The Isadora Interviews (The Network Series #1.5)(9)

“Oh, Aunt Bettina, I’d love to go!” Camille found her tongue in a mad rush of words. “I’ll do whatever I have to! I’ll do my algebra. I’ll improve my sewing. I’ll work longer hours at the bakery—”

Her spinning dreams slowed to a standstill when she took in Bettina’s stiff shoulders and pursed lips. Angie’s tea cup trembled as she lifted it to drink, then abandoned her goal halfway through and set it down to return to her vague dreams.

“Camille, there’s something you need to think about before you do this. Are you listening?” Bettina asked.

“Of course.”

“Miss Mabel’s is an advanced school for witches that involves serious studying. The good gods know I’ve debated whether I should have done this, whether you’re up to the challenge, but I can’t take it back now. It’s no secret that you don’t love studying and have the attention span of a four-year-old.”

The familiar feeling of loneliness and hurt crept over Camille. Bettina wanted to get rid of her, to send her away to school and restore the perfect balance of the silent house. It was all she could do to keep her tears under control.

“You don’t think I would study?” Camille asked, unable to keep the wounded look from her eyes.

“I didn’t say that, Camille. I simply said you’ll need to work harder than you do now.”

I’d do anything to get away from here! I can’t study when it’s so quiet.

“I will,” she promised, and she meant it more than anything. There was nothing she wanted more than to leave and never see Bettina’s infernal rituals ever again.

“Then we need to discuss what you plan to study,” Bettina said, setting the scroll aside. “You must have a purpose, a plan. Otherwise it’ll just be your usual chaotic madness, and you’ll have no motivation.”

Camille wanted to say it wasn’t true but bit the inside of her cheek instead.

“I don’t know yet,” she finally said.

Bettina shot her a sharp look and took the last careful sip of tea.

“Figure it out before you go. No one likes a student without focus.”

Or a world without color, like this one.

“Yes, Bettina,” she mumbled. “May I go?”

“Yes,” Bettina said in a low tone, “you may go.”

Camille burst from the chair with a gusto that made it clatter and nearly fall. She ignored the warning glare from Bettina and left the house, and all of its anxiety, behind her.

???

“She wants to get rid of me.”

Camille popped a flower off a nearby stem, and pressed it to her nose. The petals felt like the gentle caress of a fingertip. She closed her eyes and imagined her mother there, listening to her, advising her.

“She wants to be rid of me so badly that she’s trying to send me to a school she doesn’t think I qualify for.”

No, her mother would say with a warm smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. That’s not it at all. Bettina and Angie love you, they just don’t know how to show it. And I love you too. You’ll be wonderful at Miss Mabel’s, Cammie. You’ll be the loveliest girl there, with all the same pretty dresses and scarves to match them.

“You’re probably right,” Leda’s pragmatic tone swooped in instead, shattering Camille’s vision of her mother and bringing her crashing back to reality. “You do tend to make Bettina crazy. But at least she’s sending you.”

Her unspoken words hung between them.

And you can afford to go.

Camille’s hand fell to her side, away from her face. The disappointment was acute. Leda was far too logical to understand the haunting emptiness of Bettina’s house.

“Yes,” Camille sighed, knowing Leda would never see it her way. “I suppose you’re right.”

They sat on an old swing tethered to a gazebo in the middle of Hansham. It could hardly be called a town—little more than a village, if that. A vague dirt road ambled down the middle, creating a kind of main street. The apothecary stood at the end, where Mr. Hymas, the Coven leader for this part of Letum Wood, worked. He lived above it with his wife, and was a well-groomed, charismatic witch that should have lived in a city but loved the woods far too much.

The grocer’s stall stood next to the apothecary, looking shabby in comparison. Miss Kathy’s bakery brought up the end of the road, the chimney puffing away with a thin stream of smoke. Camille sniffed.

Vanilla almond cookies today, she thought, her stomach grumbling. She wished it were chocolate, or caramel. Those always made her feel better.

In the distance, a blacksmith pounded away on some horseshoes. It was a cozy scene to any newcomer, but a dull prison to both girls, who saw it every day. Their houses, like those of most witches in the area, were well-hidden in Letum Wood, ensconced in the verdant trees, accessible by footpath or a small road wide enough only to admit a horse and buggy.

After a few seconds of silence that Camille was certain had really been several minutes, she blurted out the question that lay heavily on her mind.

“Please, Leda?” she pleaded. “Please look ahead for me?”

Leda let out a long sigh.

“Camille, you know—”

“I know how you feel about looking into the future!” she quickly said, turning to Leda and grabbing her arm. “I know! But I’m so nervous, Leda. This is my chance to get away from Bettina, and Angie, and their horrid silent house with no color or anything pretty. Please?”