Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)

by Harper, Molly

  “Here I’ll prove it. You see this break in the bridge of my nose?” He pointed to the tiniest little bump on his long, noble nose. “You and that bloody book did this. My parents could have repaired it without any effort. But Mother thought that it served as a reminder not to start a fight unless I was sure I would win it. And my father was so angry with me for ‘bullying a girl half my size’ that he charmed it so I couldn’t repair it later. ”

  I started to giggle.

  “It was humiliating!” he exclaimed, which made me laugh that much harder. “I had to go to school with a mangled nose and tell the other boys that I started a fight with an older boy in the park and he cursed me! You ruined my otherwise perfect profile!”

  He turned his head toward the light, as if to demonstrate his “deformity.” I wiped at the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t remember any of this. I just remember one day, you stopped talking to me and Mum told me it was my fault for fighting with you. You turned and walked away every time I came anywhere near you.”

  “I was embarrassed,” he said. “I didn’t want to admit a sickly little girl got the drop on me. And I was mad at you. Ignoring you became a habit. And as I got older, my parents encouraged me to stay away from you girls anyway. I think they saw how Mary looked at me and it made them nervous.”

  “So you’ve always known how she feels about you?” I squeaked, feeling irritated on my sister’s behalf. It was one thing to recognize that Mary’s behavior was forward, it was another to mock her unrequited love.

  “Of course, I know. I’m not stupid, either,” he said, pointedly. “I’ve never responded, in any way. I’ve never given her any cause to think I felt the same about her.”

  “Well, I don’t think it’s helping,” I told him. “Because every time you so much as thank her for a plate of toast, she takes it as a marriage proposal.”

  “What does she think of all of this?” he asked, gesturing in the direction of the school building.

  “I don’t know,” I lied. “Your mother has forbidden me to speak to them.”

  “And you abided by that? You are being a good girl.”

  “Your mother scares me,” I told him. “And don’t look at me that way, she scares you, too.”

  “Well, you scare her,” he told me. “Mother doesn’t like having her entire outlook on the world changed in a few moments.” He paused and fidgeted. “It’s not that I don’t want you here. Or for you to have a better life. I just hate to see you pulled into something you don’t fully understand. I hate to see the danger to my family, too.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” I told him. “I can’t go back to my old life. These things that I can do, they put me in danger. They put my family in danger. This is the safest situation for me right now.”

  And just then, the garden bird with its strange blue-green feathers flapped down next to me on the bench and twittered rather indignantly. It was as if it didn’t appreciate being left behind at school and being forced to fly all the way across town to peck at my dress, searching for crumbs.

  “Why are you following me?” I grumbled. “Either you stop following me, or I will turn you into a tiny feather-duster.”

  “What are you mumbling about?” Owen asked.

  “This bird,” I said, pointing to the winged interloper. “He’s been tapping at my bedroom window since I moved to the Lavender Room, tapping and trying to get in. I thought maybe he has a nest in the house, but then he followed me to school, and kept tapping at my window here. And now, here he is.”

  Owen smiled at me, as if I were something precious and foolish all at once. “When did he first approach you?”

  “Before my window?” I asked. “That first day after my moving upstairs at Raven’s Rest. He came to the garden and stayed on this bench while I read.”

  “And did you offer it something to eat?”

  I nodded. “A piece of a tart.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why does it keep pecking at me?” I hissed, gently nudging it away from my skirts with a flick of my fingers.

  “Where do you think witches get their familiars?” Owen asked.

  I thought of the animals that roamed freely at Miss Castwell’s, cats, birds, rabbits, snakes. Dorinda Benisse kept her palomino pony named Gilded Lily in the stables, which she claimed gave her additional power in her glamour charms because he was bigger than all of the other familiars.

  “A magical pet store?” I suggested, as the bird nudged at my fingertips with its beak. “Or in the case of your horrible cat, the ninth gate of Hades?”

  “Horus is just misunderstood, much like his owner.”

  I snorted derisively, earning a nudge to my ribs from Owen’s elbow. Owen produced a sugar cookie from his pocket and broke off a tiny piece, dropping it in my palm. He nodded toward the bird. I gamely dropped the crumbs in front of the bird, who scarfed them up hungrily. “You don’t choose a familiar. When the time is right, the familiar finds you. When you offered the bird food, it completed the bond, and the familiar began serving your best interests, which is awfully difficult to do from the other side of a pane of glass. The poor thing must have been going out of its mind.”

  I opened my palm, allowing the bird to walk up my fingertips. It cheeped, puffing up its feathers. My bird was siding with Owen. This did not bode well.

  “I’ll talk to Mother about placing a feeder and perch in your room and getting you one here at school.”

  “No cage?” I asked. “What about the cats at school, not to mention Horrible Horus?”

  “Oh, no, the familiar, who needs a name, by the way, must be able to follow you around. And the cats will keep their distance out of respect for another familiar. Magical creatures have enough control over themselves to resist their more vulgar instincts.”

  I gently rubbed my finger over the soft feathers on the bird’s head. I didn’t know how I felt about an animal being sentenced to a life of servitude for me. Also, I wasn’t sure how much a bird the size of a sparrow would be able to accomplish for me. I broke off a piece of cookie and offered the crumbs to the bird. “I think I will call you, ‘Phillip.’”

  “A very dignified name,” Owen noted.

  “He looks and acts like a Phillip, demanding, imperious, constantly gorging himself on sweets.” I gave him a speculative look. “On second thought, I should have named him Owen.”

  Owen gasped in mock insult. “You know, for someone who complains about my poor manners, you’re awfully mean to me.”

  “Oh, did I hurt your delicate feelings?”

  “The cruelty! The heartlessness!” he cried clutching at his chest as if mortally wounded, making me cackle. Phillip hopped about on the bench, chirping to add his voice to the chaos.

  “This is what I am referring when to I talk of your poor manners,” he told me. “Please make sure you leave these charming tendencies at the door during the school social.”

  My good mood deflated instantly. “Why did you have to bring up the social?”

  “It will be fine,” he said. “All you have to do is make a good impression on all of the society matrons. Dance beautifully. Avoid any faux pas that might reveal your origins to the very people who could hand you over to the Guild authorities. What part of that frightens you?”

  “The dancing,” I told him.

  He arched his brow. “Really? Of all that, it’s the dancing?”

  “I’ve never danced before in my life. I was too sick to do anything at the Warren dances but sit on the sidelines and watch.”

  “You could practice,” he suggested. “Cast a spell on your slippers so they move your feet for you?”

  “I have tried. It is hopeless. And I looked up the slipper spells. Apparently, it only works if you don’t take the slippers off for the rest of your life. Because if you do, you’ll die.”

  “You could pretend to faint. The room will be warm and crowded. It’s not unusual.”

  I paused. “That… is actually very
helpful. Thank you, I will consider that.”

  Owen grinned, pleased with himself, as usual. I shook my head. I knew it was probably temporary, like everything in my life at the moment, but it was nice to have my friend back. I hoped that Owen could be someone to count on, instead of someone who waited around Raven’s Rest to subtly insult me.

  “Mother’s going to hate having a bird in the house, you know,” Owen said gleefully as he held his hand out to help me off the bench. “It’s going to be fantastic.”

  10

  Golden Cage

  Phillip had grown accustomed to his new life of luxury far faster than I had, but now that he wasn’t flinging himself at my window to catch my attention, he was far less annoying. I’d expected some censure from Headmistress Lockwood for bringing a wild bird fluttering along with me when I returned to school, but she just rolled her eyes ever so slightly and reminded me that students’ families were expected to cover additional cleaning costs associated with familiars. Mrs. Winter sent a special perch carved from driftwood to keep on my nightstand, next to a silver box for his birdseed, and a note telling me how pleased she was that I’d bonded with a small, fashionable familiar, instead of something unfortunate. I got the feeling that she was referring to Dorinda Benisse’s pony. Gilded Lily tended to leave a lot of presents for Tom on the lawn.

  Phillip seemed to sense when I needed quiet, resting sedately on his perch until it was time to hop on my shoulder to remind me of a meal time or peck at the page of the book I was studying to point out an answer. He accepted little crumbs of the almond cookies I snuck out of dining hall, but refused the sesame biscuits, which I thought showed good taste. The sesame biscuits were the one menu item I didn’t like. I felt more settled when Phillip was near. While having Phillip perched on my shoulder while I attempted to Translate the Mother Book didn’t make more pages appear, I felt a little more hopeful about working on it with him near me.

  Unlike most of the familiars, who wandered freely around the school, Phillip kept to my room. He went so far as to flit away from my shoulder as I walked out to classes each morning, preferring to sit on his perch and stand watch over the Mother Book. Hearing his contented little chirps from my bedside table helped me focus on something besides my worry over the social and go to sleep.

  The morning of the social dawned bright and clear, the perfect fairy tale beginning. And yet, I considered any flimsy reason not to attend the “practice” party. I could feel a vicious cold coming on. I was too exhausted from my first week of school to be charming and effervescent. My dress didn’t fit. But I knew that Mrs. Winter wouldn’t accept any of them, particularly the bit about the dress not fitting. So I allowed Hannah to strap me into the traditional Castwell spring green silk party dress with a wide flounced skirt and short, puffed sleeves. Madame DuPont had embroidered tiny white apples in repeating floral patterns along the hem to show Brandywine allegiance. Hannah had taken special care with my hair, piling it on my head in elegant coils.

  I was being watched. The parents, all wealthy Coven Guild adults, stared at me as subtly as possible from behind lace fans and spectacles. Further, since so many of the girls were cowed by Callista’s aggressive claim of friendship, they didn’t dare approach me to make the proper introductions to their parents. So I stood there, silently, keeping my hands folded with the metal dragonfly pressed firmly against my skirts. Mrs. Winter had written specifically to tell me not to wear gloves to the event, as she wanted it to be well-known that I was the Translator. I felt awkward and uncomfortable, as if the other guests could see through the pretty dress and see the real me underneath. Poor, fraudulent Sarah Smith who didn’t want to be seen or studied. I wanted to be in the kitchens preparing trays of food, invisible with no special metal tattoos on my hands or expectations on my shoulders.

  I was so nervous about being silently inspected by the magical adults, powerful people who could recognize me as a Snipe far more easily than their daughters, I spent that time mentally reviewing Mrs. Winter’s etiquette lessons - no eating awkward foods that would stain my dress, no holding my tea cup from the bottom, no refusing dances from prospective partners, just because I found them physically or morally repulsive.

  I didn’t even talk to the other girls around me. I barely registered Callista lingering at the top of the stairs, waiting for her mother to arrive. Ivy paced beside me, gnawing at her fingernails and staring off into the distance. The fact that both girls, so far separated on the popularity spectrum, were so agitated made me nervous. What exactly happened at these social dances?

  Mrs. Winter was fashionably late, of course. She wasn’t the last parent to arrive, but she certainly wasn’t the first, sweeping into the school’s black-and-white tiled atrium in a silk gown of peacock blue. It was fascinating to watch the sea of wide, ruffled skirts part before her, making way. Even the adults who smiled at her with empty, polite expressions still got out of Mrs. Winter’s way when she approached me. Mr. Winter had elected to stay home, as he did not enjoy this sort of gathering… or the people who attended them.

  I managed a decent curtsy without falling over or knocking over bystanders and considered it an accomplishment, especially with so many people watching. Mrs. Winter looked… pleased by my efforts? It was an unexpected surprise from a woman who’d spent most of my life peering down her nose at me with a less than enthusiastic expression.

  “You are looking lovely, dearest,” she pronounced, just loud enough for the other parents to hear as they inched closer. “Madame DuPont was right, this sleeve length is perfect for you. Very appropriate.”

  “Thank you, Auntie Aneira.” I leaned forward, barely close enough to brush a casual air kiss near the vicinity of her cheek. I whispered, “My family?”

  “Oh, we’re all just fine at home, dear,” she said, watching my face carefully. “Missing you terribly, of course, but managing as best we can.”

  I nodded and gave my best impression of a smile.

  “How are your classes? Are you making friends?” she asked. The question felt loaded. And all I could do was nod before Callista swooped in and locked her arm around mine.

  “Oh, Cassie and I are the best of friends already,” she said, loudly, before dropping a deep curtsy to Mrs. Winter.

  Mrs. Winter’s face tightened into an unpleasant mask I recognized as “most seriously displeased,” the sort of expression she made when it rained on the mornings of her garden parties. I wasn’t sure if it was Callista’s use of a nickname like “Cassie” or Callista’s personality that provoked this response. I was just glad it wasn’t directed at me.

  “I’ve been introducing her to the most suitable girls, keeping her from the worst of her missteps,” Callista continued.

  “Well, how lovely,” Mrs. Winter intoned while I gave her a subtle shake of my head. “Miss Cavill, is it?”

  “Callista, ma’am, daughter of Jameson and Lucinda Cavill,” Callista simpered.

  “Yes, I know your parents very well,” Mrs. Winter said flatly. Either Callista didn’t notice the unwelcoming tone of Mrs. Winter’s voice or she was just that good at ignoring it, because at the ripe old age of fourteen, she did not seem at all phased by Mrs. Winter’s disinterest.

  “Oh, and I see my mother now, please excuse me,” Callista said, curtsying again before fluttering across the foyer toward a petite woman in head-to-toe pink lace. She looked like an over-frosted cream puff. The woman greeted her with a cool air kiss and commenced a detailed inspection of Callista’s hairstyle.

  “Let’s go inside before that ridiculous girl brings her mother over,” Mrs. Winter whispered. “Lucinda Cavill is a ninny of the first order. She seems to think she can force her husband’s place on the Guild committee for Snipe enforcement with ham-handed attempts at flattery. If I have to deal with her while managing your debut into polite society and whatever mischief Owen is going to get into today, I may snap and say something that can’t be undone by magical law.”

  “Must we go inside?”
I asked softly.

  Mrs. Winter pulled me into a tiny alcove behind a massive grandfather clock and spoke so quietly I could barely hear her. “Cassandra, you are the Translator. The selection of a new Translator is a major event in Guild Guardian circles, no matter where she’s from. And the fact that Cassandra Reed comes from nowhere has complicated how we might have handled your entry into society. It’s taken all of the influence I have to keep the story out of the newspapers until we’re ready to make a formal announcement this week, an announcement we have carefully crafted to deflect any doubt that you are anything but a gently born, delicately bred young Guardian lady. By now, girls from Miss Castwell’s have already written letters, detailing your rather spectacular first visit to the library to their families. It’s known that I will be attending today’s social to observe my niece. And now that those families know that you’re the Translator, they’re going to want to meet you. If you do not fulfill your social obligations on the first time out, it will give a very poor impression. You cannot tell me that a girl with your natural gifts doesn’t have the audacity to get through a little school dance. Now, are you willing to fulfill those obligations or have I greatly over-estimated you?”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “Excellent. Now, have I ever told you the story of my first social here at the school? Headmistress Lockwood was still a student then, and just as severe and rigid as she is now, which as you can imagine made her ever so much fun at parties. Some poor Palmer boy asked her to dance and wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she spelled his pants to come loose from their suspenders and drop every time he came near her. I laughed so hard that I dribbled punch down my chin and onto the front of my gown.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was the idea of random pants-dropping or Mrs. Winter doing something so gauche as spitting punch down her dress, but thanks to her well-timed story, I entered the room laughing. My tinkling giggle was barely audible over the soft strains of piano and violin. The school’s dance hall was a well-appointed ballroom, slightly less grand than Mrs. Winter’s, but certainly warmer with its sage walls and floral brocade furniture. Tall potted palms and peace lilies seemed to burst forth from every corner, creating an intimate, if slightly mossy environment, courtesy of Madame Greenwood. The twenty or so people gathered there seemed to stop talking the moment Mrs. Winter and I walked through the door. And since they were none-too-subtly staring right at us, there wasn’t much chance that someone else had interrupted the party.