Miss Mabel's School for Girls (The Network Series #1)(6)

“Welcome to Miss Mabel’s School for Girls.” When the silence stretched a beat too long she broke it, gesturing to the other side of the room with a hand. “Miss Bernadette will be your advisor.”

A slender woman in the corner stepped forward with a warm smile. Her short-cropped hair framed a lovely, heart-shaped face.

“Merry meet, Bianca,” she called in a voice that sounded like wind chimes. “It’s always good to have a new student.”

A rush of relief flooded me. She seemed very kind. I smiled and nodded in return.

“Merry meet, Miss Bernadette.”

“Sit with Camille,” Miss Scarlett ordered, turning back to a scroll of parchment floating in the air next to her. “Miss Bernadette will find you later to go over the rules and expectations. Dinner starts promptly at six every evening. This is your warning. Do not be late again. Jackie Simmons?”

A voice called out from across the room, “Here!” Camille and I quickly made our escape.

“Miss Scarlett is a real stickler for rules,” Camille whispered. “Don’t let her see you break them.”

“Thanks for not leaving me on my own.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Camille motioned the girls on the back bench to scoot down, and they made room for me at the end. The girl with white hair looked up in surprise, her book now hidden in her lap from Miss Scarlett’s roving gaze. She had two different-colored eyes, light brown and olive green, set against pale skin.

Miss Scarlett cleared her throat to get our attention.

“Now that roll is complete, we will proceed with the feast. After that I will take the names of the third-years who want to join the annual Competition. Miss Celia, we are ready.”

A swinging door banged open, streaming platters and bowls piled high with a succulent array of food. Miss Celia stood at the back, orchestrating the placement of the trays that didn’t obey her magical commands to exactness. Once every dish found the right spot, they descended on the tables with a light clink.

“Oh,” Camille groaned with a hand on her stomach. “Look at all this food. I’m starving! I’m going to eat until I die, and then it’ll be a happy passing.”

The quiet anticipation in the room exploded. Camille grabbed a fork and stabbed into a nearby pile of roasted potatoes. “Get it while it’s still here, Bianca. Food goes fast. Trust me, you don’t want to miss a single bite of Miss Celia’s cooking.”

Leda didn’t move. In fact, she still didn’t surface from her book, even after the scrumptious fare arrived. Following Camille’s example, I surveyed the options. Fruit salad with a shiny glaze. Slivered green beans with flecks of almond and butter. A pork chop with apple gravy landed on my plate last. No wonder Miss Celia had been stressed. The food on all six tables would be enough to feed a small contingent of Guardians. I had no doubt, after glancing around, that this small horde of girls would take care of it.

“So, Bianca,” Camille said through a bite of strawberry tart. “Where do you come from?”

A gleaming wheat roll tumbled off her loaded plate, hitting a glass of light green winterberry lemonade. The sugared, minty smell drifted towards me.

“Bickers Mill.”

Her forehead wrinkled as she swallowed. “Where’s that?”

“Not far from here. Just outside the border of Letum Wood on the west. What about you?”

“Leda and I come from Hansham. It’s on the border near the Eastern Network. It’s a part of Letum Wood as well. I think it’s the most beautiful place in all of Antebellum, but I haven’t even been outside of the Central Network.” A sheepish blush covered her face, and she licked a little strawberry glaze off the end of one finger with a murmur of enjoyment. “Mmm. Delicious. Anyway, this is the farthest I’ve been from my aunts’ home.”

I noticed the way she said aunts’ home and wondered about her parents.

Letum Wood encompassed nearly all of the Central Network. Because of Letum Wood, most of our Network consisted of trees and gentle hills, a continuous emerald wave of farmland and woods. We were the largest of the five Networks, nestled in the middle, away from the harsh deserts of the West and the breezy coastline of the East. Below us, the Southern Network hibernated most of the year in snow. A rugged, domineering mountain chain separated the Northern Network from the rest of us. It had been years since the other Networks’ last contact with them.

Camille helped herself to a bite of pork chop slathered with baked apple wedges and motioned to the girl across the table.

“This is Leda, by the way. I mentioned her earlier.”

I didn’t tell her that I’d surmised it myself. Leda acted as if she hadn’t heard and kept her face in the book in front of her. Camille dished food onto Leda’s plate, most of which consisted of vegetables and fruit. No meat. The scrumptious fare went unnoticed.

“Nice to meet you too, I’m sure,” I muttered and bit into a crusty piece of brown bread smeared with tart raspberry preserves, my jumpy nerves almost forgotten under the tantalizing fragrance of the feast. The yeasty, warm smell of Miss Celia’s fresh bread proved her talent at once. Camille hadn’t been exaggerating.

“We’ve been waiting for you to come for a while now,” Camille said.

I almost choked.