Short Stories from the Network Series

by Katie Cross

  Hadn’t she done wonderful things in a horrifying time? Camille thought back, startled at all she’d done to help despite her fear.

  I’m stronger than I thought.

  Bettina’s severe expression sent another deep stab into her heart. Would Angie hug her with relief? Not likely. She’d flutter, offering her different types of tea and potions, but no real embrace. Bettina would demand an explanation.

  No, Camille thought. Her aunts could never know about that horrible night. Perhaps they loved her in their own severe ways. But they couldn’t impart peace. Her already sore heart trembled with pain. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a mother! She forced her hot, overwhelming tears back by sheer willpower, nearly choking on them.

  “Camille.”

  Her head jerked up to find Bianca and Derek staring at her. She sniffled. Derek held Bianca with one arm, a half-smile on his chiseled face.

  “There’s a Captain waiting for you at the bottom of the turret,” he continued. “He’s concerned and wants to make sure you made it through the night. He said he won’t move until he’s heard from you.”

  “Really?” she whispered.

  Derek grinned softly. “If I know Brecken, he’ll wait all day.”

  Camille flung open the Witchery door and flew down the stairs. Just as she turned the final corner, Brecken came into view. He waited at the bottom, brow furrowed. Deep lines of fatigue left a heavy expression on his brow. His stormy blue eyes had never looked so concerned.

  “Camille?” he asked. “I was so worried, I—”

  She threw herself into his arms with a muted cry, sobbing so hard her stomach ached. Her heart throbbed with pain. Arms of steel wrapped around her, dwarfing her in his broad shoulders. She sank into the embrace with relief.

  “It’s all right, Camille,” he murmured next to her ear. He leaned his head against hers. “You’re safe now. I’m just glad you’re okay after all that. You’re safe now.”

  Her sobs faded to cries and then to hiccups. She pulled away. His concerned gaze made a fresh round of tears surface. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Feel better?”

  Dirt marred his face. Blood matted his hair. She suspected that his injured leg hadn’t been cleaned or taken care of yet.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He ran the pad of his thumb across her cheek, swiping at a long tear as it trickled free.

  “What I was trying to say before we were slightly interrupted,” he said, pressing their foreheads together, “was that I didn’t want to leave you to go to the Borderlands. And I wanted you to miss me. Because I want to court you. And I don’t want any other Guardian to tutor you or spend time with you instead of me.”

  “Brecken, I did miss you.”

  He cast his eyes down. “I realized that when I received your twentieth letter. And I didn’t know what to say in response. Writing feelings down is so awkward.” He grimaced. “So is speaking about them, actually. Don’t know how you do it every other hour.”

  “Brecken, before we get into anything, you should know that I require a lot of patience. Bettina tells me all the time. Even now, and I don’t live with her anymore. Angie scheduled time blocks with me only ten minutes long when I was growing up because I gave her a headache otherwise. Leda would probably tell you the same thing. I talk too much and—”

  He frowned. “Camille, stop. I don’t think any of that is true.”

  She paused, staring at him. “What?”

  “Patience? I think you’re perfect, Camille. Just being you. Open—sometimes irrational—emotions and all. I like that you talk, because I don’t. And I don’t want to. And I don’t care if you do. Besides.” He swallowed, meeting her gaze. “One of us could have died tonight. That made me feel…”

  She lifted an eyebrow. He pressed a warm, gritty hand to the side of her face.

  “Scared.”

  A thrill, long and deep, spiked through her. She sank into the feeling. His quiet, husky voice. The uneven patter of her heart. The way she wanted to just be with him, Clava blood and all.

  It was so terribly romantic.

  “So you’re saying that I’m scarier than the undead?” she asked, cracking a grin.

  His deep, rolling laugh echoed through her ribcage, sending waves right into her heart. Once he recovered, he pulled her close again.

  “Yes,” he said. “Which is just why I want to court you.”

  Camille entwined her arms around his shoulders and pressed her lips to his. Soft. Warm. Quiet. The mellow kiss had a spark of intensity, just like Brecken.

  I’m safe now, Camille thought. Someone is glad that I’m all right. I’m safe now.

  Uncertain Pressure

  Merrick is one of my swoony crushes from the Network Series. Derek aside, I have to say he’s probably my favorite male witch. Figuring out how Merrick’s adventure began back in the Northern Network—and continued in the Central Network—was a lot of fun.

  When I asked fans what stories they wanted, all of them said, “More Merrick!” So here you are.

  A lot more Merrick.

  The silky brush of the bird feather on the back of Merrick’s hand reminded him of Ana, his little sister. Quiet. Frail. Beautiful. The muted violet plume of the Northern Sangrilly bird twirled between his thumb and forefinger. Lines of gentle gray laced through the threads. Purple had been her favorite color.

  He dropped the feather. It floated back to the table on an invisible current, drifting with one last twirl to lay amongst the arrow shafts waiting for completion.

  No more, he thought.

  A voice from just behind drew him from his thoughts. “Merrick.” His mother, Kally, balanced a wooden bowl in the crook of her arm. Rich green leaves of high-altitude lettuce spilled over the sides. “We’re out of firewood.”

  Merrick pushed the arrows aside.

  “I’ll chop more tonight. I also have traps out I need to check. Should get a hare for dinner tomorrow, if we’re lucky. The roof leaked last night, so I plan on patching that this weekend once training ends.”

  Jacqui, his little sister, perked up from where she stood near the window. “Look!” she cried. “Wolfgang is coming.”

  Merrick and Kally spun to see a hulking figure striding up the trail, his short hair drifting in a cool summer breeze. Merrick’s mind spun. Had he forgotten something at training earlier that day? He flexed his fingers, still sore from hours of archery practice. If Wolfgang climbed the mountain instead of transporting, he needed time to think. A sure bet he had something to say.

  A thrill of anticipation—dare he call it hope?—ran through Merrick’s arms in a streak of lightning.

  Had his moment finally come?

  Kally set the bowl on the table and wiped her hands on her apron. The scent of roses drifted by. Seconds later, a shadow filled the doorway. After a quick rap on the door, Wolfgang’s low, rolling brogue filled the room. “Kally, Jacqui.” He nodded to them. “How are you?”

  “Welcome, Wolfgang,” Kally said with a warm smile. She motioned to the table. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  “No, thank you. I came to discuss a few things with you and Merrick, if you have a moment.”

  “Of course.”

  A look from Kally, and Jacqui scrambled upstairs, doll in hand. Kally pulled out a chair for Wolfgang. He shook his hand and remained standing. Pink scars puckered the right side of his face, casting his expression into greater shadow. The bright intensity of his left eye, unmarred by disfigured skin, seemed strangely intent in comparison.

  Merrick met Wolfgang’s gaze. His fingers curled into his palm. His heart started to pound.

  Wolfgang broke the tense silence. “You likely know why I’m here,” he said.

  Merrick licked his lips, hating himself for feeling breathless. He’d been waiting for this moment since he turned seven.

  “I have an idea,” he said, forcing nonchalance.

  Wolfgang let out a breath. “The Majesties have your first
assignment as a Master.”

  Kally’s hand clenched the back of a chair, blanching the knuckles white. Her expression didn’t waver. Merrick pulled in a long, slow breath. Assignment could mean anything. As a member of the elite Masters for only two months, he had two lines associated with his name—sword fighting and archery. Most Masters with assignments had at least seven lines and at least a year of training.

  On assignments worth having, anyway.

  “Where is the assignment?” Merrick asked, swallowing.

  “The Central Network.”

  Kally’s hands relaxed slightly. Merrick’s stomach tightened. The Central Network? What could possibly be happening there?

  “Why there?” Merrick asked. Wolfgang propped his hands on his hips.

  “Because we haven’t sent a Master to do low-level reconnaissance in five years. We’ve been focusin’ on the tribes in the Southern Network and the clans of the Western Network. There’s trouble brewin’ across all of Antebellum. We need to know how the Central Network is handlin’ it.”

  Info gathering, Merrick thought. That’s it?

  Merrick would have to work his way across the Central Network, moving from village to village as a nomad while talking to witches. Reading news scrolls. Observing markets and town meetings and Guardian activity. Hardly as exciting as the rest of the trained Master’s, who protected the borders or fought violent mountain dragons.

  Merrick’s disappointment quelled as a thought occurred to him. His shoulders tightened.

  “This is because of Ana’s death, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Kally sucked in a sharp breath. An awkward silence ensued. For a moment, Merrick’s thoughts turned into images. A little hand against his palm. The curl of her tiny body pressed against his back in the middle of the night. The last, wispy breath of life as it fell from her lips. Merrick hadn’t said Ana’s name in months. The syllables made his chest ache.

  The edges of Wolfgang’s lips turned down. “The Majesties would never send a Master on any mission they didn’t think fittin’.”

  Merrick bit his teeth together so hard his jaw ached. The idea that the Majesties would send him on a mission because his sister had died in his arms sent a shot of bubbling rage through him. He didn’t need pity. He needed distraction. Danger. A fight. Something intense that couldn’t be resolved, so he could press against it until Ana’s memory faded.

  “Tell me the truth,” Merrick demanded, stepping toward him. “Is it about Ana?”

  “I’d never lie,” Wolfgang snapped. “You can do it. More than that, you need to do it, Merrick.”

  Merrick growled. “Then they are sendin’ me out of pity.”

  “They’re sendin’ you out because of me!” Wolfgang cried, slamming a fist into the table. “I requested they send you. You need to get out of here, Merrick. You’re drownin’. Ana’s death is hangin’ over you. It wasn’t your fault! You couldn’t have saved her or your father. You need to move on. You’ll never do that here.”

  A long, tense silence filled the room. Merrick swallowed, averting his gaze. Tears glittered in Kally’s eyes. Jacqui’s shadow haunted the top of the ladder.

  Merrick opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He clenched his jaw until pain radiated into his skull. How could he accept such an offer? Yet … how could he turn it down? He’d signed a binding to serve his Network. In honor of his father’s memory, he’d worked until he thought his muscles would liquefy. Bruises colored his body. Deep fatigue kept him awake deep into the night. But still … Father’s and Ana’s memory fueled the insatiable desire to prove he knew more than grief.

  He thought of escaping the burning torment and wondered if Wolfgang was right.

  Wolfgang turned to Kally.

  “Merrick is eighteen,” he said. “By Network law, he’s an adult at sixteen. Considerin’ recent events with losin’ Ana,” Wolfgang cut Merrick a sidelong glance, “the Majesties wanted your blessin’ to send him. It’s a six-month assignment, and there’s little danger. I have volunteered to be your Caretaker while he’s gone in case you need somethin’. But you have the power to say no.”

  Kally fell into a long pause. Her eyes were drawn, bloodshot. For a moment, the sturdy mountain woman faded into an exhausted witch riddled with grief and the constant ebb of pain. The years hadn’t been kind, but she still aged with a slow, lovely grace.

  “You live amongst ghosts now, Merrick,” she murmured with tear-filled eyes. “I think you should go. You’ll never thrive here while blamin’ yourself for their deaths.”

  Merrick winced and fell silent. The debate warred in his head. Did he want to leave his family? No. They needed him. Or did they? Kally cared for the garden. Wolfgang could provide game. An innate fear that more loss would come caught him by surprise. But leaving would provide freedom. A chance to prove to the Majesties that he could be as talented as his Father, whom they had loved. If he did this, perhaps more assignments would follow as he earned more lines.

  In the end, Kally’s pained expression made his decision. She clearly hoped this would be what he needed. He’d go for her.

  I’ll go, Merrick concluded, his heart still laden with guilt. Because I can’t bear to stay.

  He crossed his left fist across his chest, resting it on his right shoulder in the symbol of agreement.

  “I’ll take it.”

  Wolfgang followed suit.

  “Report in the mornin’,” he said. “For the next two weeks, you’ll sign a bindin’ of secrecy and prepare to live there. You’ll need language trainin’ to get rid of your accent and to learn phrasin’, like merry meet and so mote it be and jikes. You’ll memorize the map, learn how to live off Letum Wood, and locate the political hot spots.” Wolfgang released his hand. “Then you’ll be on your own.”

  Summer in the Central Network felt like breathing through a hot, damp rag. Merrick stumbled through Letum Wood from day-to-day, annoyed by the early darkness and lack of direct sunlight. Did this green tunnel cover the entire Central Network?

  Just keep movin’, Wolfgang had instructed him. Don’t draw attention to yourself. You’re gatherin’ information, that’s all.

  The weeks trudged by as Merrick meandered through Letum Wood toward the Eastern Border. He bought dinner for Border Guards, laughed with the locals, and helped an old woman dig for potatoes while discussing her disapproval that the High Priestess had cut funding to a small farming society.

  In short, he learned nothing.

  The sultry months faded into the cool mornings and tepid days of fall.

  A month passed. Nothing new, he sent in a letter written in a wayside inn near the Southern Covens. None of the foresters pay attention to anything but local politics. They don’t even learn more than basic magic. I think I need to go somewhere else. Newberry, maybe?

  No, Wolfgang responded within the hour. The Majesties want you in the smaller cities. Stick to your assigned course.

  Frustrated, Merrick pitched the letter into the fire with a growl.

  Three months later, Merrick crossed an intersection in the heart of Letum Wood, a dusting of frost crunching beneath his boots. The crisp tang of fall turned bitter with the first month of winter. Above him soared a sparse canopy of butter yellow, crimson, and burnt orange. The unnatural stillness unnerved him, even though he’d been wandering through it for months. Did forests have eyes?

  Merrick shuddered and pressed on to the small village of Timms.

  Expect Timms to be a typical border town along the Eastern Network border, Wolfgang had said in his latest letter. Small but growing. The Innkeeper at the Gray Goose Inn has a history of a loose tongue. See what you can find out from there.

  Four streets funneled into an open area with an elevated wooden stand in the middle. Two Guardians stood at the top, attempting to call over the mindless chatter of the crowd. Bodies blocked grocer stalls and shops, obstructing his view. Merrick slid past two shirtless witches grappling on the ground. He stood on his toes, attem
pting to peer over the heads of the crowd. In the distance, the clash of swords rang through the air.

  Where was the Gray Goose Inn? And what could be happening in such a small village? The thin, corded arms and scraggly hair of the amassed witches meant something had drawn the foresters into a group.

  Rare, indeed.

  Merrick stopped when he saw three witches standing in a row at the beginning of a roped-off street section. Silence descended as all three witches drew arrows. At the other end, a single target hung from a tree. A Guardian in half-armor held out his arms, signaling for the crowd to step back. After a pause, he called, “Release!”

  All three witches released their arrows. One flopped to the dirt. Another slammed into a branch on the wrong tree. The third hit the tree, but avoided the target entirely.

  “Not bad,” a Guardian said, twisting the arrow free. “Best we’ve seen today. At least one hit the tree.”

  Merrick stopped. Surely the Guardian jested.

  “New recruit sign-ups are today,” the Captain called as he collected the bows. “Prove your mettle against your neighbors. Win all the sweet dames. You know. All that stuff we promise but never happens.”

  Tempting, Merrick thought, studying the Guardians. If he wanted to know more about the Network, surely joining the Guardian force would be the way. His fingers twitched with the temptation to show them how to really shoot a bow and arrow. Brushing both temptations aside, he resumed his search. Wolfgang would never approve.

  A head of rugged locks of ebony hair stepped into his path. Merrick stopped, nearly crashing into the green-eyed witch with a plethora of freckles. A red ribbon draped the left shoulder of his half-armor. A Captain. The bright eyes darted over Merrick, as if taking inventory. Maybe this wasn’t just a competition.

  The Guardians were recruiting.

  “You have the look of a good Archer,” the Captain said to Merrick. He nodded to the lane. “Why don’t you give it a shot?”

  “Not interested.”

  The Captain surveyed him with a narrowed gaze. “You sure?”