The Isadora Interviews (4 page)

“Leigh crystal. Yes,” Leda murmured. Oh, she wished she hadn’t told Isadora that she was trying the Forgotten Potion! Then she could have pretended like Leigh crystal had been the objective and Isadora would see how clever she could be.

“Well, this was certainly a surprise.” Isadora drew in a deep breath, and looked over at Leda. “One that I would say demonstrates a fair amount of talent . . . and a fair amount of heart.”

“What?” Leda asked, turning to her in shock.

“I’m quite impressed.”

“But why?” Leda asked. “I got it all wrong!”

“Success at Miss Mabel’s is about more than just potions. It’s about working hard for what you want.”

“But I didn’t even get the potion that I wanted.”

“Maybe not, but you tried. I don’t need to see or hear anymore. You are very bright, I can see that. Motivated as well, if not isolating and prone to anger. Those can all be worked with. Welcome to Miss Mabel’s School for Girls, Leda. I’d love to purchase all of this Leigh from you, but I can’t afford it. I know a witch who would be interested in buying all of it, but we can discuss that later.”

Leda just stared at her, frozen and shocked.

“You’re going to let me in?”

“If you will agree.” Isadora cast her eyes around the small hut. “I think you have enough Leigh to pay your way through and possibly a little more.”

Leda hesitated, her mouth open. This had been an accident. Luck wouldn’t help her pass. The Leigh crystal didn’t prove she was talented, or even had heart. All this showed was that she was desperate to escape her life.

“Miss Isadora, I—”

“Will be wonderful, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, but—”

“I’ve been doing this for over fifty years now, Leda.” There was a gentle tone of chiding in Isadora’s tone. “In that time, I’ve met thousands of girls, tens of thousands, probably. All of those I’ve chosen have succeeded in the school. I’ve never made a mistake.”

“This was an accident,” Leda admitted, gesturing to the hut.

“Perhaps. But your determination and intellect are not.”

“Never?” Leda asked after a small stretch of silence. “You’ve never made a mistake?”

Isadora gave her a toothy smile.

“Never.”

Camille

B
ettina cleared her throat as she took a sip of black currant tea.

She did it before every single sip. Just as she read the mail every morning over the same type of tea, in the same cup. Routine was life, and Aunt Bettina lived it well. She wore the same black dress, the same stern bun, and the same apathetic air. She was small boned, with a thin frame, graying blonde hair, and sharp eyes. Bettina’s unwavering lack of change was enough to make fifteen-year-old Camille dotty.

Worse still was Aunt Angie, who sat at the far end of the table, her right index finger constantly lifted to her upper lip with a handkerchief wrapped around it. Her nose ran all year, rain or shine, forcing her to sniffle every two-and-a-half minutes. Camille didn’t doubt that her two aunts were good people, but she imagined they were better in smaller doses.

“Once I finish the mail,” Bettina said, without looking up from the current letter, “we will start your first algebra lesson.”

“Algebra?” Camille groaned, earning a sharp look of reprimand. She forced away a frown and lightened her tone. “Is there something else we can try?”

“Absolutely not.”

Camille tightened her jaw and steeled herself for another long day.

With a methodical air, Bettina lifted a scroll with her left hand, took it in her right, undid the twine tie with her left, took another sip of tea, had a careful bite of biscuit, took another measured sip, set the cup down, then tugged on the parchment, and peered at the words over the top of her half-moon glasses.

Camille watched the ritual with detached interest.

I’m going to fall asleep at the breakfast table, and then she’ll make me sit in the chair again, staring at the wall.

“Can I work on my sewing instead?”

“You do need some work with your stitches,” Angie whispered, eyes flickering over her plate half-full of breakfast. She gazed off, out the window, wandering vapidly into lands that no one else could see. Camille wished she’d drink more of her
special tonic
and slip further into the stupor that usually claimed her.

Knowing she could do nothing but wait for the algebraic torture to begin, Camille settled back in her chair with a sigh. Once Bettina finished the letter, she folded it up and looked to her niece. Camille gave her a hopeful, pleading look.

“Yes,” Bettina said, “you may work on your sewing.”

Camille perked up.

“After you start algebra,” Bettina clarified, robbing Camille’s hope and leaving her more depressed than ever.

“Oh Bettina, please, no!”

“Your math skills need work, Camille.”

Bettina started the ritual over with another letter. Realizing she’d lost the battle once again, Camille sighed, propped her chin on her hand, and gazed out the window. There never was conversation over tea. Or at any time, for that matter. She wished she could at least go outside, where white blossoms had sprouted on the trees. They were so lovely and frail, like delicate porcelin cups balancing on twigs. Unlike the drab house, with little color and no warmth. Camille longed to sit in the sun.

“Well,” said Bettina, with a low hum of surprise in her voice. She pulled the letter away from her face and peered at it over the top of her glasses, as if that would help her see it. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

Both Camille and Angie looked up. It had been a long time since Bettina had been surprised about anything. Camille was too shocked to move, worried it might break the moment.

Bettina readjusted her position on the chair, but said no more. Her forehead scrunched into heavy lines, making her thin face appear asymmetrical. Angie looked away, her attention already elsewhere. Camille waited, fists clenched. It had something to do with her—she could feel it.

“What is it, Aunt Bettina?” she asked in a prim tone.

“The letter is from the Network.”

“What?” Camille asked.

Angie perked up, showing more life than she had all morning.

“Is my new tincture of blessed thistle in? I haven’t been able to eat well since my last supply ran out. This indigestion is horrible.”

“No, it’s not about your tincture. The letter is in regards to Camille.”

I knew it!
Camille thought, her heart fluttering.
I knew it was about me!

Bettina looked over her glasses again, staring straight into Camille’s eyes.

“Isadora is coming to town. This confirms your interview.”

“Interview?” She repeated the word as if it were foreign. “Isadora?”

Had they delivered the letter here on accident? Leda was the only one interviewing with Isadora. She’d been talking about it for months.

“I signed you up for an interview that will determine if you can attend Miss Mabel’s School for Girls. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hear you talking about it all the time. Isadora will be here five days hence.”

Camille felt faint. The room swam before her eyes and she grabbed the edge of the table. Attend Miss Mabel’s School for Girls? Wasn’t that the dream of every girl in the village, in all of Antebellum? On the verge of hyperventilating, she took several slow, deep breaths.

“Oh, Aunt Bettina, I’d love to go!” Camille found her tongue in a mad rush of words. “I’ll do whatever I have to! I’ll do my algebra. I’ll improve my sewing. I’ll work longer hours at the bakery—”

Her spinning dreams slowed to a standstill when she took in Bettina’s stiff shoulders and pursed lips. Angie’s tea cup trembled as she lifted it to drink, then abandoned her goal halfway through and set it down to return to her vague dreams.

“Camille, there’s something you need to think about before you do this. Are you listening?” Bettina asked.

“Of course.”

“Miss Mabel’s is an advanced school for witches that involves serious studying. The good gods know I’ve debated whether I should have done this, whether you’re up to the challenge, but I can’t take it back now. It’s no secret that you don’t love studying and have the attention span of a four-year-old.”

The familiar feeling of loneliness and hurt crept over Camille. Bettina wanted to get rid of her, to send her away to school and restore the perfect balance of the silent house. It was all she could do to keep her tears under control.

“You don’t think I would study?” Camille asked, unable to keep the wounded look from her eyes.

“I didn’t say that, Camille. I simply said you’ll need to work harder than you do now.”

I’d do anything to get away from here! I can’t study when it’s so quiet.

“I will,” she promised, and she meant it more than anything. There was nothing she wanted more than to leave and never see Bettina’s infernal rituals ever again.

“Then we need to discuss what you plan to study,” Bettina said, setting the scroll aside. “You must have a purpose, a plan. Otherwise it’ll just be your usual chaotic madness, and you’ll have no motivation.”

Camille wanted to say it wasn’t true but bit the inside of her cheek instead.

“I don’t know yet,” she finally said.

Bettina shot her a sharp look and took the last careful sip of tea.

“Figure it out before you go. No one likes a student without focus.”

Or a world without color, like this one.

“Yes, Bettina,” she mumbled. “May I go?”

“Yes,” Bettina said in a low tone, “you may go.”

Camille burst from the chair with a gusto that made it clatter and nearly fall. She ignored the warning glare from Bettina and left the house, and all of its anxiety, behind her.

•••

“She wants to get rid of me.”

Camille popped a flower off a nearby stem, and pressed it to her nose. The petals felt like the gentle caress of a fingertip. She closed her eyes and imagined her mother there, listening to her, advising her.

“She wants to be rid of me so badly that she’s trying to send me to a school she doesn’t think I qualify for.”

No,
her mother would say with a warm smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
That’s not it at all. Bettina and Angie love you, they just don’t know how to show it. And I love you too. You’ll be wonderful at Miss Mabel’s, Cammie. You’ll be the loveliest girl there, with all the same pretty dresses and scarves to match them.

“You’re probably right,” Leda’s pragmatic tone swooped in instead, shattering Camille’s vision of her mother and bringing her crashing back to reality. “You do tend to make Bettina crazy. But at least she’s sending you.”

Her unspoken words hung between them.

And you can afford to go.

Camille’s hand fell to her side, away from her face. The disappointment was acute. Leda was far too logical to understand the haunting emptiness of Bettina’s house.

“Yes,” Camille sighed, knowing Leda would never see it her way. “I suppose you’re right.”

They sat on an old swing tethered to a gazebo in the middle of Hansham. It could hardly be called a town—little more than a village, if that. A vague dirt road ambled down the middle, creating a kind of main street. The apothecary stood at the end, where Mr. Hymas, the Coven leader for this part of Letum Wood, worked. He lived above it with his wife, and was a well-groomed, charismatic witch that should have lived in a city but loved the woods far too much.

The grocer’s stall stood next to the apothecary, looking shabby in comparison. Miss Kathy’s bakery brought up the end of the road, the chimney puffing away with a thin stream of smoke. Camille sniffed.

Vanilla almond cookies today,
she thought, her stomach grumbling. She wished it were chocolate, or caramel. Those always made her feel better.

In the distance, a blacksmith pounded away on some horseshoes. It was a cozy scene to any newcomer, but a dull prison to both girls, who saw it every day. Their houses, like those of most witches in the area, were well-hidden in Letum Wood, ensconced in the verdant trees, accessible by footpath or a small road wide enough only to admit a horse and buggy.

After a few seconds of silence that Camille was certain had really been several minutes, she blurted out the question that lay heavily on her mind.

“Please, Leda?” she pleaded. “Please look ahead for me?”

Leda let out a long sigh.

“Camille, you know—”

“I know how you feel about looking into the future!” she quickly said, turning to Leda and grabbing her arm. “I know! But I’m so nervous, Leda. This is my chance to get away from Bettina, and Angie, and their horrid silent house with no color or anything pretty. Please?”

For an eternity, Leda searched her friend’s eyes, looking as if she’d waver on her rigid rule. Then she pulled her arm away from Camille’s tight grasp.