Fairies and Felicitations (Scholars and Sorcery) (3 page)

I spend all of History wondering what that little imp has in mind for me. I suspect it’s something to do with my Gift. I have Telepathy, enough to give short messages to people if I really, really exhaust myself trying. The thing is, I can’t communicate all that well, so it’s not like my messages consist of “Hullo, this is Anne, I want to tell you that…” It’s more that I sort of implant… ideas.

Kitty has always been ruthless about convincing me to use my Gift to her advantage, calling away mistresses who have been scolding her with sudden recollections of kettles left on in the staff room, for instance. It would be perfectly in character for her to want me to implant a message in Esther’s head.

I won’t do it. I won’t. Making me write the poem was bad enough, but I’m not fooling with Esther’s mind for anything. She’s too clever. And her rage might just be worse than being on Kitty’s bad side.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I miss a question and have to stay after class. From the annoyed pinch on the arm Kitty gives me in passing, she thinks I did it on purpose to avoid talking to her.

That might not have been such a bad idea at that.

When Miss Stevens finally lets me go, I’m tired and grumpy and also wondering if I went too far in describing Esther’s skin as like cream glittering with golden fairy dust. It doesn’t sound quite like something Cecily would say, somehow.

Because Cecily is so much on my mind, it makes me jolt guiltily when I realise that the girl who has just knocked all the books out of my arms is, in fact, our esteemed Games Captain.

“Sorry.” She crouches down and helps me collect them. I’m aware that my face is bright as a tomato. “I shouldn’t rush around without looking where I’m going. I’m late to supervise prep.”

She still stopped to look after me. The guilt makes me miserable.

Cecily rocks back on her heels and looks straight at me. I want to look away, but I know that would be suspicious, so I meet her gaze as limpidly as I dare. She has lovely brown eyes, large and velvety, with grey rims.
 

“All serene, Anne?”

“Yes.” Except that now I’m panicking, as well. Cecily has Sensitivity, everyone knows that. It’s one of the reasons Miss Carroll, our headmistress, makes such a pet of her, their shared Gift for sensing others’ emotions. Just like Kitty not to take that into account.

“Hmm.” Cecily straightens, and helps me up. Chivalrous. She keeps her grip on my arm. “You know, I’ve noticed how much work you’ve been putting in at practice lately. You’re a shoe-in for the Second Eleven, and you might have your colours by next year.”

“Thanks,” I say, miserably. My tone seems a bit downcast for having been thrown words of praise by the Games Captain, so I add in a brighter tone, “That’s smashing.”

“Hmm,” she says again, clearly unconvinced. Then she smiles. It’s a very nice smile, strong white teeth in an oval face. “It must be hard for you, Anne, having a sister with such a splendid reputation at hockey. But you don’t need to live up to her. You’re a decent, reliable player in your own right. That might sound like poor consolation right now, but decent, reliable players are what I need, and will win out over erratic brilliance every day. Don’t be discouraged.”

“I’m fine, really,” I say, just as if there’s any point in lying about my feelings to someone with her Gift.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, my dear, feel free to knock on the Fifth form common room door any old time. Girls come to call me out to talk about games all the time, so know one will think it strange.”
 

She really is terribly kind. I studiously look away from her, and she sighs and releases my arm.

“See you at practice tomorrow, then. Tell that Kitty pal of yours to buck up a bit, or she’ll spend the rest of term circling around the hockey fields. Now, I need to see what those First form demons have got up to while I’m late.” She pats my shoulder and speeds away.

I concentrate on feeling as calm and collected as possible until she’s out of sight and, I devoutly hope, range. Then I turn and flee towards the Fourth form common room.

Poor consolation? Who is to say I won’t be every bit as good as Wynn by the time I’m twenty? I’m only fifteen, for the sake of all that’s merciful. There’s no need at all to patronise me. And what am I, Kitty’s keeper? Given, she was mucking around a bit that one time, but it was only a stupid practice game.

Cecily might be a prefect and Games Captain and the Headmistress’ favourite puppy dog, but she’s only a Fifth former from the Bush. Kitty’s right. It’s time Miss Kettler was taken down a peg or two.

Besides, it’s a grand attempt at a love poem. It has some really lovely lines in it, if I do say so myself. I want to know what Esther will think of it.

three

M
Y
L
OVELY
V
ALENTINE

KITTY, WHEN I corner her and ask what else I can do to help, is so insufferably smug that I almost change my mind again.

“I always knew you’re not as pure as you like to paint yourself, Miss Prim and Proper.” She has her fairies concealed inside a jar now, with some rose leaves and even a rose hip to keep them company. They look contented enough, as far as you can tell with fairies; one is curled up asleep on a rose leaf while another flitters about on glistening wings, and a soft pink glow envelops the cubicle when she lifts her handkerchief off the jar. I hope it’s faint enough that no one can see through the gap in the drawn curtains and risk attracting Emily’s interest and wrath. Fernleigh Manor is so cheap that the curtains never extend quite around. I don’t know what our parents pay all those fees for. “I’m going to miss these little dears,” Kitty sighs. They’re good company.”

“They’re an odd token of love, seeing that you have to release them at once. Do you think that, in the old days, people kept them in lamps or something?”

“Not bright enough to be worth it.” Kitty drops the handkerchief back over them. “Go to sleep now, little ones,” she croons.

“Do you think they’re parrots or something, you idiot?”

“Shut up.”

I worry about them for a moment. I wish there was someone I could ask to check if they are happy in their little prison. The only Fable Empath I know about is the same Charley of the Fifth who is thick as thieves with Cecily and Esther, so she’s no good. I try to dismiss them from my mind. After all, it’s only for a few more hours.

Kitty pats the bed next to her. “I’ve been enjoying my reading material. If you ever want to do a stint as Cyrano de Bergerec, you’ll have customers lining up. I never knew you spent so much time dwelling on the graceful way Esther wields a bat. Do I need to be jealous?”

“You can shut up, too,” I say, but I sit down next to her.
 

She drops her curly red head on my shoulder, like a kitten snuggling up to its mother. “I knew you’d do it. Prissy it up all you like, old girl, you’re looking forward to the fireworks as much as I am.”

Her self-satisfaction irritates me so much that I immediately reverse my stance again. “Cecily is really decent to everyone. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Truly, Anne, you are making a fuss about nothing. Our down-to-earth wild Colonial girl gets teased about out of character soppiness for little while. On Saint Valentine’s Day, when all the lower formers will be writing love notes to the Sixth formers anyway. It’s not worth all this song and dance.”

It sounds good, but if it was true, I don’t believe Kitty would be going to so much effort. She takes pranks as seriously as she takes anything, although admittedly that’s not saying very much.

I sigh. “What do you want me to do?”

“There’s a prefect’s meeting tomorrow afternoon. I want you to put into Esther’s head that Cecily has left something important in… oh, the chapel will do, and that she really wants to a friend to find it.”

“I think you’re overestimating my powers, my sweet. Won’t Esther wonder why she knows about it?”

“Make her think Cecily’s told her and she’s forgotten, and just remembered.”

I yank one of her curls, quite hard. “You say that as if it’s positively the simplest thing in the world. It’s not going to work, you know.”

“Then think of something else. Honestly, Anne, you can’t expect me to do everything myself. It’s your Gift, not mine.”

“It’s
your
ridiculous prank, not mine!”

Kitty lifts her head and presses her mouth to my ear, her hot breath tickling me. “It’s
your
reputation as everyone’s dear little friend on the line, and
your
chance of being a prefect next year. What would Mummy say if her little Anne didn’t get a shiny badge like Wynn?”

“Go to—to—“ I have never come so close to bad language in my life. “Back to Scotland! Until you learn how to play cricket!”

I flounce out of the cubicle, pretending to myself that I can’t hear Kitty giggling helplessly behind me, and that I am not going to stay awake half the night trying to ferret out a plan to send Esther into the chapel.

Simply for the intellectual exercise of it, of course.

It really is a great injustice that Kitty snores half the night. I mean, it’s bad enough that I am the one awake plotting to take a revenge I don’t even care about and worrying about the fairies
she
trapped in a jar, without Kitty making it even harder on me. You wouldn’t think a delicate, pointy-eared little elf like her could make such an appalling row.

Eventually Mary gets up and drips water from a wet washcloth into Kitty’s mouth, so that she splutters and turns over onto her side. I close my eyes gratefully and try to sleep.

It’s no good. I keep wondering what will happen when Esther reads the poem. Will she like it? I always score at composition, and it was fun to try my hand at love poetry as well. Or will she be offended to be compared to a gold unicorn? When I think about it, it is frightfully close to suggesting she looks like a horse. It seemed like a romantic comparison at the time, but now I’m not so sure. If only Kitty had let me spend more time on the poem, rather than snatching it away like that.

It’s ridiculous to even care whether Esther will like it. The whole point is that she will think it came from Cecily, not me, which sets off another train of speculation altogether. Will they quarrel? Cecily has a hot temper, anyone who has seen her on the field when someone is slacking knows that, and Esther has a sharp tongue on her when she likes. I’ve seen her flay a girl in a higher form to shreds for getting a leg between a cricket ball and a wicket. For all that, I’ve never heard of the two of them falling out. It would be a rotten thing to cause, even if Cecily can be a bit interfering and pompous at times. I would die of guilt.

Or… what if Esther
likes
it? And she says something sweet to Cecily about it, and Cecily denies it? That might cause a worse break between them. Or they might come looking for who did the prank. Cecily could condemn us to a term of lines and gating. I would stand no chance of getting into the Second Eleven this year. Or even next year, if Cecily is still Games Captain. Wynn would pour scorn on my head and never believe it wasn’t my fault.

Hopefully, Cecily will get so mad, or Esther will, that they will just have a blazing row and not bother tracing it back to anyone else.