Miss Mabel's School for Girls (31 page)

Samhain

P,

I need to talk to you. Sometime. Sometime soon. It’s very important.

B

T
he messenger paper flew out the window with a flutter and disappeared into the chilly sky. I stared after it. My words read bare and pathetic, but I didn’t know how else to write. I’d racked my brain all day.
Miss Mabel is planning on using me in an evil, nefarious plot, but I don’t know what it is yet
or
Miss Mabel went back on her word to remove the curse from Grandmother
didn’t convey it well. Besides, there was no telling when he would get it or what he could do. Papa should only be a last resort.

Desperation is an ugly thing.
I thought, scrutinizing the spot where the paper disappeared.
Sorry, Papa. I hope this doesn’t distract you too much.

A squeal from downstairs startled me out of my thoughts. I quickly shut the window and crept to the door, grateful for any distraction. The giggling of first-years wound up the spiral staircase. A draft under the door brought the scent of cinnamon and cloves into my room.

“Bianca! Get out here!”

Camille whispered my name seconds before she grabbed the knob and shoved the door open. It slammed into my nose, sending me backwards with a cry.

“Ow!”

Leda quickly spilled into the room next to her and shut the door behind them. Camille dropped to her knees on the floor with me, where I held the end of my nose and tried to clear my watery eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Bianca! I didn’t know you were right there,” Camille said, but her fervor died down in confusion. “Why were you standing right there?”

I waved her flapping hands away and got to my feet. My nose ached, but the stinging had started to subside.

“I thought I heard noises.”

“Sorry, Bianca, I saw it happen after it was too late or I would have stopped her,” Leda said, dropping onto my bed and not appearing all that remorseful. “You really need to decorate. Even I think the bare walls are getting depressing.”

“It’s the Samhain festival,” Camille said, motioning towards the door. “We’ve got to go or we’ll miss the judging.”

“Judging?”

“Yes, Michelle helped me make an apple pie for one of her projects. Mine is up against Brianna’s in the Samhain Best of the Feast competition, and I’ve got to win!”

Camille stamped her foot in determination.

“I thought you loved Brianna?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But not when goodies are on the line. I’m going to win! Let’s go.”

“You made a pie?” I asked, skeptical. There were days I wouldn’t trust Camille’s attention span to differentiate sugar and salt appropriately.

“Yes! Now let’s go, or I won’t give you any.”

Which wouldn’t be the worst thing,
Leda’s face seemed to say.

Samhain, the yearly feast for the dead. How had I forgotten? I’d seen the decorations every time I went to the dining room for days now. Hollowed out pumpkins littered the school, lighting the way up the stairs with candles sticking out of the middle, and cluttering the tables in the library. Miss Celia made a special wax candle that smelled like allspice when it burned, so the aroma of pumpkin pie permeated the school. Gold foil tablecloths decorated the dining room at breakfast, and the broad green leaves of pumpkin vines grew along every fireplace mantel, twining themselves around the staircases.

“Oh, that’s right,” I said. “I forgot about the feast.”

Camille shot me a look that made it clear she didn’t think that was possible. Who would forget a feast? Leda cast an eye on the piles of books that scattered across my desk, studying
Contrivance Curses and Their Use Today
with a dark look. She turned her gaze to the floor, fading into her future-searching haze.

“Small wonder you even remember where you are.” Camille looked at the books on my desk. “You’ve got half the library in your closet up here. Now come on!” she tugged on my hand impatiently. “We’ve got to go. If I’m not present I forfeit the reward.”

“What is the reward?”

“Immortal glory and prestige for the rest of my life!”

“A basket of baked goodies to satisfy Camille’s insatiable love for food,” Leda said, earning a proper scowl from Camille, who jerked her away from the pile of books and produced a black crepe hair ribbon as we made it to the bottom of the iron stairs.

“Here,” Camille said, handing it to me. “This will be all you need. At least you’ll be wearing black to welcome the spirits of the dead to our feast on their behalf. No one will care if you’re still in your school clothes. Besides, no one expects you to dress up anyway.”

“They’ll just be happy if you wear shoes,” Leda said with a wry grin. I acted as if I didn’t hear her reference to the first match, grateful she didn’t know about my slip-up at the Esbat.

Leda wore a black dress, similar to Camille’s in style, but obviously different in execution. One sleeve hit the elbow, the other ran to her wrist. Gaudy black and gold sequins scattered across the front in random array. Camille’s looked more organized, but not by much. The sequins had been traded for large gold beads; the skirt’s layers of sheer material fluttered as she ran down the stairs and came up just a bit too short behind the knee, something Miss Scarlett’s eyes would not miss. I had a feeling the mistake came from poor planning, and not a girlish intent to display her legs. Both dresses had to be Camille’s work, as I doubted Leda cared about something like how to thread a needle when hunger still existed.

“Miss Celia’s already put the crossed brooms above the main door to signal the start of the feast,” Camille said. “We’re late!”

Three second-years on the main stairwell ahead of us wore equally outlandish black dresses, regaled with complicated shawls they had knitted in their free time. One sported a golden tiara. The others wore gold earrings.

“You look great in gold, Leda,” I said, motioning with a cheery grin to the uneven hem of gold ribbon around the edge of her skirt.

Leda glowered at me as only Leda could.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Camille said with a look of pride. “I thought about adding some more, but she said she wouldn’t wear it. I’ve been working on it for days now. It’s part of the reason I’m still failing Geometry.”

The sound of the celebration met us as we descended into the soaring entryway. A few third-years bustled by, slipping out the side door and into the yard in gauzy black dresses sent from home. They didn’t have poor attempts at elegance attached to them, like most of the first-years. Instead, they opted for a more alluring, refined look with sleek skirts and shimmering necklaces, easily upstaging the younger girls. Hundreds of candles floated in the air, illuminating the undersides of the trees that the fading sun couldn’t reach. It created an eerie, death-glow kind of feeling.

Michelle and Rebecca worked with Miss Celia at the tables, frantically setting out all the utensils and plates. Food flew from the kitchen and out to the yard, descending into their appropriate spots. Miss Celia directed them as if they rained from heaven.

“Wow,” Camille whispered, her eyes growing wider. “This is amazing! Look, they brought in Miss Jasmine. She’s the most talented Diviner in this part of Letum Wood. Maybe she’ll tell me about my future husband!”

Her voice turned into a shrill squeal. She charged forward, running into the group of girls gathered around Miss Jasmine and disappearing into the sea of black and gold fabric.

I gazed around, trying to hide my sudden flood of nervous insecurity. My school uniform stuck out like a specter in this sea of ebony. With everyone’s black dresses twirling and moving in the crowd, my only tie to the group was the fragile hair ribbon still in my hand.

This is what you get when you set yourself apart.
My attempts at self-soothing had little effect.
You can’t save yourself from Miss Mabel and be like the rest of the students.

The curse took away something I’d never have the chance to be a part of again. This girlish phase of friendship when dress up, in whatever form, was just another part of life.

Leda, as if reading my mind, grabbed the ribbon and pulled at my hair. 

“Don’t worry about them. You need the break today, after Miss Mabel pulled a trick like that.”

I’d been too distraught to explain the disappointment of Miss Mabel’s betrayal, but somehow Leda had known. She’d stopped me before I explained with a shake of her head, and I never had to say a word. Despite the lingering depression of being nothing more than a puppet for one of the most evil witches in Antebellum, the jovial mood of the yard did have a buoyant effect.

Leda tugged my dark hair into a ponytail at my neck. Priscilla and Jade weren’t far away, surrounded by most of the third-years. Priscilla wore a sparkling black dress that hung from her shoulders to the floor, unlike the first-year dresses that cut off around the knees. By comparison, she made everyone look like the schoolgirls they were. Most students couldn’t take their eyes off her, though their expressions said that they hated her for making them look so young and insignificant.

“Let’s just have a good time,” Leda said, tightening my bow with a vicious yank that made me grimace. I wasn’t sure which of the two of us she was trying to convince. “Eat some pumpkin spice almonds and apple slices with caramel, and then go where we can’t hear Priscilla and Jade laughing so much. It’s nauseating.”

Once she finished, we went to the table to peruse the piles of goodies, where Miss Celia shouted directions to a new piece of silver.

“Drat that platter!” she cried. “I wish Mabel hadn’t insisted on getting rid of the old ones. They always did just what I wanted. I’m not familiar enough with the new trays. That makes them unreliable. Oh, dear. Grab that end, Rebecca!”

The round silver platter, leaves etched into its sides, dropped to the table with a clatter, spilling steaming cider onto the white tablecloth and upsetting a ceramic tray of pumpkin swirl cake. 

Michelle approached with another tray loaded down with sugar-roasted cranberries, and I gave her a friendly smile.

“Merry meet, Michelle.”

“Merry meet,” she whispered, averting her eyes at first, but then looking back with a smile. “I hope you’re enjoying the fun.”

I gazed at the melee.

“Yes,” I said without conviction. “It seems great.”

Miss Celia let out a bellow from across the yard, and Michelle started like a terrified deer.

“Michelle!”

“I have to go!” she said, and her burly form moved with surprising speed, arriving just in time to stop a heaping tray of Miss Celia’s fresh cinnamon rolls from toppling over and rolling across the yard. Leda handed me a cup of cider.

“Michelle moves pretty fast.”

We stood on the edges of the party, feeling as awkward as I knew we looked. 

“Care to talk about that stack of books Miss Mabel has you studying?” Leda asked. The troubled storm returned to her eyes.

“Not really,” I said, but it wouldn’t matter. Leda had her mind set on figuring it out.

“What mark are you completing now?”

I looked at the two triangles on my wrist and felt a little shudder just saying the words aloud. Eventually, the Esbat symbol wouldn’t be the only mark there.

“Advanced Curses and Hexes.”

Leda sputtered, coughing out some of her warm cider. I pounded her on the back and waved Miss Celia off when she ran forward to check on her.

“What?” she whispered as soon as everyone faded into the background. “Is that mark offered anymore?”

“I guess it is.”

Leda shifted, uneasy.

“That isn’t good, Bianca. Not good at all.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Be careful,” she warned. “I don’t like the feel of this. Miss Mabel isn’t–” she trailed off with a breath of frustration. “She’s not predictable but neither is she unorganized.”

The thought made me uneasy. I’d spent most of my life plotting against Miss Mabel. I didn’t like the thought of her doing the same.

“Have you ever thought about why Miss Mabel is still here?” Leda asked.

“What do you mean?”

“If Miss Mabel cursed your grandmother because she supported Mildred, then that meant Miss Mabel supported Evelyn. Mildred executed all of Evelyn’s followers when she took power.”

Leda let the implication hang in the air.

I blinked. “But not Miss Mabel.”

“Exactly. It’s worth finding out. In order to not be killed, Miss Mabel must have proven her loyalty to Mildred somehow, don’t you think?”

I looked out at the yard and thought it over. Why hadn’t I considered that before? Miss Mabel would have been in league with Evelyn, like her grandmother. But then why wouldn’t she have removed my grandmother’s curse when Mabel was executed, if she was on Mildred’s side?

“You’re right,” I said.