Miss Mabel's School for Girls (The Network Series #1)(10)

“I want to learn from Miss Mabel.”

They both stared at me. A long silence swelled, expanding until it felt like the quiet had pushed out all the air. The creak of the door opening broke it, and I felt as if I could breathe for the first time in minutes.

“Excuse me.” Miss Celia peeked in, looking at the teachers. “Mabel would like to talk to both of you.”

They glanced at each other with unreadable expressions.

“We’ll be right there, Celia,” Miss Scarlett said. Miss Bernadette let out a heavy breath and folded her hands in front of her, addressing me as she would a younger child.

“This is no game, Bianca.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? Mabel will not guarantee your safety.”

“I want to do this, Miss Bernadette.”

It’s more than that. I had to do it, but I didn’t mention that to her. The less they know, the better.

“There’s magic at work you couldn’t possibly know yet, and Mabel loves to challenge witches in the Competition.”

Miss Scarlett spoke from the doorway.

“Let’s go, Bernadette. We don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Miss Bernadette kept her eyes on me for a few moments more, then nodded.

“Okay.”

I stood up as she walked away.

“I can do this, Miss Bernadette,” I called after her, holding onto the back of my chair, feeling suddenly desperate. Why did all my plans hinge on the decisions of other people? “Will you tell her?”

Miss Bernadette stopped in the doorway.

“I’ll let her know you said that.”

The calico cat leapt onto a nearby table as the heavy door closed behind them. I stared at its strange yellow eyes and wondered how long it had been there.

???

The candle in my room sputtered whenever the wind blew past. It fluttered, threatened to die, and then straightened back up. I felt an odd kinship with it.

Although I ate plenty at dinner, the gnaw in my stomach afterwards had nothing to do with food. I sat on the floor, with my back against the wall and my knees drawn into my chest. It felt safer that way, like I could keep myself inside, protected from the wolves of my new environment. The sound of the girls shuffling to their separate rooms drifted in from the hallway. Their low voices disguised nothing.

“Do you think the new girl is serious?”

“Are they going to let her do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve never even heard of a first-year volunteering.”

“It’s not possible for her to actually win, is it?”

My fingertips skimmed the circlus. The red, swollen skin smarted with offense. I stopped touching it, instead covering it with my sleeve. It felt like a brand, properly categorizing me. Girl, witch, student. Nothing more, nothing less.

I am more than what they train me to be.

Something slid underneath my door, and departing footsteps left me in silence. A thick brown envelope, tied by a length of twine with the stem of a purple flower held in the middle of a knot. I held it in my hand, barely willing to breathe on it, as if it were a sheet of glass about to break.

When a knock came to my door, I jumped.

“Come in.”

Camille’s blond hair spilled in first. She gazed around, only half of her face visible.

“Are you busy? No? Great.”

Leda followed, then quickly shut the door and pressed a finger to her lips. We waited in a stressed silence until her shoulders relaxed a little. I wasn’t sure what we paused for until Leda said, “You’ve only got a few minutes before Miss Celia comes to do final checks.”

Camille hopped onto my bed and stared at me with wide, distressed eyes.

“Are you okay?”

I tucked the envelope in my sleeve and stood.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Back to calm and confident, I thought, pushing my worries away to deal with later. No fear.

“Then are you crazy?” Camille said in a high screech. “Why did you volunteer? No first-year has ever volunteered!”

“That’s not true,” Leda said, still standing by the door. “There’s been one other, but it was decades ago. They were injured in the first match and had to drop out.”

“Whatever.” Camille rolled her eyes. “My point is the same. You just volunteered for the Competition. On purpose. I can’t let the new girl do something so stupid without saying something.”

I had the feeling that there was a lot Camille couldn’t stop herself from talking about.

“I want a chance to learn from Miss Mabel,” I said.

Camille looked dubious. “Sure, but is your life worth it?”

“It can’t be that bad,” I countered, looking up to Leda for help, but finding none. The same distant expression covered her face, her forehead lost in deep furrows and lines.

“Brianna, she’s the second-year with really curly brown hair, told me that last year there were only two participants,” Camille said. “They left one morning after opening their envelopes and came back three weeks later. The loser had broken a leg.”

Camille leaned in towards me to emphasize her point.

“Broken. Leg.”

“I’m sure that’s a rare exception,” I said with false bravado, my voice breezy. “I won’t break my leg.”