Short Stories from the Network Series Page 5

  Almost instantly, he was back at the destroyed shanty. The bitter scent of sulfur and burnt hair stained the air. Derek waded through tattered boards and snow, shoving them aside. Only bits of blood and skin remained from the old hag. Frantic, he forced aside a portion of the old door.

  “Jer?” he called. “Jeramy?”

  Nathaniel appeared from beneath a piece of wood not far away. He coughed. Blood flowed down his nose and over his upper lip.

  “All right, Nate?” Derek called.

  “Peachy. Where’s Jeramy?”

  Derek had been frantically trying to connect with Jeramy through the Brotherhood magic, but without response. Several paces away from the shanty, a familiar head of red hair peeked out against the snow. Nathaniel and Derek reached Jeramy at the same moment. Derek flipped him over.

  “The good gods,” Nathaniel muttered.

  Blood poured down the right side of Jeramy’s face. A gash covering his forehead filleted the skin above his eyes. Soot stained the rest of his face and neck. Derek grabbed his neck. No pulse.

  The rush of adrenaline had started to fade. His knees collapsed.

  We gotta go, Nathaniel said to Derek’s mind. Southern Guards will come after an explosion like that. Gotta go. Can’t be found here. Can’t be found across the borders.

  Derek grabbed Jeramy by the waist and transported back to Chatham Castle.

  An hour later, a weary Nathaniel and Derek stood side-by-side, burned and battle-scarred, in the High Priestess’s office.

  Both eyebrows and part of Derek’s hair had been singed off in the explosion. Smoke clung to his clothes. A blister had formed across the back of his neck, and an apothecary had bandaged the wounds on his face to stop the bleeding. The scent of burned flesh lingered in his nostrils. Would he ever smell anything else?

  Marten stood at the window, his hands folded behind his back. He stared at nothing. Mildred showed no visible reaction as Derek recounted the final timeline. Once he finished, she gave a curt nod and rose to her feet.

  “The girls have been reunited with their families and, after their withdrawal from the powerful sedative potions they’d been given in the Southern Network, will recover. You have achieved the purpose of your mission, and I commend your work and sacrifice.”

  A trickle of relief, so faint he almost missed it, moved through Derek. At least we have that, he thought to himself.

  Mildred paused, swallowing.

  “But I join you in your mourning and grief.” Her eyes met Marten’s for half a second. “The apothecaries were unable to save Jeramy. He was one of the most talented Head of Protectors I’ve ever had the honor of knowing. His loss will be, and is, keenly felt.”

  A rare edge of compassion softened her tone. Derek and Nathaniel both inclined their heads. Having a witch as implacable as the High Priestess reach out with sympathy brought Derek’s exhaustion to the surface. Jeramy had been his Brother, his leader, and his best friend. The Brotherhood would never be the same without him.

  Amidst the darkness of his job, so encompassing and deep, he craved good things. The warm arms of his wife. The bright eyes of his daughter as she ran around the cottage, wearing pants under her dress. A hearty meal and time to sleep. Laughter. Bianca’s endless giggle as she ran the trails. All the simple pleasures that everyone else had in abundance.

  His mind rolled through the memories. He’d already sent a note ahead, telling Marie to expect him. She’d have a warm dinner. Crackling fire in the hearth. Bianca would be sleeping, but would wake in the morning. She was already running with reckless abandon through the forest. Barefoot, like her Mama. He couldn’t wait to scoop her up. To hear her giggle when he twirled her around—

  “Did you hear me?”

  Derek jerked back to the present moment. Mildred stared at him, her hands planted on her desk. Nathaniel glanced at Derek out of the corner of his eye.

  “My apologies, Your Highness,” Derek said. “I was thinking of something else.”

  She studied him.

  “I see that. Marten, you may stay. Nathaniel, you are excused. Derek, you are not.”

  With a weary nod, Nathaniel shuffled out.

  Rest, Brother, Derek thought to him. You did good work tonight.

  At the door, Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder, pressed a flat hand to his heart in the Brotherhood sign, and then disappeared into the hallway. Derek shifted his shoulders. Now that time had passed, every muscle in his body reacted to the events of the night. The powerful blast had sent him reeling in more ways than one.

  The door closed behind Nathaniel with a light click. The High Priestess sealed the room with a spell and stared Derek right in the eye. For being such a short thing, she had power.

  “Derek, I’m appointing you Head of Protectors in the wake of Jeramy’s death. Effective immediately.”

  His thoughts sludged through waves of confusion and disbelief. “Your Highness?”

  “I didn’t stutter, Derek. You will be taking over for Jeramy.”

  Head of Protectors? No. That couldn’t happen. Literally couldn’t happen. Tradition implicitly required that the Head of Protectors be unattached: no children, no family. Derek shook his head.

  He had both.

  “Forgive me, your Highness, but that’s not possible.”

  The High Priestess didn’t know about Marie or Bianca. No one knew. How could he tell her now without losing all credibility and trust? Your Highness, I’m hand fasted and have been for years. I have a two-year-old daughter that is fierce and wild. I haven’t told anyone because I won’t put my family in harm’s way.

  Given how negligent it sounded in his head, it would sound worse out loud. Despite his reservations, his heart responded to the call with a visceral cry. Yes, it seemed to say. Yes. Being Head of Protectors is what we have strained and sacrificed for. This is our purpose.

  “You’re hiding something from me,” Mildred said. “I don’t enjoy being refused. What is it?”

  Her stern expression and short, wispy hair looked odd in the dim light. He struggled to grasp what he was about to say. There were only two ways this conversation with the High Priestess could go, and neither looked good.

  “High Priestess, I have a feeling that you already know why I’m hesitating.”

  Mildred held her chin up. “I have an inkling.”

  Derek swallowed, careful not to break eye contact. He would give her no reason to believe he felt any regret or shame.

  “I have a child, Your Highness. She’s two years old. Her name is Bianca. She has gray eyes and black hair just like her Mama. She lives in Bickers Mill with her mother, my wife of almost three years, and her grandmother.”

  “You’ve never mentioned them before.”

  “No. I haven’t.”

  “Why?”

  “To protect them. Tim’s wife was murdered by a cursed witch that broke free from the Guardians while in prison. I won’t let harm come to my wife or child because of my career.”

  Her calculating eyes regarded him for a long moment. She drew a long breath.

  “I see.”

  He waited, giving her time to comprehend what this meant. She didn’t need it.

  “You could have accepted the position and easily continued hiding them,” she said. “You didn’t have to tell me. It’s likely I would have never known.”

  The thought had occurred to him, but only briefly. “I would never lie.”

  “Isn’t withholding the truth a lie?” she asked with a haughty lift of her eyebrow.

  “Is never asking me if I had a family negligence?”

  Her lips pursed and eyes sharpened into flinty daggers. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath through his nose.

  “Forgive me, Your Highness. My fatigue should not affect my respect for your position or your decisions. I meant no dishonor. You are not a negligent witch.”

  “Tradition states that I cannot appoint a Head of Protectors that has a wife or child.”

  “Hence
my refusal, Your Highness.”

  “I have not accepted it.”

  Derek’s response paused on his tongue. He felt a traitorous flicker of hope. If any witch were strong enough to ignore such a foolish tradition, it would be Mildred. But would she? There were so many ways he could help this Network. Traditions that needed to be rooted out. Ways the Brotherhood could circumvent the rising evils. But he couldn’t while bound to the old laws and habits.

  “If any Council Member, or any witch in our Network, were to find out that I appointed a Head of Protectors in violation of tradition, they’d be livid. Likely call for your removal, perhaps banishment. If you accept the position despite your family, the Network can never know about your family.”

  “I know.”

  “You are the only candidate that I trust with the safety of my Network—and myself, although that’s secondary. While I have a great amount of respect for the rest of the Brotherhood, you are the best fit. What do you propose I do?”

  Derek suppressed his amusement. She asked out of curiosity; he could sense that she already had a plan. Mildred never entered any situation blind.

  “I wouldn’t presume to make your decision, High Priestess.”

  “Do you want to be a part of your child’s life?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you do that while being Head of Protectors?”

  He hesitated. “I can.”

  “Do you want to try to do both?”

  A heady rush of power filled him at the thought. Lead the Brotherhood? Every Protector’s dream. Raise Bianca? Every parent’s dream. He calmed the rising emotions through sheer willpower.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “How would you do it?”

  “The same way I do it now. I give them everything that I don’t give to you.”

  She pressed her lips into an even thinner line. “That’s no way to be a father.”

  “It’s all I have.”

  “I suppose something is better than nothing, isn’t it?”

  A flicker of something moved through her eyes. She looked away. For a long moment, Mildred stared at nothing, said nothing. Derek waited, breath held, for what she would say. After what felt like an eternity, she turned and met his gaze.

  “My offer stands. Derek Black, will you be the Head of Protectors for the Central Network?”

  What she asked meant more than he could comprehend after such a long night. Did she really trust him to this degree? Was he really going to accept this position? He held out an arm, clasping her own small forearm in his.

  “It would be an honor, Your Highness.”

  “Good. Now go home to your family for three days of recovery. It will be a while before you see them again.”

  Utter Madness

  Fans have often asked me why Bianca started school two weeks late—if she wanted to be part of the Competition, why wait? Others have asked why Mildred didn’t just force Mabel to remove the Inheritance curse. I wrote this scene between Derek and Mildred before I finalized the novel to figure those things out myself.

  This is what came of it.

  Derek caught Mildred’s discreet glance when he stepped into her office uninvited. Before more than a second had passed, she’d returned to her work without a breath of acknowledgement. He suppressed a smile. She never did waste much time.

  He filled the office doorway with his usual stoic silence, waiting for her to acknowledge him. Any attempt to force conversation would only result in being shoved into the hall with a spell. She’d done it before. And made him wait an hour just to prove her point.

  With a second cursory glance, she stood up, her gaze flitting over his blood-streaked arm, the dark stitches on his face, and his tousled hair. He brushed off her lack of sympathy without a second thought. Eh. He’d been hurt worse. Besides, it wasn’t his worst showing. She’d had lesser reactions for greater injuries in the past, and then she had only mumbled about not getting blood on the rug.

  “What do you require, Derek?”

  A pile of parchments lay to her right, while three separate quills wrote on different scrolls in the air. How she managed to run three quills and write with her own hand, he couldn’t fathom. But greater mysteries drove the High Priestess. Not the least of which was where her humor went. After years of running the Network, he imagined there simply wasn’t time for laughing anymore.

  Perhaps there never had been.

  He stepped through the doorway and stopped a few paces from her desk. His stomach curled. Although he spoke with her on a daily basis, he’d never brought her a personal issue.

  “I need to discuss a personal matter with you,” he said.

  Donald, her willowy, bleary-eyed Assistant, stood behind the desk to the right, waiting for her signature. She scrawled her signature in a few places, blew on it, and released the paper. The parchment scrolled back together and floated to Donald’s outstretched hand. He nodded, sniffled his constantly dripping nose, and wafted out. The door closed with a quiet click.

  Mildred turned to Derek. “It’s about your daughter, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I figured as much.” She set the quill down. “It’s been almost thirteen years since our last discussion about Bianca. I’ve been expecting this. Sit down. I can’t talk to you while you’re looming over me like that, looking as if you’re about to die. She’s starting a Network school, Derek. It won’t eat her.”

  Derek obeyed, but not because he wanted to. “She has a meeting with Isadora in a week.”

  Mildred stopped, one eyebrow rising. “She hasn’t met with her yet? School started this week.”

  He shook his head. “No. We applied to Isadora, but hadn’t heard back. For a while, I thought hope was lost. I haven’t slept in a month, I think.”

  Mildred’s eyes narrowed. She seemed to think it over. “An interview is a good sign. Isadora knows what she’s doing.”

  “But why wait until after school has started?”

  “Likely it has something to do with timing and chances. Who knows? I have never questioned Isadora before. I won’t begin now.”

  “I will.”

  “Well, stop,” she snapped. “Isadora has her reasons.”

  Derek dragged a hand through his hair. “Fine.”

  “Isadora will know what’s best. She understands far more than we do with her foresight. Trust in that, Derek.”

  He was less optimistic. “I’m willing to hope that’s the truth.” He shifted, feeling squirmy. “But if she doesn’t admit B—”

  “No. I will not go above Isadora.”

  Derek scowled. “Why not?”

  “Isadora is the Watcher for a reason.”

  “But you are the High Priestess! You hold more power than her.”

  “Yes, and how would that look for Bianca?”

  The conversation ended before he’d fully articulated his thoughts. Yes, he’d come here with the hope the High Priestess would throw him a bone. Decades of service to the Network and you, he’d planned to say. Just make sure my girl gets into this school, and I’ll do whatever you want. But the hope withered like a wickless candle. Thinking the High Priestess would deviate from the rules had been foolish. He knew better.

  Desperation, he thought, drives witches to worse things.

  Derek stood up to pace. He couldn’t reconcile Mildred being right with his inability to cope with it. The High Priestess regarded him for a long moment before shaking her head.

  “I know what your plan is, Derek. You’ve spent Bianca’s whole life training her in defensive magic. In shield work. You even started her on swords.” She rolled her eyes. “Why a fourteen-year-old girl needs to learn sword work, I can’t fathom.”

  “You never know,” he mumbled, thinking of Viveet and Andrei and the beautiful sword that lay hidden in his office, waiting for his daughter.

  Mildred spread her hands. “I wish I could do more. But I can’t. Mabel officially tried to remove the curse when Hazel petitioned me back during t
he Rebuilding. It didn’t work. May had a lot of power, and Inheritance curses are powerful, nasty things. Mabel claims that she can’t undo it.”

  Derek glared at her. “She lied, High Priestess. We both know Mabel had enough magic. Mabel pretends to a weaker talent than her grandmother, May. She’s done that all these years to fool everyone.”

  “I know that, but I can’t prove it, can I? I can’t force a witch to undo something she’s already tried to remove. Certainly not a Coven leader and a respected High Witch of a Network School. Mabel would be suspicious—as would others.”

  “It sounds like madness.” He ran a hand over his sleep-deprived eyes. “Utter madness, sending Bianca in there on her own. I don’t like it, Mildred. There has to be another way.”

  “Sometimes utter madness is our only hope. A hard lesson to learn, I grant you.”

  “I can’t talk to Mabel about it, or she’ll know that Bianca is my daughter.”

  “And you’ll lose Bianca and Marie.”

  He scowled, cognizant of how powerful the shared secret had become. After all these years as Head of Protectors, what would the witches in the Network do when they realized he’d lied all this time? Technically, he’d never said he didn’t have a family. But accepting the position and withholding truth was just as good as lying.

  “Just because tradition states the Head of Protectors cannot have a wife or family doesn’t mean it was ever a written rule,” he said. “Maybe it’s time we start warming people up to changing traditions.”

  Mildred shot him a scathing look.

  “Now is not the time. Not with Almack dying in the West, the Western Network gathering near the Borderlands, and Mabel keeping something up her sleeve that I can’t figure out yet.”

  Derek studied his scarred, calloused hands.

  “Sending Bianca to Mabel’s school has been my plan for the last decade, ever since I realized how talented and smart Bianca was. But I hadn’t fully comprehended how dangerous it would be until now. I feel like I failed her as a father.”

  Mildred leaned forward.

  “You can’t protect Bianca forever. You’re doing what you must to give her the best chance. Do you see it like that?”