Miss Mabel's School for Girls (5 page)

“I-I mean no insult, Miss Scarlett.”

“You couldn’t even know what you’re up against. This Competition is too much for some of our third-years. And now you expect to join. A first-year!”

Miss Bernadette stepped forward.

“Bianca,” she said. “Miss Scarlett is right. You have some explaining to do.”

Yes, but I wouldn’t explain anything, not really. I’d practiced this conversation over and over in my head for months now and knew exactly what I wanted to say.

“What would you like me to explain, Miss Bernadette?”

My hands hurt from clenching and I forced them to relax, grateful to speak with Miss Bernadette instead. Her calm voice had a soothing effect, sweeping over me with a warm breeze that brushed against my cheek. 

“Why do you want to compete?”

Keep to the facts. They rarely lie.

“I want to learn from Miss Mabel.”

They both stared at me. A long silence swelled, expanding until it felt like the quiet had pushed out all the air. The creak of the door opening broke it, and I felt as if I could breathe for the first time in minutes.

“Excuse me.” Miss Celia peeked in, looking at the teachers. “Mabel would like to talk to both of you.”

They glanced at each other with unreadable expressions.

“We’ll be right there, Celia,” Miss Scarlett said. Miss Bernadette let out a heavy breath and folded her hands in front of her, addressing me as she would a younger child.

“This is no game, Bianca.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? Mabel will not guarantee your safety.”

“I want to do this, Miss Bernadette.”

It’s more than that. I had to do it, but I didn’t mention that to her. The less they know, the better.

“There’s magic at work you couldn’t possibly know yet, and Mabel loves to challenge witches in the Competition.”

Miss Scarlett spoke from the doorway.

“Let’s go, Bernadette. We don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Miss Bernadette kept her eyes on me for a few moments more, then nodded. 

“Okay.”

I stood up as she walked away.

“I can do this, Miss Bernadette,” I called after her, holding onto the back of my chair, feeling suddenly desperate. Why did all my plans hinge on the decisions of other people? “Will you tell her?”

Miss Bernadette stopped in the doorway.

“I’ll let her know you said that.”

The calico cat leapt onto a nearby table as the heavy door closed behind them. I stared at its strange yellow eyes and wondered how long it had been there.

•••

The candle in my room sputtered whenever the wind blew past. It fluttered, threatened to die, and then straightened back up. I felt an odd kinship with it.

Although I ate plenty at dinner, the gnaw in my stomach afterwards had nothing to do with food. I sat on the floor, with my back against the wall and my knees drawn into my chest. It felt safer that way, like I could keep myself inside, protected from the wolves of my new environment. The sound of the girls shuffling to their separate rooms drifted in from the hallway. Their low voices disguised nothing.

“Do you think the new girl is serious?”

“Are they going to let her do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve never even heard of a first-year volunteering.”

“It’s not possible for her to actually win, is it?”

My fingertips skimmed the circlus. The red, swollen skin smarted with offense. I stopped touching it, instead covering it with my sleeve. It felt like a brand, properly categorizing me. Girl, witch, student. Nothing more, nothing less.

I am more than what they train me to be.

Something slid underneath my door, and departing footsteps left me in silence. A thick brown envelope, tied by a length of twine with the stem of a purple flower held in the middle of a knot. I held it in my hand, barely willing to breathe on it, as if it were a sheet of glass about to break.

When a knock came to my door, I jumped.

“Come in.”

Camille’s blond hair spilled in first. She gazed around, only half of her face visible.

“Are you busy? No? Great.”

Leda followed, then quickly shut the door and pressed a finger to her lips. We waited in a stressed silence until her shoulders relaxed a little. I wasn’t sure what we paused for until Leda said, “You’ve only got a few minutes before Miss Celia comes to do final checks.”

Camille hopped onto my bed and stared at me with wide, distressed eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

I tucked the envelope in my sleeve and stood.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Back to calm and confident,
I thought, pushing my worries away to deal with later.
No fear.

“Then are you crazy?” Camille said in a high screech. “Why did you volunteer? No first-year has ever volunteered!”

“That’s not true,” Leda said, still standing by the door. “There’s been one other, but it was decades ago. They were injured in the first match and had to drop out.”

“Whatever.” Camille rolled her eyes. “My point is the same. You just volunteered for the Competition. On purpose. I can’t let the new girl do something so stupid without saying something.”

I had the feeling that there was a lot Camille couldn’t stop herself from talking about. 

“I want a chance to learn from Miss Mabel,” I said.

Camille looked dubious. “Sure, but is your life worth it?”

“It can’t be that bad,” I countered, looking up to Leda for help, but finding none. The same distant expression covered her face, her forehead lost in deep furrows and lines.

“Brianna, she’s the second-year with really curly brown hair, told me that last year there were only two participants,” Camille said. “They left one morning after opening their envelopes and came back three weeks later. The loser had broken a leg.”

Camille leaned in towards me to emphasize her point.

“Broken. Leg.”

“I’m sure that’s a rare exception,” I said with false bravado, my voice breezy. “I won’t break my leg.”

Camille huffed.

“Or not an exception at all. What do you think Leda? Does she have a chance?”

A change in Camille’s tone caught my attention, but I didn’t have time to analyze it before Leda spoke up, restored to her normal, moody self.

“I think it could go either way.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Leda didn’t seem like the sort to give an idle opinion and I needed all the information I could get.

“We have to go, Camille,” she said instead, opening the door a crack and peering into the hallway. “Miss Celia is on her way up. If she catches us, we’ll get kitchen duty again. I just found a new book on the formation of the Council during the early days of the Networks. I don’t feel like washing dishes.”

With that delightful book waiting, who would want to wash dishes?
I almost quipped, but had a hunch that Leda would take me at my word.

Camille stood and straightened out her skirt.

“Look, Bianca, I think you’re a bit mad,” she said, with more warmth in her tone than I would have expected. “But you’re also new. I know how that feels. We’ll come by for you in the morning and show you to class.”

“Thanks,” I managed my first smile, a little humbled by her quick friendship. I didn’t blame her opinion. I felt a bit mad myself most days. “I’d appreciate that.”

After they left, I stared at the envelope in my hand and saw it tremble.

•••

Dearest Bianca,

The Competition you entered is no ordinary game. As a Competitor, you cannot afford to be anything as boring as ordinary.

This year, there are six Competitors, meaning there are three matches in the first round. The three winners will advance to the second round from which only two may go on. These two winners will compete in the final match. The result decides my next pupil and Assistant.

The first round will begin in three days, as the moon rises. Because of the delightfully diverse selection of participants this year, I have decided that the whole school will be able to attend to watch you compete. Won’t it be wonderful?

Bring a cloak, nothing else. Oh, and keep this in mind: a winner is by no means a winner, who does not win it all.

Good luck, my darling.

Miss Mabel

A Reliable Weakness

T
he next morning dawned bright but cold.

Frost coated the windowpanes with spirals of ice. Outside, the grass had become a field of thousands of little white spears. I sat on top of my desk and stared out, my forehead pressed against the cold window frame. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. The candle had sunk to the holder in a pool of wax before the sun rose. Beneath it rested the letter from Miss Mabel.

I stared past the frozen world, as if by looking I would see through the miles that separated me from my mother and grandmother. A low ache radiated from my chest, making my throat thick. I wanted to tell them about my first day, about Camille and Leda, and the frightening experience of volunteering for the Competition.

Later,
I resolved, straightening my shoulders and banishing the morose thoughts.
Don’t think about it. No time for pity.

The sound of a couple pairs of feet approaching my door brought me out of the reverie, and I slid off the desk just as Camille tapped on my door and called through it.

“Bianca, are you awake?”

“Yes,” I said. “Come in.”

Both Leda and Camille stepped inside. An old ratted bag with fraying seams sat on Leda’s shoulder, strained by the books bulging inside. She took one look at me and lifted her eyebrow.

“Did you even go to sleep?”

It was her first display of any emotion outside the range of annoyance and obligation. I was so surprised I didn’t know how to respond.

“Rough night?” Camille asked, looking me over. A few girls walked down the hall behind her, their dark dresses and long white shirts flashing as they went. I’d been dressed for hours, too nervous to sleep. I hated waiting for the day to start and spent the time reading a few books on defensive magic. Wrinkles creased my dress.

“It’s a lumpy mattress,” I said with a weak wave of my hand. I didn’t want to tell them that in my nightmare I failed the first challenge and had to kneel before Miss Mabel with blood on my hands. “I’ll get used to it.”

“No,” Leda shook her head with a grim purse of her lips. “You won’t. But eventually you’ll get tired enough you won’t care.”

Something in her serious tone sparked my fatigued brain, and I laughed. Camille smiled, but it looked tight, as if she’d missed the joke and couldn’t figure it out. The corners of Leda’s lips raised.

So she isn’t made of stone.

Camille fidgeted for a second.

“Are you going to wear your hair that way?” she asked.

I instantly took in their hair, pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of their necks. Mine fell down my back in a thick ponytail.

“No,” I said. “I was just about to put it up.”

Leda’s eyes slipped down to the hem of my dress, where a pair of leather shoes from Papa covered my feet. The soft suede made it more like a slipper than a shoe. I curled my toes to draw them further under the skirt and wondered how long I could get away with it. The rigid black shoes I saw most of the girls wear, a pair of which sat now under my bed, meant a world of blisters and pain. If she saw them she made no indication.

“Let’s go,” Leda said, motioning towards the hall with her head while I grabbed a matching dark blue ribbon from my desk. “Miss Celia’s porridge tastes like chewy leather when it’s cold.”

The dining room was only half full when we arrived, so I didn’t have to fight for a full seat on the bench. Camille prattled on about a lesson in Herbology while I put the finishing touches on my hair. The skin on the back of my neck prickled. Instantly alert, I looked around without moving my head and tuned into the sounds about me, focusing my attention on what I could hear through the everyday clatter.

Close footfalls. One set, and then another. Three pairs of shoes walking through the dining room. The light talk of the girls at our table died down.

“Uh oh,” Leda muttered, her pale face darkening. “Here they come.”

Someone approached from behind me. I shot to my feet and spun. My quick movement jarred the bench, and a couple girls squawked, almost tumbling backwards.

“Oh, dear. Did I scare you, Bianca?”

An enchanting face with the lightest kiss of freckles met me. Priscilla and I stood eye-to-eye in height, and, I suspected, determination. Up this close, her eyes were a light green color flecked with gold.