Miss Mabel's School for Girls (13 page)

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Miss Bernadette.”

“I’ll walk down with you.”

We descended the stairs with no sound except for the rustle of her royal blue skirt. She wore a white jacket with it. The colors were the same that the students wore, but the style infinitely kinder. She looked like someone I would want as my older sister, and for a moment, that calmed my frayed nerves.

“Thank you for coming to get me, Miss Bernadette.”

She smiled and put a hand across my shoulders.

“It’s my pleasure. I’m very proud of you for getting this far.”

The look in her eyes when I finished the first task didn’t support this assertion. My response stalled on my tongue as I struggled over what to say.

“I-I wanted to ask you about the end of the first match,” I said. It came out so breathy and rushed I wasn’t sure she understood it until her forehead wrinkled. She stared straight ahead, her lips pressed together.

“What about it?”

“It’s just that I . . . I-I wasn’t sure . . . You seemed so concerned when I finished. I thought that maybe–”

Miss Bernadette turned a corner and started down the wide stairway; I followed close behind.

“I had been concerned for you out in the woods is all,” she said. Her tone seemed off, like she was trying too hard to make it light. “You must have mistaken my relief for worry.”

“Yes,” I said, eyeing her from behind as she continued on, a few steps ahead of me so that I couldn’t look into her eyes. “A mistake.” Soon we turned past the dining room, so eerily empty and quiet, and headed down the hall.

“Good luck,” she whispered. Miss Scarlett stood outside the library, waiting like a dark specter.

“Late,” she quipped in a low voice only I could hear. “Unseemly.”

The students split into the three year groups. The grave faces and nervous whispers made me wonder if I’d walked into a funeral. Even the musty smell of books seemed close and overwhelming. Camille, Leda, and Jackie stood in front of the first-years. I had three champions, at least. Camille still wrung her hands, so I gave her a smile that seemed to reassure her.

Priscilla and Elana stood at an old table near the fire facing the room. Three thumb sized glasses stood along the middle of the desk, half full with water. A single envelope rested against the glasses. A tattered collection of old books lined the edges. Next to the table was a circular stand packed with glass jars of herbs and potions. I recognized hemp, kawakawa leaves, and dried lemon zest.

Elana met my eyes briefly and returned her gaze to the far wall. That steely expression owned her face. Priscilla and I made a mutual point of ignoring each other. Miss Scarlett closed the library door as the cat ran by in a flash of black and brown.

“You may open the envelope and begin,” she announced.

So that was it. One of us would lose a dream, or our life, and it all started with a simple
have a go
. The lack of preamble felt anticlimactic, but delaying the inevitable would have been worse.

Priscilla snatched the letter with a toss of her gleaming red hair. I envied her for getting to it first and tried not to look as nervous as I felt.

Confidence,
I reminded myself.

“I’ll read it,” she said, sending me a smug look.

Satisfied she had everyone’s attention, she cleared her throat and began to read.

Beloved Competitors,

Welcome to the second match!

In front of you is a glass of what appears to be water, but looks can be deceiving. It is not water. To begin, the three of you will drink the contents. You will then create an antidote to the symptoms. The last person to figure out the cure will lose. Feel free to use the books on the table for reference, as well as the herbs and spices to the right.

As you already know, nothing is ever what it seems.

Always yours,

Miss Mabel

Priscilla folded the letter and set it on the table, compressing her lips in a poor attempt to hide a smile. I could see her certainty in the smooth way she shot the third-year group a wink. The three of us sat there for several seconds, waiting.

All arrogance aside, no one wanted to be the first to drink.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach that told me this wasn’t going to be good so I might as well get it over with, I reached for the glass and drank it in one swallow. Another wave of shock went through the school. I heard a few whispers.

“She took it first!”

“Demented.”

Priscilla slipped me a private scowl and took her own.

The effects were immediate, and intense.

Fire coated my stomach like a hot glove. I doubled over with a cry of surprise. My stomach rolled and twisted in molten heat.

The cramps eased as fast as they came, giving me time to grapple for a book before Elana or Priscilla moved. Once the feeling abated, it grew again. I fell to my knees, knocking the empty glass to the floor. It landed with a dull thud and spun in a circle on its side.

This challenge had to be about more than creating an antidote. Miss Mabel could have tested our skills for potions in an infinite number of ways. Agony like this didn’t come without reason. The tightening started in my bowels again. I held my breath and waited it out, only able to think in bits and pieces.

Priscilla whimpered nearby. I thought I saw Elana doubled over, but couldn’t be sure of anything.

The pain receded enough for me to grapple for
A Complete List of Medicinal Herbs and Their Purposes
again. Using the table as a crutch, I pulled myself up, then leaned against the edge and flipped to the table of contents. The knotting misery swelled too soon.

Gripping the edge of the table and clenching my teeth helped me pass the next wave. It lasted for ten eternal seconds before loosening. I turned what little brain power I had to the book and had to blink several times to understand the reference for
stomach ailments
. It took me two waves before I got to the right page in the book.

I skimmed with desperation.

Nothing.

Nothing described this kind of pain. It wasn’t a stomach ailment. This was a form of torture. How could I create a potion if I couldn’t even hold myself up?

Elana followed my lead and used the table as a support. The occasional exclamation of horror and fascination from the students behind me filtered through my mind.

“What’s happening to them?”

“I can’t watch.”

“Is this allowed?”

Startling me with a half-choked, half-exultant cry, Elana ripped a page of her book out. She collapsed to the floor and started to crawl towards the table of herbs. Miss Celia waved the students away when they tried to help, forcing them to back up into each other. Priscilla stumbled after Elana, her face pale beneath a small smattering of freckles.

I looked up to see Camille watching with her hands slapped over her face, her eyes round. Leda dazed out, her jaw tight and lips compressed. I wasn’t sure I could beat this. By the looks on their faces, they weren’t either.

The cramps overwhelmed me, and I fell to my knees again with a cry. 

There was one thing it could be. One thing Grandmother warned me about years ago when a man came into the shop looking for a specific solution.

The Vibrio is a terrible thing,
she had told me in her shaky voice.

It hides in many places. Never drink a clear potion if you don’t know exactly what it is. It could be the Vibrio. It has no taste, no color, and no smell. Nearly undetectable, if it didn’t make you so sick.

It’s a terrible experience to survive.

Surely the pain made me batty. The Central Network didn’t allow Vibrio. The High Priestess banned it when she took power forty years ago. The previous High Priestess, Evelyn, had used it on innocent witches to force false confessions from them.

Scrambling through the book, I skimmed its pages until I came to a collection of potions at the back. At the herb table, Elana stuffed a few dark green leaves into her mouth, mewling as she chewed. Priscilla sorted through the jars, then fell to her knees with a shriek, her eyes screwed shut.

I found the entry.

The Vibrio potion was originally intended to cure stomach ailments, but over time evolved into many different forms. Mild concoctions are used to treat stomach cramps, while stronger forms may induce extreme spasms and pain immediately upon consumption.

Vibrio has no treatment. Using herbs or potions to alleviate the symptoms may prolong the effects.

It took me three attempts to comprehend, and by then, I wasn’t sure I read it right.

This was a bloody nightmare. One I wouldn’t survive. I doubled over from a new wave of pain, my stomach churning and grinding. Dying from this curse would be a welcome reprieve. I embraced the thought.

“You can do it, Bianca!”

Camille’s voice broke through my glazed mind. She dropped to her knees so I could see her, calling so frantically over all the other voices that she sounded like a bleating sheep.

“You can do it! You’ll survive this. You’ll survive!”

I started to shake my head. No. They couldn’t understand this pain, this cramping horror. No education was equal to this misery. But then Leda fell to her knees next to Camille. She just stared at me. 

“It’s worth it,” Leda said. “It’s worth it.”

“You can do it,” Camille said again. Underneath the pain bloomed a new determination, the only thing I understood. They believed it was worth it. It must be. Grimacing through the agony, I straightened, trusting their judgment when my own felt so skewed and twisted. Camille smiled. 

“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, you can do it!”

A strangled sound came from the herb table, drawing my weak attention. 

“Stop,” I called to Elana, my voice coming out in a weak gasp. The waves turned into a constant, uncontrollable burn, like pouring a bowl of cinders into my abdomen. “Elana, Priscilla, don’t–”

They continued to sort through jars in desperation. 

“Elana!” I yelled. It came out strangled at best. Using my elbows, I crawled towards the table. 

“Stop! Stop! It’s Vibrio!”

Someone behind must have understood my garbled cry because students began repeating me in whispers.

“Vibrio?”

“She said it’s Vibrio!”

“No!”

The crash of glass broke through my thoughts. Priscilla fell over again, taking several jars with her. Miss Celia called all the glass shards to her hand before Priscilla fell into them.

Elana grabbed another jar with a wild look in her eye, stuffing whatever she could find into her mouth.

“Stop!” I yelled, with all my strength. “Elana!”

It didn’t matter. A wave of sweet blackness came as the pain ballooned, crushing me.

I fell into it and knew no more.

Are You Scared?

T
he silence woke me.

For a moment, I thought I was home, with my mother bustling in the background as she boiled water for raspberry leaf tea. Grandmother sat at the table, tying the new crop of basil in little white packets while humming under her breath. Expecting to see the sun streaming through the windows, I opened my eyes. The darkness dissipated enough to reveal Miss Bernadette at my side.

No tea, no basil leaves, and no sunlight. Just the shadows cast by my new life and remnants of my old one.

“Bianca,” Miss Bernadette said, her melodic voice wavering like the ripples on water. The blackness ebbed away, escorting me into reality by the sore throb of my stomach.

“Are you okay?”

She hovered over me with the concerned touch of a mother, brushing my hair out of my face. I wanted to fall into her warm hand and disappear.

“I think so,” I whispered, sounding petulant.

“Tough match,” she said.

I wanted to laugh, but the muscles in my stomach refused.

“Do you remember anything?” she asked.

“The Vibrio potion.” My eyes adjusted enough to the candlelight that I could see her features. “I think–”

“You passed out during the second match.”

I placed my hand on my stomach to quell the memory of the pain. The sound of shattering glass and the feel of the fire ripping through my body came to me again.

“Did I make it?”

Miss Bernadette leaned back in her chair. As she moved, her flowery perfume washed over me, and my stomach revolted.

“You didn’t lose,” she said with a sharp intake of breath. “There are no winners in a match like that.”