Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(15)

“No. They won’t remove me from the Protectors right now,” he said, swallowing a bite and forcing an easy tone. “Not with the Western Network tripling the number of West Guards at the Borderlands between our Networks. Don’t worry about it, B. You focus on learning how to defend yourself.”

“Yes, Papa.”

A knock on the apartment door echoed through the room. Before I could stand up to answer, Tiberius welcomed himself inside. His curly blonde beard hung down his chest in a long plume and wagged whenever he spoke. He resembled a brick wall with his beefy shoulders, paunchy belly, and ham-like arms. A pile of envelopes tied by string preceded him, falling onto the table with a thud.

“More reports from the Borderlands,” he said, striding over. “Our man is reporting increased activity from the West Guards.”

Tiberius grabbed three pieces of bread and the last egg and threw himself into a chair. Papa shifted back into Protector mode, his eyes sharpening as he grabbed the envelopes.

“Please come into our apartment and eat our breakfast,” I said to Tiberius with a wave of my hand over the food. “Don’t mind us.”

“I will,” he said, helping himself to a spoonful of preserves, which he spread on his egg before jamming the bread back together and biting into his sandwich. I laughed in spite of his horrid manners. His suspicious, bulbous eyes regarded me.

“I hear you’re learning from Merrick now,” he said through a mouthful of food. A few flecks of bread came out with his words.

“Yes.”

“What, you want to become the only female Protector?”

“Maybe,” I shot back. He snorted.

“You and your father have broken enough traditions,” he said. “I don’t think you should try to shatter that one. Although you, of all witches, probably could do it.”

Amongst the many traditions of the Central Network was another unbroken law: No female could serve as a Guardian or Protector. There were legends of women who had tried to convince the leaders to make an exception, but the tradition remained solid.

“Sounds like a good challenge to me.”

Tiberius gave a humph and dove back into his sandwich. Papa sorted through the envelopes and broke the wax seal on the thickest. The more he read, the deeper the stress lines around his eyes became. I watched the transformation with great sadness. Papa’s eyes flew up to Tiberius from one letter he’d just opened.

“They are certain the West Guards are unloading big wooden crates full of shovels at the border?” he asked in concern.

Tiberius nodded. “Zane just got back from one of your little spy circuits. He’s waiting for you in the Gatehouse to brief. Sed sum fin ith happneeng.”

I dodged a bit of egg yolk flying from Tiberius’s mouth and looked to Papa for clarification. The number of West Guards congregating at the Borderlands had been increasing for some time, but nothing definitive had taken place yet. At news of this development, my stomach churned with fear.

“What could they be using shovels for?” I asked. Papa hesitated.

“Tiberius and I think the Western Network is going to try to divert the Borderlands River to their Network. It will cut off the water supply to our crops and possibly throw us into a famine.”

My eyes widened.

“Can’t you stop them?”

“It’s speculation at this point,” Papa said wearily, running a hand through his dark brown hair. A few strands in front stood up on end. “At least it was until Zane observed the shovels. If they are planning on digging, it’ll take them awhile, so we may have some time to figure out a plan.” He shot me a look. “Please don’t speak of this to anyone, B.”

“Of course, Papa,” I murmured.

The two of them stood.

“Love you, girl,” Papa said, a hint of longing in his voice. “You look like your Mama today.”

He placed a kiss on the top of my head, squeezing my shoulder with a firm hand.

“I don’t love you, rotten female child,” Tiberius said, lowering his massive hand onto my face and pushing me away. But his touch was gentle and he shot me a wink. “I don’t even like you, but I’ll tolerate you.”

The two of them trooped out the door, leaving a still apartment in their wake. My powers welled back into a tense knot in my chest, and I leaned into my palm with a sigh.





Have You Missed Me?

The halls of Chatham Castle were equal parts elegant and simple, cluttered with the occasional sofa, stuffed chair, or small table. Paintings lined the wall, and elegant drapes and greenery covered the space near the floor-length windows. Camille and I had become experts at picking the locks on closed doors to find forgotten rooms in the long halls. It gave me a little thrill that I missed but rarely sought out anymore. Despite my less-than-busy lifestyle, I often felt exhausted with the littlest task.

After breakfast I made my way to the Witchery through a back hall I rarely used, and paused to inspect an elaborate wall sconce with twisting golden leaves like the ivy in Letum Wood. Next to it, a detailed painting of winged creatures painted directly onto the wall caught my attention.

“What are these?” I whispered to myself, running the tips of my fingers over the distorted faces that were half-bat, half-human. Their fangs dripped with red blood and their beady eyes looked dull and lifeless. I stared at them in both revulsion and fascination.