Miss Mabel's School for Girls: The first book in the Network Series

by Katie Cross

  “Then why are you taking this class?”

  “I still like doing other forms of magic. Then, if baking doesn’t work out, I have a backup plan. It was my father’s idea.”

  Miss Scarlett interrupted by calling our attention to the front.

  “Thanks for working with me,” I said and smiled at her. Struck with shyness again, Michelle mumbled a reply, grabbed her mushroom, and rushed back to her desk. She knocked over Priscilla’s books and apologized profusely while she gathered them, her face a flaming red. Priscilla bestowed an exasperated look on her and rolled her eyes when Michelle walked away.

  I tried to picture Michelle as the Assistant. When the image couldn’t collect, I turned my attention back to the lesson with a sigh.

  Sometimes I couldn’t picture myself as the Assistant either.

  23

  Loyalty

  I woke up the next day panting, sweaty, and disoriented.

  Trying to figure out where I was only confused me further until I took in the familiar drapes on the window. The nightmare began to slip away, into the tendrils of night and my subconscious. I let the details go with it, not wanting to remember.

  The wet pillow slapped my cheek when I dropped back, as I tried to work my way into reality for far too long. It did little to remove my fear of the upcoming interrogation.

  Miss Mabel is gone. She is not questioning you. Miss Mabel is gone.

  My desk stood against the door, barring the way out in case I tried to leave while under the influence of the Veritas. Taking it for the third time the previous night guaranteed a repeat of the same grueling experience, shortened not at all. Was I putting myself through this for nothing? I was no farther along than after the first exposure to Veritas.

  Exhausted, but unable to relax enough to go back to sleep, I climbed out of bed and got dressed. Miss Celia would be up to get breakfast ready by now. I would go get my instructions for the day from her. Relief that I didn’t have to face Miss Mabel propelled me down the stairs earlier than usual. I loved an early start to the day, even if I felt tired enough to fall asleep while walking down the stairs.

  While she worked, Miss Celia hummed a quiet tune to herself that greeted me when I entered the kitchen. She jumped in surprise when she saw me.

  “Bianca!” she cried, putting a hand on her chest. “You scared me! What are you doing, standing there like some kind of ghost?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Celia. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She gave me a dirty look, but it softened when she regained her breath.

  “What are you doing up so early?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d come report to you and get an early start on my lessons for the day.”

  She pulled a piece of paper from her apron pocket.

  “That’s very wise of you. Miss Mabel assigned you a heavy load.”

  Wish I could say that was a new occurrence.

  “Thank you, Miss Celia.”

  Four new scrolls in a different language, two books to read, and a class with Miss Amelia on trust potions. I folded the instructions back into a small square and hesitated before turning to go.

  Despite being so busy with homework that I studied while I ate, I felt a twinge of pity for Miss Celia, working all alone in the kitchen, day in and day out. I knew how that felt. It was no secret that she liked having people around, and I would do anything to avoid hitting the books again.

  “Would you like some help, Miss Celia?”

  She stopped drying a large bamboo bowl to stare at me.

  “You want to help in the kitchen? You’ve got so much to do!”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Shocked speechless for several moments, she pointed to a pile of potatoes.

  “Go ahead and peel them if you like. I certainly don’t mind either.”

  The soothing, predictable routine of the warm kitchen helped relax my tense muscles. We worked in a companionable silence for a long stretch of time before Miss Celia broke it. Her tone was cordial in a way I’d never heard before.

  “How do you like being the Assistant so far?” she asked.

  “It’s great.” I had to choke the words out. “Miss Mabel has taught me so much already.”

  The lie wasn’t entirely false, but I hoped it didn’t sound as invented as it felt. Miss Celia continued kneading a lump of dough without seeming to notice.

  “You look very tired,” she remarked. “Are you staying up late to do homework?”

  “Yes,” I answered too quickly. Trying to ease my tone, I took a breath. “Miss Mabel has made the homework extra challenging.”

  Miss Celia smiled to herself.

  “She loves to test her Assistants, but you can handle it. You would have never gotten the position if you couldn’t. Mabel is the best teacher out there. Pressure and responsibility are driving forces, but only knowledge creates power.”

  Her small token of support had a surprising buoyant effect, giving me a little needed reassurance.

  Confidence in all things, Bianca.

  “Thank you, Miss Celia. How long have you worked here?”

  “I started long ago, when Mabel, Miss Mabel’s grandmother, ran the school. My husband and I lived at the northern edge of the Network. When he died, I wandered around for a while looking for a job, and ended up in Letum Wood. Mabel found me and took me in. I’ve been here ever since.”

  I stopped peeling the potatoes in surprise.

  “Miss Mabel’s grandmother was named Mabel?” I asked.

  “Yes. She died several decades ago.”

  An unmistakable tension edged her voice.

  “You are very loyal then,” I said, changing the subject to bring the easy atmosphere back. Papa taught me that people give information better when they feel at ease. “To have stayed so long.”

  Affection bled back through her tone.

  “Yes, well, I had a good hand in raising Miss Mabel myself after her mother left without any explanation. Mabel was only a baby at the time. How anyone could leave such a beautiful, calm child, I’ll never understand! Anyway, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I’ve lived here most of my life, and I’ll die here. Mabel is my family, and that’s all I need.”

  I didn’t have an opportunity to ask her more. She quickly switched subjects, something in the speed of her change indicating she felt she’d said too much.

  “Miss Mabel mentioned that you are working for the Esbat mark before the next meeting. That’s very ambitious of you.”

  “I’m hoping to attend.”

  And dreading it, too.

  “That mark will serve you well in the Network for the rest of your life. You should talk to Scarlett. She got the Esbat mark when she worked at Chatham Castle.”

  I almost dropped the slippery potato in my hands and scrambled with it for several seconds before regaining a firm grip. Miss Scarlett had the Esbat mark? Working hard to neutralize my tone, I asked, “Oh, she worked at Chatham, did she?”

  “She’s the best lie detector I’ve ever met, which makes for a great teacher. The woman could make Veritas with her eyes closed.”

  “That’s very interesting,” I murmured, and the silence collected again.

  After putting the peeled potatoes in a pot, hanging up the towel, and wishing Miss Celia a good day, I took an apple, cut off a chunk of bread, and disappeared upstairs, Miss Scarlett on my mind.

  I wasn’t sure what I stood to gain by talking to Miss Scarlett, except for criticism about my responsibility to handle the Esbat mark on my own. The thought of losing control during the interrogation propelled me to her classroom against my better judgment.

  The lull between lunch and the next set of classes, when the students gathered in their rooms to clean up after eating, seemed the best time to go. I took advantage of the opportunity. The deserted halls felt empty, the quiet sound of clanking glasses following me from the kitchen.

  Sitting at her desk with a rigid, nearly inflexible ba
ck, Miss Scarlett didn’t notice me standing in the doorway until I cleared my throat; she had been focused on a letter. When she looked up, her eyes narrowed. A prim set of glasses sat on the edge of her nose.

  “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if you could answer a question.”

  Her sharp eyebrows lifted higher in expectation. Taking this as permission, I took a few steps into the room.

  “It’s about Veritas.”

  She turned back to the paper in her hands.

  “If you have to ask me about it, I can’t help you.”

  Undeterred, I took a few more steps toward her. The familiar blast of heat and spices hit me like a wave. Sandalwood. Her silky red drapes danced in a draft of cool winter wind from a slightly open window.

  “Miss Celia mentioned that you had a particular talent for it.”

  “You’re working for the Esbat mark, Bianca. You’re an Assistant. You shouldn’t have to ask for help.”

  “Miss Mabel isn’t here, and I don’t need help making Veritas. I just have a question about it.”

  Her steady gaze wasn’t welcoming, but she hadn’t thrown me out either. Hopeful, I held my breath and waited. She straightened even more, if it was possible, her bracelets dancing as she moved.

  “Fine. What is it?”

  “Is it possible to control Veritas? Well, to control yourself under its influence?”

  She pulled her glasses off her face with a flick of her wrist.

  “You must be facing the interrogation soon,” she said. “When Miss Mabel gets back from Chatham?”

  “Yes.”

  “A little worried?”

  “I don’t want to fail, Miss Scarlett.”

  “Or do you have secrets you don’t want to divulge?”

  My heart hammered so hard I worried she’d see it through my ribs.

  “No ma’am. I just don’t like the thought of not being in control of what I say.”

  She paused for an uncomfortable length of time, her jaw set. I felt as if she rifled through my mind, like Isadora, trying to figure out for herself what I was trying to hide.

  “So you think I’ll tell you how to overpower it so you can be in control?”

  “Can it be overpowered?” I grabbed onto this hope as if it were my last. Perhaps it was.

  “Assuming you could handle a potion as powerful as Veritas, you don’t have the time to try. It takes at least forty or fifty exposures to make a difference.”

  My stomach plummeted. A waste, all of it. I was out of time and facing an interrogation that could reveal dangerous secrets about Papa and me. I still had scrolls to finish, scrolls I’d put off so I could build an immunity I didn’t have time for. None of it meant anything. Tears rose in the back of my throat, but I forced them away.

  “That’s only part of it,” she continued, reading my mind. “You can never be entirely immune to Veritas, or everyone would do it. You become immune to the side effects. That takes a long time. Years of constant exposure.”

  “I see.”

  “The purpose behind questioning you with Veritas is to give you a chance to know what it feels like, not to test your control of it. No sixteen-year-old stands a chance at controlling a potion that strong. You’ll pass the interrogation as long as you’re still breathing at the end.”

  She turned back to her letter and dismissed me with a wave.

  “That’s all the information I have for you. You may leave me to my work.”

  I stared after her for a minute, listening to only the crackle of the fire. When she made it clear she’d forgotten me, I circled around and left.

  24

  A Frightening Euphoria

  The next day passed much the same. In between meals, I buried myself in scrolls. Leda came up after lunch to study together. Although it seemed odd to me, I knew she felt some kind of friendship was forming as we sat in the same room saying nothing. Camille, unable—or unwilling—to do homework on a weekend, worked on a puzzle with a mousy girl named Grace in the first-year common room.

  After dinner, I came to a stop at the top of the spiral stairs. The smell of plumeria filled the hallway, and I looked in the open classroom door to see a familiar curvy figure. My heart dropped into my stomach.

  “There you are, Bianca darling. I made it back a little early and thought we could get a start on things tonight. Is your homework complete?”

  Her cool smile set my nerves on fire. This unexpected return was no accident.

  “Not entirely, Miss Mabel,” I motioned to her desk and willed my hands not to shake. “I’m still working on the scrolls from today.”

  She rolled her eyes, as if that had been expected.

  “Are you ready for your interrogation?”

  Yes, please take all my secrets and destroy my family again. I’ve so been looking forward to giving you more leverage.

  “Yes, Miss Mabel. Whenever you are.”

  I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. It was happening too fast, too unexpectedly. I wondered if I could warn Papa somehow. No, of course not. Already prepared, Miss Mabel handed me the glass of water. When I took it, I avoided touching her hand.

  “Here’s to the Esbat,” she said.

  Expecting warmth in my stomach after I drank, I stared at the glass when I felt nothing. An aftertaste followed, like the sweet tang of sugared grapefruit, instead of the usual hit of mint. I braced myself for the worst, waiting for the dizzying spiral in my head.

  It never came.

  “How are you feeling, Bianca?” Miss Mabel circled around me in a saunter, speaking in a lazy tone. “Do you feel unusual?”

  Unusual. That was the only word to describe how I felt. I floated, drifting on an invisible current. The stress of the past week lifted off my shoulders and unburdened me. It was euphoric, and terrifying.

  “Do you feel free?”

  I looked at Miss Mabel in a happy kind of surprise. How wonderful. She hadn’t given me Veritas after all.

  A blithe smile curled her lips.

  “Yes, you figured it out. It wasn’t Veritas. You spent all that time taking it on your own. Why would I test you on something you’ve already experienced? That may come at a later date. Or it may not.”

  The weightless feeling whirled through my body and brain. Such blue eyes. Miss Mabel had trustworthy blue eyes.

  What? I thought, shaking my head. What are you thinking?

  Miss Mabel strolled in front of me, her eyes as sharp as a hawk.

  “You saved us some time, you know, trying it on your own. I’m so happy you did. In fact, I devised that little test to see if you would. Experience really is the best teacher, isn’t it? I like to see if my Assistants have initiative. You certainly have that in gobs, don’t you?”

  While she spoke, I hovered between enjoyment and serenity. It was difficult to be concerned with what she said. She didn’t appear angry with me for taking Veritas. How could someone so beautiful be angry?

  “You went to Miss Amelia’s lesson on the specific ingredients in a trust potion yesterday. Do you remember?”

  My carefree mind skipped back.

  “Yes,” I answered, not aware that I spoke until it was too late. “Yes, I remember. I just ate dinner. The milk tasted funny.”

  Was this sublime experience from a trust potion? How do I combat an existence so delightful? It had something to do with … I couldn’t remember. As soon as my worries appeared, they drowned in an ocean of disinterest. I didn’t want to lose this enchanting feeling.

  “Trust potions work on a very different level than Veritas. All that awful vertigo really takes a toll. This is much more pleasant and soothing. It’s so easy to trust me right now, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I agreed in a dreamy voice. The feeling relaxed me. I never wanted it to leave. It felt so good to talk to her that I wanted to say more. “I took the Veritas three times. I didn’t want to. I told Leda I didn’t want to. She helped me not get caught.”

  Talking lifted me up, carrying
me high and free. I could talk forever. Miss Mabel walked over to look out the window, her hands folded behind her back. I watched her in adoring reverence.

  “What do you know about the High Priestess, Bianca?”

  “Not much,” I sighed and closed my eyes. It felt like a cloud held me suspended in the air, letting me sleep on a moonbeam.

  “Do you believe that sometimes the High Priestess makes the wrong decision?”

  Something nagged inside me like a sharp pinprick. What did the High Priestess have to do with this? My brain became fuzzy, and I floundered in confusion.

  “I-I don’t know. I don’t want to think about that right now.”

  “I know you don’t,” she said, soothing me back into serenity. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Yes,” I agreed with a dreamy sigh. Everything felt so good here. Miss Mabel was so pretty, so trustworthy. She’d never hurt or betray me. “Something else.”

  “Do you ever crave power, Bianca?”

  Power.

  Power over my curse. Power over Grandmother’s daily pain, and Mama’s sad eyes. Power over Papa’s job, and the secrets, and the Veritas.

  Power over my own life.

  “Yes,” I said. “I do.”

  “You have many reasons to need it, what with the curse that may soon take your life and your dear Grandmother’s.”

  Grandmother. Curse. These words from her lips snagged my joy, like a dark cloud, threatening, but not overhead yet.

  “If I offered you a chance to have power, would you take it?” Mabel asked.

  The answer came to my lips without hesitation.

  “Yes.”

  Of course I would take it. Wouldn’t I? Something inside me didn’t feel right. Through the haze of enjoyment rose a mild state of panic, and the two feelings clashed.

  I fought my own thoughts with a visible frown.

  “Bianca?”

  She faced me now. The light from the sunset silhouetted her in dripping shades of yellow and orange. My internal conflict deafened me. I wanted to fall into the overwhelming safety of tranquility and trust. But the peace couldn’t win. What stopped it? I’d do anything to live like this forever. No cares. No troubles.