Miss Mabel's School for Girls (26 page)

Leda waved the newsscroll towards me without a word, buried in a book titled,
Economic History of the Eastern Network
. Clearly she was ready to be rid of us, vexed into silence before eating breakfast. It was an accomplishment that made me feel as if the day meant something. The scroll landed against my chest with a heavy thud.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

The
Chatham Chatterer
was made of a long, thin parchment of surprising resiliency. Most witches bought one newsscroll a year to keep until it wore out. Every time the
Chatterer
released a new edition, the words would shift on the scroll, so that its owner didn’t have to buy a new paper. Keeping the same parchment for long periods of time reduced waste and cost; it was one of the many ways the current High Priestess devised to save money and spread news quickly, something that had been sorely lacking in the Dark Days.

I glanced at the edition in the top right corner first. Fresh this morning. The
Chatterer
wasn’t consistent. Sometimes it could go a week without any new articles, sometimes it would release them twice a day. Checking a newsscroll was the only way to know.

Leda’s scroll was ripped in a few places and the ink smudged in spots where water must have damaged it. Like the second-hand clothes I’d seen her wear on the weekends, it had seen better days.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked, carefully skipping past a torn section of the scroll. She flushed and mumbled something about finding it.

“Leda is the oldest of nine brothers and sisters,” Camille said in a low whisper only I could hear. “They don’t have any money so she nabs newsscrolls from the street or gets them second hand and uses them until they give out. Looks like this one is just about there.”

I glanced up at Leda in surprise, but the book completely obscured her face. Having been an only child, I couldn’t imagine what a house full of kids would be like. No wonder Leda didn’t like people.

After muddling through a few headlines, I found the article in question and started to skim it.

A pair of Protectors following up on a lead found a group of West Guards lost in Letum Wood, near the border crossing of the Central and Northern Network. The West Guards were later reported to be on a trip to the Northern Network for a training mission.

I skipped past the drivel, searching for any sign of my father in the newsscroll’s words. Nothing. Papa was always somewhere between the lines, although they never used his name.

“Notice how they claimed to be on a training mission,” Leda said. “The West Guards don’t need training. They were going to the North to try to make a secret alliance with the Northern Network, I just know it.”

“Is that why you think Dane is an imbecile?” I asked.

“No,” Leda snorted, as if I’d offended her. “He’s an imbecile because he shouldn’t look to the North for help. They won’t come down from their mountains to save any of us.”

The article trailed off into a ramble about the recent history of the Western Network’s volatile relations with the other Networks and a discussion of the Central Network’s plans to increase security along the Borderlands by sending more Guardians. I let the scroll slide shut and handed it back to Leda, disappointed and relieved. Camille just let out a sigh and looked away, humming under her breath while she searched for a safer conversation. 

“Interesting,” I said, handing it back. “Thanks for sharing.”

“Ooh, look!” Camille cried, grabbing my arm. She waved to the other side of the room, where the beautiful second-year Brianna walked in with a new scarf around her neck. Brianna waved back with a sparkling smile dotted by perfect dimples and settled next to another second-year who stroked the fabric. Camille’s shoulders slumped. “Her mother is always sending her nice things. Bettina would never buy that. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a cape and scarf set like hers?”

I thought I heard her mutter
or a mother
under her breath but couldn’t be sure. Leda dropped the Chatterer into her ratty bag with a livid glare.

“You’ll fawn over fashion but you don’t even care about real problems,” she said in disgust. “We could go to war over this incident.”

“You’re right,” Camille admitted with no remorse. “I don’t care about the Western Network. But I do want that scarf.”

I silently applauded Camille’s sudden backbone. Leda glowered at my presumptuous smirk. She finished the rest of the meal in her book and made a point of ignoring us, her wrinkled brow casting a dark shadow over her face. Camille, distracted by a new deck of Diviners’ cards Jackie received that morning, turned her back on both of us, leaving me to myself.

My thoughts returned to the Esbat, depressing me. The unknown expectations hung around like a lurking, black storm. I tried to ignore it, but that just seemed to make the rain fall harder, threatening to down me. Some nights I woke from dreams of scrolls and ravens flying around my head. They attacked me, forming little paper cuts all over my hands, arms, and face. When I woke up, I thought I could feel blood and feathers on my cheek.

“Bianca? Hello?”

I jerked out of my reverie to find Camille waving her hand in front of my face.

“Are you there?”

“Sorry, what?”

She motioned around us. The dining room had emptied. Only Camille, Leda, and I remained behind. I let out a long breath.

“It’s almost time for class,” she said.

I stood up, rubbing my face to stimulate some energy. I’d been awake for four hours already, studying with the window wide open so I wouldn’t fall back to sleep. Miss Mabel conversed with me in three different languages during lectures now, sometimes switching in the middle of a sentence. She held me accountable for any information she gave, whether I understood it or not. Which, most of the time, I didn’t.

“Are you almost done with this mark yet?” Camille asked, studying me with a worried gaze. “You’re starting to look . . . ”

“Like death warmed over,” Leda said, pushing away from the table. I could tell her comment alleviated some of her annoyed gloom. Although I wanted to snap back, I didn’t have the energy to think up a proper retort. I let it slide.

“I meant to say haggard,” Camille said.

“Soon,” I replied with little conviction. “At least, I hope. The Esbat may come at any moment.”

A blessing and a curse. I needed all the time I could get to study, but hated waiting. I found myself yearning for it to come and put me out of my misery.

I walked with them as far as the first-year classroom, waved to Miss Bernadette, and then started up the spiral stairs to my own personal prison. A gloomy sky greeted me, echoing the sentiments in my chest.

“I have good news,” Miss Mabel said, sailing into the classroom and taking me by surprise. “Tomorrow is the last day of your three weeks. It’s a lucky twist of fate, as I just received word that we have an Esbat meeting tomorrow night. Should all go according to plan, you could come take notes for me. I do hate carting those scrolls around. So cumbersome.”

She wore a simple beige dress. It was the least elegant thing I’d ever seen her in, but with her hair down around her face, she had never looked more charming. It made breakfast feel like lead in my stomach.

A letter with the Network seal flew onto my desk behind her. I pulled out a bit of parchment and unfolded it. A letter from the Education Committee, acknowledging my test and setting the rules. The High Priest’s signature filled the bottom:
Briton Marx
.

“The written portion will start first thing in the morning,” Miss Mabel said, walking past the window that showed the gloomy sky. Raindrops plinked against the window pane and chased each other on their way down. “You’ll have four hours to complete it.”

“And the application portion?”

“That depends.”

“On the written portion?”

“Partially,” she said, and left it at that. Although I made it a point never to expect things to go as normal when working with Miss Mabel, part of me hoped for predictability, just this once. The letter didn’t give any more details. Miss Mabel’s lips turned down in dismay as she stared out at the weather.

“Too bad about the rain,” she lamented. “I wanted to show you a few advanced camouflaging spells that are optional to the curriculum.”

The last thing I needed was optional learning. I could barely keep my head above water. I sent out a silent, grateful call to the bleary weather. She circled around to face me.

“Have you completed your summary on the historical impact of the Esbat today?”

“Yes, Miss Mabel.”

“Did you write a paper on non-verbal lie detectors in the ancient Dorcali language?”

“Yes.”

“Have you studied the format in which I will require you to take notes should you pass the test?”

No, but that one would be easy to skim over tonight.

“Briefly, Miss Mabel.”

“Good. Take the day off to clear your head. Get some sleep. You look ghastly. Cramming won’t help you at this point. If you don’t know it already, it’s too late.”

•••

To my surprise, Miss Bernadette greeted me with her stunning smile the next morning at the Esbat final. Her close-cropped hair shone a reddish cocoa in the light. The calico cat sat on her lap, purring low in her chest as I neared.

“Hello, Bianca.” Miss Bernadette smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you, Miss Bernadette,” I said, blushing when I sounded too earnest. “I miss your class.”

“I’m sure you’re surprised that I’m filling in for Miss Mabel. The High Priest doesn’t like the teacher who instructed the student to give the test for the Esbat in order to prevent partiality. He’s particularly careful when testing students for the Esbat mark.”

Partiality, how absurd. I bit back the desire to laugh. Miss Mabel would burn off her eyebrows before she’d help me pass a test, but I couldn’t deny a measure of relief. Knowing Miss Mabel wouldn’t be around felt like loosening a corset. I could breathe again. My toes wiggled in my leather shoes, a blatant breach against the uniform that I didn’t bother to correct. Miss Scarlett would have noticed, but I doubt Miss Bernadette would mind. The need to feel a familiar comfort overruled my fear of censure.

“Please,” she motioned to a solitary desk. “Have a seat.”

A weighty scroll an inch thick landed on my desk with a thud. Miss Bernadette dropped a pencil next to it. I stared in disbelief. It looked like a textbook.
Whoever wrote this must be witless,
I thought.
Surely this will take all day.

“You have four hours to complete the exam. You are not allowed to leave the room. As soon as I say time is up, you must put your pencil down. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Bernadette,” I said calmly, instead of screaming like a shrew and running from the room. “I understand.”

“Then you may begin.”

Because of the increasing difficulty Miss Mabel had imposed on my homework through the weeks, the test was not hard. It unsettled me to realize she’d done me a favor by her ruthless and demanding tactics. The facts didn’t lie. Miss Mabel was an excellent teacher. She was also a heartless witch, but at least she knew what she was doing.

When Miss Bernadette called for me to put my pencil down, I still had a bundle of unanswered questions at the back. Terror threatened to overwhelm me.
No! It can’t be time already!
Would Miss Bernadette suspect the truth if I dropped candle wax on it, then claimed it had been an accident and demanded a retest?

Of course she would. The pressure of the last three weeks had finally made me dotty, I realized. Like the crazy old woman that babbled to her onions Camille told me about. Miss Bernadette took it with a smile but a firm resolve. If she read the fear in my eyes, she said nothing about it.

“Good luck, Bianca.”

Not knowing what to do next, I climbed the spiral stairs, numb, sat down on the edge of my bed, and waited. Thirteen years. Thirteen years attached to Miss Mabel with only death as my reprieve. I’d just brought a different curse upon myself tonight by not finishing the written final, one far more dangerous to me, and others, than the Inheritance curse.

Miss Mabel’s curvy frame filled my doorway an hour later. I hadn’t moved. I looked to the doorway, startled by her sudden appearance.

“You passed,” she said.

I straightened up in shock.

“What?” I asked. It came out more like an accusation than intended. “I mean, h-how is that–”

“You leave for the Esbat meeting in thirty minutes. I’d grab my cloak if I were you; it’s chilly out there. Meet in the hallway downstairs.”

I came to my feet as she turned to leave.

“Wait, Miss Mabel. What about the application portion of the test? I have to demonstrate the skills you taught me in order to attend the Esbat.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“I know. What better place to demonstrate your knowledge than during the Esbat?” She turned around to leave but stopped. “Oh, and Bianca? Take care not to make a single mistake on the next portion. You won’t have that luxury this time. One wrong move and, well, it’ll be a fun thirteen years.”