Antebellum Awakening (41 page)

“She’s with Camille. Nicolas carried her up to the apothecary. Merrick and Brecken fought the Clavas off.”

Camille, yes. Good,
I wanted to say.
Camille will know what to do. She’ll stay with Leda.

Three Guardians rushed past us and surrounded Miss Mabel. Zane whispered a few more incantations to strengthen the paralysis. Her body lifted into the air, bound by cords of iron, her right leg twisted at a grotesque angle to the side.

I turned away.

“Tell me Leda’s going to be okay,” I demanded. “Tell me she’s okay!”

Papa responded immediately. “Yes,” he said, in control and confident. He pressed a hand to my forehead, whispered a blessing under his breath, and a wave of calm passed through me. My mind reorganized itself and I drew in a deep breath.

“The High Priestess,” I said. “Sh-she died because of—”

“We’ll talk about it later. We need to get you upstairs.”

His words faded into the background with all other sound. Beyond his right shoulder lay the High Priestess, motionless on the ground. Eight Protectors, tattered, bloody, and bruised, formed a wall around her body. Her hand rested at to her side, limp. A tear fell out of my eye as I stared at it, transfixed.

Gone.

“Bianca? B? Listen to me.”

Papa’s voice came from far away. He slapped me on the cheek, but I hardly felt it.

“Bianca, I need you to look at me.”

“Yes, Papa,” I said, closing my eyes, then opening them on him. The calming feeling swept through me again, reinforcing my strength. “I’m okay.”

My voice evened out, my frantic breathing calmed. I looked at the carnage around me, the dead bodies, the bleeding Clavas with their pale skin and black blood, with a sense of surreal detachment. Everything had crumbled into chaos and pain. I wasn’t alone in my mourning anymore.

“I want you to go to the apartment,” he said.

“No,” I said, a lump growing in my throat. “I want to help.”

“You’re a mess, B. I’m worried that—”

“No!” I cried. “I can’t be alone right now. I can’t do it. Let me help, please!”

Papa hesitated. He must have seen the desperation in my eyes, heard the pleading in my voice. The cries and moans of everyone in attendance suddenly seemed louder than ever. If I could just think about something else I wouldn’t see the High Priestess falling. I wouldn’t remember the moment when I was ready to give into that eternal sleep—

We need your father,
the High Priestess had said.
He’s strong in ways I never can be.

“You need to stay here,” I said, using his arm to pull myself to my tender feet. I ignored the pain, drowned it in the aftermath. Right now, the pain felt good. It felt like life. “The Central Network needs a High Priest.”

He turned to face the ballroom. A small river of blood ran down his leg, soaking his pants, his stocking. A gash across his right temple seeped blood, and his lip split down the middle in a dark line. He gazed around, his eyes rapidly assessing, seeking the remnants of danger.

The only Clavas that remained were dead or badly injured. The rest had fled when Miss Mabel had been overcome. A small troop of weary Guardians moved through the carnage, killing any Clavas that still clung to life. The witches that hadn’t escaped through the window and somehow survived the massacre stared up at Papa from the bloody ballroom floor with pale faces and wide eyes. Merrick stepped out of the crowd, limping slightly on his right leg. Papa wouldn’t let go of me.

“I’ll stay with her until you can,” Merrick said, matching Papa’s intense gaze. “I swear it on my life, Derek.”

Papa hesitated, but released me with a single nod. Merrick reached out a hand and helped me down from the elevated platform where Miss Mabel and I had fought. Like the rest of us still alive, blood and sweat marred his clothes.

“Thank you,” I said, clenching my jaw to hide the pain. My feet continued to leave bright red footprints as I hobbled.

“You did good, Bianca,” he said, studying me with his serious emerald eyes. “I’m proud of you.”

I looked away, my eyes filling with tears, and gazed up at my father. He stood in between the two thrones, his sword clenched in his fist, glowing with a bright crimson flame.

“Witches of the Central Network!” he called. His voice rang over the ballroom, spilling out into the gardens where contingents of Guardians waited, listening. “I stand before you today not as a fellow witch, not as a leader, but as a brother-in-arms. We’ve been attacked, but we have prevailed!”

He held his sword above his head, his jaw tight.

“We have prevailed!”

The Guardians raised their swords and joined in his cry. The maids and kitchen servants sniffling in the corner came out of hiding. The Protectors lifted their broken fists and joined in the call. Their shout spread from the ballroom to the gardens. The contingents of Guardians outside bellowed, augmented by the livid roar of the dragons circling the castle in the air.

“We will continue to prevail,” Papa said, “until we are safe. This I promise you, as your High Priest. We will honor Mildred’s name and her legacy.” His voice faltered, but he regained it with a determined ferocity, his nostrils flaring. “We will not fear. We will fight. We will win. We will live!”

The cries and shouts of the Guardians continued, ringing around us. Several witches collapsed into sobs. Papa stood above it all, strong and powerful, mighty in ways we could not be. I stared at him in a mixture of awe and fear.

“It’s begun, hasn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes,” Merrick said. “It’s begun.”

•••

Leda didn’t wake up until late the next morning.

I lay curled up next to her on the bed, staring at her face, willing her eyes to open. Michelle had bandaged my feet and my arm, and helped me wash the bloody stains off my body. Stella, tousled but alive, worked a special magic with her healing oils so I didn’t feel any pain when I walked. The three of us worked into the early hours of the morning in the ballroom and kitchen. Merrick, true to his word, didn’t leave my side, but helped with the rest of us. Then Papa pulled me away before dawn. I recounted everything to him, Tiberius, Zane, Marten, and Jansson. The vow with the High Priestess, the visits to Miss Mabel in the West, the binding to complete an unknown task, and our newest threat, Angelina.

Four Council Members were dead, the eccentric Council Member Patrice amongst them. The rest of them had been injured to varying degrees. The tally of bodies hadn’t yet been finished, and I didn’t want to know the final number. The bloody battle would haunt my dreams for years.

A large bump had bubbled up from the left side of Leda’s head, spreading a light black and blue bruise down her eye and cheek. The apothecary had sewn shut a deep cut on her neck and cheek with twenty perfect little stitches. The dried blood seemed especially dark against her creamy white skin. Camille’s handwork with a brush had left Leda’s hair washed and braided in two short braids.

Camille had finally dropped into sleep around daybreak, curled up on Leda’s other side, holding her hand. Michelle sat in a chair behind me, her eyes trained forward. She rocked back and forth, back and forth. For a long time, the only sound was the creak of the wood as it moved. It was anchoring, reassuring, or else the silence would have been too overwhelming and I would have screamed.

“I’m going to go check on Nicolas,” Michelle said in a wooden voice. She had a dazed expression on her face, her eyes fixed and unseeing. Her lips barely moved when she spoke. I didn’t say anything, just watched her disappear down the stairs wearing only one shoe. Someone would tell her. And if they didn’t, what did it matter?

Leda’s pale eyelashes slowly fluttered open.

“Bianca?”

I let out a long breath of relief, as if I’d been holding it all that time.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Why are you staring at me?”

“We’re waiting for you to wake up,” I whispered.

She glanced around but didn’t move her head. Shadows and fatigue stained her eyes.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“The Witchery.”

Her foggy eyes didn’t clear. She blinked several times.

“Oh,” she whispered, dazed. “I remember.” Her eyes widened in a panic. “Camille! Where’s Camille? Is she okay? I had to leave her—”

I held a finger up to my lips to signal her to be quiet.

“She’s right behind you, holding your hand. She just fell asleep so don’t wake her up.”

Leda looked at her right hand, intertwined with Camille’s, and relaxed back against the pillow. My throat tightened with unshed tears.

“You saved my life,” I said.

“I know,” she remarked with a dry grin, gazing at me from the corner of her eyes.

“Thank you.”

Leda let out a breathy laugh, then winced and grabbed her side, her face twisted in pain.

“You broke a couple ribs,” I told her. “You also have stitches on your face and neck, not to mention a mild head injury, so you’re supposed to rest for several days. Miss Scarlett brought your mother here. They are both downstairs right now, helping the apothecary. She’s very nice, by the way.”

“Mama came?” Leda asked, blinking rapidly, unable to hide the relief that crossed her face. Her eyes misted.

“Yes.”

“Is Miss Scarlett okay?” Leda asked, swallowing her emotion. “All I remember is her standing in front of me, and then everything went black.”

“She’s fine. A little roughed up, but Merrick and Brecken helped her fight all the Clavas off both of you.”

“Did you beat Miss Mabel?”

I quietly filled Leda in on the details she’d missed. When I finished she let out a long, pained sigh.

“I’m sorry about the High Priestess, Bianca,” she said. “You were close to her.”

Instead of fighting off the wave of grief, I welcomed it. It crashed through me, drowning me in a sorrow that had become all too familiar. I didn’t respond. Leda seemed to understand and didn’t protest when I changed the subject.

“How did you know about the binding?” I asked. “How did you know what to do?”

A sheepish smile came to her face.

“Miss Scarlett taught me to transport when I first got here. I’ve been going to Isadora’s a couple times a week to learn how to control my curse ever since I figured out transportation well enough to be safe. You showed up in the middle of one of Isadora’s lessons one day. I didn’t want you to know because I was embarrassed, so I hid in her pantry and overheard your conversation. Isadora explained it all to me after you left.”

“Isadora told you?” I asked in disbelief. “But she said she wouldn’t tell.”

“No,” Leda corrected me with her usual prim tone, all too happy to be condescending again. “She said she wouldn’t tell the High Priestess.”

I thought back to that day with a grim feeling. Perhaps Isadora’s wisdom was far greater than I’d imagined.

“Where was the
Book of Contracts
?” I asked. “Miss Mabel wasn’t holding it.”

“Brecken came to check on Camille and I told him that I had to find it. Ever since I’ve been working with Isadora, I’ve been better able to see future possibilities, even with Miss Mabel in them, although they’re still vague and grainy. I’d seen a possibility that I could burn the binding for you, so Brecken went with me to find the
Book of Contracts
, and both of us ended up wrestling with a Clava for it. Eventually Brecken cast a curse and I grabbed the book. I feared I was too late.”

“You almost were,” I replied quietly, recalling that moment of capitulation once again. The intense pain, the crushing feeling in my mind. Camille stirred next to us, her eyes fluttering open, pulling me from the deep waters of fear and grief again.

“Leda?” she whispered, blinking.

“Yes, Camille. I’m okay.”

Camille stretched her arms in a lazy arc above her head and wrinkled her face in pain. Her eyes shot open. She bolted upright, a look of panic on her face.

“Leda!”

“Calm down,” Leda said in a soothing tone. “I’m fine.”

Camille took one look at her, turned her gaze to me, and burst into tears.

“Leda, we’ve been so worried!” she said, burying her face in her hands. Leda grimaced, something I assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. “I thought you had died. I was so scared!”

“It’s okay, Camille,” she said, awkwardly patting her back. “I’ll be fine. Where’s Michelle?”

“She went to check on Nicolas in the apothecary,” I said. “He got a couple of deep cuts on his forehead from the Clavas.”

Footsteps came up the stairwell just then, and Leda’s mother, a quiet, warm woman walked in, followed by Papa, who looked weary. Stitches closed the large gash on his temple, although dried blood still stained his face.

“Oh, Leedee,” her mother breathed, rushing over. “You’re awake!”

I stood and embraced Papa, grateful to see him in the light of day. He brushed the hair off my face and pressed me close to his side.