands onto the pages of the Mother Book. I dreamt of Ivy and Alicia turning their backs on me.

I skipped breakfast most mornings and buried myself in the library. Miss Morton had too much to do, so most mornings, she would tell me which sections of the library needed re-shelving, and then rush out to handle some matter of vital school importance, like Gilded Lily eating the school’s entire supply of shrinking violets or Tom’s replacement, William, being unable to build a fire in the dining hall without setting a tapestry ablaze. None of the girls staying at the school would stoop to setting foot in the library when they weren’t forced to, I had it all to myself. I dedicated an hour or two to Miss Morton’s shelving.

And then, I used the keys she unwisely kept on a hook by her desk chair and to search some of the restricted archives. In my defense, she left it hanging right there where I could see it. And it turned out that asking the card codex for information on revenants in a much louder voice didn’t not produce results. So, really, I didn’t have a choice.

While the restricted archives did have an extensive selection on curses that could turn someone inside out and soul-stealing candles, there were no revenant-related titles. I did find a huge cache of books on the genealogy of “lesser” families. I didn’t make judgments. The shelf was actually labeled “lesser families.”

I searched any books about families based in France, where the Grimstelles were supposed to originate. I was hoping to find some evidence of Mr. Crenshaw being related to the Grimstelles. On this particular afternoon, I was comparing the French bloodlines with the family trees in House Mountfort – Mr. Crenshaw’s Mother House. But I found that every branch of his family, even the brides, was related to some known major House. Yawning, I wiped my eyes and set aside the Mountfort records. No wonder Mr. Crenshaw was so frustrated with his lack of authority in the Guild. Someone with his pedigree should have been heading a Senate office all to himself. Mr. Crenshaw must have been terrible at his job.

Frustrated with my lack of progress, I slowly shelved the restricted books back and locked the door behind me. I hung the key on Miss Morton’s hook and flopped into the chair where I’d left the Mother Book.

I was so tired. My eyes were aching and it felt like I had cotton stuffed in my head. I promised myself I would go upstairs to take a nap in just a few minutes. But first, I opened the Mother Book on the table and touched the dragonfly’s wings on either edge of the cover. I cleared my mind and took a deep breath.

“Show me something,” I whispered. “Please.”

The pages flapped open to show the house sigils page. Again.

“Very helpful,” I muttered, slapping the book shut.

Something fluttered from the back pages of the book. I picked up the maroon, papery ovals and sniffed at them. Nightglove petals. I flipped through the last few pages and found a sprig of nightglove pressed between the paper. But how was that possible? The only person I knew at the school who favored nightglove was Miss Morton, and she hadn’t handled the book in months. I’d stopped bringing it into the library after Callista took it from my room.

I sniffed the flower’s faded, spicy sweet scent.

But what if Callista hadn’t taken it? What if Miss Morton had taken it from my room and the flowers had fallen into the book while she was handling it? But why? I would have shown her the book any time she asked. Why would she take it from me? I hoped it wasn’t true. Miss Morton was one of the most truly accepting people at the school, one of the few people I considered friends at the moment. She was the one who helped me find the spell to relocate the book. Why wouldn’t she just tell me she’d taken it and give it back?