Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(30)

“She’s stalling,” I sang under my breath. Leda silenced my surfacing laugh with a sharp glare.

“Well?” Camille asked with a bit more backbone than usual. Her confidence had certainly grown the past few months. “What’s the answer?”

“Oh, you’ll use it!” Leda said in a quick rush. “You’ll use algebra all the time.”

“Yes, so you say. But how?”

“Take sewing, for example,” Leda said, her self-assuredness growing. “Yes, think of sewing. You have to know lengths for sewing, right? And angles for . . . for dresses.”

Camille’s eyes narrowed. “Angles for dresses,” she repeated blandly. “I don’t know about that.”

“Oh hang it, Camille,” Leda burst out. “You don’t have a choice. It’s required curriculum. Whether or not you’ll use it doesn’t matter. You still need to learn it to pass your first year. Now get to work.”

Camille let out a dramatic sigh and stared at the parchment with loathing. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “Won’t need algebra to marry a handsome Guardian,” and turned back to her studies.

Eyes closed, I enjoyed the sensation of not moving after a grueling morning lesson with Merrick. Though it had been several days ago, the experience at Sanna’s ran through my mind, and I replayed the way the magic moved through my arms and gave me a burst of strength. Every day I awoke, planning to tell my friends about what happened, but could never bring myself to do it. If even I didn’t understand it yet, how could I expect them to?

A steady flapping sound came from the turret stairs. All of us gazed at each other in question.

“What’s that?” Camille asked.

“If it’s a witch,” Leda said in a threatening tone, “they better leave now. I don’t want anyone else coming into the Witchery but us.”

The sound grew louder and was joined by two more pairs of shoes.

“Hello?” I called, climbing to my feet with a grimace. My swollen, aching leg muscles protested. Running the stairs in the lower bailey had taken its toll. I peered into the dark stairway to see only faint movement.

“Yes, move aside. Yes, yes. Move aside, please!”

A short, buxom woman bustled in wearing a light blue dress and a kerchief to match. She had cheeks so red they reminded me of cherries, and made her plump face fringed with strands of yellow hair look very merry. Her bright eyes matched her dress. Altogether, she looked entirely like a dinner roll. Round, soft, and squishy.

Camille leapt up from her chair, sending her scroll of homework flying. “Miss Henrietta!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ll look lovely in this deep blue, won’t you? Eyes like a thunderstorm,” Miss Henrietta said to me, inviting herself in. She gazed around, her eyes nearly disappearing into her face when she squinted.

“Goodness, so bright. So, so bright. All right then, come along, Bianca. I need to see you. Yes, yes. Come.”

Her assessing gaze roved over my body and she started to tut under her breath. Two girls wearing matching black dresses with golden lace trim streamed into the room, their eyes trained on the floor. They stood next to each other against the wall and waited without making a peep.

“A little more work than I thought. Move aside. Yes. Yes, yes. Oh, that horrid fabric won’t do!” she muttered, touching my dress with the tip of her finger.

“Are you here to sew a dress for Bianca?” Camille asked, stepping forward. “See? She certainly needs the help, just like I told you.”

I shot Camille a perturbed look but she smiled innocently. Henrietta looked up, then returned to her offended perusal of my dress.

“Merry meet again, Camille,” she said. “It’s always nice to see you. Go over there, Bianca. Stand up. Up, up!”

Henrietta scooted me toward the table. A chair slid out and moved into the middle of the room.

“To the chair!” she commanded. “Yes, yes, good.”

Bewildered, I shot Leda a desperate glance, a plea for help. She smirked, tucked her legs underneath her, and disappeared into the book, Easing Into the Political Realm.

“Take that horrid thing off her,” Henrietta commanded the maids. I realized with a start that she meant my dress. The two girls stepped forward and peeled the dress off, leaving me in my knickers and binder.

“Wait!” I cried. “What are you doing?”

They attacked me with a mass of material, slipping it down my body in soft folds of fabric, silencing my squawks of protest. It turned out to be mostly the shell of a dress. The sleeves were too long, the waist too wide, the neckline jagged, and the bottom frayed at the hem. Even incomplete, it took my breath away.

“The High Priestess sent us,” Henrietta said, circling me, an army of needles following in the air behind her that Camille had to dodge. The two witches with her began to poke, fold, and prod, occasionally snatching a needle from the air to slide into the dress. “This is what you are to wear for the Network Ball. I’ve been able to do most the basic work on it, but needed to check my measurements.”

“Ouch!” I muttered when one of the girls pricked my hip with a pin. She averted her eyes to avoid my glower.

“It’s a special material,” Henrietta said, her lips pursed. “Quite rare, and imbued with a special magic that keeps you cool and prevents sweat stains in the heat of the summer. It’s all the High Priestess wears.”