Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(10)
I laughed and stepped away from the window. She had all their affection-starved hearts in her sweet little hands. All except one, it sounded like.
“And who can fathom a Guardian that doesn’t swoon over your every word?” I asked with a dramatic flair. Camille didn’t notice my sarcasm.
“That’s what I was wondering!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. Then she sat down with a happy sigh, her trouble expression disappearing. “Oh, Bianca! Living at Chatham Castle is so much better than school! I’m going to die of jealousy when I have to go back to that wretched old manor in the fall and you get to stay here.”
“I agree,” Leda said, piping up. “Bianca, it’s a waste that you should be here with a library so extensive when you don’t even like studying.”
“Maybe I’ll pick up reading just to spite you," I said in a light-hearted tone. "Then I’ll write out book reports and send them to you so you’re maniacally jealous of me.”
Leda shot me a playful glare from her two differently colored eyes; one was an olive green, the other a light straw. Behind her lay a rigged-up bookshelf, nothing more than an old rotting board held up by two cracked pots. Most of the books she’d smuggled out of the library lay stacked in perfect piles along the shelf and wall. A skinny little bed with tucked covers and a white pillow hid behind the tattered sheet she kept pulled to separate her area. Leda took her own space very seriously.
Camille’s side of the turret looked like it had just weathered a windstorm. Dresses and ribbon clotted the floor and rained from the divan. The doors to an abandoned armoire she’d brought up with the help of a few Guardians were thrown open and belched even more clothes onto the ground. A bouquet of pale pink spring flowers, a gift from one of her many Guardian admirers, wilted in a small vase nearby. She’d forgotten to water them again.
“Merry meet,” another voice said, huffing from climbing the stairs.
Michelle’s burly frame appeared in the doorway, accompanied by the shuffle of her heavy feet. She was tall and hefty for a girl, raised in southern Letum Wood with a family of five brothers that worked as foresters and ran a farm to sustain themselves. Her broad shoulders, disappearing eyes, and thick facial features made her look awkward and boyish. She had been a third-year at Miss Mabel’s School for Girls when the rest of us were first-years.
Fina, the main cook for Chatham Castle, hired Michelle once Miss Mabel’s School for Girls closed down. After Mama’s death, most of the students had been pulled from the school by their parents. With rumors of war threatening from the West, Miss Scarlett finally cancelled the school year until the fall. Because Michelle was so talented in culinary means and wanted to pursue a career with food, Miss Scarlett allowed her to take the final tests.
As a result of her early graduation, Michelle was hired on at Chatham Castle after earning her marks and spent most of her free time with us. Though she had quarters of her own, she often slept on oversized pillows piled into a kind of lumpy mattress on the Witchery floor. Because the school was closed, Leda and Camille continued their lessons with private instruction from Miss Scarlett once a week.
“Why didn’t you levitate the platter up, Michelle?” Leda asked, flummoxed that anyone would do physical labor if magic could do the work for them. Her puny muscles testified to her bookish ways.
“Oh, I don’t mind.” Michelle shrugged. “Papa had us do almost everything without magic growing up. He thinks that witches are too lazy now.”
“I’m starving!” Camille declared, pouncing on the platter. “This smells so good! I want to eat it all. Did you already eat with your father, Bianca?”
“Yes,” I said. “But go ahead.”
The four of us sat down in the middle of the turret at the old table we’d dragged up from an abandoned meeting room a couple of floors below. Camille had filched a red and gold Central Network banner with a dragon roaring out of it for the wall. She hung it right next to a white flag she’d started to embroider with the goal of saying The Witchery, but she’d gotten halfway through, been distracted and messed up on the C, and now all it said was The Wits.
“Have you heard anymore from the High Priestess about your vow?” Leda asked. They were the only ones that knew about the secret vow between me and the High Priestess, and Leda checked in often.
“No,” I said in a clipped tone. It was the last thing I wanted to talk about. “I haven’t."
“Are you getting worried?” Camille asked, her concern evident between mouthfuls. “I am. It’s been two months already.”
“Not yet. We still have loads of time.”
“Right, loads.” Camille rolled her eyes and reached for the loaf of brown bread. Leda snatched the crock of butter before Camille could take it and Michelle grabbed a chunk of ham. “Just a few months, really.”
“We might have found a way to control my powers,” I said, hoping to break apart the current discussion. Talking about my almost-certain demise rarely brought me joy.
“Really?” Michelle asked, her small eyes lighting up. “How?”
I filled them in on the conversation with Papa, Merrick, and the High Priestess, including Alvyn’s interrogation and murderous intent. “Papa thinks physical work will help me release my emotions and the powers. I start tomorrow,” I finished, leaning back.