Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  Though Ariana knew it was fruitless, knew that she would not be answered by the glimmering moonlit woman, she asked the same question. “Hello?! Who are you?”

  The question was simple enough, but every time Ariana asked it, she felt its importance. Deep down, she knew if the woman answered her, her life would make so much more sense. The woman never turned around. She only ever lifted a long finger for silence or patience, then Ariana would float off into a real dream.

  Ariana waited for the finger, then froze when the willowy woman turned. Ariana’s heart thumped like a drum against her ribcage. In the quiet nothingness of the fog, she could hear it. Her breath caught in her throat as the most familiar face turned to greet her. Hers was an unearthly visage, pale and sharp, but the color of her eyes was an exact replica of Ariana’s—a blue so light they almost blended with the whites of her eyes. Her mouth was the same heart-shaped pout as her daughter’s.

  “Mama?” Ariana heard the trepidation in her voice, saw the joy in the beautiful woman’s twin irises.

  “Almost, Ari. Very soon,” she replied. She waved a hand in a gentle shooing motion.

  Ariana reached out to the woman, but the wispy figure disappeared, as did the fog and the ship below her. Her heart cried out, knowing, when she woke, she would forget the dream.

  When Ariana woke, complete darkness enveloped her. At first, she was too disoriented to place herself. Then she remembered dinner, rainbows spewing out her mouth. She recalled escaping to her room and falling asleep long before she would normally do so. Her heartbeat settled a little. She sat up, groped blindingly about and thrust open the curtains hanging around her bed.

  The moon was full and bright and lit her room enough for her to see the dim outlines of her room. She lay back on her pillow, her stomach gurgling loudly. She wished her spell hadn’t come at dinner, but she had very little control over when they happened. They were growing stronger and more frequent than when they first began. At first, her father could pass them off as colds. She wondered what he’d tell Lord Telemund to keep him from blabbing. This one would certainly not be passed off as trifling sickness.

  For a little while, the big fits only happened when she expressed strong emotions. Because of that, she’d been learning to tame her emotions a little bit. Lately, though, her spells were not fooled by her calm exterior. They came on hard and fast when even the smallest bit of anxiety flooded her. Unfortunately, she was under more stress than she’d ever been, thanks to her father’s insistence that she be married off to “a rich Lord, Duke or Count” within the year.

  The moon glinted off something shiny and hard to the right of her left ear. She sat up, fumbled for the object and picked it up. She turned it over in her hand. It was cold. It was made of glass and some sort of metal, she thought, though it was hard to see in the dimly lit interior of her covered bed. She opened her bed curtains wider, then held the object towards the moonbeam falling from the window just above her four-poster. She gasped.

  It was silver! She was sure of it. A silver necklace or locket of some kind. Had someone left her a gift when she slept? But who could afford to give her a gift like this, and why would they? Her father could afford it, but he would never again give her a gift, after tonight’s spell.

  She jumped down from her bed and positioned herself better in the moonlight. The silver edges of the necklace sparkled in the moonbeams. In the middle of the necklace hung a glass-covered face of a very simple compass. It had only one letter printed on it, the letter “N.” North, obviously. The needle in the middle pointed directly at the “N,” though Ariana could swear it actually pointed West.

  She frowned at the compass. Where had it come from? And why would anyone leave it for her? She wasn’t even allowed to go to the market without Ruthie or Annabeth as an escort. Why would she ever need a compass in her new role as wife? Men were the ones who got to go on adventures. Wives stayed home and wrung their hands in worry over their menfolk. Or, at least, that’s how it worked in the dull books Ruthie used to read her.

  Lately, her father insisted Ruthie replace the insipid books with even duller non-fictions about caring for silver properly, hosting parties, and organizing seating charts for large parties. She never thought she’d beg for the insipid romances, but every time the cook opened A Wife’s Guide to Good Etiquette by Lenard Franco she did. She often fantasized about running into Mr. Franco and smacking him across the face with the thick, boring tome. Ruthie never said as much, but Ariana had a strong suspicion Ruthie felt the same way.

  Even so, as she turned the glittering compass in her hands, she couldn’t help but think of the sort of adventure she would need a compass for: a safari, a sailing expedition, a hike in the mountains of Teeran. She closed her eyes and let her mind take her to those places in turn.

  A safari. The golden plains of grass stretched endlessly before her. The sun’s intense heat scorched the back of her neck as she raised a looking glass to her eye and spied a pair of giraffes—graceful even in their disproportions. The beating sun was so hot behind her neck, she turned up the cuff of her imaginary collar to keep it from burning her pale skin.

  Suddenly, she was at the wheel of a massive ship, the wind throwing her loose hair back from her face. Misty sprays of salt water slapped the side of her vessel and splashed into her face. Never had her imagination felt so real. Ariana swore her face really was wetted by salt water. She poked her tongue from her mouth, ran it along her bottom lip, and tasted salt!

  She swiped her hand over her cheek and stared at the damp patch of moisture in disbelief. Until she remembered she’d been crying when she fell asleep. Of course, her face was salty and wet. But that had been a while ago…

  She was just closing her eyes, readying to hike the chilled heights of Mount Crystal in Teeran when a quick knock sounded only on the door. Ruth didn’t wait to be told to come in. None of the servants did; they didn’t fear her like they feared her father, no matter how strange her spells were. She liked that about them. She didn’t want to be feared.

  Ruth’s red hair was specked in gray above her temples. She had a soft, sweet face that aged well. She couldn’t be much older, if any, than Ariana’s father. Her hands were full, so Ariana hopped down from her bed and opened the door.

  At first, she thought Ruth was here on her father’s behest, to detail the wrongs done to dinner from her spell. But as soon as Ruth pushed her way past the door with a “Thank you, Miss Ari,” the smell of rich chocolate filled the air. Ariana’s stomach groaned in response.

  Ruth chuckled. “That’s what I was figurin’, miss. Ya didn’ get one bite down that whole meal with that unattractive young Lord starin’ down his long nose at ya. I tried to warn my Lord, but he wouldn’ hear it. I told him ya looked too pale, but...well, no matter. Ya didna’ want that young man’s attention anyway, did ya, lass?”

  Ariana smiled at the cook. “Heavens no. He didn’t want me, either, though, even before the spell.”

  Ruth nodded. “I think yer probably right, lass, but that’s not sayin’ nothin’ bad about ya. Yer still a child. Ya don’ have the same...attractions as an older lady might.” Ruth blushed a little.

  Ariana looked down at her rail flat body. “So, why do they come, then? I don’t want them to, and most don’t want to be there. It all seems such a waste.”

  Waste made her remember the rainbows that ruined Ruth’s hard work, and her heart dropped. “Not to mention all the food that I ruined. Sorry about that, Ruthie. I did try to stop it. I...I wish I knew what was wrong with me.”

  Her heart always felt lighter after talking to Ruthie. Ariana was clearly different from other people, but Ruthie never treated her like she was. But these spells were strange, and strange was a bad thing to be in her small section of the world. If Lord Telemund blabbed...well, he was the end of list of people growing shorter by the day who would marry the weird Grey girl. That didn’t bother her, but her father grew increasingly nasty and sullen towards her.

  R
uth waved the apology off. “There’s nothin’ wrong with ya, lass. Yer breathin’ and talkin’, aren’t ya? Ya can’t stop the spells, whatever they are. It’s plain as daylight ya can’t. Well, plain to most, anyway.” Ariana heard the criticism of her father in Ruth’s words, and worried for the cook. She looked over Ruth’s shoulder at the closed door.

  Ruth followed her eyes and smiled. “He’s not in. That’s why I figure it’s safe to sneak ya some of this. It’s the only thing that wasn’t on the table when ya tossed them rainbows.” She tried not to smile, but failed. “What I wouldn’t have given to see that stuffy young man’s face! I do wonder what kind of magic yer mother had in her, youngin’. Heavens knows ya don’ get it from yer father.”

  Ariana smirked. “Lord Telemund looked very disgusted by it.”

  She ignored Ruthie’s comments about her mother. Ruthie was the only one who ever mentioned the mother Ariana never met, and she was the only one who ever spoke of magic. Ruthie thought what was happening to Ariana was not of this world. Ariana had a hard time believing that, but she had an equally hard time disputing it.

  The rainbow vomiting spell was not the first weird fit, though it was the strangest. On one occasion, her chair had shot backward out of the room with her on it. Another time, it began raining directly over her suitor’s head. The time before this one, Ariana’s face, hands and legs started inflating like hot air balloons. They’d deflated the moment the suitor took his leave.

  Her father had an explanation for them all: Ariana had pushed herself away from the table with force. The roof had a leak. Ariana was reacting to shellfish. But she didn’t have allergies to shellfish. It wasn’t raining on the day the shower drenched Lord Barth. She’d never moved the day her chair shot out of the room. She remembered thinking longingly of Ruth alone in the kitchen, no worries for suitors she didn’t want, and she’d suddenly shot backwards into the kitchen.

  Ariana didn’t want to talk about her spells or her absent mother, however. Her stomach growled over the smell of chocolate. “What do you have there, Ruthie?”

  Ruth smiled widely, showing perfectly even teeth and dimples. Ariana thought Ruthie was one of the prettiest women she knew.

  “This,” Ruth said with a flourish, holding up a large piece of dense chocolate cake. She’d been disguising it by her side all the while, so Ariana couldn’t see how massive it was. It was almost as big as Ariana’s head.

  “Ruthie! You’ll be in trouble if he finds out,” she said. But her protests were fairly unconvincing, as she held out her hands to take the cake during the protest.

  Ruth only pursed her lips. “Don’cha worry about me, lass. I will be just fine. Your Lord father loves my cooking.”

  Ariana took the plate onto her lap and scooped a forkful of cake into her mouth. It was sweet, buttery, rich and melt-in-the-mouth moist. After swallowing the mouthful, she muttered, “That’s because you’re the best.”

  Ruth’s smile was sad. “Miss Ariana?”

  Ariana “hmmmed” over the mouthful of cake. Ruth’s eyes were wary. She swallowed hard before saying, “Your Lord father went to speak to a man after dinner. Do you remember Count Repugian?”

  Ariana swallowed a too large piece of cake. It stuck in her throat, so she could not answer right away. She pictured a looming figure of a man, a man who visited her father just after her thirteenth birthday. She remembered her father being surprised by the visit. He hadn’t received a card nor offered an invitation to the rich Count.

  Strangely, her father seemed put out by the intrusion. On the surface, he was polite, of course. He was never rude to men with better titles than he. He’d asked the Count to sit in his study with him and take a hot cup of tea.

  She watched from the top of the staircase as the Count was led in. It was the night after her thirteenth birthday. It was September, and it had been raining heavily. The Count’s cape was drenched. He’d handed the cape to Annabeth, whose white blouse and apron were immediately drenched through. Ariana remembered the way the Count’s black eyes lingered greedily on Annabeth’s wet clothing. His expression was animal and frightening. It made the hairs on her arms stand in protest. Annabeth hurried from the room as fast as her short legs could carry her.

  Annabeth passed by Ariana in the hall after putting the Count’s cloak to warm in front of the drawing room fire. She folded her arms in front of her chest as if protecting herself, and, in quite a different manner from which she usually addressed Ariana said, “Go to your room. Don’t let that man see you.”

  Annabeth never forgot to address her with polite etiquette, nor had Ariana ever seen her so agitated.

  “Why not?” Ariana asked, though her skin crawled and, in her heart, she knew the answer.

  “My aunt, when she was young, was a servant in that man’s household.” The fear and disgust in Annabeth’s voice made Ariana’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “He’s a bad man, my Lady. I don’t want him to see you. He shouldn’t see you.”

  She rushed down the hall then, only turning at the end of it to make a shooing motion with shaking hands. Ariana turned on her heel and ran to her room. She couldn’t say why, but she’d pushed her vanity in front of the door that night, something that she was immediately reprimanded for the following day at breakfast. But her father’s heart had not been in the reprimand and his eyes were knowing. She’d asked about the man at breakfast and her father’s answer had been short and evasive.

  “Count Repugian had business to discuss with me,” he’d answered her. “But we did not come to an agreement, so do not worry yourself about it. He will not be a frequent visitor. Indeed, I very much doubt he will visit again.”

  Ariana had been unaccountably relieved she would not see him again, and so had her father. He usually liked men with titles to visit.

  “I remember him, yes,” Ariana finally answered. Her appetite fled with the memory of the man’s deep-set eyes, leering grin and looming presence. To her, he felt like a dark corner, a shadow hiding something.

  “I shouldn’ have pried, miss, but I brought them tea that night, so I overheard the Count’s offer. He wanted to marry ya.” Her face twisted in disgust. “Him who’s been married three times already to girls yer age. And widowed three times.”

  Ariana’s mouth fell open and her stomach dropped to her feet. “What did father say?”

  “He told the Count he was aware of the compliment he was payin’ ya in asking for yer hand, but that you were yet too young to marry,” Ruth answered.

  “But father has been trying to marry me to other men for almost a year now. Did he change his mind?”

  Ariana couldn’t help but be grateful that her father had not wished to marry her off, then, but she couldn’t account for this change in heart.

  “Lady Grey, I know it may not always seem it, but yer father loves ya in his own way,” she answered carefully. “And he did not care for the Count.”

  “You mean my father lied to him? Why?”

  “He did not want that fate for ya, lass. It’s why he has been growing more and more upset with ya, of late.” She shook her head. “The Count was persistent. He said he would wait a year, and if ya had yet to be wed would appeal to your father again. He dare not refuse such a powerful man a second time. He hasn’ been trying to marry ya off to be rid of ya, lass. He has been tryin’ to marry ya to save ya.”

  Ariana sat down hard on her bed, placing the still-full plate next to her on the bed. “I can’t marry that man. He...he makes me feel sick to my stomach.”

  Ruthie nodded. “I know, dearie. I do. And ya can’t stop the spells. But yer da can’t pretend anymore. He has gone to invite the Count to dinner in two days’ time. I was told, so I could cook for you all.”

  Fear and disgust closed Ariana’s throat. She could not find words strong enough to protest the injustice of such a match. How could her father not advocate for her better? It was his job to protect her. She knew it was also his job to provide for her, but surely throwing her at the merc
y of such a man was not protecting or providing for her.

  “But...that’s not right, Ruth. It’s not right! . Don’t I get a say? What if I tell father I don’t want to marry him, that he scares me, that the maids whisper terrible things? What if…”

  Ruthie put a hand on Ariana’s should. “Listen to me, Lass. We are women. We are told we don’t have a say, that we have to leave the thinking to the men. All that means is we have to be more clever than those who do have a say. We have to get what we want by makin’ the men in our lives think it was their idea. Do you understand what I’m sayin’?”

  Ariana’s stomach hurt and her head spun. She simply shrugged in answer, not having the strength to tell Ruthie she had no idea how to make a smarter, older, wickeder man do what she wanted.

  Ruthie pointed to the cake. “Eat. Ya need yer strength for what lies ahead. Besides, it’s my best recipe.”

  Ariana made to argue, but Ruthie put up a finger. “Eat and listen, lass. Listen to a woman who has had to navigate the rough waters of men before.”

  Ariana put a small forkful of cake in her mouth to appease Ruthie. Ruthie sat next to her on the bed. “Ya often seem to hold back when those spells of yers take over. What do ya think would happen if ya didn’ hold back? If you sorta even fed ‘em?”

  Ariana frowned, chewed, then answered, “You mean, if I tried to have a spell? I suppose whatever was going to happen would just happen sooner rather than later. I don’t have much control over them. They will eventually happen no matter how hard I try to stop them.”

  Ruthie smiled. “Well, while I think yer right ya can’t stop ‘em, maybe that don’ mean ya don’ have control. Have you ever tried to control ‘em, lass? Direct ‘em?”

  Ariana frowned, then grinned, catching on. “No, I haven’t...but if I did…”

  Ruthie patted her on the head. “If ya happened to have a very bad, very messy, very scary spell when the Count was here, it might just convince him he don’ want the trouble of ya. Think on it, lass, and eat that cake. Maybe get some practice in before the Count gets here. Remember, we have to be more clever than men. You make that man remember that he don’ want nothin’ to do with ya.”