Short Stories from the Network Series Page 13

  I am safe, she thought. Someone out there loves me and is happy I’m okay, even if I haven’t found them yet. I’m safe.

  “Madness,” Brecken muttered under his breath, his gaze sparking like a firecracker. “She’s stupid for even being there. Fool.”

  Camille jerked to a stop. Brecken spun around, his gaze dropping to their entwined hands. Camille released his.

  “What did you say?” she hissed. Brecken paused, blinking. His expression hardened.

  “Bianca,” he said. “She’s a fool for attending the rally. And you!” he cried, gesturing to both of them. “You were with her! Are you mad? Bianca’s wild. No good can come of being friends with a witch that attends a rally like that.”

  “We didn’t attend,” Camille said. “We happened upon it while looking for a ribbon, thank you very much.”

  “Then why didn’t you leave?”

  Camille’s mouth bobbed for a second. She glanced to Michelle, who bit her bottom lip. “We … well … we tried.”

  “Right,” he muttered. “Let me guess: Bianca wanted to stay?”

  Michelle swallowed, averting her eyes. Camille put her hands on her hips. “No. She wanted to leave.”

  “Right away? She didn’t want to hear what they said about her beloved father?”

  “Well, I would have been curious too!” Camille snapped. “They’re talking about her father, whom she loves very much.”

  “Yes, I know.” Brecken advanced toward her a step. Camille planted her feet, meeting him scowl for scowl. “I respect her father, but I can’t respect such a careless, selfish girl. Do you realize how many witches she put in danger with her uncontrolled powers?”

  “It wasn’t her fault!”

  He scoffed, whirling around. His stride increased, covering almost twice the ground as before. Camille ran to keep up.

  “They attacked her!” she said, grabbing his arm and wrenching him around. They skidded to a stop. “We were leaving, but the crowd started shoving her. She couldn’t transport away because the witch held onto her. They attacked Bianca.”

  Brecken shook his head once in a sharp back-and-forth jerk. “Fine. They were wrong. But she never should have been there. Just like the poachers. I suppose they attacked her too?”

  “Yes!”

  “No. They attacked the dragons. Bianca interjected herself into the situation.”

  “The poachers would have killed that dragon!”

  “You don’t know that!”

  Camille stomped her foot. “Yes, I do!”

  “Don’t you see, Camille? She’s reckless and doesn’t think situations through. She just acts. She threw herself at the poacher, who would have killed her. Maybe you too. And the crowd? What if they had turned on you for helping her?”

  Deep inside Camille, a small voice whispered a faint agreement. Hadn’t Bianca thrown herself into the situation to save the forest dragon? She could have gone for the Guardians alongside Camille. Camille exchanged a frantic look with Michelle, who half-shrugged, biting her bottom lip. Her uncertain eyes seemed to ask the same thing. Was Bianca wild and uncontrolled, too reckless to be safe?

  “She lost her mother, Brecken,” Camille said, running to catch up again. Her dress swished around her pumping legs. Her chest heaved. The edges of her binder stuck into her ribs, aching with every deep pant.

  Jikes, but this wasn’t ladylike.

  “I know.” He threw his hands in the air. “The whole Central Network knows her mother died.”

  “They don’t know the half of it! Marie died in her arms. The Network didn’t even publish the truth about it: they lied. Marie was murdered. Of course Bianca’s a little out of control. If you keep talking about her like that, I will be too.”

  He whirled around so fast she slammed into him and then scrambled to shove him away.

  “It’s horrible what happened to her mother—whatever the full situation. That doesn’t excuse her recklessness. The Guardians will have to subdue that crowd, which puts them at risk. She kept the two of you there, so that put you at risk. And Bianca may have killed one of those witches. That witch could have a family. Ever think of that?”

  Camille stammered a dying reply. The frustration in his expression withered into wary resignation.

  “She’s not a very good friend if she’s constantly putting you in danger.” He ran a hand through his mop of sweaty curls. The wooden doors into the lower bailey stood only a few steps away. Somehow, they’d already made it back to the castle.

  “Why do you care?”

  He turned away, jaw set. “Because I don’t want to clean up a dead body next time.”

  Camille growled under her breath and threw a rock at his back as he strode into the lower bailey.

  Forget romance, she thought, stalking toward the front doors. I hate him forever.

  Camille didn’t talk to Brecken for a week.

  She fumed while studying alone in the library, equations and polynomials whirling through her head in a furious snowstorm of algebra. How dare he not show up? How dare he say such things and then fade away, as if afraid of her?

  Good, she thought, slamming her pencil onto the table for the third time that hour. Let him be afraid.

  Just when she’d decided to pack her bags and stroll the halls—maybe Luther would distract her—a body dropped into the chair opposite her. For a moment, her heart sped up. Brecken! He’d come—she knew he’d come!

  Leda released a sharp, long-suffering sigh. “Camille,” she said, drumming her fingertips on the table. “We need to talk. You’re sulking. You sulk so powerfully you pull bad weather in from the south.”

  Camille scowled. “Do not.”

  Leda gestured with a flick of her fingers to a rainstorm drumming the windows outside. Camille sobered.

  “That’s not my fault.”

  “I know,” Leda said. “But it’s still crummy outside, and I need a break. I know something is going on.”

  Camille studied her from the corner of her eyes. She knew Leda loved her. Leda just didn’t show it very often. “How?” Camille asked. “How do you know something is wrong?”

  “Because you’re quiet.”

  Camille reared back. “But I thought you hated it when I talked? You’re always telling me to be quiet.”

  “Do you ever listen?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly.”

  Camille shook her head. Being friends with Leda was its own form of algebra. Camille stood up, shoving her homework scroll into her bag. At least Zeke and Luther were consistent; they liked inappropriate humor and teasing her. She’d go see them. No! She’d visit Henrietta and work on her Anniversary Ball gown. She’d be the most dazzling witch in the room. Then Brecken could watch from the sidelines, his heart breaking. He wouldn’t take his eyes off her. But she’d just flick her hair over her shoulder as if she didn’t care. Then, realizing what a fool he’d been to—

  “Are you listening?”

  Camille jerked to find Leda standing right in front of her, so close their noses almost touched. Camille pulled back, her eyes crossed.

  “No.”

  Leda fidgeted, shifting like she had an unreachable itch. “I know I say I don’t like it when you talk all the time, but the truth is … I kind of do. It reminds me of home, which is never quiet with my eight hundred siblings running around. Talking is … it’s fine. Except when we’re in the library.” Her eyes darted around the quiet room, and she lowered her already quiet voice. “Then it’s just annoying.”

  Camille straightened. “Really?” she cried.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “Now keep it down.”

  A grin split Camille’s face. She’d never let Leda live this down. But her short-lived joy died. “I need to study algebra,” she said.

  “I know. You daydreamed through the lesson today. Miss Scarlett reprimanded you five times.”

  Camille grimaced. Any more disobedience and Bettina would find out in her weekly report from Miss Scarlett. All she needed
was one more furious letter from her spinster aunt, bemoaning Camille’s uncertain and tempestuous future. Brecken flickered through Camille’s mind, but she shoved him back. He didn’t deserve any thought time.

  Leda glanced to the empty table. “Where’s Brecken?” she asked.

  Camille shrugged and turned away, picking at the cover of her algebra book with her fingernail.

  “Camille,” Leda said. “What’s going on? Trouble in paradise?”

  “No. Well … maybe.”

  Leda grabbed her arm, hauling her outside the library. She shoved her against the wall. “Spill. You’ll never pay attention until you’ve talked it out, and you know it.”

  Relieved, Camille tilted her head back against the stone wall with a frustrated growl. “Brecken hates Bianca!”

  Leda’s ears perked up. A strand of white blonde hair fell into her eyes as she leaned forward.

  “What?”

  Camille recounted their conversation. Leda’s shock faded as Camille ended on a breathy, “That’s what he said. He thinks Bianca is a bad influence. How can I court a witch that hates one of my best friends?” She frowned. “Romance isn’t what I thought it would be. This kind of rots, actually. Why do all the books lie?”

  Leda quirked an eyebrow. “Camille, he’s not wrong.”

  “Leda!”

  Leda shrugged, spreading her hands. “What? Bianca is dangerous right now. The lessons with Merrick haven’t been going as well as the High Priestess expected. Bianca almost killed several witches because she couldn’t control herself. Brecken has a point. She didn’t have to fight that poacher. Why didn’t she just transport away to get help?”

  Camille’s mouth worked up and down. Her mind flooded with a rush of thoughts. Why didn’t Bianca transport? Why did she have to be the hero?

  “Well … I … I mean…”

  “It’s not disloyal, Camille. It’s just true. You still love Bianca, but until she has her magic under control, just be a little more wary.”

  “Are you sure?” Camille asked, fidgeting with her dress. “It just feels wrong. Bianca is going through a lot right now.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then what am I supposed to do about Brecken?”

  “Just … keep an open mind with both, I guess? I don’t know. I don’t even believe in romance. It’s all mushy, gushy jumbo. Ignore him, for all I care.”

  “You could always—”

  “No,” Leda snapped. “I will not look into the future for you.”

  Camille giggled. “I know, Leda. I was just teasing you. I don’t want to know what happens.”

  Leda rolled her eyes. “He’s a witch, Camille. Not a force of nature. Love can’t actually kill you, you know.”

  That’s what you think, she thought, recalling the play of muscles across his back whenever he leaned forward to help her fix an equation. Camille gave Leda a weary, knowing smile. “Sure, Leda. I know that. I just … I’m just frustrated.”

  “You know that I don’t care much about relationships, right? But even I can see that you just need to be yourself. Don’t worry so much about everything else. I think Brecken will come around. Just … let it happen.”

  Camille’s stomach sank. Leave everything to chance? Romance needed a little push. All her favorite romance books made that very clear. How will I ever find someone to care if I don’t make it happen? Her heart floundered at the memories. Being herself hadn’t been enough for Bettina. Or Angie. Or most of the girls at Miss Mabel’s.

  None of this made any sense. Maybe algebra wasn’t the most complicated thing in her life.

  “Maybe,” Camille said.

  Leda shrugged. “Just give it a shot. Try it. See what he does. Maybe if you relax, Brecken will feel more comfortable too.”

  Camille paused. As a tactic, it wasn’t the worst idea. He certainly hadn’t responded to her attempts at conversation while he worked. “Yes,” she said. “I will try. Thanks, Leda.”

  “Are you ready to study now?”

  “Yes.” Camille exhaled. “I’ll try.”

  Leda opened the library doors with a spell and slid inside, grumbling under her breath about needy, loud best friends. Camille followed with a new spring in her step, humming under her breath as she wondered what algebra equation she’d have to figure out next.

  A lily pad floated on top of the murky pond in the Forgotten Gardens when Camille wandered up, arms behind her back, several days later. It hovered with such a light touch that it hardly touched the water. She wondered if she could ever live so gently.

  In the background, the setting sun sank low in the sky, casting puddles of citrus banners over the treetops. Honeysuckle thickened the air. Camille sat down on the edge of a fountain, then slid to the grass, and then lay flat on her back and stared at the changing clouds. She propped her hands behind her head and forgot decorum. And Brecken.

  And her next algebra test.

  Bettina’s letter shifted in her pocket. Miss Scarlett says you’re showing improvement in algebra. That’s relieving to hear. One doesn’t want to fall behind the others. Your Aunt Angie has taken ill with what she thought was the plague, but turned out to be indigestion…

  Camille wished she could erase the letter. Aunt Bettina had perfected the art of saying—and loving—nothing. Having her say something, but also nothing, hurt most of all. After all Camille’s hard work, Bettina couldn’t just say good work or I’m proud of you? No. Of course not. Meeting expectations shouldn’t deserve praise.

  Show me rampant creativity or unbound intelligence, Bettina had said one day. Then you’ll earn my praise.

  Camille blinked, tilting her head back. Tears burned her eyes.

  “I am safe,” she whispered. “Someone out there loves me and is happy I’m okay, even if I haven’t found them yet. I’m safe.”

  The words drifted away when a fat tear dripped down her cheek. Who was she kidding? She’d never be safe. She’d never be okay.

  “Do you always talk to yourself?”

  The unexpected, rolling voice sent icicles through her heart. With a gasp, she sat up. Brecken stood ten paces away, legs braced. His hair blew gently in the wind, looking like a wild storm on top of his head. She lay back down.

  Traitorous heart, she thought as it pounded in her throat. Calm down. We don’t like him anymore.

  To her surprise, her heart listened. For a moment, she considered him with the same indifference she gave every other Guardian at first. “No,” she said, waving a hand. “I was speaking with the forest spirits.”

  Brecken strode over, his feet swishing in the grass as he walked. She swallowed back the rest of her tears, wiping self-consciously at the moisture collecting beneath her eyes. Of course Brecken would pop up when she was lying in the grass, as unladylike as possible, crying about her horrid aunt.

  Romance, she thought, is a bloody lie.

  He lay down next to her in the grass. They stared at the slow creep of stars in the darkening sky. In the quiet, Leda’s words caught up to her. Maybe if you relax, Brecken will feel more comfortable too.

  Camille suppressed the urge to put her arms at her sides. She left them behind her head and left the blades of grass on her dress.

  “I came to apologize,” he said, clearing his throat. “I shouldn’t have been so frustrated with you after the rally. There was a lot going on that day. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for throwing a rock at you.”

  He laughed. Slowly, then in great, rolling waves. The edges of Camille’s lips twitched.

  “You have good aim,” he said. “It hit me in the back of the head.”

  Her gaze snapped to his.

  “Really?”

  He rubbed the spot, as if it still stung. “I didn’t want you to know, so I didn’t turn around. You should think about learning to shoot a bow and arrow. You might be better than some of our newer recruits.”

  The last of her laughter faded into the low warble of a songbird in the background. Perhaps the lack o
f talking isn’t so bad, she thought, closing her eyes. Laughing had never felt so cleansing. A breeze brought the honeysuckle closer, wafting it over her. The Guardians kept her surrounded by constant noise. But the calmness of the silence spoke deep to a sliver of her hidden heart. She enjoyed it, riding it like a long wave, letting it brush her past idle thoughts and ideas.

  “Why were you crying?”

  Camille paused, wondering how to explain Bettina, or the crushing feeling of loneliness fracturing her heart in the quiet moments. She blinked. Because I miss my parents, and I feel like I’m just missing ghosts. I don’t know their voices. I’ve forgotten their faces.

  “Because I’m sad that my Aunt Bettina doesn’t know how to love anyone. Or anything.”

  Brecken stirred. “That makes you sad?”

  “Yes.”

  “It just … you can just say that?”

  Her brow furrowed. She turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

  He half-shrugged. “I mean … you can just say that you’re sad?”

  “Yes. I’m sad.” She spread her hands. “It’s pretty easy.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you ever sad?”

  He blinked and fell into a long stare. “I suppose so. I would never just say it, though.”

  A note of defensiveness crept into her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with saying it. I’m sad. That’s all there is to it.”

  “I agree,” he said, brow furrowing. “I admire you for being brave enough to know it, express it. There’s something … intriguing about witches who feel so openly.”

  “You would never speak about how you feel?”

  His brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t even think to feel first.”

  Camille sighed, looking back to the changing sky. Dark, deep violet hues crawled across the canvas now, scattering the remnants of daytime. Stars glittered with lonely winks, as if blinking back tears. Did she feel so freely? What would not feeling be like? She pictured an empty box and shuddered.