Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(53)

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be afraid,” she said, regarding me with her lazy gaze. “As I’m sure you overheard, I’m not the only witch out there who wants the Central Network, so I’m not the only one you have to fear. Don’t be so stupid next time, silly fool. You’ll die when the binding’s time runs out, or you’ll prove yourself useful. Merry part, Bianca. I do look forward to our next visit.”

I fell down into the blackness that transportation brings, where the pressure made me feel alive and the rush of air was so painful I screamed. The darkness won, claiming me as her own.





Color of Goodbye

Miss Mabel sent me to Letum Wood.

After disentangling myself and clumps of my hair from a pile of brambles, I stumbled through the trees to find the lights of Chatham Castle glowing in the distance.

“Just get inside,” I whispered to myself. “I’ll think about it all later.”

I had to focus. I needed to get inside without a Guardian detecting me. I skirted the back hedge and dodged a pair of Guardians walking their rounds by ducking behind a sculpture of some forgotten High Priest. They had passed by me, unaware of my presence, when a low bugle broke the quiet night. My eyes jerked up to the castle, suddenly aware of how many Guardians stood at the top of the Wall.

The bugle was an ancient calling system used in times of war or distress. It could be heard across the entire Network, calling every Coven Leader to Chatham Castle. I headed for the Wall at a jog. A familiar head of curly blonde hair waited at the top.

“Camille!” I called, running up the stairs. “What’s going on?”

Camille threw herself into my arms with a cry.

“Are you okay?” she asked, pulling away to study me. “You look so pale. Is that blood in your hair?”

“No, I’m fine," I said, gesturing to the lower bailey below. “What’s going on?”

Brecken stood behind her in his half-armor, holding onto the hilt of his sword with a white-knuckle grip. His eyes darted around the Wall and the high bailey, barking orders to the occasional Guardian.

“They just sounded the bugle,” Camille said. “We’re waiting for the High Priestess to come out now.”

“Leda?” I asked. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know!” Camille wailed, wringing her hands. “I was out here and—”

“Camille! Bianca!” Leda called from halfway up the stairs with Michelle at her heels. “Did we miss anything?”

“Not yet,” I said.

Leda gave me a dark look, but I saw the relief behind it.

“All right?” she asked quietly, glancing at my head. I touched it with my left hand and a few spots of blood came away on my fingertips. I nodded once.

“Bad feeling?” I asked.

“I guess we can see why.”

A small group of witches gathered in the bailey below us. Their voices echoed off the Wall, making the crowd seem twice as big. Every now and then a new witch would transport in with mussed hair, wearing a robe and a sleepy expression.

Tiberius walked amongst the Guardians at the front gate, eyeing every witch that entered. Protectors were probably hiding in plain sight, wearing casual clothes and having transformed small details of their face. A bulbous nose, thick eyebrows, and a new hair color made them a totally different witch. As masters of disguise, they blended in flawlessly. I wondered if Merrick was with them when the second bugle sounded. It came from the second-tallest turret, where the scarlet and gold Central Network flag flapped in the wind.

“One more,” Leda said. “One more call and the High Priestess will come out.”

All of us remained silent, absorbing the currents of tension running through the walls. Even Camille didn’t speak as she grabbed my hand and waited with wide eyes. Snippets of conversation below filtered up to us.

“Must be bad news.”

“Think the High Priestess is okay?”

“I’ll bet something happened in the Borderlands.”

“Perhaps the war has finally begun.”

The ringing tones of the third bugle seemed to take forever to come, and when they did, even longer to finish. The High Priestess stepped out the main doors and stood at the edge of the first floor. Most leaders spoke from the balcony three stories higher, but Mildred insisted on standing amongst the witches, elevating herself only enough to be seen.

From this distance, the High Priestess looked every inch a leader and a witch without fear. She held her head high, her shoulders squared. I wondered if her knees ever trembled, or if she too feared the things she couldn’t control. Miss Mabel’s words came back to me.

I wouldn’t pass on the pleasure of killing her for the world.

“Witches of the Central Network,” the High Priestess called. Her voice projected over the bailey and the crowd of Coven Leaders, carried by a special incantation. “I have ill tidings to bring you tonight. We have just received word that Almack, the High Priest of the Western Network, has passed from this life.”

Camille clenched my hand. I returned the gesture, recalling again the long, mournful wails in the Western Network. I didn’t have to force a concerned look.

“Almack’s life was one of leadership and service. He brought peace and prosperity to a constantly restless Network. The West shall mourn the loss of his company.”