by Katie Cross
“My father?”
She turned so I could see the profile of her beautiful face. “The Central Network.”
The horizon had righted itself, making me feel more grounded. I stood but held onto the wall with a hand behind my back. My breath caught with a nervous flutter in my throat when Mabel started to leave.
“You didn’t know it would happen, did you?” I asked, blurting out the question before I lost my courage. Mabel paused, her back to me. Several seconds passed in tense silence.
“No,” she said. “Perhaps I didn’t know that particular spell could allow you into my mind as easily as I entered yours.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if she underestimated the power of Almorran magic and hadn’t known how to control it that night. What else had she not anticipated?
“Although, I should have known you to be a sneaky little lynx who goes where you aren’t invited.”
“You weren’t invited into my head.”
She bared her teeth. “I went there anyway.”
Her hatred for me had grown. I could feel it in every word she spoke. The value of my life as Derek’s daughter was the only thing keeping her from killing me.
“You were the one in control of the magic,” I said, taking a step back to put some distance between us. The backs of my knees collided with the balustrade. “It wasn’t my choice.”
Her nostrils flared. The ebony folds of her dress billowed out in a plume as she whipped around, her eyes as red as blood.
“You know nothing about the magic!” she snarled. “Nothing!”
The tendrils of Mabel’s mind called to me in whispers. In a flash, shadows of my time in her head resurrected themselves. They shifted, gaining ground until all I could hear was the tormented cry of young Mabel’s voice in my head.
She left me.
“You’ll die for what you know,” Mabel hissed, advancing on me. “I’ll have my revenge on you the same way I took revenge on Angelina. I am the most powerful witch in all of Antebellum. Thanks to the High Priests of Almorra, no one will hold power over me ever again.”
I tried to mentally untangle myself, shaking my head to clear away the burst of darkness. As quickly as her sudden mania arose, it disappeared. The keen of her buried pain faded from my mind.
Mabel turned away, breathing fast. She clenched her jaw, as if striving to regain control. After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled her shoulders back, drew in a deep breath, and sashayed off the balcony and out of her room. Juka slinked after her. I watched her walk away, keenly aware of the desperation of my circumstance. I had to find Isadora and the Book of Light before the glimpses of madness I saw in Mabel’s eyes took control.
Gathering Information
The sound of the bedroom door opening startled me out of my thoughts the next morning. I sat up. Juba lifted his head and sniffed. I peered around the corner, expecting to see Mabel, but found a maid of ten or eleven instead. She had short, black hair, a wide face with a pert little nose, and narrow almond-shaped eyes so dark they were almost black. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said she was from the lower tribes of the Southern Network. But why would she be working in the Arck? The castle in the Western Network was a far cry from what I assumed to be her homeland.
The little girl carried a tray into the room and set it in front of me. She bowed low to Juba and scurried backward out the door. When she returned, she lugged a heavy bucket into the room. Frothy water sloshed onto her dress and apron, spilling over the top of a heavy black-bristled brush. At her age, she should be able to use magic to levitate the bucket into the room. Unless she was from the Southern Network and couldn’t do magic anymore, of course.
“Merry meet,” I said, touching the sleeve of her simple dress as she walked past. “Thank you for the food.”
She leaped away. Her bucket of water tipped over, sloshing across the floor in foamy waves.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, rushing forward. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Bianca. Let me help you clean that up.”
She scrambled back, fear in her eyes. I stopped and held out my palms in a gesture of peace.
“It’s all right.”
She stared at me like she didn’t understand, so I switched to the common language spoken through all the Networks.
“Name?” I asked.
Her lips pressed together. Her skinny shoulders, too scrawny to carry such a heavy burden, trembled. She looked back at the spilled water, and tears filled her eyes. I used silent magic to cast a simple incantation, and the water slid backward, gathering itself into the overturned bucket, which righted itself once the water and scrubbing brush returned. Her eyes widened.
“Hot,” I said, motioning to the steaming water. The words and accent felt cumbersome, but her shoulders relaxed. “Be … uh … careful.”
Juba stalked toward us, his teeth half-bared. She squeaked and ran out the door, a small silver manacle flashing off her ankle as she disappeared. Satisfied, Juba circled lazily on the spot and sprawled his long, supple body across the middle of the floor.
“You’re a bully,” I hissed. He licked his lips and yawned.
Perturbed, I returned to the breakfast tray to find a small, round loaf of bread and a few scattered seeds on a small plate. The bread was only the size of my fist, but when I picked it up, it was so dense I imagined it would fill me up for a while. Next to it sat several sprigs of parsley and mint and a thin, shallow jar of olive oil. I wondered if I was supposed to grind the herbs up into the oil.
Grandmother loved the smell of parsley, I thought, reminiscing with a little smile as I twirled the green twig. The flailing leaves gave me a moment of pause.
Parsley.
And mint.
“When you can’t sleep,” Grandmother had always told me, “just blend together dried parsley, mint, cinnamon, and sage to make a sleeping potion. If you combine it with the right spell and put a little sprinkle of it in your warm tea, it’ll put you right to sleep.”
I cast a sidelong glance at Juba.
Put you right to sleep, eh? I thought.
I slipped both herb sprigs into my undergarment. They’d dry out on a high shelf in the bathroom soon enough in the desert air. A few more days of herbs like this, and I’d have enough parsley and mint to start the potion. But where to get cinnamon and sage? I doubted they had much sage around here.
I’ll find it, I thought. Somehow.
Because one never knew when a sleeping potion could come in handy.
The most unusual event caught my attention in the twilight hours that evening: Juba was snoring.
I stared at him for several minutes in disbelief. Could it be real? He didn’t move from his lazy, post-dinner slumber. Not even a twitch. I coughed. Nothing. The soft patter of my bare feet walking across the stone floor didn’t rouse him either. He stirred for a moment and resumed snoring.
“Suspicious,” I whispered.
A sound on the balcony caught my ear. I turned toward it, my breath held. Though I saw nothing but a black velvet sky studded with stars behind the rippling red rock wall, I tensed. Something—or someone—was there. I crept out to the balcony and peered down.
“Zane?” I whispered. “Is that you?”
“Sure is.”
I cast a wary glance back at Juba, who snored on. Zane worked his way farther up the wall, wearing a hooded garment the exact color of the rock. His piercing eyes met mine as he pulled himself up to come face to face with me, clinging to the rock wall with no rope to secure him.
“Good,” he said with a pleased little huff. “I’m in the right place.”
“Why are you free climbing?”
“Just in case Mabel’s tracking the use of magic around here somehow,” he said, only slightly out of breath. “I’ve often found that the easiest way to beat magic is to not use it at all. This way she’ll have nothing to detect.”
So simple and uncomplicated it could work.
His fingertips
dug into the wall. His nostrils flared as he shifted, getting a more comfortable grip. Thankfully, his arms weren’t trembling with fatigue yet, and a small lip in the rock provided an adequate rest for his feet, but we wouldn’t have much time.
“I can’t help you,” I said, lifting my manacled wrist. “Or else I’d give you my hand. This stops me from moving past the balustrade. Last time I tried, it knocked me out. Probably just as well. I think the balcony is enchanted to blow up anything that falls too far over the edge.”
“Ah, yes. Of course she has magic in place, as I suspected. Is it Almorran magic?” he asked, studying the manacle. I lifted it in the flickering torchlight.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s not,” he said under his breath, shaking his head. “I should have known right away. It’s Cudan magic. I’ve seen it before. Actually used a few spells from the Cudans myself. For as strong as it is, the magic is pretty simple. But I’m still surprised she didn’t use Almorran magic, which would have been even stronger.”
“Cudan?” I repeated, vaguely remembering one of the books on Mabel’s shelf. “I’ve never heard of the Cudans before.”
Zane shrugged. “They were an old, conservative group of witches that lived in the Central and Eastern Networks eight hundred years ago, I think. They didn’t like things like transportation or transformation—said it wasn’t natural for witches to be animals and travel instantly. They didn’t create a lot of spells, but the ones they did craft were reliable. Mostly defensive. Kept to themselves. Kind of a strange group, if you ask me.”
A prickling sensation ran up the back of my neck.
“Did the Cudans create a spell that uses flames to protect a doorway?” I asked wryly.
“Yes,” he said. “Many spells like that. If that’s what Mabel’s using, she’s done her homework. The Cudans aren’t well known anymore. Your father and I use their magic sometimes.”
“Hmm,” I said, not reassured by his appraisal of her skills. I’d have rather considered her a lesser enemy, but I knew she was thorough and intelligent. Zane’s quick eyes darted around the balcony.
“It doesn’t feel like any of this magic is Almorran.”
His observation forced me to think back over my imprisonment. Why wasn’t it Almorran magic? She was the Almorran Master, but she didn’t seem to use it often. Or, in retrospect, at all.
“Seems odd, doesn’t it?”
He looked at me with a serious expression, and I realized he meant for me to answer. “Yes,” I said. “It is strange.”
“How are you?” he asked. “Are you doing all right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Tell Papa I’m doing all right. Really.”
“Is your magic under control?”
I reared back, startled. Being kidnapped and trying to find a way out had kept me so occupied I hadn’t even thought about my magic. It had only been two days, but I felt no building energy.
“Fine so far, actually,” I said, brushing a lock of hair out of my eyes. “I suppose I’ve been distracted enough that it hasn’t been too bad yet.”
Zane stared at the healing bite on my arm. “What happened?” he asked, motioning to it.
“The cheetah, Juba, thought I was too close to Mabel my first night here,” I said, keeping my response light and unbothered. No reason to worry him or, by extension, Papa. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m surprised he hasn’t come out yet.”
“I drugged him,” Zane said, his eyes inspecting the doorway to Mabel’s chamber. Dim candles illuminated a few areas of her room, but the light was weak at best. “Put a small potion in his food before they brought it up here.”
“Oh?” I asked, forcing nonchalance. “Seems like it worked.”
What a novel idea.
“I’ve had run-ins with his type,” he said, studying the layout of the balcony. “It never ends well.” He pointed up. “Have you ever seen anyone on the balcony up there?”
I glanced up. “No.”
“Hmmm. Also,” Zane continued, with all the breeziness of someone who came for tea, “I can’t tell if he’s a witch who’s transforming into a cheetah or just an exceptionally trained cat.”
“I’m almost positive he’s a transformed witch.”
“Then it’s likely he’s been transformed for a very long time, as the magic is faint, which means he’s becoming the animal he’s changed into. A common mistake.”
Zane whipped his head around to study the other side of the Arck wall. Despite his position grasping the stone like a spider monkey, he didn’t seem to stop moving. His eyes narrowed on something inside while he murmured to himself, no doubt memorizing whatever he could see from his perch.
“How did you keep Papa from coming?” I asked.
“Stella made him sign a binding that he wouldn’t come to the Western Network and try to save you.”
I sighed with relief. If Papa lost his head and acted rashly, it would only result in greater devastation for all of us. I couldn’t bear the thought of the Central Network losing the war because of me. Zane raised his eyebrows as if he agreed with my thoughts.
“That doesn’t mean he’s happy about it,” he said, and I imagined Papa pacing across his office, tearing his hands through his hair until it stood on end.
“I’m gathering information before we act,” he said. “I have a few ideas about how to break you out.”
“Be careful, Zane,” I said. “Mabel … she’s … different. I don’t know how to explain it.” My hands wrung together until the knuckles blanched white. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you while you were trying to save me. Please don’t do anything risky.”
“All the more reason to get you out.”
A bead of sweat streaked down his face. His fingertips had turned white, and his arms trembled. He wouldn’t last much longer clinging to the wall.
“What about Isadora?” I asked. “I’m worried Mabel will kill her, if she hasn’t already.”
“We’re still looking,” he said crisply, shutting down the conversation. A sore spot, no doubt, now that six weeks had passed, and Zane and his group of Protectors still hadn’t been able to find her.
A commotion in the marketplace drew my attention. Two swarthy West Guards grabbed a witch by the neck and hauled him away from a tent. It suddenly seemed like Zane had been here an eternity. The idea of Mabel—or a West Guard—finding him made me physically sick.
“You better go,” I said. “Before you’re seen.”
He glanced over his shoulder. His head tilted to the side, motioning toward the humming marketplace below. “All right. Well, hold tight, kid. I’ll be back.”
“Wait!” I said. “Can you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“I need two herbs.”
His eyebrows rose. “Herbs?”
“Cinnamon and sage. Can you find me three sticks of cinnamon and a small packet of sage?”
He hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “What for?”
I swallowed. Zane would discourage my attempts. Scouting and spying on Mabel was his job. But he wasn’t a prisoner locked in the very castle that I felt certain held the counter magic—and the old Watcher—that we needed. If I could get past Juba, I could likely gain access to things that Zane wouldn’t be able to find. Like Isadora. The opportunity was too great to pass up.
“A little experiment,” I said. He kept his bold gaze locked on mine, and when I didn’t back away, he gave in.
“Fine,” he said. “How am I going to get them to you?”
“Oh … I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead,” I said, wracking my brain. “I … uh …”
He brushed it off. “Never mind. I’ll figure it out.” His eyes tapered, shrinking to mere slits. “Just don’t do anything stupid, all right? I know you. You’re just like your father.”
“Of course not,” I whispered, managing a smile. “Thanks.”
“I’ll check on you even though you may not see me. Don’t attempt to contac�
�”
The sound of the bedroom door slamming against the wall made me jump. I stepped back to see Mabel striding into the room, her black dress waving in plumes behind her. Juka trotted at her side. My heart leaped into my throat.
“Niko, you fool!” she cried, throwing a glass at the wall. Wine sprayed on the red rock, and the glass shattered into a million prisms. Juba started awake, instantly alert though his eyes were pinpricks. I doubted he even realized he’d been drugged.
“Foolish child!”
Mabel hurled a chair against the wall. She balled her hands into fists, stood in the middle of the room, and screamed at the top of her lungs. It echoed through the chamber, sending Juba running in his disoriented stupor. Juka slinked away, her tail tucked between her legs.
My heart took courage. Mabel’s rage against Niko likely meant he’d finalized an alliance with Papa. Good, I thought with relief. At least things were moving forward.
When I looked back into the shadows, Zane was already gone.
Be Strong
“Come on, little troublemaker,” Merrick taunted me from behind. “You can run faster than that.”
A field of green stretched in all directions, littered with the pink and blue petals of spring flowers. Letum Wood loomed tall and dark in the distance, competing only with Chatham Castle for space. I sprinted through the Forgotten Gardens and onto a trail, cutting through the bracken like a swift wind.
“That’s better,” he called. “Run like something is chasing you.”
“Something is chasing me!”
The sound of his deep voice laughing made my heart quiver. When I glanced over my shoulder, he winked.
I jerked awake from the dream with a gasp.
Was it a dream? No. A memory. When I concentrated, I smelled the subtle scent of evergreen that always clung to Merrick’s clothes. Felt the warm dirt between my toes and the stones in the trail. When the recollection became too real, I forced it away. The last tendrils slipped away from me, and I rolled onto my side.
