Miss Mabel's School for Girls (The Network Series #1)(3)

“I’ve met a lot of students, but never in my life . . .” She faltered. Her fidgeting and blank stares began to unnerve me. Wasn’t this a witch of great magical knowledge and power?

She set the china cup down with a resolute clank.

“I’m going to let you in, Bianca, but I do so with one warning.”

Her creaky, anxious voice took away any chance to feel relief. I waited, holding my breath, while she stared into my eyes.

“Don’t underestimate her.”

I didn’t need to ask whom she meant. The name hung in the air between us like an anvil on a fraying string.

Miss Mabel.

We stared at each other. I wondered just what she saw about me, what facets of my personality, and what motives she understood that I didn’t. Before I drew up the courage to ask, Isadora turned away again, as if she couldn’t stand to look at me, and took another sip of her tea.

My right wrist burned. I grabbed it, which gave only a moment of relief.

When I pulled my hand away, a black circle of ancient, minuscule words lay on the inside of my wrist. The circlus. Without it, the magic surrounding the boundaries of Letum Wood that housed Miss Mabel’s School for Girls wouldn’t allow me in.

My stomach flipped.

I did it.

My chest sank, heavy with fear and weak with relief. I suppressed the rush of panic, banishing it to the corners of my mind. No panic here, just confidence.

I spent years preparing for this. It won’t frighten me now.

I was a terrible liar. Attending Miss Mabel’s School for Girls did frighten me, but so did staying home, forfeiting my only chance at freedom.

Isadora seemed to recover her wits with surprising speed. She sat up, set her napkin on the table, and straightened her wobbly legs.

“Have you said goodbye to your mother?”

“Yes,” I said, wincing inside. The fear in her eyes haunted me. Mama didn’t want me to go, not like this. There has to be another way, she whispered to me last night, tears in her eyes that she never shed. I don’t like this, Bianca. What if something happens to you? I hated leaving her.

But I still did it. Because I had to.

Nothing bad will happen, I promised her. I can do this. I know I can.

Isadora nodded once. “Very well, come. Let’s continue your education. I can see that Mabel will be quite . . . pleased to have you.”

Grateful to get out of the close little parlor, I walked past the window to see a figure moving out from behind a tree. Mama stood amongst the dark woods with her queer gray eyes, her ebony hair restless in the wind.

“Merry part, Mama,” I whispered. The memory of Papa’s voice ran through my head as I stared at her, my homesick heart already raw and throbbing.

Mabel is the one of the cleverest witches in the Central Network. She’s the only one that can remove your curse. You must remember: Mabel does no favors. Be careful, B.

Your life depends on it.

???

Isadora led me through her house to a rickety back porch where a torch illuminated the ground. A single trail ran from a set of wooden stairs, disappearing into trees and deadfall beyond. The gray and muted brown leaves matched my simple brown dress. Winter robbed Letum Wood of color, leaving it stark and ugly.

“Well, keep to the trail.” Isadora cast a look at the sky. “It looks like rain, so you better hurry. It’s at least an hour’s walk to the school from here.”

“Thank you.”

I pulled the hood of my cloak over my long black hair and took a few steps forward. Every minute of my life led to this moment. Fate may be a fickle mistress, I thought, glancing at the sky, but she isn’t entirely unforgiving.

Isadora called to me, stopping me in my tracks.

“Did you know they are taking volunteers for the Competition tonight?”

I kept my hood up and my eyes on the ground so she couldn’t read my expression.

“Yes,” I said. “I heard that rumor.”

I left before she could ask more, evaporating in the mist of Letum Wood.





Merry Meets

The tree branches rattled together in hollow knocks from the wind, and a few brittle leaves fluttered past my legs as I started. A chill bit through my black cloak, wrapping me in a crisp blanket of cool air. Once I’d put some space between us, I looked back. Only an empty porch and extinguished torch remained.

Glad to leave the interview behind, I whispered a special incantation, one Papa found just for me. The folds of my skirt lifted up, like an invisible hand was drawing a pair of drapes, until they stopped around my waist. My frilly white knickers, lovingly sewn by Grandmother’s arthritic hands, revealed themselves to all of Letum Wood. No one would be here on the trail, but I cast my eyes around just in case.

Clear.

I took off at a steady jog, holding my cape so it wouldn’t tangle in my legs. My muscles warmed to the movement with little preamble, and I gave them room to fly. The forest soared past, a whiz and whir of spindly branches and old moss. The familiar staccato rhythm of my heart soothed me; all of my anxiety melted into the cool earth. I pounded down the path.

A storm threatened to break with every gust of wind that hurried me along. My thoughts spun, recalling the smell of lavender tea in Mama’s cup, the down pillow I left behind, and the garden of spices in front of our little cottage that Grandmother loved so much. The melancholy caw of a crow reminded me that I was alone.