by Katie Cross
“I wouldn’t have volunteered if I didn’t think I had a chance.” My response had a bit more energy than I expected. “Uh, yes, I do think I can win,” I said in a slower, more controlled tone.
“I think you’re a raving lunatic to even try,” Jackie said with her full-lipped smile. “But I kind of admire you for it too. You must have courage.”
I hated the surge of pride I felt at her words. Maybe she didn’t know that there was a fine line between courage and lunacy. I felt like I flirted with it often, dancing with one foot on either side like a child. Except now I felt like I’d stepped fully to the side of lunacy, coming to school here and attempting the Competition.
Another first-year piped up from behind me. She had a chubby face and spoke with a lisp.
“Aren’t you afraid of Prithilla, Jade, and Thephany?”
A sea of faces stared back at me. Here was my chance to establish a bit of solid ground against the opposition.
“No, of course not,” I laughed with breathy amusement. “Why would I be afraid of them?”
The girl’s eyes widened.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” she asked, dubious. “They know what they are doing. They’re third-years. I think Prithilla will win.”
“I’ve seen the transformations she can do,” Jackie said with a low hum of agreement. “Jade isn’t too bad with healing incantations either, if she were to get hurt. She’d have a good advantage there.”
Several girls agreed, launching them into a discourse on the faults and strengths of the three third-years. I noticed that no one mentioned Michelle, or even seemed to consider her much of a contender. Stephany didn’t seem to have one area of magical strength, just a general ability to perform most incantations. Priscilla, it was unanimous, would win. I listened, trying to absorb any information that could later give me an advantage.
“What about Michelle?” I asked, interrupting a heated discussion on whether Jade could outmatch Stephany in transfiguration magic. They all looked at me in surprise.
“What about her?” Jackie replied.
“She volunteered as well.”
They all stared at each other.
“Mithelle?” the lisp-girl repeated with shrug. “Well, thee’ll do all right.”
“And Elana?” I pressed.
They seemed to have forgotten about the other competitors. Jackie responded first. “Elana might give you a run for your money in the first match, but I don’t think she’ll make it to the third.”
The rest of the first-years murmured their agreement. Sheep, all of you, I wanted to say, but held my tongue.
The tiny silver bell on Miss Bernadette’s desk rose into the air and signaled the start of our class with a musical clatter. Through the shuffling of girls turning around and pulling out books, I heard Leda’s quiet laughter from the back of the room. I glanced over my shoulder, unable to imagine what she found so funny, but couldn’t catch her eye.
“Bianca, take a seat. Everyone, pull out your blue books. The one titled, Essays on Incantations and Their Importance in the Network.”
I moved to the desk behind Camille and slipped into the seat. The cat purred itself to sleep on the hearth behind us, and my first day at Miss Mabel’s School for Girls began.
Predictions and Possibilities
“These are the textbooks we use the most. I’m afraid there’s only a few old tattered ones left over, but you can deal with it.”
Leda’s less-than-sympathetic words as she scoured the library shelves came from inside a rather large bookshelf, where her head had disappeared in search of a missing page.
A stack of worn-down, ancient books grew in size as she pulled the volumes down from her perch on an old rolling ladder. I noticed someone’s old grimoire amongst them, and shuffled through the pages of handwritten spells and notes on potions. Grimoires were my favorite. I loved learning what magic the original owner knew, what secrets and spells they passed on, like a magical diary.
The library was made up of two floors of books with a short walkway ringing the second floor accessible only by a twirling, rickety staircase. Hazy murals covered the ceiling, coated in a film of dust. It smelled musty, like old paper and ink. A few second-years sat around the fire, bent over rolls of parchment. They gazed at me every now and then, but looked away before I could make eye contact. It was a droll celebrity status I had attained my first night here. They looked but never spoke. While I found it easy to ignore for the most part, their constant stares and whispers were quietly unnerving.
“Thanks for your help,” I said.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Leda replied, reappearing with a poof of dust and the lost paper in hand. “We haven’t even started catching you up.”
I eyed the books. Mr Gulliver’s Guide to Potions sat on top of Topography of the Central Network.
“I’m sure it won’t be too bad,” I said with little conviction, hoping it was true. Sitting down to study felt like a special form of torture. Growing up, most of my education occurred outside, in the dirt and fresh air. The idea of restricting myself to books and worksheets seemed less than enticing. Leda gave me a funny look, spaced out for a second, then quickly shook her head to clear it.
“Well, let’s get started.”
We both took an armful of the old tomes, but just as we headed to a lonely corner of the library, a group of obnoxious third-years moved in. I recognized Stephany in the midst of them, a good six inches taller than everyone else. Her smug expression grew when she saw us.
“Watch out girls,” Stephany called, her skinny arm reaching out like a giant branch to point to us. “Leda’s out. Cover your eyes, or her skin and hair will blind you!”
The third-year students let out a burst of tittering laughter. Leda rolled her eyes.
“Let’s just go to my room,” she said under her breath, avoiding eye contact with the older girls.
“Don’t look right at her,” another called amidst the laughter. “It’s like looking into the sun!”
I sighed, watching Leda’s neck flare to a bright red color.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” I asked.
“What would I say?” she retorted. “I am really pale.”
I shot her a dismayed look. “You’re just going to let them win?” I asked. She stared at me in response. “If you aren’t going to say something, I will.”
Leda shrugged, staggering under the weight of the books.
“Go right ahead. I’d love to see you try to put them in their place.”
I had a feeling her willingness came more from a desire to see me fail than to see Stephany cut down to size. The way she emphasized the word try left little doubt. The gauntlet thrown, I couldn’t back down. If Leda wouldn’t stand up to the third-year bullies, there was no reason for me to leave without taking a swing.
Following Leda’s example, I turned to depart from the library, smiling at Stephany as I approached. Her amusement wavered, dwindling into a confused question mark on her face. Apparently she wanted the first-years to scuttle away, intimidated, and certainly not making eye contact with her.
Well, not this first-year.
“Have a great day, Stephany,” I sang. “Always lovely to see you.”
Then the rug underneath her feet slipped and she fell on her bottom with a yelp.
“Look out,” I said over my shoulder as I sailed out the doorway. “A tree just fell in the library.”
The double doors slammed closed behind us. Leda’s eyes grew wide.
“What have you done?” she cried, breathless.
“Evened the playing field a bit,” I said in a dry tone. “Girls like that feel like they can get away with anything.”
Despite my boldness—or perhaps because of it—we sped up the stairs as fast as we could, neither of us relishing the idea of them coming after us. Leda slammed her bedroom door and propped the wooden chair from her desk underneath the old handle.
“There,” she said. “That might hold them for no
w.”
I had my doubts but didn’t voice them. A chair wouldn’t stop third-years on the rampage.
Her room wasn’t bare like mine but remained just as simplistic in design. A worn homemade quilt covered her bed, a few history books littered the windowsill, and the recent edition of the newsscroll Chatham Chatterer lay open on the floor. Leda kicked it to the side with her toe and unloaded all her books on the bed. All her possessions had a faded look, as if they’d gone through one person too many before settling on her.
“Grief!” she cried, shaking out her skinny arms. “Those stairs are awful with a load of books. I can’t wait until we learn levitation, and I can float them up. I’m too skinny for stuff like that.”
I carefully set my own armful beside hers, shaking out my arms as if they ached too, hoping she didn’t notice my poor show. The long sleeved uniform didn’t show it, but all my training and running with Papa had left me unusually strong for a girl.
“Finding the books took longer than I thought,” she said, casting an eye on the clock. “We don’t have very long. I can at least show you where we are in each subject.”
She sat on the edge of her bed as I gathered the books, pulling a new one out of the middle of one pile. The Natural Laws of Antebellum and Their Magical Application: A study of the physical world and how magic works.
“This one looks interesting,” I said, sifting through the pages written in a loopy, cursive script. When I turned to Leda, she was back in her trance-like state. She came out of it with a start and stared at me.
“You already know how to do this, don’t you?”
“Do what?”
Leda grabbed the nearest book and pushed it onto my lap. Basic Incantations and Their Everyday Use. I met her gaze.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do a levitating spell.”
“No!”
Leda grabbed a feather quill and held it out. “I know you can. Levitate the feather.”
“How do you know I can?” An uncomfortable prickling feeling climbed up my spine. “We just barely met.”
She didn’t say anything else, just lifted her infernal eyebrow. It got so much exercise I wondered why it didn’t bulge with muscle. All the same, I knew I wouldn’t win. I could see it in her eyes.
“Fine,” I whispered on a sigh. The feather zipped out of her hand and hovered in the air between us. A triumphant look crossed her face.
“Ha!”
“How would you know that?” I hissed.
“I know a lot of things,” she said vaguely, trying to wave it off. “This will be a lot easier than I thought. All right, well, in this book–”
“Wait.” My hand shot forward to stop her. She quickly jerked out of my grasp. “What else do you know?”
She released a burdened sigh.
“Look, I just said it as a guess. The way you looked at the books seemed like you had seen them before. Don’t read too much into it.”
Her eyes shifted away from mine. Her free hand made a white-knuckle fist, and there was a hesitant, rushed tone in her voice.
“You’re lying,” I whispered. She looked up at me with a flash of anger, and for a second, I almost lost her to another mini-daze. But she pulled herself out of it with a growl.
“No, I’m not.”
“Tell me what you’re lying about.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Then why can I see your heart pounding in your throat?”
Her eyes jerked to mine for the first time since my accusation.
Watch their throat, Papa’s voice whispered through my mind. If they really are lying, and they aren’t used to it, you’ll be able to see their heart beat in their throat. They might look breathless or flushed.
“Fine,” Leda said, slapping her book shut. “You want to know more? I’ll tell you what I know. I know that you’re scared. I know your grandmother is very sick and could die at any moment. I know that you look like your mother and dream about your father at night. I know that your family has a curse that ties you to Miss Mabel and–”
She stopped with a nervous breath, her steam dying like a kettle taken out of the fire.
My heart beat so loud in my chest that I almost didn’t hear her finish. I pushed off the bed and turned my back to her, trying to hide my fear.
“Sorry,” she whispered. I heard the wince in her voice. “I should have handled that better. I don’t … I don’t really have friends except for Camille.”
“So I’ve heard,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my chest. I hadn’t felt this kind of heart-fluttering panic in a long time, and it was hard to get under control.
“Look, I’m not going to sell your life story for money, all right? No one would want it. You’re not that exciting. Except for the Miss Mabel part. You’d probably get a few headlines in the Chatham Chatterer if they knew that your teacher held a curse over you. Pretty horrific, by the way. Poor stroke of luck for you.”
Her droll tone and bad attempt at rectifying the situation were half-hearted and pathetic. I turned around to find her face screwed up in a grimace.
“I know you have a lot of questions,” she said in a rush when I opened my mouth. “I’ll explain myself, okay?”
I sat back on the end of the bed, but further away this time.
“Go ahead,” I said.
She let out a frustrated breath.
“I’m not sure where to start,” she murmured.
“Start with how you know that much about me.”
“Because I’m alive.”
My forehead ruffled in confusion and she readjusted, shoving the books away from her with a sharp movement. “I perceive things before they happen that normal witches can’t. It’s an involuntary function of my mind. It just happens. Strong emotions give it power, just like any magic in our world. So when I get frustrated, or happy, or sad, it brings a rush of images into my head. Possibilities.”
“Is that why you space out?”
Her face flushed and she looked at her shoes. “I don’t have a lot of control over it right now. All the emotions of starting school and moving from home make it unpredictable. I have a hard time keeping my thoughts in control.”
“Camille knows about it, doesn’t she?”
“Yes. We’ve been friends for years. She’s the only one who does.” She gave me a pointed look, a warning to keep her secret.
“I won’t tell either,” I promised, to put her at ease, knowing I wouldn’t get answers if I didn’t.
“Thanks,” she said, looking down again, clearly uncomfortable. She really didn’t know how to have friends.
“Not even Miss Bernadette?” I asked.
“No,” she said forcefully, reddening again. “I don’t want her to know either.”
Leda wasn’t that different from me. I drew in a deep breath, feeling a little calmer.
“Did you see that I had levitated before?” I asked, eyeing the feather that sat on the edge of the desk, precariously close to falling.
Leda pressed her lips into a line. “No, because I don’t see the past. I saw you completing the magic in the future and took a guess.”
“Then how do you know I dream about my father?”
Just mentioning him sent a nervous thrill through me, and I had to suppress the need to change the subject. I never talked about Papa. We had to keep him safe, so we never mentioned him.
“I saw the possibilities. You may have a dream about your father tonight or the next night. Based on your possible reaction, you have it often. That’s how I knew.”
“Does this happen with everyone?” I asked, thinking about how exhausting it would be. How did she learn anything in class? Her lone desk and penchant for avoiding people suddenly made sense.
“Yes, for the most part. Sometimes choices they make cloud it, but I see it all the same. Crowds give me a headache because everything changes so much.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Is that why you’re always reading bo
oks at mealtimes?”
A shy smile showed up only briefly. “It helps me focus on one thing when I read.”
“You’ll probably have the whole library read by the time you graduate.”
“I plan on it,” she said in a serious tone, taking me by surprise. Apparently Leda had more aspirations than I had given her credit for.
I couldn’t help wondering what her foresight could mean for me in the Competition. “Is what you see guaranteed?” I hoped she didn’t hear the edge in my tone.
“When it’s in the very near future,” Leda shrugged, leaning back against the wall, stretching out legs covered with the thick white stockings that enslaved us all. “I mean within minutes, then what I see is pretty certain. Miss Bernadette is going to come back to the school from her cottage in a few minutes, for example. As time passes, the options narrow. Everything else I see is just … something that could happen.”
It was difficult to know what to say. My initial horror had faded because she didn’t seem malicious. We sat there for several minutes in silence.
“Were you born with it?” I finally broke the quiet.
“No. Someone cursed me.”
Stunned for the second time, I just stared at her. I’d never met another witch my age with a curse. Having a curse was like having a disease, ostracizing and terrifying. Everyone assumed you had it because you did something wrong.
“What? You’re cursed?”
“No, it wasn’t Miss Mabel,” she said, anticipating a question that hovered on the tip of my tongue. “It happened when I was a baby. My father made a stupid decision and hurt a friend. His friend cast a curse on me in his anger. I believe his friend really thought he was doing my father a favor, giving him a daughter that could see possibilities in the future to stop him from making any bad mistakes again. But it’s far from that. It’s a nightmare.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry,” she said quickly. “My father is a great guy now. That’s all it took to shape him up.”
I managed a smile, and she looked away with another sheepish blush.
“His friend won’t take the curse away?” I asked.
“The man died. He had no family or relatives, either, that would be able to remove it after he passed.”
