Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(8)

My breath quickened as I stared at my mother’s strained expression.

Mrs. Winter cleared her throat, as if this next sentence marked a new beginning to the conversation. “So, Sarah has never shown any signs that she could have special gifts?” she asked, her eyes narrowed. “She’s never made the plates float at home? You’ve never seen an object suddenly move across the room when she had a temper tantrum? Fire and water have never behaved oddly around her when she was excited or upset?”

I gasped. Mum rarely let me have birthday candles after an incident on my tenth birthday in which the flames somehow ignited the much-scrimped-for birthday treat into a butter-fueled inferno. I don’t think I’d ever cried harder than when Mum whisked the flame ball of cake into the rain barrel. The same rain barrel that froze solid when Mary provoked me into an argument during my first monthly course – in the middle of August.

Mum had blamed that on a prankster, too, as if someone in our neighborhood could afford to take our rain barrel to one of the expensive public ice houses in the name of confusing us. Images whirled through my head. The hurricane lamps that shattered without warning. Papa’s smoking pipe flying off of the mantle.

“Mum.” Horror had reduced my voice to a squeak.

Mum’s eyes glittered with unshed tears as she clutched my hand in hers. Her chapped lower lip trembled before she bit down on it so hard I feared that the fragile skin would give way.

“May I speak to my daughter alone, please?” Mum asked. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear, but I would like to explain it to her first.”

Mrs. Winter shook her head, her mouth set in grim lines. “Better to get it all out at once.”

The elegant black grandfather clock ticked the seconds away while we waited for Mum to speak. I wanted to take it back, take it all back, pull time backwards to this morning, when my biggest problem was choking down my stupid vitamin pills. Mrs. Winter turned her head and stared hard at me. I shrank back in my chair.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you need to calm down this instant. Whimsical levitation of my objet d’arts is entertaining and acceptable - once. Making every bit of glass in this room explode because your thoughts are running away like a panicked rabbit, is quite another matter. Take a few deep breaths and focus on your mother’s voice… should she ever choose to use it.”

My mouth fell open. How did Mrs. Winter know I was on the edge of blind, earth-shattering panic? Could she read my mind? She said “whatever you’re thinking,” but what did that mean? Where could I retreat to if even my own thoughts weren’t private?

On this morning of firsts, Mrs. Winter did something I’d never seen her do before. She rolled her eyes at me.

This was not good.

“Right,” I muttered. “Calm thoughts.”

Mum took a long, deep breath of her own and said, “I only did it to protect you, to keep you with the family. And if that’s wrong, I will throw myself on the mercy of the Coven Guild.”

“I don’t think we would need a gesture quite that dramatic if you would simply explain what you did,” Mrs. Winter sighed.

“It started with little things when you were just a baby. The flames of candles leaping whenever you cried. A teething ring turning up in your crib when we’d left it all the way across the room. Vines growing up the wall outside of your room and tangling themselves into knots trying to slip under the pane. We thought it was just coincidence until you were three. Mary took a favorite doll of yours, and when you tried to take it back, she snapped the left arm off. Your papa took it away to fix it, but you were so upset. And Mary, well, even at five years old, she didn’t understand when enough was enough. She laughed and told you to stop being such a baby. All of the sudden, you stopped crying and this calm, determined look came over your face. The next thing I knew, Mary was on the ground with her arm bent at an awful angle.”

My stomach rose in my throat, what little I’d eaten for breakfast threatening to spill out on the carpet.

Mrs. Winter shot me a knowing look. “More tea, Sarah?”

I shook my head. “No.” With a severe look from Mum, I added, “No, thank you, ma’am.”

“So, Sarah broke Mary’s arm?” Mrs. Winter asked conversationally. “I seem to remember a story about a fall off of a swing. And I believe that Sarah’s mysterious bout with the Japanese measles occurred around this time, correct?”

Mum nodded. “The apothecary, Mr. Fallow, told us the measles were the best way to explain her looking so ill and skinny after we started giving her the pills. He was a member of the Guild, you see, before his bad habits got him kicked out of the finer circles. And he knew the signs better than we did. He knew just what to give Sarah so that her ‘problems’ would stop. Mr. Fallow had always liked Sarah, and he didn’t like the idea of her being handed off to the same people that kicked him out of his own home. So he helped us. Sometimes, if he got the dose wrong or Sarah missed a pill, some little problem would pop up, but we were always able to explain it away.”

“And Mary never questioned those ‘little problems’ or the pills?” Mrs. Winter asked.

“Mary has never been a particularly curious child.”

Mrs. Winter snorted, a delicate sound that barely registered in my ears. “Suppressors are not a long-term solution,” Mrs. Winter said, her mouth turning down at the corners. “Your Mr. Fallow should have known that. We only give them to children who aren’t ready to handle their talents or adults who get themselves into trouble with the law. And even then, it’s for a few months, under the strict supervision of a physician.”