Miss Mabel's School for Girls (4 page)

“No, thank you. Is something wrong with Leda?” I asked. Camille followed my gaze to her odd friend and then waved her hand with a high pitched laugh.

“Oh, she’s fine. Just–”

Leda snapped to attention, blinking several times. She shook her head.

“Thinking,” Camille finished with a fixed smile. “She likes to think. A lot. Don’t mind her. Are you sure you don’t want the croissant?”

I refused it again with a shake of my head. 

“No, thank you. Can you tell me–”

“Miss Mabel doesn’t come to meals,” Leda said, brushing her white blonde hair away from her face with a careless flap of her hand. “In fact, she doesn’t show up very much at all. At least not so far this year. School started two weeks ago, and we have yet to meet her.”

My fork fell to the table with a loud clatter. How did she know what I was about to ask? I quickly retrieved it. “Butter on my fingers,” I said with a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

Camille shot Leda a sharp look, which faded into her sweet smile as soon as she saw I was watching.

“Miss Mabel is very busy, I’m sure, as High Witch over the school and Coven leader for this part of Letum Wood,” Camille said with a stiff voice. “A feast with teenagers is far from priority.”

My eyes drifted past Leda, falling on a banner stretching across the broad hearth that said,
‘Feast of the Competition.’
Garland crept around its edges, ornamented with cranberries and strung with twine and deep red ribbon.

A girl with strawberry blonde hair called from a few places down the bench.

“We’re taking bets on how many volunteers there will be and who the final winner is. What are your guesses, Camille?” she asked.

Camille straightened with a proud swell of her chest, obviously gratified to be included.

“Priscilla,” she said with confidence. “And I think four will be the final number of Competitors.”

The rest of the table broke out in a chorus of agreements. The girl with strawberry blonde hair wrote her answers on a scroll, then turned away, pointedly ignoring Leda.

“The third-year you told me about?” I asked Camille.

“Yes,” she said, spearing a caramelized carrot with a stab. “Everyone knows that Priscilla is going to win. She’s so smart. You’ve heard of the Competition before, haven’t you?”

My stomach fluttered at the question.
Heard of it? Every year of my life.

“Yes, I have. My village likes to hear about the Competition after it’s done. What is Miss Bernadette like?” I asked, hoping to deter Camille onto something more mundane. Thinking about the Competition killed my appetite, and I still had piles of food to try.

Leda’s eyes flickered briefly to me, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip and her eyebrow lifting in suspicious question.

Leda’s going to be a hard one to fool.

Camille, to my luck, proved easy to distract.

“I love Miss Bernadette,” she said with a dreamy breath. “She’s just lovely, isn’t she? She’s so kind and patient. She’s even been helping me with geometry after class. I’m terrible at math.”

Camille took over the conversation for the rest of the meal, chattering about people I should meet, and who to avoid. A third-year with a tilted nose and porcelain skin, the famous Priscilla, shot a few curious looks my way. I ignored her. She had the sour pinch of someone sucking on a pickle.

Once conversations began to slow and the pastries disappear, Miss Scarlett stood up. She didn’t have to say a word to get total silence.

“I trust all of you will let Miss Celia know how much you appreciate her hard work in the kitchen, as well as the third-year Culinary Mark students who helped. Michelle and Rebecca, you have done an exemplary job in such a short time. It’s no wonder the students from Miss Mabel’s are first pick to work for the High Priestess at Chatham Castle.”

A polite smattering of hands came from the crowd, and two students standing near Miss Celia in the back flushed and waved. It died down shortly, and Miss Scarlett continued.

“The Competition is a centuries-old tradition that dates back to the time when the five Networks formed, when mortals and witches coexisted in peace throughout all of Antebellum.”

Smoke from the fire twirled in the air near her, forming two groups of people at war. Her voice lowered, resonating through the room. I’d heard the legend hundreds of time, but it never felt more real than now, watching it unfold.

“Then the great division took place when greedy mortals began killing witches for their land. The witches cursed the mortals in retribution, and so the Reformation began. Witches grouped together for protection and birthed the five Networks.”

The smoke people fled, running to each other and forming five separate groups.

“Banded together, the Networks drove the mortals out of Antebellum and sent them across the ocean to find a new land. The race of witches won. Esmelda, the first High Priestess of the Central Network, formed special schools to educate natural born leaders from a young age.”

The vapor twisted into a haunted building like the school.

“Only the worthy enter these schools as students. You are the chosen few, evidenced by the circli on your wrists.”

As one, almost all the students looked down at their wrists. I kept my eyes on Miss Scarlett, preferring not to look at the ring of ancient words. Legend had it that the words were different for every witch, encompassing their strengths and weaknesses, written in a language that none remembered.

“You will attend this school for three years. The first two years of your education will encompass knowledge of our witching world. Potions. Alchemy. Geography. Algebra. Herbology. Divination. History. Symbology, and the like. But the third year, the final year, you’ll work for the three marks that will determine your place in the Network.”

The smoke building drifted apart, forming a wide circle in the air, shimmering from the embers of the fire. Symbols appeared. Triangles. Circles. Interlocked lines. There were too many to see them all.

“The three marks you earn will appear in your circlus. It’s a sign of education, of pride, that will never leave.” Miss Scarlett elevated her chin. “One you should remain worthy of at all times.”

The vapor twisted again, churning into several willowy, girlish figures. Shadows climbed the wall behind Miss Scarlett, giving her a ghostly, ethereal look. Most of the students watched, transfixed, leaning forward in their seats until the edge of the table stopped them. Even I couldn’t fight the draw of her storytelling.

“But this is not all Esmelda began.” Miss Scarlett shook her head, her voice dipping low. “She instituted the Competition. The prize was a one-on-one education with the High Witch of the school to the girl who is clever above all others.”

The smoke figures dissolved, leaving one behind that wavered in the warm air.

“Tonight, the third-years may volunteer for the Competition. Whoever wins will become Miss Mabel’s pupil and her Assistant. I don’t need to remind you what an honor that would be.”

The smoke figures disappeared with a pop, breaking the gloomy atmosphere. Students startled back into reality, blinking as if they’d stepped into a very bright light.

“Are there any questions?”

The only sounds were the crackle of the fireplace and the purr of the cat. Miss Scarlett rubbed her lips together and pulled in a deep breath.

“Very well. We will now take volunteers for the Competition.”

Miss Bernadette stepped forward with another teacher in a full yellow dress and wide blue eyes. She had a rigid wooden smile and diamond earrings so long they touched her shoulders.

“If you would like to become a Competitor, raise your hand now,” Miss Scarlett directed.

Priscilla’s hand shot into the air first. She waved a lock of her long red hair over her shoulder, smiling at the third-years around her who made a sighing sound of support. Leda rolled her eyes and returned to her book.

Two more third-years volunteered. “That’s Jade,” Camille leaned over to whisper in my ear, motioning towards a girl on Priscilla’s left. “The other one is Stephany. The three of them are best friends, and they’re all very competitive, not to mention popular. Each one of them is determined to win. It’s all they ever talk about. Should be interesting.”

Ah, the three most well-known girls decided to compete against each other. This would be a bloodbath by the end, if their tight smiles and fake exclamations of delight meant anything. The burly, thick-shouldered girl named Michelle that helped in the kitchen volunteered next, unnoticed by most of the school still gossiping over the previous three. Another silence settled on the room as every girl looked, waiting. My stomach gave an uneasy turn.

A gasp of shock came from my left, and I turned to see a student raising her hand on the other side of the room. The girl next to her tried to grab her arm and pull it down, but she fought her off, resolute.

I couldn’t help but notice how her hand trembled.

“What is Elana doing?” Camille asked. “She’s lost her mind! Second-years can’t volunteer.”

The room exploded in similar exclamations of surprise. Leda came out of her book to watch, and even Miss Scarlett’s mouth dropped open.

“Elana,” Miss Scarlett finally snapped, recovering. “What are you doing?”

“I-I’m volunteering, Miss Scarlett.” Elana stood up, her small shoulders squared. Priscilla, Jade, and Stephany clumped into conversation together. I could hear their mocking laughter.

“No, you’re not,” Miss Scarlett said. “You’re too young.”

“With all due respect–”

“I said no.”

“But Miss Scarlett–”

“You’re a second-year, Elana. Third-years are the only ones who may enter. I won’t accept you. It’s against the rules.”

Elana’s voice shook.

“Excuse me, but second-years are not excluded from entering. I checked the book.”

She nudged an old tome splayed open on the table with her hand. At Miss Scarlett’s silent nod of command, Miss Celia bustled to Elana’s side and read over her shoulder, turned a few pages, then looked up.

“She’s right,” Miss Celia said. “There’s no specific rule that it only be a third-year.”

Miss Scarlett’s eyes constricted, reminding me of a hawk.

“Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“Y-yes, Miss Scarlett. I attended school here last year. I spoke to the Competitors then. I’ve prepared myself all summer.”

An unreleased denial lingered in Miss Scarlett’s voice. “You really want to do this?”

Elana didn’t falter. “Yes.”

The room seemed to hold its collective breath, waiting for Miss Scarlett to grant or deny permission. My heart pounded beneath my ribcage on Elana’s behalf.

“Very well,” Miss Scarlett said with a tone that clearly said she washed her hands of the consequences. “Enter at your own risk, but know that I don’t like it. Miss Mabel will not change the challenges to make them safe for a second-year.”

Miss Bernadette hesitated, her hand lingering over the parchment. Miss Scarlett nodded to her, and Miss Bernadette slowly started to write, casting a worried glance back to Elana.

Elana lowered herself to her seat and placed her hand on her stomach, her face ashen.

“Anyone else?” Miss Scarlett looked over the third-years.

My father’s voice returned with a less-than-reassuring reminder as to why I was really here.

Mabel does no favors. Be careful, B.

With a deep breath, I raised my hand.

A Bit Mad

A
ripple of astonishment moved through the room. Miss Scarlett appeared at my side in what seemed like an instant.

“Follow me.” She yanked me to my feet. “Now.”

We went to the library next door, a warm room filled with shelves and yellowing maps on the wall. Volumes of old books occupied every available slot, tumbling over each other in piles on the floor near a few study tables. Sheets and rolls of parchment were scattered across a few tabletops, along with jars of ink and skinny feathers.

Miss Scarlett pushed me into a dusty chair. It faced a wall with two windows and a low fire that burned in the grate.

Miss Bernadette entered not far behind, closing the door after her. Miss Scarlett circled me like a slow vulture, her back ramrod straight.

“Are you a fool, Bianca Monroe?” Her voice came out in an annoyed burst, each word punctuated with emphasis. “You can’t volunteer for the Competition within your first hour of arriving. It isn’t done.”

Well, it is now.

I remained quiet, certain that anything I had to say would only make her angrier. She continued.
Stay calm,
I told myself.
Miss Mabel is always watching for weakness.

“It’s not safe. It takes years to prepare for something like this. Years! You’re insulting Miss Mabel and the third-years. I hope you know that.”

Her raised eyebrows indicated that she wanted a response. Despite my determination to see this through, I couldn’t help the slight tremor in my voice.