Spiral Path (Night Calls Series Book 3) (18 page)

“
Surely
there must be some way to learn
not
to see them except when you want to,” I murmured.

“
That
is why I am here,” she said softly. “My family sent me where no one knew my
talent, in hopes that Professor Livingston could teach me how to control it. A
wizard in London locked down my ability to see things, so I could cross through
the spiral gates without any spirit attaching itself to me. But he warned my
parents that the spell would age and crumble. I just started classes in dealing
with the dead. Professor Livingston wanted to work with me before others joined
the class.”

“
So
you just started seeing ghosts again?”

“
Friday
night was when I realized that the spell had finally vanished,” she replied.
Her eyes were very wide. “Please, you can keep this a secret, can’t you?”

“
Of
course,” I told her. “Although talking with ghosts is just another gift. You’re
lucky to have it. It might come in handy, sometime. I only see them. They don’t
try to speak with me.”

“
It’s
not
just another gift,” she said
sharply. “Some people whisper that my grandmother is a necromancer!”

I studied her, silenced by her words.

Necromancy wasn’t just seeing ghosts. Being a necromancer
meant that you could
command
ghosts,
control their movements. You could raise them from their graves, and lay them
back down even if they wanted to walk.

Necromancers often served kings, and conjured armies of the
dead.

Sometimes it wasn’t safe to have strong gifts.

I wasn’t ready yet to tell her about the unicorns.

“
That’s
a pretty powerful gift,” I agreed. “I can see why you don’t want people to
know. But Miss Rutledge, no one would think about necromancy first. They’d just
think you’re one of those people who can see ghosts.” I had an awful thought. “Unless
your grandmother . . . do a lot of people know that she talks to
ghosts? Is she famous for it?”

“
Only
once has she ever commanded the dead,” Margaret said softly, studying her
hands. “At least as far as I know. It was something to do with the war against
Emperor Bonaparte. His people tried something with the dead once, at a castle
crypt. I do not think he expected it to work. But it did, with terrifying
results. My grandmother heard the call for help from one of his magicians.”

“
What
did she do?” This was better than my family’s book,
Denizens of the Night
!
It never told me any good stories, just facts and definitions.

“
She
woke my grandfather and my father, who gathered help. It was no small thing,
for English practitioners to go to the aid of French magicians. But when things
go extremely wrong, nationalities are put aside. They walked through three
different mazes to offer help. There, my grandmother, who speaks excellent
French, reassured the ghosts, and returned them to their sleep.” Margaret
shivered, and in response I reached for a log to toss on the fire. She stopped
me with a gesture.

“
It
grows late. Do not waste the fire. Miss Williams will be up from the gathering
soon, and we will retire for the night.” This was said with dignity.

“
Miss
Rutledge,” I said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. I will tell no one about
your grandmother. But if I were you, I’d learn how to use that gift. I think
gifts are given to be mastered. What if you need that gift someday? You need to
know how it works!”

“
I
would be happy if it left me tomorrow,” she whispered. “I have nothing to say
to the dead.”

“
But
maybe they have things to say to you,” I replied. “Someone must speak for them.
I see them, but I’ve never spoken with them. When I laid a ghost, I needed help
to figure out what it wanted. It would have been easier for me if you had been
there. Maybe no one would have died if you had recognized the kind of ghost it
was, and told us what to do.”

“
Perhaps.”
She gestured, as if flinging away the conversation. “But we have more pressing
problems. We are in charge of meals this coming Saturday. I have never
supervised cooking for a gathering larger than ten people.” She was wringing
her handkerchief again. “This will be embarrassing.”

“
No,
it won’t. It may not be fancy, but if last Saturday was a sample of student
cooking, I know that we can do better. I’ve helped out, cooking for barn
raisings and weddings and shucking frolics. We just need to ask Mrs. Gardener
what she has in the pantry that we can use.” I gave her my best smile. “And we
have to keep the children from using magic in the kitchen. I don’t want to
waste time chasing biscuits with teeth!”

A breath of laughter escaped from Margaret. “I confess that
I did go to the laboratory to see the biscuits with teeth! They did not seem
dangerous, but an entire pan of them hopping about would have been startling!”

“
I
probably would have hurt myself laughing,” I admitted.

“I wish Miss Wild was still here with us,” Margaret said
softly. “She is an excellent cook, and she always found a way to keep the
children entertained and focused on her. She could advise us.”

I had heard that name before . . . at breakfast. The girl who
taught them how to make buscuits.

Well, I could make biscuits, and I had entertained my share
of children.

“
We
need a plan,” I said, thinking quickly. “I should be with you, because I know
about amounts of food for bigger gatherings. We need to speak with Mrs.
Gardener. Will she talk to you? I brought that cat in to her kitchen, so right
now I am probably not one of her favorites.”

“
Did
she give you points?” Margaret asked. “And what cat is this?”

“
She
didn’t mention anything about points, and the cat was the one who rescued me in
the tavern.”

“
Tavern!
Miss Sorensson, you did not go into a
tavern
?
”

“
Not
willingly,” I admitted, “but I had a press gang chasing me. I was afraid they
would figure out that I was a girl, and that might have caused all sorts of
problems.”

“
Alfreda!”
It was the first time she’d used my given name. “You could have been in
terrible danger! You are very pretty. There are men who force girls into—into
terrible things!”

“
I
was scared, but not frozen,” I told her. “As long as I didn’t hit my head and
get knocked out, I knew I could protect myself.”
Oh-oh . . . I can’t tell her how I know that
.
“I have enough magic training
for emergencies. But I didn’t want anyone to need to rescue me. So I ducked
into a tavern and hid under a table. The impressers started a fight . . .
or someone picked a fight with them, I couldn’t see what happened. The cat was
under the table, and when he got up and wandered off, I just followed him!”

Well, one thing led to another, and finally I just told her
the entire tale, beginning to end. It wasn’t my best story, but I did have her
laughing when I described the cat arguing about his bath. We both were giggling
over the cat ordering me to open the window when there was a sound at the door,
and in walked Catherin Williams.

“
You
were missed at evening circle, ladies. I read the next section of
Robinson Crusoe,”
she said, shutting the
door and setting the book on their large study table. “And here I find you
telling humorous tales to each other!”

“
Oh,
my friend, we so needed to laugh!” Margaret began. “I did not make one of the
school rules clear to Miss Sorensson, and Professor Livingston was quite put
out! I’m afraid that we are both sentenced to kitchen duty on Saturday.”

“
Kitchen
duty? Good heavens, what happened?” Miss Williams immediately took a folded
chair leaning against the wall and opened it, revealing a small rocker. Sitting
down, she scooted the rocker over next to us, her expression alight with
interest.

“
Professor
Livingston does not want us to talk about it,” I said quickly, and let my face
fall into worried lines.

“
The
time will come when all shall be revealed, my dear friend,” Margaret added. “But
not now, I think.”

“
There
is no way to keep that a secret, although perhaps you can hold it close for a
few days, at least,” Catherin said, her expression thoughtful. “It’s been a
while since any of the older students have had kitchen duty, so Saturday meals
have been disastrous for months. The senior boys usually keep order, but they
generally can’t do anything except roast a few fowls. The last senior girl was
Abigail Wild.” Catherin’s color heightened, and she did not meet either of our
gazes.

“
Miss
Wild was . . . .
 
She came from a very rural place, somewhere in Massachusetts . . .
perhaps Nantucket? Miss Wild was a talented practitioner, but from very poor
origins. It made her a little wild, coming to the school,” Margaret said
carefully. “Miss Wild knew no other practitioners.” Margaret carefully did not
meet Catherin Williams’ gaze.

You liked her,
I
thought.

“
Was
she always pulling pranks, or was it flicking her skirts at the older boys?” I
asked, thinking about the occasional older wild ones I’d heard about.

“
Both,”
Catherin said faintly, her cheeks definitely flushed. She was embarrassed just
talking about the girl.

“
But
she is no longer at school?” I said, bringing the conversation back to safer
waters.

“
No.
She finished her training, and returned to her village . . . we
think.”

The pause made me wonder if Miss Wild was asked to leave.

Rushing on, Margaret said: “Miss Wild brought us the biscuit
recipe, which meant that we had some sort of bread on Saturdays, depending on
who was being punished.”

“
I
can bake bread,” I announced, “if the weather is fair. If it’s damp and sticky,
it might be biscuits again, but no teeth this time. We can dice some apples and
make apple bread for breakfast. For supper, we could even make bread bowls, if
Mrs. Gardener will allow us the flour. We could have corn bread with stew for
dinner, and a thick vegetable soup for supper. Or can we use meat for more than
one meal? We could have ham with oatmeal for breakfast, and the apple bread. I
could make beans to have in the vegetable soup. My mother has a recipe from one
of the cousins, a soup from Italy.”

Catherin tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows drawing
together, while Margaret leaned back in her chair in astonishment.

You’d have thought I had addressed them in Russian.

“
Are
they expecting something really fancy, like vegetable dishes and sauces?” I
asked, my voice fading a bit.

“
No!
No, not at all. It’s just that . . . .
 
Miss Sorensson, you actually know
recipes? You can direct a cook in preparing a dish?” Catherin asked.

Oh.

I had found one of those traps you can’t avoid because you
don’t know it’s there. I remembered how funny people were about my mother
dyeing her own material, when I was a prisoner at Hudson-on-the-Bend.

“
Out
west, people usually are trying to tame a corner of forest into a farm. They
may spend their money to get more land, or for outfitting the barns with dairy
equipment and a plow,” I started slowly. “You might hire someone to help when
slaughtering time comes, or to spin or card when preparing for weaving. But
most people only hire a woman to help where she’s needed. They don’t hire just
a cook.” Something occurred to me, and I added: “My aunt has a cook. But my
mother is very good with food—with herbs and spices. And I have learned a lot
from her.”

There
was a long pause. “
My mother cooks fish,” Catherin said slowly, and tension
flowed out of her shoulders. “It is what she remembers from the fishing village
she grew up in, in Wales, before she met my father and came to the new world.”
Catherin’s gaze moved to the fireplace. “You might not want the Mayflower
Compact to know you have that skill, but my family is no stranger to hard work.”
Lifting her head, she added, “Susannah Bradford and Sara Alden. They can
be . . . difficult.”

That didn’t sound good.

“
Your
little brother is a very hard worker,” I replied, focusing on what I knew. “His
oatmeal was the best part of the meal last Saturday, except for the tea!”

Catherin laughed gently at that. “Oh, Daniel! I don’t know
how he manages to get kitchen duty almost every week! He was such a quiet boy
at home. But if he is there, I am sure you can count on him to pitch in. He
never ducks his punishment, if he thinks he deserves it!”

I was surprised that she hadn’t asked Daniel why he kept
getting in trouble, but maybe she didn’t keep as close an eye on her brothers
as I did on mine. Or maybe she knew but chose not to tell.

Well . . . if I paid attention, maybe I could discover what was
going on. But right now, I was very tired.

“
I
think I’d better go to bed,” I said. “Professor Livingston will be testing me
tomorrow. I didn’t want Miss Rutledge to be alone.”

“
Thank
you for staying with me,” Margaret said, reaching to grip my hand tightly. “Wear
your oldest gown tomorrow, Miss Sorensson. Magical testing is hard on students.”

There was no mention of our conversation before Catherin
Williams arrived, and I wondered if Catherin knew about the ghosts. Margaret’s
gaze was intense, as if warning me, or asking something of me.