by Katie Cross
My breath faltered. A glowworm. Michelle found or produced a glowworm to draw her butterfly in.
“Brilliant,” I whispered to myself. “She’s got everyone fooled.”
I didn’t wait around, struggling backward. Despite not being able to see, I started to run. My ankle twisted once, and I almost ran headfirst into a tree.
Pausing only long enough to scoop fistfuls of dirt in each hand, I blundered on, repeating the incantation under my breath and letting the powder drift behind me. I tripped over a root and slammed into the ground with a thud that paralyzed my chest. The impact ricocheted through my ribs and down my spine, numbing my leg for a moment. I rolled onto my back with a gasp and struggled to breathe.
A thin trail of dazzling blue powder caught my eye.
Instead of fading into the sky, it stretched out, heading the opposite direction. I forced myself to my feet with a moan. Of course the revealing spell worked now that I’d almost crippled myself.
The glittery mist ended at a wall of rock that gave way to a cave with clammy air. A muted glow came from the back and illuminated a corner. Hope filled my heart. What else would light up a cave in this dead forest?
The corner turned into a room of glowing sea-green butterflies. Their wings fluttered.
All of them were my butterfly.
Nothing is ever what it seems.
My jaw dropped. How would I find mine amongst hundreds? Michelle could be on her way back by now, butterfly in hand, trophy in her triumphant bag.
A summoning spell. Of course.
I cast it without thinking. Seconds later the ocean wall turned into a fluttering mess of sapphire and emerald.
“Wait,” I said, stepping back too late. “Wait, no!”
Boiling out of the wall with their filmy wings, they bolted toward me as one, sweeping around me in a tunnel of color. Light and wind tossed me, forming a tight cocoon. My hair danced around my face and eyes.
“Stop!”
They flew back to the wall, lining it with their shimmering wings as if they’d never left.
One butterfly remained behind, settling on my shoulder. She waved her wings, an exact replica of another one on my knuckles. The sight of the hundreds of butterflies almost brought me to my knees. Too many.
A winner is by no means a winner, who does not win it all.
A third butterfly came within a few inches of my face. Her gauzy wings whispered while she hovered there, bobbing up and down, sprouting an idea in my mind.
Who does not win it all.
Overpowering
One of the first lessons Papa ever taught me rose from the depths of my mind.
Overpowering another spell is one way to stop the magic, or channel it into a different direction. It takes concentration, and, depending on the magic used, power. Keep in mind that not every spell can be overpowered.
“Follow me,” I told them after casting a following incantation. They would obey as a group. The real test of my power came when I tried to find the one butterfly I had to return with. “We’ll all go back.”
The butterflies peeled away from the cave wall, flying out in torrents that slowed to a graceful flutter, thousands of winking wings illuminating my path back to the school.
“We have to hurry,” I said to the mass, like talking to an old friend. My shoes pinched when I jerked at the laces, pulling the knots apart while balancing on one leg. “Michelle probably has hers by now. We’re going to run. You better keep up. I’ll need your light.”
Within a breath I had both shoes off, and my socks with another. Papa’s spell gathered my dress into my waist. I hoped that I wouldn’t pass Priscilla in the woods; she’d never stop teasing me about running in my knickers. Holding one shoe in each hand, I gripped my toes into the cold earth and took off.
A rapid heartbeat filled my ears again, and the wind pressed my hair out of my face. Trees whizzed past, lumpy shadows in the night. The cloud of butterflies surged ahead by just a few strides, lighting my path, pressing hard like galloping horses. For a moment I heard Papa laugh, coming from just behind, as he always did. But no sooner had it come than it vanished, another ghost in the night.
When the torch lights of the school yard were specks in the distance, I skidded to a stop and whirled around to face the butterflies.
“Stay here,” I said through a heavy breath. Enough ambient light filtered through the trees to help me find the way, keeping my tread light and my body in a low crouch.
When the giggle of voices met my ears, I slipped behind a tree and scanned the schoolyard. Less than ten people remained outside, clustered in closely packed huddles.
I turned around and whistled two soft notes, casting a silent spell to call the one butterfly back to me while the others continued on. It would separate from the others and stay behind with me.
If I could continue to overpower the original magic.
The forest gave up nothing at first. Talking amongst those outside continued. Then a sound from the trees began to grow. A few flickers of light twinkled behind me. The flickers turned into dots. The dots spread through the trees like tiny lanterns, becoming lines.
Camille noticed it first and let out a shriek.
“Look! That’s Bianca’s color, isn’t it?”
Miss Bernadette followed her gaze.
“I believe so.”
“Hey!” Camille yelled, “Bianca’s coming back! Hurry up!”
Several girls stumbled out from the main entryway, where everyone else had gathered to stay warm. Camille took a few steps toward the forest.
“It’s getting bigger.”
More students streamed out, filling the yard. The sound of beating wings, moving in unison, created a symphony. The rolling turquoise cloud grew. I could distinguish individual butterflies as they approached and then passed me.
“Oh.” Camille’s eyes widened. She stumbled back. “Uh, Miss Bernadette? I think–”
The army of butterflies swooped into the yard, flying toward the girls in a stream. Several students shrieked, forming a circle when the butterflies parted and flew around them.
A few first-years giggled and tried to catch one, but the saccharine wings slipped through their fingertips. Five or six of the ethereal creatures spun around Camille, turning her in a circle. They zipped around the students, spiraled up into the sky in a great plume, and erupted, dissolving into glittering cobalt and jade snowflakes.
The students laughed, spinning through the shimmering flakes with their hands in the air.
Miss Bernadette peered into the trees, searching. Her arms hung at her side, sparkling as the fragments continued to fall and fade.
“Come on,” I whispered, my skirt falling back to cover my dirt-dotted ankles. My butterfly landed on my shoulder with a little flutter, having been the last in the group. We left the seclusion of the wood behind us. It felt so good to do magic again that I felt like flying.
The girls quieted into whispers as I came out of the darkness. They stopped dancing to stare.
“Look!” A second-year pointed. “There’s another butterfly.”
“It’s not just a butterfly. That’s Bianca.”
“She’s back!”
My hair drifted around my shoulders and back, my shoes still in my hands. Leda stood behind Camille on the edge of the crowd. Camille bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement, her hair looking like webs of blue and green, reflecting the butterflies.
“Great job, Bianca!” she cried, clapping.
“Did she take her shoes off?” Isabelle whispered.
“Raving lunatic,” Jackie said with a bright smile as I passed her. “That girl isn’t afraid of anything.”
The speculative whispers ceased as I approached Miss Bernadette and Miss Amelia, who fought an amused look of her own. The school held their breath. With a gentle quiver, the butterfly came off my shoulder and flew to Miss Bernadette.
She gave me a smile, but her lips twitched and her eyes remained distant. Despite the
relief and joy in my own chest, Miss Bernadette did not share my feelings.
“Congratulations Bianca,” she said loud enough for all to hear. “You won your first match.”
Some Dangers
The rustle of paper distracted me from studying early the next morning.
A thick white envelope slid into my room from the crack at the bottom of the door, followed by the retreat of footsteps. I looked away, pretending it wasn’t there. I didn’t want to read it. Thinking about the next match all night kept me from feeling any relief that I passed the first.
The second match would not be as easy. Despite the frustration—and even danger—of tripping around in the dark and confronting unknown animals, we’d gotten off easy. I lifted my hand and touched the scabs on my cheek from the sharp whip of the tree branches.
At least it was over.
Diffused winter light filled my bedroom with gray. Outside, the dreary day blew in with low hanging clouds from the South. A few stray leaves rattled along the black iron fence in the gusty wind.
Apprehension filled me when, at last, I pushed away from the window and moved over to the letter. I couldn’t ignore it forever. Like the last one, twine anchored two purple flowers to the envelope with a knot, tied over the looping scrawl of my name.
Repulsed again, I left it on the desk and snuck out of the room with the quiet snick of the handle closing behind me.
Later.
An array of students bustled around the dining room, talking over each other in shrill laughs. A blazing fire in the hearth warded off the blue chill of the morning. The smell of fresh bread filled the room.
The nearest table of second-years exploded into whispers when I passed by.
“Can you believe she took her shoes off?”
“All those butterflies!”
“How did she do it?”
I let them talk, acting as if I didn’t hear.
Camille and Leda saved me a place at the same long table on the right side of the room. Several parchments littered the table around Camille, and Leda had a few books opened in front of her.
“No, Camille, that’s not the right answer. You shouldn’t use comfrey tea. It’ll kill you if you drink too much. Look at the other options.”
The both looked up when I sat down, and a look of relief spread across Camille’s face.
“There you are Bianca! How are you this morning?”
“Good.”
“You look terrible,” Leda said.
“Thanks,” I muttered, “I think.”
Camille patted my arm and shot Leda a perturbed glare.
“You look lovely this morning. Maybe a little pale but lovely. Have you finished the homework?” Camille asked, her eyes widening. “It’s quite difficult, isn’t it?”
“It was tricky,” I said to ease the stress lines in her face. Camille turned back to it with a heavy sigh, leaving me grateful she hadn’t asked more. The worksheet sat in my textbook on my desk, incomplete. I’d have to end breakfast early to finish it.
“Yes,” she agreed with a bitter sigh. “Tricky.”
Stray whispers from the first-years next to me filled the silence.
“Like a savage! Who runs through the forest in their bare feet?”
“Well, she did win, didn’t she?” Jackie’s voice pointed out. “Who cares if she was wearing shoes or not?”
“She’s certainly no lady.”
“They’re afraid of you,” Leda said, motioning with a jerk of her head to the other end of the table. “Not just because you were barefoot in that bitter cold.”
“I didn’t walk barefoot,” I said. “I ran barefoot. There’s a difference. Walking is colder.”
Leda shrugged. “All the same. They think you’re a little, you know–” She made a twirly motion in the air with her finger.
“Oh?” I lifted an eyebrow. “They are easy sheep to control, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Leda said, taking my comment too seriously, as she often did. “Well, they may have forgiven running barefoot due to the stress of the match. But now they don’t believe that you’re actually a first-year because of your big display last night.”
“Right,” I said. “A beautiful display of magic. That’s something to distrust at a Network school.”
Leda agreed with a nod. “It is when you’re an inexperienced first-year. But don’t worry. They won’t say anything to your face. Camille called them off before you came down.”
“Saying it to my face would just be horrible,” I muttered. “It’s so much easier to bear behind my back.”
Camille joined the conversation, grateful for any reason to not do her homework. “Leda’s right. You freaked them out, even if most of the girls liked the whirling butterfly thing.”
“Thanks. I’m feeling so much better about my new life here now that I know the entire school is afraid of me.”
“Oh no!” Camille cried, grabbing one of my hands. “Leda and I still like you.”
A bleak outlook, to be sure. I couldn’t help noticing that Leda didn’t chime in with agreement. Making friends was hardly my purpose for attending Miss Mabel’s, so I smiled to thank her and changed the subject.
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked.
“Great choice, by the way,” Leda said, closing the book Justice in the Five Networks and stuffing it into a bag at her feet, not ready to let the subject drop. “Taking all the butterflies in order to find the one, I mean.”
“I liked the glitter at the end!” Camille cried. She fluffed her hair with a hand and watched a few remaining sparkles fall out. “I think I still have some in here. It’ll probably be in there for decades.”
“Porridge again?” I asked, looking over the sea of heads, desperate to stop talking about the Competition. “We had it yesterday though, didn’t we? I hope there’s eggs today. I’m starving.”
“Elana did a stunning spell and beat out Jade,” Leda said. “Priscilla won over Stephany because she transformed a few dead leaves into a companion butterfly, then snatched hers when it came to investigate. At any rate, the three of you are advancing to the next round. Should be interesting.”
“Yes,” I echoed in a hollow tone, giving up. “Interesting indeed.”
Brutish. Barbaric. All kinds of words came to my mind in place of interesting. Elana’s determination to keep going despite her sprained ankle came back to me, a stark reminder that I wasn’t the only one with something to lose. I didn’t relish the thought of facing Priscilla, and had been entertaining the hope that she’d tripped on a branch and knocked herself out for a week.
“How’s Michelle?” I asked.
Camille’s face scrunched.
“She didn’t come down to help with breakfast this morning. At least I didn’t see her with Rebecca and Miss Celia.”
“Probably embarrassed to lose to a first-year,” Leda said. “And a second-year, for that matter. She came in right after you. I’d be embarrassed.”
Yes, except you don’t really have emotions, do you?
“Will she be okay?” I asked instead, giving her a pointed gaze. Leda concentrated on a spot on the table. Her eyes glazed over. She was seeing. She resurfaced after just a moment.
“She’ll be okay. From what I can see of her future, it wouldn’t have been a good thing for her if she had won the Competition. There’s a chance the two of you could be friends.”
Camille turned back to her homework with the pained sigh of a martyr. At this rate, she’d never finish.
At least she’s started, my conscience nagged, reminding me how much I hated homework.
“As far as game play goes, it wasn’t very smart of you to go that big early on,” Leda’s voice lowered. “Now your opponents know what they’re up against. More than that, Miss Mabel will keep a special eye on you.”
“I know,” I said. “But entering the Competition as a first-year guaranteed that I’d have Miss Mabel’s attention from the beginning.”
“Then again,” Leda
concluded, “maybe that was what you wanted.”
“Maybe,” I whispered, my eyes narrowing. I hated it when she anticipated my motives.
“You’ve been planning on doing this for a long time, haven’t you?”
Just my whole life.
“Something like that,” I said with a dismissive wave, pondering over the homework I was putting off. Miss Bernadette would not be pleased if I didn’t turn it in with the rest, and I didn’t want the other students thinking I thought I deserved preferential treatment because of the Competition. The ice I skated on grew thin enough.
Leda glanced to my left. Camille had scooted down a few inches to talk to Grace, another first-year, and wasn’t listening, her homework shoved off and abandoned.
“It all ties back to your curse, doesn’t it?” Leda asked.
I again swallowed back the discomfort of Leda knowing so much about me.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I’m trying to figure out why you’re doing this.”
“Does it matter?” I snapped.
Leda’s eyes, so bright against her creamy skin, showed signs of trouble. She hesitated.
“It might. You’re doing this for your grandmother, aren’t you?”
My gaze snapped up to hers in fear. She had my total attention. I leaned forward, clutching the table.
“What have you seen? Is she okay?”
“Nothing I can make sense of. It all comes in snippets and images. I’ve tried to keep away from your future, but for some reason I can’t. You have an annoyingly strong presence,” she muttered.
The slow recovery of my heart made me feel weak and tired. Leda sagged back.
“All I can really do is tell you to be careful. Some dangers aren’t worth flirting with.” She paused to stare at me. “Not even to save your grandmother from dying.”
The slamming kitchen doors announced the incoming breakfast. I looked away, no longer hungry.
“I forgot some homework,” I said, jumping to my feet, ready to be done with her, and this conversation. “I’ll be back.”
I hurried up the wide staircase, leaving the busy dining room, and all its occupants, at my back.
