Miss Mabel's School for Girls (22 page)

“No, Miss Mabel,” I swallowed a lump of fear in my throat.

She looked up in surprise.

“Whyever not?”

Because I spent the night trying to get ahead of you and still haven’t recovered from a banging headache, thank you.

“I-it’s a lot of information, Miss Mabel.”

“That bodes well for the next three weeks,” she muttered, shooting me a perturbed stare. “You can’t even finish the first scroll on time.”

“I’ll finish it today, Miss Mabel.”

She studied me.

“Yes, you will. Thirteen years of your life are hanging in the balance. I’m sure you’re aware.”

Yes. How could I forget the assurance of death and misery? It all came down to a couple of scrolls and a dash of bitter irony.

“Have you even started translating the Almorran language?”

“A little.”
A very little.
“It’s slow but doable.”

Miserable and boring.

“At least you got that far. Well, I look forward to grading your assignments, which will be perfect.”

A challenge. I heard it in her voice.
If you can’t even finish the first scroll on time, then you’d better get them all right.

“Yes, Miss Mabel.”

“I have something new for you.”

A small headache still nagged me from the Veritas, as if my brain was swollen inside my head, so the thought of learning had lost any appeal. Unable to do anything about it, I steeled myself for another miserable day.

Miss Mabel produced a jar of ink and a large peacock feather from her desk.

“Lovely,” she sighed, staring at the feather, “isn’t it? I just love peacocks. They are such attractive animals, very misunderstood. I don’t believe vanity exists in the animal kingdom, so I don’t know why they have such a bad reputation.”

She stroked the fuzzy edge against her cheek and then turned her gaze to me. The vivid blue of the feather matched her eyes in a shocking way.

“What does a peacock symbolize, Bianca?”

“Beauty and power.”

“Fantastic ideals, aren’t they? Especially together.” She twirled the feather between her fingertips as she approached my desk. “Now, smell this and tell me what it’s made out of.”

She extended the bottle of ink.

“I can’t smell anything.”

“Strange, don’t you think? Most ink has a bitter scent. What you don’t smell is ink made from the juice of unripened white mulberries.”

She dipped the feather in the liquid and held it up. The tip didn’t change. “It’s a very special ink because it’s the only white ink ever created.”

Miss Mabel wrote across the top of the Veritas potion directions. Nothing showed up. She picked it up and motioned for me to take it to the hearth, where a low fire burned. “Go,” she said. “Hold it up to the heat and see what it says.”

Obeying her command, I crouched down near the flames. As if written that moment, Miss Mabel’s words appeared.

Amusing, isn’t it?

She came up behind me.

“Invisible ink?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” she said, “but you’re not far off. The combination of the peacock feather and that particular ink results in handwriting you can’t see until it’s exposed to heat from birch log fire. Most of the other Networks don’t have access to birch trees, so this makes it easier for us to protect our documents. If you pass the Esbat mark and attend, you’ll use this ink to take notes.”

She turned around and walked back towards her desk.

“I want you to do an analysis of the white mulberry ink and write a full report on its implications. It must be written in the Almorran language you are learning, in white ink that you make.”

I was about to stand when another line of words appeared at the bottom of the page. Her voice faded into the background.

Experience overpowers ignorance.

My thoughts raced. What could this mean? It must have something to do with Veritas because it was written on the potion directions.

“Bianca?”

When I realized she had asked me a question, I whirled around. “Yes?”

She studied me, suspicious.

“I said that you need to finish this scroll of paperwork by tomorrow morning and complete a paper summarizing truth potions.” Her eyebrow lifted in displeasure. “Is that a problem?”

“No, Miss Mabel.”

She dropped the scroll on my desk.

“Best get to work now,” she said. “The third brew will take more attention to detail than the first two did. And you have quite a few scrolls to catch up on.”

“Yes, Miss Mabel.”

She disappeared, leaving me with my unconnected thoughts and the beginnings of a plan.

•••

After spending a day writing the paper and preparing the potion and two hours making white ink, I dissolved another drop of Veritas in some water and crept back out the side door, glass of water in hand. I still had scrolls stacking up, but couldn’t stay inside any longer.

An icy wood embraced me when I slipped through the shadowed, naked trees. My breath billowed like a cloud. Not even my thick cloak provided enough protection from the heavy chill. When I couldn’t see the light coming from the school, I downed the concoction in a single swallow and hoped for the best. The conversation with Leda haunted me.

Do you ever think before you act?

Unfortunately this time, I had thought about it. My decision remained the same.

My belly warmed with a flare of fire just before the blinding wall of vertigo. Expecting the dizziness didn’t give me much of an edge, I still doubled over and wanted to die. This time, I covered myself with my cloak, locked myself into a ball, and didn’t move.

Within minutes my throat ached from holding back the words. Even though no one would hear, I wouldn’t allow myself to speak. I had to practice enduring it without talking.

Experience overpowers ignorance.

If my interpretation of this obscure phrase was correct, Veritas acted like a sickness. The more exposure, the faster the cure.

Bracing myself for more lightheaded agony, I burrowed my head into my arms and let the Veritas take control.

Without speaking, the rolling dizziness lasted almost three times as long. By the time it faded, my teeth ached and my head throbbed in pain. I crawled through the trees, my fingers and toes numb. By the time I made it back to the school, the dark hallways sat like tombs.

I collapsed onto my mattress and fell into a deep sleep.

•••

The potion turned into a sludge not unlike loose tar by the end of the second brew the next morning. The acrid scent intensified my headache. Bleary-eyed, I read through the potion instructions again.

Miss Mabel walked into the room wearing a dress made of deep purple silk and white lace trim. Because of my second attempt with Veritas the night before, my sleep-deprived nerves left me with little patience. Attempting to hide my exhaustion was impossible, and I hoped she dismissed my bloodshot eyes as the result of trying to keep up with my homework.

“Starting the third brew?”

“Yes, Miss Mabel.”

“Wonderful. We will test it in a couple days. Hand me your scroll. You missed a couple on the homework you turned in at lunch yesterday.”

My heart took a sudden dive. I couldn’t pretend that her words surprised me. Instead, I awaited her judgment.

“Redo them today on top of the rest of the scrolls.”

She handed them back.

“What did I miss?”

She smiled. “You’ll have to figure that out, won’t you?”

My nostrils flared. Not trusting myself to speak, I simply nodded once and accepted the scroll back. This would take a long time. I’d have to pay more attention to how I answered in the future.

“Miss Scarlett is teaching a lesson that fits in with the Esbat training on deception spells. She has an absolute talent for them, so you will sit in on her class today. You have one hour before it begins.”

“Yes, Miss Mabel.”

“When you return from the class,” she spun around at the doorway, “you’ll find several more scrolls of homework. Leave the first on my desk tomorrow morning and have the others ready when the Veritas is complete. I’m attending a meeting at Chatham Castle with the High Priestess and won’t be back for two days, possibly three. While I’m gone, report to Miss Celia every morning. I have a list for you to complete by my return.”

 She strolled out and disappeared with the closing of her office door. I wondered what Priscilla would think of my supposed one-on-one learning time with Miss Mabel if she knew how little we interacted.

I turned back to the potion directions, knowing I preferred to learn from Miss Mabel from as far away as possible.

Deception Spells

M
iss Scarlett didn’t waver.

The third-year classroom was off-limits to first-and second-year students. As Assistant, I was the only exception. Most of the first-years didn’t mind. We appreciated having a reason to not run into her. Her strict adherence to the simplest of rules quickly grew tiresome.

Not sure what to expect from her classroom, the bright silks and heady scent of cumin startled me. A warm, almost sultry breeze drifted through the air. Swatches of red and muted orange fabric hung from the rafters. Deep tones of burgundy and wine painted the walls, like stepping into a fire.

Miss Scarlett had a large desk in the back corner. A chalkboard filled most of the front wall, and several bookcases stood at the back. A massive brick fire place in the middle of the farthest wall danced with flames. The calico cat sprawled on the stones of the hearth, asleep.

Sitting close to the fire and far from the others, I watched the students wander in. Most of them ignored me. Priscilla shot me a scathing glare and took her seat. Miss Scarlett’s red bracelets announced her entrance at the very second the hour began.

“We shall begin now.” She stood at the front of the room like a soldier at attention. The door slammed shut, the lock clicking. “Never be late.”

I couldn’t fathom why the third-year students seemed to have such a warm, kindred relationship with Miss Scarlett.

The class was smaller than I’d anticipated and involved only the few third-years working to get their Curses and Hexes mark. Priscilla and Jade sat in the front row, right next to Miss Scarlett’s walkway. Unlike Miss Bernadette, who walked around the room to involve everyone and spoke in a quiet voice, Miss Scarlett remained rigidly in one spot.

“Deception spells are quite simple,” she began. “They duplicate an object, deceiving you from the original.”

Jade raised her hand, her blonde hair waving about her jaw, already prepared with questions. 

“Can deception spells work on people?”

“Very astute question, Jade. A simple deception spell like we are learning today would not work on people. There are some that can create a replica of another person, but they are very advanced. You saw a perfect example during the third match.”

Two students glanced in my direction, but I ignored them.

“Now, a deception spell has one major weakness. The person who cast the spell cannot tell the truth for its duration. It would run counter to the nature of the spell. No one, not even the High Priest or Priestess, can tell the truth while spinning a deception spell.”

Miss Scarlett waved her hand. Several glowing embers leapt from the fire behind me and flew to the front of the room. They fell onto a spot on her desk but did not burn the wood.

“Observe these embers.”

She put her sharp eye on all the students, ensuring she had their attention.

“Under the power of a deception spell, these embers would produce doubles that looked exactly the same. If you try to touch the identical object, it disappears. The spell would need to be recast.”

She spoke the incantation aloud, and the embers multiplied into a new pile of glowing bark that could not be distinguished from its original. They popped with a
blip
when she touched them.

“Do you have any questions? No? Good. Split into partnerships. I’m going to have you practice on mushrooms.”

The girls instantly slipped into pairs, leaving one person at the front alone. Michelle looked back, then stumbled through the desks with her awkward gait and long arms until she fell into the empty seat next to me.

“Hi,” I said, surprised to see her in a class like this. What could baking have to do with the Curses and Hexes mark?

Her eyes flickered to mine through her thick bangs, then looked away.

“Hi.”

We stayed quiet until Miss Scarlett approached.

“You’re an Assistant now, Bianca. I expect Assistant-level results. If it’s not perfect, I’m sending you back to the attic, and you can explain to Miss Mabel why you failed a third-year class.”