Antebellum Awakening (25 page)

Camille grasped the locket in her hand and took a step back, her eyes wide. Brecken sat down and resumed his previous conversation as if nothing had happened.

“Wow,” I whispered, lowering myself back to the bench. “He’s good.”

“Really good,” Michelle agreed.

Camille left the Guardians and walked over to our table.

“Merry meet Bianca, Michelle, Nicolas. How are you?” Camille asked, her eyes distant.

“Everything all right, Camille?” Michelle asked.

“Just grand!” she cried with her usual gusto, but her eyes snaked over to Brecken, who still ignored her.

“Are you angry with Brecken?” I asked.

Her lips pressed together. “We aren’t on speaking terms right now. We had a little argument over algebra the other day.”

“Oh,” Michelle said quietly. I silently offered Camille my roll. She reached right past it to grab my brownie and then bit into it with an angry vengeance.

A shout from the kitchen forced Nicolas to his feet.

“I got ta get back,” he said with a sigh. “Thanks for eating with me, Miss Michelle, Miss Bianca, Miss Camille.” He nodded to each of us, gathered up his plate, and disappeared. Michelle stared at his broad back with a pathetic little sigh. Like Camille, she drifted off into a different place with a glazed look on her face. I turned back to my food, burying myself in thoughts of forest dragons, war, and the Council meeting to come the next day.

Reliable Stella

“M
ay I speak with you a moment, Bianca?”

Merrick and I looked up from our silent walk the next morning in surprise. Stella stood on the garden path in front of us, a long burgundy dress with a dark lace overlay sweeping the top of the stones at her feet. The bright sun shone on her graying auburn hair, making her look very lovely.

“Yes, Miss Stella,” I said, slowing to a stop in front of her. Merrick cast me a questioning look, nodded once to Stella, and continued on his way. She waited until he was out of earshot to continue.

“I don’t have much time,” she said, folding her petite hands in front of her. “The Council meeting to vote over the decision regarding your father is about to start.”

“Yes,” I said, my eyes flickering up to the windows in the West Wing. “I know. I’ve been track—”

“I came to see if you’d ever been to the basement of the West Wing,” she said quickly, cutting me off.

“Yes, I’ve been in there a few times,” I drawled, startled by her question.

“There’s a little office in the lower floors that Mildred and I used to work in long ago. I think there is something that you may be interested in there, if you can keep a secret.”

A small square of paper appeared in her right hand.

“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “I can keep a secret.”

She smiled. “Wonderful. Then this is all you need. If I were you, I’d head there now.”

I took the proffered slip of paper. Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous little edge.

“Be careful,” she said. “And keep your ears open.”

With that, Stella disappeared, leaving me staring at the little piece of paper in disbelief.

•••

The paper—which had turned out to be a set of directions—led me to the lowest floors of the West Wing, an area dedicated to storage and offices for the lowliest assistants. No other witch haunted the quiet halls with me, leaving me to run through the silence with the wraiths of witches who once lived there. An unknown drive pushed me, hurrying me along. Whatever this would lead me to, I had a feeling it involved the Council meeting for Papa.

Hurry, hurry,
the quiet hallway seemed to say.
The Council is starting.

“Right here,” I whispered, stopping at an old door on my left. The ornate carvings around the edges held pockets of dust. The tarnished silver handle and deep groove lines in the wood indicated it hadn’t been visited in some time.

The door swung into the room with a groan. Dust coated the floor and walls, tickling the inside of my nose. Cobwebs swathed the corners, swooping about the bookshelves and tapestries. A dusty light settled through a couple of high windows, muted from grime on the inside of the panes. A feeling of forgottenness pervaded the room, as if the owner had just stood up and walked away without looking back. Feathers, half-opened scrolls, and old books littered the desk.

Elaborate tapestries hung from the stone walls between each bookcase. I couldn’t make out the pictures through the coating of powder, but had a feeling they were rare. The aged, bitter smell of rotting parchment overwhelmed me. If Camille had an office, I imagined it would look just like this.

I looked down at the note.

Beneath the big tapestry. Declan should open it.

I ran my fingertips along the stone wall to find a seam and a subtle rift in the rocks caught my eye. No doubt it hid a secret passage. A castle this old likely held her own secrets. I muttered an opening incantation in the Declan language under my breath, letting my fingers trail along the cool stone facade. A squat doorway soon gave way with a great groan, spilling light into a corridor that surely hadn’t seen it in years.

“Oh,” I whispered, raising an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

The palpable darkness felt like a room filled with only black curtains. I held my hands out to feel my way. A dirty wall met my fingertips, damp and cold. The air smelled like rot and mildew. My toe hit the bottom of a stair, and within moments, I was slowly climbing upwards in a tight spiral, the walls brushing my shoulder on each side. I counted each step as I went.

The disjointed, steep stairs led up and up. The decaying wood felt weak in some places. With a whispered light spell, a bright ball of light formed on my fingertips and drifted above me, illuminating the path. I immediately regretted it. The close stairway felt more claustrophobic and frightening once I saw its narrow confinement. A long white object against the wall caught my eye, and I forced back a scream when I realized it was a bone.

“Cease,” I whispered, and the light evaporated into a puff of smoke. I pressed onward, hoping I didn’t encounter the rest of the skeleton along the way.

“Where do I stop?” I whispered, reassured by the sound of my own voice. “Surely there must be—”

A single ray of light distracted me. I continued up the stairs until I came eye-to-eye with the small beam. It was exactly my height and about the width of a marble. I peered through to find it looked into a room I didn’t immediately recognize. I saw a wall, and heard a couple of voices. Then another beam of light caught my eye to my right, and I realized that there were several smaller holes in various spots in the stone.

Keep your ears open,
Stella had said.

I pressed my eye back to the cool wall, looking at a blood red tapestry adorned with twisting black designs. A familiar face moved by. Stella. My gasp echoed off the narrow walls.

The Council Room.

A bell broke through the low chatter. “Witches welcome,” Jansson said. “Let us join in an invocation for wisdom before we begin the Council meeting.”

A quiet chant reached through the cold stones. Positioned just right, I could hear every word the Council Members would say. A little thrill ran through me. Reliable Stella!

Once they finished the invocation, the meeting began.

•••

“The first issue for discussion,” Jansson’s voice rang through the air, “will be presented by the Chatham City Coven Leader. Clive, the floor is yours.”

A slight shuffle of movement came next. I could see half of Stella’s face and half of a Council Member I didn’t know through the peephole. Clive made short work of getting right to the point.

“I won’t take up much of your time, esteemed Council Members,” he said. “I would like to submit a petition on behalf of the witches of Chatham City. They, along with myself, ask that you consider removing Derek Black from his position as Head of Protectors. It’s quite simple,” he concluded, “with war on the horizon, can you trust him?”

The question sat in the air for some time before a low murmur ran through the room. The other Council Member in my line of vision stood, a silver mug with steaming contents in hand, and disappeared out of sight.

“He’s lied to us and the High Priestess these seventeen years,” one Council Member called. “Clive is right. Can’t be ignored. He’s the only witch to have ever, in centuries of ruling, broken one of our traditions.”

My stomach turned. In an effort to spare the High Priestess backlash, Papa had told the Council that she had not known of Mama or me. Although she had severely chastised him for not allowing her to take responsibility, she saw the necessity of his plan. If the Network knew she had any part of it, they’d demand she step down as well. Now Papa bore the whole burden himself.

“Can’t be trusted.”

“And who else would you put in his position? He may have lied, but Derek’s the best Head of Protectors we’ve ever had!”

The arguments continued for several minutes.

“Let us not forget,” Stella’s voice called above the rest in a cool tone, “that Derek served us more than faithfully those seventeen years. I call upon any of you to recount a single incident for which he should be rebuffed.”

Silence descended. My heart swelled in gratitude and hope.

“That is a subjective observation,” Clive pointed out. “There could be many such incidents that he’s lied about, just like any Head of Protector may have also done in the past.”

Another chorus of agreements, but this time with less gusto.

“By that argument we could also say that he is not the first witch to have broken tradition,” Stella said. “He may have just been the first witch that was caught.”

The room was silent now.

“We are talking about honorably maintaining a family instead of casting them to the dogs,” Stella said. “It’s hardly subterfuge. Besides that, we have the obvious question of whom you would place in his position. There is no one ready to command the secretive side of war.”

“You insult our Protectors,” Patrice, the Council Member for the wealthy Ashleigh Coven, said in her nasally voice. “Any of them are skilled and capable witches. It’s a question of trust, Stella.”

“The Protectors will not replace Derek unless he stands down,” Stella said.

“How could you know that?” another voice called. It was a female, with a thin, thready tone.

“Because I asked them.”

Another murmur passed through the group. How I wished I could see their faces! Stella’s chair scraped against the ground when she stood. I could barely make out her face. I imagined Clive at the receiving end of her intimidating glare.

“I oppose all of it,” Stella said in a voice of solid granite. “You have no grounds.”

The back-and-forth banter continued for the next fifteen minutes. Some paced, splitting off into side discussions. Others sat, saying nothing. I could only catch a snippet here and there before straining to distinguish words gave me a headache.

“I think he should be exiled. Both Derek and that wild daughter of his.”

“Indeed. Out of control.”

“Exile seems like a harsh punishment after all his service. He has kept us safe these seventeen years.”

“Exile. Send him to the North.”

Jansson broke through the melee in a commanding voice that quieted all the rest.

“Be calm, Council,” he said. “We cannot stand divided. We must make a decision now.”

Slinking like injured cats when they crossed in front of the peephole, the Council Members returned to their seats. My heart hammered in my chest.

“We will vote once. The final tally goes to the High Priestess for her ultimate decision. Those in favor of keeping Derek Black as the current Head of Protectors, raise your hand.”

I strained to see, though I knew it was pointless. Stella’s hand rose tall and proud, but I entertained little hope that enough of the other Council Members would vote with her. I didn’t know my hands shook until I put them to my flushed face.

“Those against.”

A long silence fell.

“There you have it,” Jansson said in a quiet voice. “The Council votes to remove Derek Black from his position as Head of Protectors six to four. Let us move onto the next point of business; our suggestions for nomination of the new High Priest.”

His low drone continued in the background. I pulled away from the peephole, disgusted. It was just a tradition. But they couldn’t let go of it, and they never would. I recalled Merrick’s words from a previous lesson.

Tradition isn’t always a good thing. Keep that in mind.

I was beginning to understand exactly what that meant. With a frustrated sigh, I turned away to tell Papa their decision, my heart heavy.

An Ideal Solution

“Y
ou can’t be surprised by the Council’s ruling,” Merrick said as we walked back to Chatham Castle. He’d allowed me to sleep in that morning before our lesson, so the day was already bright with an angelic blue sky. I carried both buckets of rocks at my sides while he strolled next to me, unburdened and enjoying it. “You already knew they were out to get him.”