Antebellum Awakening (8 page)

Before she could respond, everything went black.

The floor fell out from underneath me and I plunged into darkness with a gasp. The usual pressure of transporting bore down on my closed eyes and chest, as if something heavy sat there. I felt the weight, and then it disappeared. I fell onto a rock floor with a heavy thud and curled onto my side with a cough. I’d just transported somewhere, that much I knew for sure. But where? And how? Transporting another witch was a power reserved just for High Priests and High Priestesses, and I hadn’t . . .

“Merry meet, Bianca darling. I’ve been waiting for you.”

I froze. The low drawl, the smug tone, the chills it brought to my spine, could only mean one witch.

I pushed off the floor and leapt to my feet, coming face-to-face with the witch I’d kill if I had the power. Miss Mabel stood before me in all her alluring, evil glory. Her crimson lips twitched into a full, teasing smile. Wisps of blonde hair stuck out in organized disarray from a loose bun behind her right ear. The luminous blue eyes that haunted my dreams now blasted me with the power of an arctic wind. The moment we made eye contact, magic came to life in my chest with a dangerous scream.

“Welcome to my new home,” she said, spreading her arms out. “I’ve missed you very much.”

“Miss Mabel,” I said with a tight voice.

An expansive room with jagged red rock walls opened up behind her. There was no wall to my right, just a room leading to a balcony that made the area bright. Beyond it lay an endless expanse of yellow and red sand. The hot sun spilled in beams on the floor, sucking the moisture from every breath of air. Instead of walls, fluttering gossamer drapes edged with yellow lace separated the room into sections. Bookshelves on the left, warbled with carved designs in the dark mahogany. Decorative pots embedded with sparkling pieces of glass on the right. An elaborate painting of fire on the far wall straight ahead. Miss Mabel had transported me to her new lair in the Western Network.

“Have you missed me, Bianca darling?”

“Not particularly. How did you transport me here? It cannot be done with our magic.”

The words
our magic
lingered in my mind. She must be using a dark magic that I didn’t know how to block. There was no other explanation.

“Lovely outfit,” she said with a chuckle, purposefully ignoring my question. “I’m a little surprised you aren’t wearing pants and leather slippers. They are still your favorite, aren’t they?”

I’m surprised you’re not wearing horns.

“They’re being cleaned,” I said casually, clenching my hands into fists. The power hummed in my chest, dangerously alive in her presence. I didn’t know how long I could control it. Once it took over, I wouldn’t be able to stop it from acting.

She smiled in her demure way.

“I’m glad to see you still have something of a wit. And your courage, too. I hear you had a little encounter with a dragon the other day. How very sweet of you to rush in and try to save it. You’re always trying to control the things you have no control over, aren’t you, foolish girl?”

My nails bit into my palm.

“I didn’t try to save it. I did save it.”

“For now.”

A long silence stretched between us. We stared at each other, sizing up, assessing. Could she feel my hatred, my power? Of course she could. Only a fool wouldn’t sense the crackling tension.

“It’s difficult keeping the power under control, isn’t it?” she asked. “I can feel your struggle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She laughed again, a trilling sound that grated on my nerves. What I wouldn’t give to be rid of her! But even I wasn’t foolish enough to try to fight her. I wasn’t ready, not yet. Last time I tried to fight her—

No, just focus on making it out alive, Bianca. Just focus on surviving right now.

“I used my exceptional magical power and transported you here for something simple, really,” Miss Mabel said, interrupting my internal dialogue. “No doubt you thought I’d forget about our little agreement, though I never forget anything.”

She snapped her fingers in a lazy motion and a familiar book appeared. The
Book of Contracts
. It held our binding, complete with my signature. I struggled to keep my face impassive the way Papa always could.

“You’re going to set the task,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Fine. What is it?”

She made a tsking sound through her teeth.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“Yes,” I shot back. “I have a life to live.”

“Not unless you listen to me.” Her eyes flared in a sudden rush of passion. “You seem to have forgotten that I am my grandmother’s magical heir and the only witch alive that controls your curse.”

A hot pain clamped around my throat, paralyzing my voice like the grip of a pair of searing tongs. I gasped. My hands wrapped around my neck, but nothing was there. She smiled.

“Now pay attention, will you?” The burning spasms that choked me subsided, and I wondered if the heat of the West compromised her usually suave control. She resumed with her usual tone of indifference. “It would be very wise of you to do what I tell you. Matters such as this cannot be rushed.”

The nearly silent sound of someone padding into the room stole my attention. I tuned into the sound and sensed movement behind me. Gentle, even breaths. An adult, based on the low shuffle of the footfalls. Most likely a female. Twenty paces away. Miss Mabel’s head instantly jerked up and she focused on the witch over my shoulder. The smooth lines of her perfect neck twitched. Whoever stood out of sight had not been invited. I almost spun around to see who was there, but didn’t want to take my eyes off Miss Mabel for even a second. The fiery discomfort still clinging to my throat reminded me of how unpredictable she’d become.

Miss Mabel glowered at the shadows with glittering eyes.

“Let’s talk out here, shall we, Bianca?” she asked.

Miss Mabel sauntered away, barefoot. A white cotton dress, so thin it was almost scandalous, drifted in the hot air around her legs as she walked. Lace spread across her neck and upper arms, revealing snippets of her tan skin. Finally gathering my courage, I looked over my shoulder and saw only gauzy drapes and rock walls. The whisper of someone transporting away hovered in the air, then faded.

She strolled to the balcony outside and stopped just within the shade. A sprawling city bustled below, filled with early-morning vendors, the fair-haired and blue-eyed witches of the West, and horses. There were no trees here, just a dense green scrub brush on the red cliffs and white stalls that the witches used to hide from the blistering sun. Buckets of dates, coconuts, and long white robes were scattered through most of the market. This had to be Custos, the largest city in the Western Network.

Above us soared more red rock, honed and refined into the smooth, waving walls of a castle. Skinny threads of red, yellow, and orange color ran through the layers of rock. Pictures of dragons and desert serpents were carved around the windows and painted black. The castle walls extended up several stories more and then blended into the mountain.

The Arck,
I thought.
The legendary castle of the Western Network.
It was the only castle in all the Networks built into a mountainside like this. Legend stated that a waterfall fell five stories through the middle of the High Priest’s chambers and supplied the witches with their only constant water source. Judging by her sprawling chambers here, Miss Mabel was no servant. I wondered how much power she held. Almack, the Western High Priest, had been deathly sick for months now. Was Miss Mabel trying to take over upon his death?

“Do you see what I command now?” she asked when I came up next to her, staying out of arms reach. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Whether she spoke of her rule over the city, or the city itself, I couldn’t decide.

“You command?” I asked instead, trying to play it cool. “I don’t remember Almack empowering you as High Priestess.”

“Trivialities,” she said, brushing me off. “I was destined for it, Bianca.”

“What about Dane? He comes to power when Almack dies.”

Her eyes glittered with a smile, making her look nearly mad.

“Perhaps.”

The magic had grown so frantic that my usual analytical abilities failed. When the lightest of tingles started in my fingertips, and the pressure of keeping the power contained began to cause me pain, I knew I had to get out.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said. “What’s the task?”

“You’re much braver than you used to be. You certainly never demanded anything of me at school.”

If bravery meant uncontrollable power, a churning gut, and a skittish heart, then yes. I had a bit more of that.

“Living through your worst nightmare tends to make etiquette less important,” I muttered.

“Very well,” she said, opening the
Book of Contracts
. “I will set your task.”

“How do I know that the task you assign me is the one that will fulfill the contract?”

“The binding responds, you see?”

The
Book of Contracts
had flipped through its pages and now lay open to mine. The ink of her smeared thumbprint gleamed a blood-red color on the bottom of the parchment, seeming fresh.

What if I ripped the contract out?
I thought.
Could I destroy it?

“Your task,” she began, interrupting my thoughts, “is to kill the next High Priest of the Central Network before you turn seventeen. Should you fail to accomplish this assignment, you will die. Should you succeed, your Inheritance Curse will be removed, and you shall live.”

The words appeared on the contract as she spoke them.

Your task is to kill the High Priest.

This unexpected turn was more confusing than shocking. I blinked several times, staring at the page. We didn’t even have a High Priest. What advantage would she gain?

“The High Priest?” I repeated. “We don’t have one right now.”

“Not yet, but Mildred is searching. The Central Network has never gone into a war without full leadership. Not even Mildred would break that tradition.” She looked at me from the corner of her eye with a sly grin. “Although she has broken another rather important tradition, hasn’t she?”

My heart pounded, filling my ears with the sound of rushing blood. I wouldn’t do it.

“I’ll never kill anyone for you,” I said in a hiss, loathing her more and more with every word. The magic was breaking through the already weak guards in my heart. Any minute now and I’d lose control.

She shrugged.

“Fine. Then you’ll die. It’s up to you.”

“Why not the High Priestess?” I asked, desperate. “Why the High Priest?”

Miss Mabel chuckled.

“Oh, Bianca, I wouldn’t pass on the pleasure of killing Mildred for the world.”

I really studied her for the first time. Despite her languid expression and unreadable eyes, a few stress lines marred her face. She could do all the transformative magic she wanted to make herself appear young and beautiful, but she couldn’t hide the anxiety.

Did you ever feel fear?
I thought of asking, but wasn’t certain I wanted the answer.
Or do you run on anger? Is that your source of power? Who could you hate so much that you’d be this terrible?

I’d spent my life questioning Miss Mabel’s actions but never her motives. Now, for the first time, I realized that her evil must have a purpose beyond ambition to rule the Central Network. An overwhelming wave of power made me lose visual clarity, forcing me back to the terrible reality of my situation. With magic this strong, I’d black out entirely. The magic would work through me with no way to stop it. I steeled myself to battle the power, but my energy waned.

“Then why are you doing this?” I asked.

There was too much vulnerability in the question, too much raw emotion I couldn’t control, and I hated myself for it. The magic seeped out of my heart, spreading through my chest and arms. If I let it go, would it destroy her? Or would it just destroy me?

“The same reason I do everything,” she said. “Leverage.”

“You lie,” I whispered. Her face blurred. I gripped the wall to keep from falling. “You want power.”

“Don’t we all want power? Are you and I so different, Bianca? Both of us have someone we hate, someone we’d be willing to do anything to get rid of. The real question is: which of us wants it more?” she asked, turning away. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

The world went black when she sent me into the darkness again. The pressure of transporting pressed on my face and eyes. I recognized the velvet underbelly of the canopy of Letum Wood over my head just before the magic overcame me.

Darkness.

A Jagged Weakness

“S
ee that Guardian there?” Merrick asked, pointing. “His body is low and his legs are far apart. Now look over here. That Guardian crossed his legs and now . . . he just fell on his arse and everyone is laughing at him. Never cross your legs. It’s asking to be embarrassed.”