Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(39)
“Were you surprised when Mildred executed May?”
“No,” Miss Celia said with a guilty little sigh. “A bit relieved, perhaps. Like I said, May was not a good witch. Miss Mabel was downright giddy the day May died. She twirled around the school singing for the whole day.”
“Have you been happy working with Miss Mabel?”
“Yes,” she said with a sad little smile. “I couldn’t have children of my own, so it was like I got a chance to be something of a mother. I raised that girl since she was a wee baby and I’ll love her till I die. Anyway, she’s good to me. The wages she gives me for working here are enough to meet my needs. She trusts me more than May ever did, anyway, and lets me do my work.”
I had my doubts that Miss Mabel could trust anyone, but didn’t say it to Miss Celia. A maternal warmth had crept into Miss Celia’s tone, despite the apparent fear, as well as love, that she felt for Miss Mabel. I wondered how it must feel, to have both terror and compassion in your heart for the same person, knowing you raised her to be something that she never would be. Whether or not Miss Celia saw Miss Mabel for who she really was, I couldn’t decide. Perhaps she didn’t want to see.
My headache began to throb. All this thinking of Miss Mabel made the magic burn in my chest. The sound of footsteps came down the hallway, accompanied by the familiar chime of Miss Scarlett’s bracelets.
“Well,” Miss Celia said with a sudden, forced brightness in her tone that told me she’d say no more, “I’ve got some cinnamon buns just about ready to take from the oven. Why don’t you take one back with you?”
“Yes,” I said, grateful to be done with the conversation. “I’d love that.”
Miss Scarlett entered the kitchen with all the warmth of a grizzly bear.
“I thought I recognized your voice,” she said, straight-backed and rigid as usual. Her hair lay in a braid today instead of its usual bun, which made me wonder if even Miss Scarlett let loose just a little when the students were gone.
“I had a pining for a cinnamon bun, Miss Scarlett,” I said with a smile. “I dropped in on the hopes that she’d have some.”
Miss Celia beamed, all vestiges of darkness from our conversation erased.
Farther Than Yesterday
I found Michelle at the Witchery table by herself, writing a letter to her family, when I returned from visiting Miss Mabel’s. She smiled in greeting.
“Merry meet, Bianca.”
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“Camille is eating lunch with the Guardians in the dining room. I saw her when my shift ended. She had a bunch of books around her, but I don’t think she was getting much studying done.”
The cinnamon roll sat heavy in my stomach. I pressed a hand to it with a happy sigh. The sweetness of the thick layer of frosting Miss Celia had smeared on top lingered in my mouth with the warm flavor of fresh vanilla bean and sugar.
“Leda’s probably in the library,” I said. The information Miss Celia had given me on May and Miss Mabel wouldn’t help me destroy the binding, which meant I still had one more thing to research. “I need to run to there myself. Would you like to come?"
“Sure,” Michelle said, quickly folding the messenger paper. When she finished it popped up off the table and zipped out the open window, headed off to her family in the southern covens.
Michelle spoke quietly about her day as we went down, providing a low chatter to my whirling thoughts. She mentioned Nicolas telling her about recent dragon conspiracies while helping her with a heavy bag of flour, and then talked about a new apricot turnover recipe Fina wanted her to try when the apricots were ready. I nodded every now and then, only distantly aware of what she said. My mind spun back to my conversation with Miss Celia and then to the West. Was Miss Mabel’s mother Angelina still alive? Should I go to the West and destroy the binding tomorrow?
“Are you sure Leda will be in the library?” Michelle asked.
“No,” I admitted as we stepped through the stained glass doors and into the expansive library foyer. “Leda’s an enigma most days.”
“She’s been gone a lot lately,” Michelle said, her thick forehead furrowed into lines. “I can never find her, especially in the afternoons. It’s odd.”
“Yes,” I said with a little sigh, having noticed her absences myself. “But everything about Leda is odd, isn’t it?”
Michelle agreed with a shy smile.
We walked through the foyer and into the main library. Books lined the three-story walls at every crack and seam, crawling to a stop at the ceiling, which formed a dome painted with murals of Letum Wood. Even in Chatham Castle I couldn’t escape the vines and leaves of the forest. The quiet hush of the librarians and the bustle of witches walking by filled my ears. Ladders moved along rolling tracks by the bookshelves, following the librarians as they walked from spot to spot.
I spotted Leda the moment I walked in. Books, scrolls, jars of ink, and molted feather pens filled a table built for ten in the middle of the library. Leda sat in the middle of the organized array, her lips moving wordlessly as she read from one book in her lap, then turned to look at another sitting on the table next to her.
“Can you see her in between all the books over there?” I asked Michelle, pointing her direction. A daunting tower of books blocked Leda’s head the closer we walked.