Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(24)

Isadora’s little cottage soon appeared in the foliage, although nothing moved inside. Surely the old Watcher was home. Except to sort out the next first-years for Miss Mabel’s School for Girls, Isadora never left her cottage in the trees.

At least I didn’t think she did.

I didn’t know much about Isadora, not really. Not the way my friends did. Their interviews with Isadora were far different than mine. Every student that wanted to go to Miss Mabel’s School for Girls had to meet with her. She had the ability to see and understand a witch’s motivations and personality in ways that others could not. With such power and talent, she kept the school and the part of Letum Wood that surrounded it safe from the dangers of the forest.

Shaking off a little raindrop that dripped down my neck, I walked down the verdant path that led to her quaint residence. The wood groaned beneath my feet when I stepped onto the porch, surprised to find the door open.

“Come in, Bianca,” Isadora called with her creaky voice. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Of course you have, I thought, stepping inside to find Isadora’s foggy, unsmiling eyes staring at me.

“Open the door,” she said. “Let the sweet smell of rain come in.”

I followed her directions, casting my eyes around the empty walls of her small home. A little bed was tucked into the corner, a table with two chairs stood in the middle of the floor, and potted plants filled three open windowsills.

“Where’s your china?” I asked, seeking the piles of plates and cups she used to display. They’d decorated every wall only a year ago, when I first came to her cottage. The house seemed barren without them.

“Put away,” she said and motioned me to the table. The bony ridges of her knuckles stuck out in sharp angles when she folded her hands on her lap. The skin looked soft and translucent, freckled with age spots. I wondered how long Isadora had been alive. “Sit down. We’ll have some tea.”

A plain set of white cups with steam rolling off the top waited. I glanced at them with an inward grimace. Hot tea sounded as welcoming as a boiling bath on this already humid spring day.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she said with a sidelong glance at the cup. “It’s not what you think.”

To be polite, I lowered myself into the chair and raised the cup to my lips, pulling on a quick sip. It tasted ice cold and minty, and sent a cool shiver down my body.

“You’re here because you have questions about your binding with Miss Mabel,” she said before I could get a word out. The chilly swallow of tea nearly drowned me.

“W-what?” I asked, coughing. “You know about—”

The protective magic of the binding cut me off. I couldn’t even make reference to it or Miss Mabel in any way that may lead to the binding. While I had expected Isadora to know what was on my mind, I didn’t think she’d jump right into it. I fidgeted at the thought, wondering what else Isadora saw in my messy, bruised heart. Did she know what I saw when I ran, or how out of control my powers were now?

“Yes,” she said, lifting her eyebrows and taking a draw from her cup. “I do know about the binding.”

My friends told me Isadora had been kind to them during their interviews before she accepted them into Miss Mabel’s School for Girls. But she’d been nervous around me, maybe even frightened. Now she regarded me the way I’d look at a dangerous animal: with a healthy amount of uncertainty. Did she sense my simmering powers the same way Papa did? Being this close to the school again agitated the magic, like the turmoil of emotions in my chest had again become a dragon, only this time it paced back and forth.

“How do you know?”

“I know many things,” she said.

“Will you answer my questions?” I asked tentatively. Suddenly every word I spoke seemed to matter more than it did before. Although I couldn’t make reference to the binding out loud, Isadora would know what I wanted to ask.

“You can’t overpower the magic of a binding when it’s been sealed in blood,” she said, anticipating my first question. “Nor should you try. It would be foolish, don’t you think?”

It took me several moments to soak that in. “Yes,” I finally murmured. “It would be foolish.”

Overpowering magic was one way to take control, but I already knew I didn’t have enough strength to overcome Miss Mabel’s advanced skill. I ran my fingers along the saucer, enjoying the cool, polished sensation of the porcelain while I tried to figure out what question to ask next. I hadn’t expected this conversation to go so fast.

“Do I have options?” I asked, barely able to squeeze out the words before the cold magic crept up my throat.

“Perhaps.”

“I’m desperate, Isadora,” I whispered, thinking of the next High Priest. If the magic overpowered me then I could commit the heinous act of murder without knowing. My resolve to conquer the binding doubled. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

“I know,” she said.

“What if I—”

The magic stopped my question. What if I could destroy the contract?

She stared at me again, but this time her eyes looked distant. She was rustling through my brain and heart, fleshing out all my insecurities and fears, finding the decisions I would make that could lead to bad ends. I wondered how close to the darkness in my heart she would go. She blinked twice, then shook her head.