Short Stories from the Network Series Page 11

  Only two minutes had passed.

  Resigning herself to her fate, she dropped her chin onto her palm and skimmed the equations. The droll voice of Miss Scarlett rang through her head as she attempted to read them a second time.

  Algebra Equation Review.

  9x + 5x = ?

  Camille bit her bottom lip, scrawling out a confident 14x.

  “Easy,” she said, moving on to the next.

  Solve for x.

  3x — 4= 7 + 2x

  With careful pencil strokes, she worked out the equation, and, with a little breath of relief, wrote:

  X = 11

  Maybe Leda had the right idea, Camille thought, straightening. This is easy! I love algebra! She buzzed through the next four questions, but screeched to a halt at the fifth. Blinking, she tilted her head to the side.

  “Uh oh.”

  13x /5 = 20 /3x

  She gulped. “Oh, dear.”

  Uncertain, she moved to the next problem.

  (2)(y—3)(5 / 2(y—3) = [(10 — y)/(y—3)](2)(y—3)

  Her eyes skimmed the page with growing trepidation. The equations went from challenging to impossible. Two equations didn’t even have numbers. Camille rubbed her earlobe, taking in deep breaths. She’d fail. Miss Scarlett would make her retake algebra from the beginning, and she couldn’t handle the thought of relearning it once more.

  Bettina would be so disappointed in her—again.

  Resolved to do her best, Camille pulled the scroll close, leaned forward, and set to work. Twenty minutes of attempting to apply what she thought she knew left her with a paper flooded with useless scribbles and a stubby pencil. She fumed for a full minute, staring at it with a heated frown.

  “Forget it.”

  She shoved the scroll away. The satisfying sound of parchment tearing followed. With a passionate growl, she grabbed her algebra book and lifted it over her head. Flinging it across the floor would—

  “Having a good time?”

  Startled by the unexpected voice behind her, she jumped. The algebra book slipped from her fingers, crashing onto the top of her head with a heavy thud. She scrambled for purchase, managing to catch it before it hit the ground.

  A pair of sky blue eyes slid into view, accented by thick chocolate curls. Camille’s heart leapt into her throat.

  Brecken!

  A bolt of terror and elation ripped down her spine and left her knees in a mushy mudslide. Brecken’s eyes tapered, flickering from the crown of her head to the book.

  “You all right?”

  Her cheeks flared a bright red. “Uh, yes. Fine. Thanks.”

  He plucked the book from her limp hands. “Why kill the algebra book?”

  “It deserved it.”

  A hint of a smile lingered at the corner of his mouth. Her headache spread. With it came the ugly realization: she’d just dropped a textbook on her head. In front of Brecken. She’d have to play it cool a few minutes longer until he left or she could slip away—and speak with him later, when a pyramid of eraser shavings didn’t cover her dress.

  Snatching the book, she slammed it back to the table. The same librarian sent her a surly frown. Camille scowled back. Under his breath, Brecken chuckled. Or had she imagined it?

  “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” she muttered, rubbing the top of her head. “Go away. I need to figure this out.”

  “Homework?”

  “Yes.”

  He stepped back, and she let out a breath of relief. Go, she thought. Just go. Maybe she could salvage the remnants of her pride. Oh, she’d never talk to him after this. It just … it wouldn’t be worth it. She could find someone else to take her to the Anniversary Ball. Someone as deliciously mysterious had to be out there. She studied him from the corner of her eyes.

  Well … maybe.

  He’d already turned to leave when he paused. Camille’s heart pounded. Why didn’t he keep going? Just go already! she wanted to scream. He turned slowly to face her.

  “Would you like some help?” he asked.

  Her back stiffened.

  “Really?”

  He put his hands on the chair across from her. “Yes. I used to teach my brothers. I love math. I miss it, actually.”

  Camille sat there for several moments, staring at his hands. Firm. Long, sturdy fingers. A hint of callouses on the edges of his palms, like any devoted Guardian. But not Luther. Nor Zeke.

  “But … why would you help?” she asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the wide palms and slightly bruised knuckles. Had he gotten into a fight?

  He shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Because learning algebra is miserable!”

  “Only if you don’t know what you’re doing.” The chair slid across the wooden floor with a scraping sound as he pulled it toward him and then sat down. This certainly hadn’t been what she expected. Swallowing back a rise of nausea—she’d dropped a book on her head, after all—she pushed the homework scroll to him.

  “I’ve been trying for almost half an hour,” she said. “I can’t figure it out past equation six. I used to know how to do up to ten, but I’ve forgotten. I don’t … I don’t want Miss Scarlett to think I’m stupid.”

  His eyes darted through the jungle of her failed attempts all the way down to the final equation—something she’d never dream of completing on her own. All letters? No numbers? How could that even be math?

  Brecken set it down.

  “Easy. I can help you with this. We’ll do a review. Then you’ll probably figure it out on your own.”

  She lifted her gaze to meet his, surprised by the breathless flare of heat in her chest. How could she tell him no? Brecken wanted to help her. The same girl he’d blatantly ignored after she chased down a dragon and saved her best friend. Did he think her stupid because she didn’t know algebra? Did her hair look okay?

  A simple review wouldn’t harm anything, right?

  With a hesitant smile, Camille nodded. “Yes,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I would appreciate some help.”

  Brecken nodded once. Camille wondered if he ever smiled—really smiled.

  He reached for the textbook. “Let’s start here,” he said, thumbing through the pages. “We’ll look over a few equations, and then you can work them out on your own.”

  Camille swallowed. “Sure,” she said with a little sense of relief, uncertain whether she felt it because Brecken was finally giving her some attention, or because she had a prayer of not disappointing Miss Scarlett.

  Either way, sitting next to him felt good.

  And Camille loved feeling good.

  “Leda. I’m horrible with algebra. He’s going to think I’m really stupid. Why did I agree? How can I let him tutor me?”

  Leda rolled her eyes. They strolled through Chatham Castle on their way back to the Witchery. Sunlight slanted through the windows, illuminating the air with dust motes. Camille’s head pounded, whirling with numbers and letters and the exhaustion of studying. One of Fina’s fizzy drinks and a solid brownie would pull her out of the funk of thinking.

  Luther and Zeke would be off duty soon. Maybe they’d go for a walk with her through the gardens. She never had to use her brain much with them around. Except last time when they’d tried to throw her into a pond. Camille veered to a different plan.

  “No, he isn’t going to think you’re stupid,” Leda said. “From what you said, he seemed really eager to help you with algebra.”

  Camille’s nose wrinkled. “I know. So weird.”

  “No, it’s not,” Leda snapped. “Some witches like algebra.”

  “I know,” Camille grumbled. “So weird.”

  Leda sighed.

  “Leda, algebra is not romantic.” Camille clenched her book and scroll to her chest until it crinkled. Leda glanced over, frowning in disapproval. “There’s no way to drift into other conversations. He was totally focused on those stupid letters. I tried to get him to talk, but noooo.”

  Leda sent the door to the Witchery turret
open with a wave of her hand. “So, he’s focused. That’s not the worst thing for you, you know.”

  Camille opened her mouth to reply but stopped. Leda had a point. Bettina’s voice drifted back through Camille’s mind.

  You need to focus, Camille. You could really achieve great things if you stopped flittering from one project to the next.

  Camille sent the thought away with a frustrated growl. Leda’s slippered steps pattered up the spiral staircase with dainty ease.

  “Camille, why are you so upset about this? It’s just Brecken. You aren’t even courting. He’s only helped you once. And it wasn’t even a graded assignment. Just a review!”

  “It’s more than that. How will I ever get him to ask me to the Anniversary Ball?”

  Leda lifted her brows. “What does the Anniversary Ball have to do with anything?”

  “I want him to ask me.”

  “Why?”

  Camille’s mouth went dry. How could she explain it to Leda? It barely made sense to her. Something about Brecken’s intensity and quiet movements had her mesmerized. Why did he care? What cogs turned behind his beautiful sky blue eyes? He struck a strange chord between the powerful Guardians and a focused intellectual. The aftereffects hummed deep inside her.

  She’d never met a witch like him.

  “Because I like him,” Camille admitted quietly. “I just … I just really need him to ask me to the Ball. It’s romantic. It’s … it’s a definable, real thing he can do to show that he’s interested.”

  A small inner voice echoed through her head.

  I just really need someone to care.

  Leda stopped on the final step, one hand on the doorknob into the Witchery. Her bemused gaze cut through the darkness of the corridor.

  “Just let him tutor you, Camille. If romance is real, it’ll happen, right?”

  Leda slipped inside the Witchery, leaving Camille on the steps, lost in thought.

  The soft edges of spring faded into the sultry waves of summer.

  Instead of being cool and refreshing, the fragrant air lay heavy and wet on Camille’s shoulders. The unbearable heat crept into the castle throughout the day, increasing until she couldn’t stand it. For now, the whole world felt uncomfortably warm. Wildflowers bloomed around her in velvety patches of deep color. She stood in the middle of the castle gardens, eyeing a bush of bulbous pink catclaws.

  Any minute now, Brecken, she thought, tapping her right foot. I have classes to attend.

  There would be nothing romantic about algebra lessons, but walking in a garden of wildflowers rang with passionate tension. Brecken would be on his rounds soon. She’d nab him then.

  Her stomach growled. She longed for a drink of cool water. She’d already been out for an hour, wandering from flower to flower, jumping at every sound. What if Brecken did his rounds after lunch while she was in history class?

  “What am I doing here?” she muttered, caressing the velvety petal of a dragon flower. “I’m insane.”

  The crinkle of Bettina’s latest letter issued from her dress pocket. Her shoulders slumped. Perhaps she should work on algebra. She certainly hadn’t accomplished much last night—four Guardians had invited her during dinner on a tour of the upper dungeons. She shuddered, recalling the dank air with only hints of sunshine from high slits in the walls. Below that, the true dungeons lingered, filled with horrible witches and no sunlight at all.

  Sounds like life with Bettina, she thought, wandering to the garden opening. A rickety wheelbarrow blocked her path. Behind it stood a wizened old gardener with a bushy white mustache. His kind, wrinkled face lit up in a smile.

  “Oh! Sorry, miss. Didn’t see you there.”

  “It’s all right.”

  Piles of weeds filled the wheelbarrow, topped by rusty trowels and hand-sized rakes. He steered the wheelbarrow with a spell. One hand pressed into the small of his back while he wiped his forehead with the other. He belonged in a plush, comfortable chair with stacks of books and a decanter of dark ipsum, not out here in the heat of the day.

  “Are you here to weed?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Certainly not here to hold a Council Meeting. What’s your name?”

  “Camille.”

  “I’m Gerald. Old and ornery Gerald.”

  Camille smiled. “Do you need some help?” she asked, gesturing to the flower beds. Bettina often sent her outside to weed the garden in the summer. Keeps your hands busy so your mouth stops for a while, she’d always say. Stay outside until my headache fades.

  Camille didn’t mind the rough, earthy smell of dirt. She just didn’t like it to linger beneath her fingernails forever.

  Gerald paused, regarding her. “Help?”

  “With weeding.” She gestured with a wave of her hand. “I’d love to help, if you need it.”

  He muttered something she couldn’t hear. All the weeds zipped out of the earth, collecting into a knee-high pile in the middle of the garden. Clods of dirt rained from the sky.

  “Getting the weeds into the wheelbarrow is my problem,” he said with a grimace. “My back flares up these days, you know. Can’t scoop them up.”

  Camille brightened. “I can help.”

  She collected the weed pile and stuffed it into the wheelbarrow. The thick leaves itched against her skin, leaving a sickly sweet scent behind. She didn’t mind.

  “Thank you!” Gerald cried. “That will be much nicer on my back. Come on, then. Let me talk at you for a bit while we go to the next garden. I’m always seeking someone that hasn’t heard all my stories.”

  He prattled about a trellis that needed fixing and a stubborn rosebush that wouldn’t bloom, interweaving stories about his life as a gardener for forty years. Camille fell into his happy, mindless chatter with delight.

  “And your wife just … up and left?” she shrieked, mouth slack. “You’re joking!”

  Gerald chuckled, grinning beneath his mustache. “Yes. I never demanded she make me dinner again. I went to bed hungry and alone that night. That was the last time.” His brow fell. “Until she died two years ago.”

  Camille swallowed. “I’m so sorry you lost her, Gerald. It’s terrible losing loved ones. But it’s more terrible living without them every day.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Yes. It is. But life happens. We must accept it and move on.”

  “Will you tell me how you met? I love a good romance.” She clasped her hands as they drifted past a tinkling waterfall. “Your wife sounds simply wonderful.”

  His eyes lit up. “Prepare yourself. It all started on my twelfth birthday, when—”

  “Gerald,” a familiar voice called. “Are you talking to the statues again? How is your back? I came to see if I could help.”

  Camille straightened up from a fresh pile of weeds with a squeak. Brecken stopped mid-stride, his eyes widening. The weeds dropped back to the grass. A stalk of leaves swung from a curl by her left ear.

  “Brecken. There you are.” Gerald lifted a hand in greeting. “This is my new friend Camille.”

  A current of panic raced through the air, swelling her discomfort. No! Camille thought. My hair is messed up, and I’m all sweaty. This is not romantic!

  Brecken nodded, clearing his throat. “Merry meet, Camille. It’s, uh, good to see you out here.”

  She peeped a quiet, “Merry meet.”

  “So, Brecken,” Gerald said, clapping him on the back, “I hear you’re having troubles with dragons lately?”

  Gerald steered Brecken into conversation, giving Camille a moment to collect herself. Her mind spun. She always encountered him at the wrong moment! Instead of appearing composed and feminine, she looked like … Bianca. Weeds in her hair. Stains on her dress. Her fingernails rimmed with dirt. Brecken would think her an untamed forester.

  Frantic, she shoved the weeds into the wheelbarrow, brushed the stems from her dress, and straightened. Brecken glanced at her from the corner of his eye and then looked away. His lips twitched.

  “Merr
y part, Gerald,” Camille said, calling on all her strength. She side-stepped away. “I need to get to class.”

  Gerald smiled with a toothless gap in the very front. “Thanks for your help, Miss Camille.”

  Camille squared her shoulders and started toward the hedge. Just as she passed Brecken, she hesitated. Should she take advantage of him arriving unexpectedly? She’d had their conversation all mapped out—if he’d have showed up as planned.

  Merry meet, Brecken, she would have said. It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?

  Yes, but not as beautiful as you in that dress. Is it periwinkle?

  Dove gray.

  Of course. Your sense of style knows no bounds.

  She’d trill a little laugh—not too much—and he’d offer her his arm. Their fateful romance would commence, vaulting them into an everlasting love that not even Bettina could mar with her ugly breath. Camille swallowed back her excitement. She’d just die with the romance of it all.

  With a tremor deep in her heart, Camille opened her mouth. The words came out in a painful squeak.

  “Lovely day to merry meet when the doves are so gray and beautiful.”

  The mad tangle of words filled the vacuum of air. A horrified panic filled her chest, making it difficult to breathe. What had she said? Lovely day to merry meet? When the doves are so gray and beautiful?

  Camille sucked in a sharp breath. Heat flooded her face. Her eyes prickled. She tensed, waiting for a condemning laugh. Oh, how Luther and Zeke would tease her relentlessly! Her hands clenched in fear.

  Seconds passed. Gerald’s voice continued rolling in the background.

  The far background.

  Camille glanced over her shoulder to see Brecken and Gerald twenty paces away, inspecting a hedge. “Possible breach, I think,” Gerald said. “Screaming gnome, maybe?”

  Brecken, his brow heavy and eyes narrowed, studied a strange hole in the bush.

  Camille exhaled in relief. Brecken and his blasted concentration. He hadn’t even heard her ridiculous foible. She sighed. Their faultless romance would just have to begin another day.

  In the meantime, she had history class to avoid.

  Camille sank into the hard library chair with a groan, dropping her head back. The domed ceiling soared high above. Her algebra book lay in front of her. She hadn’t even opened her new homework scroll yet. Just the thought of all the letters and multiplications sent her mind spinning.