Antebellum Awakening (4 page)

In the meantime, my birthday approached fast. It stood just four months away, and brought with it the culmination of my old family curse. If the High Priestess didn’t fulfill her vow, the curse would kill me when I turned seventeen. I had four months left to live and two ways to die.

To top it off, Papa had no idea.

“—help control the power,” the High Priestess’s voice jarred me back into the present. “We need to help her protect herself. I can’t trust every Coven Leader or Council Member anymore. I’d feel a lot better if Bianca could do more than throw around a couple of blighters to defend herself. Mabel isn’t dead yet and I don’t think we should act like she is.”

The stark reality of the High Priestess’s words struck a chord of fear deep inside me. I lived in a castle filled with Guardians and Protectors, not to mention with Papa, one of the most talented witches in all of Antebellum. Yet, the High Priestess still feared for my life. Safety was an illusion, something cursory that one thought of but never found. After watching Mama die before my eyes, I figured I knew that better than anyone.

“Merry meet, Bianca.”

A quiet, amused voice came up from behind me with all the presence of a ghost. I jumped and whirled around to find Merrick, my father’s apprentice, standing there. His freshly washed hair rested against the base of his neck in a ponytail. The blonde strands nestled amidst the light brown looked bright in the light of the nearby torch. A shadow of brown stubble covered his tanned, handsome face and made his eyes look as green as the spring leaves outside. He wasn’t much older than me, something close to twenty-two or three. As a fledgling, almost-accepted Protector, Merrick spent a lot of time with Papa but rarely interacted with me. He was always focused on whatever task Papa had given him.

“Oh,” I said, pressing a hand to my galloping heart. “You startled me. What are you doing here, Merrick?”

His face twisted into an expression of wry irony.

“The High Priestess summoned me.”

A little envelope with the High Priestess’s writing flashed between his fingers.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, glancing between me and the door. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but realized I had no good explanation. He’d caught me.

“Ensuring the success of my future,” I said. To my surprise, a little grin filtered across his features.

“You may want to step back then,” he said. “Or else your future is going to involve a black eye.”

Better safe than sorry. I obeyed. The doors cracked open as I stepped away, spilling a sliver of light into the hall. I shot him a silent, grateful look. The thick wood would have smacked me in the face, revealing my eavesdropping in the worst way.

“Both of you may enter,” the High Priestess called. Merrick stepped back to allow me in first, and I ducked inside.

The dying light of day ringed the edges of Letum Wood just outside. Four open windows allowed the cooling spring air to spill in. Scrolls and pieces of parchment sat on the High Priestess’s massive desk, limp from the humidity of the day, as if they were melting. There were no books in her office. She kept them all in a side closet, with the simple explanation that offices weren’t libraries. Pictures lined the walls instead, covering the dull gray stone and leaving the impression of a quiet room of art. The High Priestess waited until I stood just across from her desk to address me.

“The grief over losing your mother has made your magic stronger,” she said with a direct stare. The door to her office closed behind Merrick. “I’m not sure how I feel about you being so bold while your powers are out of control.”

That’s a surprise,
I thought of saying.
I’d assume that everyone likes a girl who will step in front of dragon and throw herself onto a dangerous poacher.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” I said, ignoring her reference to Mama. She rolled her small, dark eyes. Small talk did not exist in the High Priestess’s world, and this habit of getting right to the point was one of my favorite things about her. I was grateful to get this over with. Papa moved to stand near the window. He cast me a quick wink, allowing me to release some of the anxiety in my chest.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet,” she muttered. “You may not have reason to apologize. I spoke with everyone involved with the incident.”

“What did they say?” I asked.

“All the witnesses had the same story. You stopped Alvyn from shooting the forest dragon. When he tried to attack you, you used magic to cause an explosion. It sent you rolling down the hill while Alvyn and his accomplice were knocked out.”

A poor choice of weapon on my part,
I thought with a frown. Now that time had passed, my back and shoulders felt sore and tight from the tumble. I’d have a bruise or two to deal with later.

“Well?” the High Priestess demanded, pulling me from my thoughts again. “Is that what happened?”

“I believe so, Your Highness. I don’t remember much.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why did you want to save that dragon?”

My jaw tightened. “He hadn’t done anything wrong. Killing him for being alive seemed a bit . . .” I trailed off, meeting her eyes. “Ruthless.”

“It’s a dragon, not your mother.”

“It’s a life,” I snapped. “And I saved it according to my conscience.”

The magic, now itself resembling a roaring dragon, calmed enough that I could think. Ever since Mama died the magic made me restless and fidgety, keeping me up into the late hours of the night while I stared at the ceiling, missing Mama with an ache so terrible I thought I’d break. There were days I couldn’t control the powers, and those were usually the days when my grief felt the strongest.

Papa shot me a sharp look of reprimand.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” I said with a true pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

The High Priestess released a long breath and let the error slide.

“Your conscience led you right and I thank you for it.”

My eyes snapped back onto hers. “What?”

“You did nothing wrong in defending yourself, and you managed to save a dragon in the meantime.”

“But I lost control of the magic.”

“Yes, but you saved your own life, and possibly Camille’s. Alvyn admitted to your father that he planned to kill you.”

A little shiver of fear skimmed my spine when I met Papa’s suddenly turbulent eyes. So Alvyn had faced Papa. For a moment I felt a flash of pity for the poacher.

“He actually confessed to wanting to kill me?”

The High Priestess gifted me with her piercing stare. “He had to. Veritas is a very powerful potion, as I know you are very aware.”

No arguments here,
I wanted to say, recalling the terrible memories of the Veritas potion I carried with me from my time at Miss Mabel’s. Veritas caused a crippling vertigo and nearly unstoppable desire to speak your deepest wishes. No one could withstand the Veritas without years of calculated exposure.

“What will happen to him?” I asked.

“He dies tomorrow.”

Her simple response startled me, and I could only stare at her for several moments, blinking.

“Dies?”

“Yes. Both of them earned it. I will not allow traitors to live. Enough of the poachers, let’s talk about our plan for you. Until Miss Mabel is dead I will fear for your safety, Bianca. Chatham Castle is not the safe place it used to be, unfortunately.”

The rush of panic took me by surprise.

“You aren’t going to send me away, are you?”

“Of course not,” she said with a frown. “You’d be less safe anywhere else. Besides, your father has a plan of his own.”

She looked over to Papa, silently giving him the conversation. His forehead had puckered into deep grooves that smoothed out as he spoke. The fast, clipped inflections of his tone comforted me.

“She’s right. Ever since your mother died your powers have grown, B,” he said in a quiet voice. Worry flickered through his gaze for just a moment, then disappeared. He straightened up, standing to his full height. “Mabel isn’t under our control yet, which means you need to learn how to fight in order to defend yourself should the occasion arise. You have to learn something more than how to use blighters in a Mactos.”

Blighters, Mactos, defend yourself.
All these words took me back to my time with Miss Mabel. I’d stood alone against her in a Mactos, a magical fight where blighters, little balls of energy, were used as the main weapons. Just remembering that day flamed my already agitated powers. I swallowed. “Papa, I haven’t done anything to make the magic so strong.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, sharing a glance with the High Priestess. “It’s to be expected with grieving. I thought the magic would work itself out if I gave you time to process losing your mother, but that’s obviously not the case yet. Perhaps you just need more time.”

I flinched at the reference to Mama and remained silent. I didn’t know what to say. Papa dealt with everything through logic. Forward movement. Never looking back. Emotions placed on the back burner to deal with the current situation. When he grieved, he did it in private, away from the light and other people. I didn’t doubt he mourned as deeply as me, but he did it in such a different way that I sometimes felt as if I were drowning in a sea of despair while he stood on the shore.

Papa continued, pulling me from my thoughts, “You need to be able to defend yourself from witches like Alvyn or, heaven forbid, Mabel when she shows up.”

His use of
when
and not
if
sent a violent shudder down my spine.

“That’s why we asked Merrick here,” the High Priestess said, turning her eyes onto him. He stood several paces behind me with his hands folded behind his back, so silent I’d forgotten he was there. “You have served as an apprentice to Derek for nearly two years, is that right?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Merrick responded.

“You have three months before the Protectors can vote on whether or not they will accept you. Is that also correct?”

Merrick nodded once. Every male witch that hoped to serve as a Protector had to survive an initial training period that lasted an entire winter. If the witch passed and still wanted to be a Protector—and most did not—they spent two years as an apprentice. At the end of the two years, the Protectors voted on whether they would keep the candidate or not. Few enough made it past the initial training period and even fewer were initiated after the vote. With only thirteen people allowed at one time, the Protectors were one of the most exclusive groups in all of Antebellum.

“I’m assigning Merrick to teach you sword fighting,” Papa said. “He’ll continue with his regular duties, of course, but will also instruct you every day. Our hope is that through learning how to fight physically, you will not only learn how to protect yourself, but also give your emotions an outlet.”

Merrick’s shoulders tightened, but like most Protectors, his expression never changed. I suspected he may resent it; he probably saw it as a babysitting duty rather than an educational experience.

“The magic took over you today, and you nearly exploded.” Papa’s chocolate eyes latched onto mine. “Since you refuse to talk about your mother, we’ll try giving you a physical way to express your emotions.”

I turned away from his intense gaze. He was right: I wouldn’t talk about Mama. The ability to control the madness in my heart? I would work for that, especially if I could avoid speaking about her. Having a solid distraction from the grief and madness in my mind would be even better. I’d start immediately, if they wanted.

“Yes, Papa,” I said. “I’ll try.”

“Do you have any questions?” the High Priestess asked.

I had so many I couldn’t narrow them down. Should I be worried about my safety all the time? Did Alvyn work for Miss Mabel? Could my powers even be controlled?

“Why did those witches want to kill the forest dragon?” I asked, voicing the first that came to my tongue. “Forest dragons haven’t been seen in centuries.”

The High Priestess’s lips pressed into a thin, pale line.

“Hunting them for Mabel,” she said, and left it at that. The confirmation of my fear stirred the magic inside. It felt like a dragon just starting to wake up. Perhaps dragons weren’t just the threatening creatures in Letum Wood. Perhaps the magic made me part dragon now, roaring and raging on the whim of my internal fury.

“Your first lesson begins in two days. That will give Merrick time to rearrange his schedule and prepare the lessons. Go away, all of you,” the High Priestess said with a flick of her wrist. “I have work to see to.”

Papa walked up to my side and hooked an arm around my shoulders while Merrick led the way to the door.

“Come on, B,” Papa said. “Let’s go get dinner.”

We shuffled into the hallway without a word, leaving the quiet office behind. I cast one last glance over my shoulder to see the High Priestess already buried in a new correspondence that had just flown in the window.

The Witchery

T
he Witchery was an abandoned turret that my three friends—Leda, Michelle, and Camille—and I had claimed the week they’d arrived. No one challenged us for it. No one really seemed to want it.