But what if Callista hadn’t taken it? What if Miss Morton had taken it from my room and the flowers had fallen into the book while she was handling it? But why? I would have shown her the book any time she asked. Why would she take it from me? I hoped it wasn’t true. Miss Morton was one of the most truly accepting people at the school, one of the few people I considered friends at the moment. She was the one who helped me find the spell to relocate the book. Why wouldn’t she just tell me she’d taken it and give it back?
I closed my eyes and then opened them to stare up at the ceiling, where the late afternoon light shone through the House sigil constellation window. I spotted the blobby stain I’d noticed on my very first day at Miss Castwell’s. I’d spent so much time in the library and I’d been so involved in reading that I hadn’t really looked at it again. Mrs. Winter said that the glass had been vandalized while she was a student at Castwell’s. What if I was right when I thought that some misguided Grimstelle descendant had tried to add her sigil to the celestial ceiling?
I moved as quickly as I could, exhausted by the act of walking up one flight of stairs to where Miss Morton kept a display of class photos on a large expanse of wall between the astral projection and astrology sections. Each photo featured that year’s senior girls arranged on the grand staircase in the lobby, dating back to before the Great Restoration. Mrs. Winter would never admit her age, but I searched back twenty picture frames or so and found Headmistress Lockwood’s rigid form front and center. Even as a student, she’d had a permanently exasperated expression. Mrs. Winter was standing a few spots to the right, looking resplendent, even in black and white. I scanned the other girls’ faces. In the back, almost hidden between other smiling girls, was Miss Morton. Even at seventeen, she’d looked older than her years. Her hair was already frizzling around her face, her round glasses giving her eyes a wide, plaintive look.
My head swimming, I squinted at the photo, spotting the now-familiar sprig of nightglove pinned to Miss Morton’s dress – the sprig of nightglove secured with a tarnished owl-shaped brooch.
Why hadn’t I noticed that before? Had I become so used to the dull, dark brooch against Miss Morton’s dark clothes that I became blind to it?
My limbs growing even heavier, I stumbled down the stairs and approached the House Drummond archive. I opened the thick volume and found the page listing the Morton family.
I traced the connection from the major line from House Drummond to the Morton’s roots. Miss Morton’s great-great-grandfather was listed as the son of Gulliver Drummond one of the most powerful men in that era’s government and a master of training dogs to assist in hunting potion ingredients in the woods. Mr. Drummond also happened to be an acquaintance of Calpernia McCray, and I happened to remember a journal entry in which Calpernia mentioned Gulliver boring everyone at a dinner party with a lengthy description of his dog’s favorite places to nap. She wrote that it was no surprise that Gulliver was unmarried with no children, as he was far more interested in his dogs than raising a family.
Miss Morton couldn’t be connected to the Drummond family that way. I searched for other Mortons, but all of them had connections to major houses I could confirm. Miss Morton wasn’t related to any of those families. It was if she’d materialized from nothing.
Miss Morton had betrayed me. She’d lied to me, pretending to be my friend. She’d stolen from me. Cold, sharp dread spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I picked up the Mother Book and stood, determined to get back to my room and send Mrs. Winter a scrying message as soon as possible, but my skirts snagged on the chair leg and tripped me up, sending me sprawling across the library floor. I groaned and tried to push up, but my arms collapsed under me. I couldn’t move. I didn’t have the energy to stand up. I rolled on my back, my eyes not quite focusing on the sigil constellations overhead. The blurry smear on the ceiling seemed to be mocking me. My eyes fluttered closed.
And then, it struck me, Morton. Mort. The latin root word for death. Grimstelles were masters of death. Miss Morton was a Grimstelle, hidden right under my nose.
I was an idiot.
I woke to find Miss Morton hovering over me in the darkened library, holding a small cray-fire lamp close to my face. “Cassandra, wake up.”
“Miss Morton?” I mumbled. I was so weak I could barely sit up. My head was all fuzzy and my eyes weren’t focusing. There was something important, something I was supposed to do, but if felt like a bad dream, something I couldn’t drag into the waking world with me. “Time’sit?”
I pushed up, feeling around the floor beside me, trying to find the book. “Where’s the Mother Book?”
“Oh, I’m taking it outside, I thought perhaps studying it outside would do you some good, get a little fresh air.”
“No,” I groaned. “Too tired. I don’t think I should be working with the book so much.”
“I am afraid I must insist, dear. It will make you feel better.”
“No, please,” I murmured before slipping under the surface of sleep. I faded in and out while Miss Morton was practically dragging me down the hallway, to a part of the school I didn’t recognize. The walls were spotted with mold and the great swatches of paint were flaking from the ceiling. She carried me round and round a dark passage of creaking steps, tucking me under her arm. The book was clutched in the other. How was Miss Morton this strong? We reached a stone chamber with walls that opened onto the school grounds. The flow of fresh air revived me enough to look around.
We were high off the ground, the school’s green expanse of lawn stretching out to all directions. The stone chamber’s corners were marked by four intricately carved green columns. The bell tower? A wide ladder led to the next level. I could see candlelight through a hole in the ceiling above, reflecting off of the large bronze bell. Miss Morton dropped me into a half-rotten desk chair, the arm falling off under the impact of my weight.
And then I remembered, Miss Morton. Miss Morton was a Grimstelle. Miss Morton had stolen the Mother Book.
“Just a little bit more,” Miss Morton cooed, the tarnished owl glinting dully in the low light as she propped the Mother Book into my hands. “You’ve given me almost everything I need. You’ve been so very helpful, Cassandra. I can’t control the Mother Book. I will never be given that privilege, but all that power flowing through your veins. It’s mine. I’ve cursed the book, you see, to be a sort of psychic funnel, channeling all that lovely power of yours into my magic. You’ve been draining yourself of your very life force for weeks. It’s almost used up, now. I wrote the spell years ago, just waiting for the day a Translator might come along. And when you finally let the book out of your sight long enough for me to take it from your room, I laid my trap. I’ve learned over the years, hiding my heritage, living in mediocrity, to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. And look how my investment has profited!”
She smiled sweetly, her eyes glittering madly behind her round-rimmed glasses. “Every time you were such a good little witch, obeying my requests to work with the book, meditating so faithfully, you were feeding me your magic, making me stronger. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish half so much. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to use my family’s spells to raise poor Tom. I’d hoped that if he finished you for me, that I could take the book, that without a Translator, its secrets would be open to me. But alas, I am just going to content myself with taking your magic.”
“Miss Morton, please don’t do this,” I slurred, falling against my chair, exhausted by the effort of speaking. I felt Miss Morton’s cold fingers, tugging at my wrists, binding me with rough hemp rope. “I trusted you.”
“Oh, believe me, dear, I know. Do you have any idea how irritating it is to hear someone complain about having such a gift drop in their lap? I would kill to be able to do what you do without even thinking about it… well, I suppose, I will kill to be able to do what you do.”
“Did you change the ceiling in the library, when
you were a girl?”
She rolled her eyes a bit. “An act of youthful rebellion. It burned me, every time I walked into that library and saw the Mother Houses sigils, leaving out House Grimstelle. But no one even knew what the Grimstelle owl meant. They didn’t know to be afraid. They thought it was some girlish prank, but the experience taught me that temper tantrums wouldn’t get me the power, the respect that I wanted. Long years of calculated work, that was my path. And working under that blemish, day in and day out, for years, helped me remember that.”
She brushed my hair away from my face in a movement that was almost tender. And the gesture had me closing my eyes like a sleepy child. “You should feel fortunate, to be a part of this, to be a witness to a change in history’s guard. I am going to make the Great Restoration look like a garden party. You will help me turn the whole world on its ear. All of those Guardians who have treated you and Snipes like you like dirt over the years, they will understand what it means to be afraid, helpless, to have their choices taken away. I will bring them to their knees.”
I squinted at her. “You know about me?”
“Of course, I do, dear,” she sniffed. “Mrs. Winter provided far too many details in your story when she applied for you. Aneira never explains herself to anyone like that. Besides, no child who’d had access to library books her whole life would treat them with the reverence you do. But honestly, Cassandra, I don’t care where your magic comes from. As long as I can use it to meet my goals.”
Staring past her, I could see Phillip on the ledge of the tower, chirping furiously. I swallowed, barely able to produce enough air to make words. I hadn’t felt this weak since my days as Sarah, swallowing those suppressors. “Phillip. Mrs. Winter. Ivy. Alicia. Please.”
“What was that, dear?” she asked.
I shook my head, wrapping my arms around my middle. The tower was so cold. Or was it me? I felt the holster for Wit under my sleeve. Miss Morton hadn’t thought to take it from me. I could use it to protect myself if I could just lift my arms. My eyelids drifted shut. My head drooped forward and I had to catch myself to keep from toppling over. I would get up in just a minute. Wait, no, Miss Morton was tying me to the chair…
Gasping as I woke, I felt warm hands curl around my arms, dragging me away from the desk, against a wall of the tower. The chair made distressingly loud scraping sounds against the stone floor.
“Whass happening?” I slurred, slumping forward. I glanced around and found Ivy giving me a reassuring smile. “Just give us a minute, and we’ll have you free, Cassandra.”
“How did you get here?” I whispered.
Alicia said, “You called us here. You’re annoying little bird was very insistent.”
“And your mirror messages were getting near incoherent, we knew something was wrong,” Ivy added.
“You got my messages? Why didn’t you write back?”
“Our mothers took our athames so we couldn’t respond.”
“They actually coordinated the effort,” Alicia groused. “I was on the verge of stealing Gavin’s blade from his room when Ivy climbed up my trellis. She snuck her athame out of her parents’ room.”
“That’s funny,” I giggled loopily. When they paused to stare at me, I added, “Because ivy climbs a trellis – the plant. Never mind.”
“We broke into my mother’s study and took my blade back. Oh, and these are for you.” Alicia reached into her pocket and pulled out six letters with my name on them, written in Gavin’s messy scrawl.
“What?” The envelopes slipped through my fingers like wet tissue.
“My mother kept them in the same desk drawer where she hid my athame. I think she told the servants not to post them.”
“Because of the rumors?” I guessed.
“No, Mother is just very possessive of Gavin, and I would imagine she didn’t like how often he was writing you,” she said. “Good luck with that. What’s taking so long with the ropes, Ivy?”
“Well, Miss Morton may be absolutely insane, but she’s a dab hand at tying very complicated knots.”
Alicia scowled. “You know, you could speed the process along by using magic. Or that enormous knife in your sleeve.”
Ivy scowled right back, whispering an incantation over the ropes binding my ankles and wrists.
“Where is she?” I asked, slowly coming to some form of awareness.
“She’s up in the bell tower, preparing for some sort of ritual. She’s got the Mother Book with her,” Ivy whispered.
“I’ve been such a fool,” I sighed.
Alicia assured me. “I’m sure it’s not so bad.”
“She’s using the book to suck the magic out of me so she can raise an army of the dead to topple the Coven Guild government.”
“All right, that is rather serious,” Alicia admitted.
“Is there any other adult on the grounds? Can we scry message for help?” Ivy asked.
“There’s no time. What she’s planning, she’s planning to do right now.”
Together, they nodded. “And it will be dangerous.”
I received more nods and was pleased that they didn’t hesitate. These girls were my true friends, there to support me, to help me, even if I was about to do something completely reckless and stupid. They gave me strength, creeping into my limbs and making it a little easier for me to stay upright. “We could probably be seriously injured. If not killed.”
More nods, though just a little slower.
They helped me to my feet and held me steady as my equilibrium fought to right itself. “Before we go rushing in to a very dangerous situation without a semblance of a plan, I have to tell you something. I’m not Cassandra Reed. I’m not a Guardian, like both of you. I’m a Snipe. I was a servant in Mrs. Winter’s household until a few months ago. I don’t know why I can do what I can do. But I will understand if you decide that you want to run home.”
Neither girl’s expression changed at all; no anger, no hurt, just the same steady exasperation they usually showed me.
“All right then,” Ivy said. “Anything else?”
I frowned. “I lied to you.”
“Yes,” Alicia said.
“Everything you know about me is a lie,” I said.
“Yes, and Ivy’s not really a descendant of Morgana,” Alicia told me. “My mother’s family originally made their money selling magic beans. All of our histories are riddled with little inaccuracies. Yours is just bigger than most.”
Ivy said, “And we can sort all of this out later. Right now, there’s a magic-wielding maniac trying to end the world as we know it.”
“I just wanted you to know before you ran at the maniac headlong,” I said.
Ivy patted my hand. “We appreciate that.”
“You’re the same girl who was our friend when no one else was. You’re the same girl who defended me from Callista and risked your social neck for Ivy,” Alicia told me. “Everything else can be managed.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, my head bowed. Both girls squeezed my arms gently.
After a silent moment, a thought occurred to me. “Alicia, what would happen if the wards your brother put on you were removed?”
Alicia pulled a face. “I would have a major burst of power, but as long as the wards were replaced, well, it would put me in the sick wing for a while, but I would be OK.”
I smiled. Ivy’s mouth dropped open as she picked up on my intentions. “Oh… no.”
“It will be fine,” Alicia told her. Ivy frowned, so Alicia added, “It will be fine, in general.”
It took us surprisingly little time to concoct some semblance of plan. I slowly climbed the ladder to the tower, careful to make very little noise. Ivy was going to use all of her ward-manipulating skills to remove the limitations on Alicia’s magic while I distracted Miss Morton. Then they would “prop me up” like they had when we’d reclaimed my lost book while I made use of the “banishing of an evil spirit” spell the Mother Book had shown me weeks ago. I figured th
ere was no spirit more evil than someone who was planning to raise an undead army.
The bell tower glowed an eerie green from the light of hundreds of tiny candles. Callista, Jeanette and Helena were bound and gagged, tied to desk chairs. They were slumped against each other, unconscious. Miss Morton was dressed in a positively glamorous black gown embroidered with white owls while she danced around the tower, maneuvering around candle stands and drawing symbols in the air with her athame. Their shapes were dull and sickly grey, fading into the air like a stain. She skidded to a halt when I emerged into the tower.
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you, yet. Very rude, you know, for a guest to turn up early, before the hostess has time to complete preparations.”
“What are you doing to them?” I asked, dread sinking in my belly.
“You are witnessing the birth of history, my dear. Thanks to you, I have the magic I need to begin my army,” Miss Morton preened. “Three girls from the most powerful families in Lightbourne, here to witness my triumph, to see their power slipping through their fingers before I send them to the great beyond. They’ll be the first to rise in my legion.”
“And that’s why you needed my magic? To turn Castwell’s students into Revenants?”
“Not all of them,” Miss Morton insisted. “Just the girls from the more prominent families, and the more annoying girls, on principal. Do you have any idea how devastated their parents will be to have their daughters’ Revenants shambling around on their lawn every night? They’ll be powerless, too busy mourning to stop me.”
I stepped carefully around the podium, toward the girls. Miss Morton hissed like an angry cat and sent three blades flying from her sleeve. I cringed, throwing up my arms, and the blades flew off course, dropping harmlessly over the edge of the stone wall. I dropped to the floor, exhausted by the magical efforts.
Who hid three blades in their sleeve? That was cheating.
“Shameful.” Miss Morton sighed, tapping each girl on the forehead. I hoped that meant that they were merely unconscious and not already dead. “Always cringing. Always so afraid. From what I’ve heard, the other Changelings were never so pathetic.”
Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1) Page 23
