by Katie Cross
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 toward 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
The 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 to 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 tumb
ling 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.
Hoping to distract attention from the over-active jump to my feet, I gave her a smile.
“Not at all,” I told her. “Thought I saw a spider.”
She glanced down and danced back a step, her nose twitching with a cringe.
“Yes, well, that’s not entirely unexpected in a school this old, is it? Nasty things. My name is Priscilla.” She spoke with the drawl of someone from Ashleigh, the richest village in the Central Network. The affluence of her family was unquestioned if the pearls in her ears gave any indication. School uniforms supposedly kept everyone on an even standard, but poverty and wealth had their own way of bleeding through uniformity. “It’s nice to meet the bravest first-year in the school.”
Priscilla smiled beatifically, as if she thought she’d done me a favor by introducing herself. The two girls that came with her sniggered behind their hands, privy to an inside joke. One of them had the nose of a pug, turned up and pressed in. Her blonde hair flaunted her jaw in an unflattering line. I recognized her as Jade from last night, the first to volunteer after Priscilla. The other one had to be Stephany. Tall and skinny, a little like a twig with arms. Even her nose was thin and pointy.
Priscilla’s sweet smile never faltered.
“Merry meet,” I said with cool indifference. “I’m Bianca Monroe.”
“Yes,” she said, brushing her hair off her shoulder. “I know. We came to talk to you about the Competition.”
Something in the rise and fall of her tone belied her words. Her speech too measured, her blink too practiced. Priscilla held all the cards and wouldn’t have it any other way. Apparently I’d upset a more delicate balance by volunteering for the Competition than I’d thought, one that these girls wouldn’t stand by and watch.
A controller. Perfect. They were easy enough to deal with.
“Of course,” I said with gracious invitation. “Love to.”
She paused, her eyes flickering. If she expected me to get nervous just because she dropped from the heavens to speak to me, a first-year, she’d be very disappointed.
“We’re worried about you, Bianca. This Competition is very difficult.”
“Yes,” I said, my composure firmly in place. “So I’ve heard.”
Her nostrils flared. She smiled with just the corners of her lips.
“Yes, well, are you sure you know what you’re getting into? There’s no shame in dropping out, you know. You are only a first-year. How much could you do?”
She let out a petite little laugh, and Stephany and Jade joined in a few seconds too late. It didn’t take long for the false amusement to subside.
“I think you’d be surprised,” I said, matching her cool hauteur. Her pupils constricted. She pressed her lips into a line and lifted an eyebrow.
“You certainly are a confident little monster, aren’t you?” she muttered.
“Better than manipulating a sixteen-year-old into quitting because I’m scared to lose, I think.”
Camille gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. Leda sniggered. Priscilla and her friends sucked in a deep breath together, operating from one mind.
Ah, vanity. A most reliable weakness. Papa’s advice stirred from the deep recesses of my mind.
Your first job in every confrontation is to establish your opponent’s weakness. Strategy starts with weak spots.
“Oh really?” Priscilla said, her tone quivering. “I’ll tell you exactly what I–”
“It’s been great to meet you,” I said with exaggerated politeness. The shift of power from her to me was palpable. Taking away her control over the conversation would be the only way to stop her. “I can’t wait to see you around. If you have any questions about the Competition, let me know.”
Her eyes narrowed into spikes. “Don’t get too sure of yourself, first-year,” she whispered. “You don’t know anything yet. The Competition is no game for babies.”
“Then I’m sure you can quit at any time. There’s no shame in backing out, Priscilla,” I parroted her cloying tone.
We stared at each other for a long time. The dining room held its breath. And then she broke into a wreath of smiles. Her voice carried through the dining room with an airy roll.
“Just let me know if I can be of help. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt or embarrassing yourself.”
I wondered how long she’d be able to keep that fixed smile in place. I smiled and turned around, effectively dismissing her before she could leave.
Priscilla moved away with a low grumble of what sounded like murderous intent. Stephany and Jade followed suit. I sat back down, trying my hardest to act as if nothing had happened.
Camille turned to me in awe.
“You were amazing!” she whispered in an exultant cry. “You really gave it to that witch!”
Leda took a more practical approach.
“Better be careful,” she said. “You don’t want to mess with people like Priscilla.”
“She seems like a delightful friend.”
“That delightful friend has talent to brag about.”
Well so do I. Except using it would earn me a fast ticket out of here.
“Like what?” I asked, unfolding the cloth napkin and spreading it on my lap.
“She’s at the top of the third-year class for one, and the Network Protector program has their eyes on her.”
I laughed so loud it drew the attention of a few first-years nearby, who shot me a dirty look before resuming their conversation.
“They would not take her as a Protector,” I said.
“Why not?”
I could tell her curiosity was triggered by the certainty in my tone and realized I may have gone too far. The Protectors were the High Priestess’s spy system. They did anything, and everything. From protecting the High Priestess to infiltrating dangerous places like the Northern Network, to fighting pockets of black magic. By necessity they were secretive; as a sixteen-year old schoolgirl, I shouldn’t know much about them.
“Because she’s too pretty,” I said, and left it at that.
“Well, if that doesn’t work out than she’s still got options. She’s going to graduate with the Curses and Hexes mark, Advanced Transformation, and Astronomy. Not to mention her family is so rich they burn money for fuel.”
I met Leda’s eyes.
“She’s not worth being afraid of,” I said. She blinked several times and then looked away. For all her disdain and indifference, I sensed Leda hid what she really felt. There were things in my life to fear. A bully with flawless features wasn’t one of them.
To my relief, a soft tinkling sound filled the air, cutting off our conversation. Miss Scarlett stood, seeming to appear from nowhere, for roll call. I realized the dining room had filled during my moment with Priscilla. Six cauldrons flew out of the kitchen when Miss Scarlett finished and landed with heavy thuds on each table. Bowls and spoons distributed themselves amongst us.
Camille let out a sigh.
“Leda’s right, Bianca. Priscilla is the best witch of all the students. You should see her do transformations. She changed a bat into a dove. She even made Michelle look pretty! She’s going to crush you during the Competition.”
“Thanks,” I said in a dry tone as Camille scooped a pasty blob of oatmeal into my bowl with a resounding plop. “I appreciate your support.”
Camille muttered under her breath, violently shaking out her napkin and almost whipping the girl to her left. But I saw the corner of her lips turn up for just a moment.
We started into breakfast without another word.
Are You Afraid?
Miss Bernadette’s classroom smelled like fresh pine needles.
Two windows with ledges full of cream-colored candles looked out onto th
e gloomy wood, and a blackboard covered the whole wall behind her. A few obscure paintings of previous teachers filled the space between the windows, and bookshelves ran along the back wall.
The desks in the front buzzed with prattling students. Only Leda sat by herself in the very back, as far from everyone else as she could get, her desk pushed against the wall like a little island in the sea of chairs.
When I walked in, the curious stares of the first-years unnerved me more than meeting the whole school the night before. The calico cat jumped onto a chair in the back, near the fire, and sat like a stoic statue.
“Welcome to the first-year classroom, Bianca,” Miss Bernadette said with her lilting voice. Her smile infused her whole face, like an angelic pixie in a beige dress. “Leda will help you get your textbooks in the library after class.”
Miss Bernadette looked back to Leda, who agreed with a nod.
“Thank you, Leda.”
All traces of Miss Bernadette’s worry from the night before had vanished, filling me with relief. Miss Bernadette was someone I wanted on my side.
“Yes, Miss Bernadette.”
“Go ahead and pick any seat you like. Class will begin in four minutes.”
Camille stayed at my side like a shadow, motioning to the vacant desk behind her.
“What about Leda?” I asked.
“Leda doesn’t like people,” she said. “She sits there for a reason.”
The girl sitting behind the open desk leaned forward and caught my eye.
“Are you really going to go through with this?” she asked.
She had smooth skin, the color of coffee mixed with cream. Her hair spiraled out around her head in a halo of black wires. She was lean and wiry, moving with long, graceful movements.
“Yes,” I said. No, I wanted to say. I just thought I’d do this as a fun joke. Are you laughing yet?
A few other girls clued into our conversation and leaned toward us.
“This is Jackie,” Camille said by way of introduction. “Jackie, this is Bianca.”
“Oh, we all know her,” Jackie said, leaning back in her chair with a surprisingly white smile. “I think the whole school knows this girl. Do you think you can win?” she asked.
