Short Stories from the Network Series Page 9

  Hazel closed her eyes. She just wanted to help. But she would stay, as Mama asked. Seconds later, her eyes flew open. Tabitha! If Hazel had received the message on the silenda, then Tabitha would have as well. With a murmured incantation, the hazelnut on her wrist morphed into an angled diamond. Hazel sent the words with the magic.

  Are you okay?

  Tabitha responded only moments later. The words bled through Hazel’s skin.

  Scared. But fine.

  Come down. We’ll stay together. Just in case.

  Too scared to leave my room.

  Hazel sighed. Tabitha, a frightened first-year and the only other Resistor in the school, had jumped at her own shadow in the past. Despite the warmth and comfort of her bed, Hazel knew she’d never sleep anyway. She tossed the covers off and slid into a pair of slippers.

  Coming down.

  She beckoned for the old robe hanging on the back of the door with a spell. It flew over, hanging in the air until she slid her arms through. When Hazel dashed into the hall, pulling her door closed without a creak, she stopped and held her breath. No other girls lingered in the hallways. A good sign.

  The school lay quiet, bathed in shadows and an eerie silence interrupted only by the crash of the storm outside. She slipped down the stairs, passing window sconces and ancient paintings. The clock chimed the hour in the distance. When she slipped onto the first-year landing, the sound of voices brought her to a dead halt. Hazel ducked back into the shadows. Two witches stood just below, speaking quietly.

  “You must not have faith in your High Priestess if you’re running away,” came Miss Mabel’s voice from the entryway. “Why else would you be packing a bag of food?”

  “I have more self-preservation than that,” came a second, uncannily similar voice in response. “I’m always ready for the worst.”

  Hazel froze, her blood turning to slush. May, the High Witch and founder of Miss Mabel’s School for Girls. Hazel hardly ever saw her at the school and preferred it that way. May’s icy gaze traveled faster than light and seemed to cast its own shadow. Hazel glanced back to the stairs. If she went back up, she risked making a noise and drawing their attention. If she stayed, they could catch her eavesdropping. Even using magic could clue them in. She pressed back into the shadows and bit her bottom lip.

  “You don’t think Evelyn can win against Mildred, do you?” Miss Mabel drawled. Hazel could imagine Miss Mabel’s silky blonde hair. Her sharp gaze, as shrewd and chilling as Miss May’s. This situation felt more dangerous than fighting with the rest of the Resistors at Chatham Castle.

  “No.”

  Miss Mabel’s bright laugh pealed through the air. Hazel cringed.

  “Then why did you throw away your only chance to take over the Network on her?”

  “Because my granddaughter is too idiotic for her own good. Just like her whorish mother. Don’t you have a Resistance to help?”

  “When I’m ready.”

  “Out of my way.”

  Silence fell. Hazel held her breath, certain they could hear the pounding of her heart. An eternity seemed to pass before Miss Mabel broke the strange, thrumming quiet.

  “Good luck, Grandmother. I suggest you hide well and run fast. If Mildred’s cronies don’t come looking for you right away, I will.”

  A distant flutter of sound followed her declaration. Miss Mabel had transported away, leaving May alone in the entryway. The thump of May throwing things, followed by livid mutterings, ensued. Hazel relaxed against the wall with a sigh. Miss Mabel had left. She would be—

  The sconce on the wall burst to life, pinning Hazel in a weak glow of light. She gasped. May’s curvy form slithered up the stairs, silhouetted by the lamplight. She moved like a terrible specter, her dark hair billowing around her.

  “I thought I heard something up here,” she hissed, snatching Hazel’s wrist before she could transport away. Hazel let out a cry. May shoved her to her knees.

  “I know you, don’t I?” Her eyes narrowed in a damning judgment. “Yes,” she murmured. “Hazel, isn’t it? A third-year, if I remember right. With parents that run the Bickers Mill Coven now, yes?”

  Hazel shrank back, trembling.

  “What are you doing here?” May snapped.

  “N-nothing.”

  “You’re a third-year on the first-year floor. You’re lying.”

  “No!”

  An unseen force wrapped around Hazel’s neck and tightened. She cried out, having just enough room to gasp for air.

  “Eavesdropping, are you?” May muttered, her eyes flashing. She shoved Hazel into the wall with a wave of magic and grabbed her arm, wrenching it back. There, on her wrist, was a new message from Tabitha.

  Where are you?

  Hazel acted like she didn’t see it. “I-I wasn’t eavesdropping, Miss May. I came to ch-check on Tabitha. She’s afraid of storms.”

  May slapped her across the face. Her skin prickled like a thousand needles surfacing. Tears prickled her eye.

  “Liar!” May screeched. “Just like my daughter. Just like my granddaughter. There’s not a single witch I can trust anymore!”

  “N-No, Miss May. I-I-I—”

  “Silence! You’re a foolish girl, Hazel! Only an idiot would follow someone as socially inept as Mildred Graeme. She’ll run this Network into the ground. I should be the one reading those scrolls. I should be the one with the power. I should kill you as a lesson to your horrible comrades and Mildred herself!”

  May loomed over her, like a wraith born from the depths of Letum Wood. Hazel struggled to breathe. Her heart seemed faint, forgotten. It pressed into her spine as if it would fly out of her body from the unknown pressure. Hazel gasped for air.

  May stopped, staring down at Hazel from only a pace away. Her lips appeared thin and her skin papery white in the dim light. Her cold breath brushed Hazel’s cheek.

  “No,” May murmured, eyes slitted. “Death isn’t the only way to learn.”

  Before Hazel could utter a word of protest, a filmy smoke appeared in the air between them. Snaking through the air at a rapid speed, it darted into her nostrils and forced itself down her throat. Hazel choked. May closed her eyes, her lips moving fast and silent. Hazel struggled to break free from the gauzy manacles, but magic held her fast.

  The smoke wove itself deep into Hazel’s lungs, winding and twisting through all the open spaces. She fell to her knees, gagging. The smoke followed. It knitted into her skin, her muscles, her hair. Every follicle responded, opening itself for the oily haze. Hazel fell back against the wall, clutching the wood, scrambling to get away. Her vision spun.

  “May you live out your days with a constant memory of those you did not follow,” May hissed. “And may your pain remind you, and your first daughter, and your first granddaughter, of the wrong decisions you made. There’s nothing quite so powerful as teaching the future generations. Enjoy your Inheritance curse, Hazel.”

  With a last burst of magic, May disappeared. The heaviness of the magic raced from the tip of Hazel’s legs, through her pulsing bloodstream, and finally wound into her fainting heart. She sputtered before dropping to her back. The ceiling swam.

  Everything disappeared.

  “Hazel! Hazel, wake up!”

  A familiar, panicked voice rang through Hazel’s ears, stirring her from the deep slumber. Tabitha. Why was Tabitha in her room? Why did she sound so frightened? Hazel’s throat felt like she’d swallowed a flame. Every breath sent a spiral of pain through her ribs, like someone had tied a corset around her lungs. When she tried to open her eyes, the sandy lids dragged.

  “Hazel!”

  When she opened her eyes, everything blurred into tones of blue and black, like staring into the heart of a bruise. A vague shape moved just beyond her sight.

  “Come on!” Tabitha blubbered, tears streaking her cheeks. “You can’t just lie here on the first floor landing.”

  With every tug and nudge from Tabitha’s shaking hands, pain latticed through Hazel’s mus
cles and skin until it bloomed into a greater web. Hazel cried out, knocking Tabitha’s hand away.

  “No! Tabitha, it hurts.”

  “The Resistors are losing at the castle, Hazel! We have to hide!”

  The details of Tabitha’s face emerged from the vague background. Her wide eyes. Parchment-white skin. She kept glancing over her shoulder and biting her bottom lip. Around them, shadows elongated into menacing black towers. Rain pummeled the window panes. Hazel blinked, trying to remember. Why had she left her room? Why did she feel so … heavy? Like someone had filled all her limbs with sand.

  “Wh-what happened?”

  Tabitha’s grip on Hazel’s shoulder loosened. “You never came! I had to leave and n-now we’re going to be caught. Come on!”

  With Tabitha’s impatient insistence, Hazel struggled to her feet. Her joints ached. Her muscles felt as if they’d been rung out one by one. Hazel slipped a weak arm around Tabitha’s skinny shoulders. Snippets of memory returned, one piece at a time. Miss Mabel. May. The darkness. The magic invading her body, leaving her with…

  …an Inheritance curse.

  Horror filled her mouth with sand. Her stomach churned. Before she could form coherent thoughts, a thud reverberated through the floorboard just above them. Tabitha plunged both of them into the darkness of the first-year hallway with a little squeak.

  The overwhelming agony turned Hazel numb as she stumbled behind Tabitha. Only halfway down the hall, Hazel’s legs gave out. Tabitha grunted under her weight. An attempted levitation spell did nothing but lift Hazel’s skirt. Annoyed, Tabitha tightened her hold and yanked Hazel into her room.

  “Cursed,” Hazel whispered. “May … curse…”

  Tabitha dumped her on the bed with a grunt. The pain abated, as if she were being held in a pool of water. Hazel turned her head to the side. Tabitha sounded so far away. So strange. Only a few words wound through the strange darkness pressing in on all sides.

  “…your parents … silenda … soon.”

  Hazel slipped away, into the place with no pain. The feeling of a familiar, warm hand on her forehead brought her out of it after what felt like an eternity later.

  “Hazel, darling. It’s Mama. Papa is here too. We’re here to bring you home. Mildred won. She did it. We’re all safe now.”

  Someone Who Cares

  Camille has always had my heart.

  It wasn’t until I wrote War of the Networks that I realized how much. I missed her after the Network Series finished, which is why I selfishly decided to write the love story between Camille and Brecken. Reconnecting with Camille through these scenes satisfied a desire I’d harbored since writing Antebellum Awakening.

  I hope you love Camille and Brecken as much as I do.

  Camille had never faced a forest dragon before.

  Then again, who had? They were supposed to be legends. A flicker of darkness in Letum Wood caught her eye, along with a slitted yellow eye that faded into darkness. Camille swallowed back a building scream.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, okay, okay. We just need to get out of here, that’s all. Will it come after us if I start running? What if I scream?”

  “Don’t scream.” Her best friend Bianca held out a steady hand. “I don’t think it wants to hurt us, and I’m not sure it’s seen you. Back up to the other side of the hedge.”

  Camille obeyed, feeling marginally better when something stood between her and the giant monster. She closed her eyes. Her fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms.

  I will not die before I’ve had my first kiss, she thought. I just won’t do it!

  Bianca hadn’t moved. Her gray eyes trained forward, no doubt tracking the beast. If any witch could remain calm with a dragon running loose, Bianca could. Camille’s hitched breath lessened. She’d be safe with Bianca around.

  Surely.

  “Go find a Guardian and tell him what’s going on, Camille,” she whispered. “Can you do that?”

  “Y-yes. Right. Calm. Calm. Calm. I’m calm. I’m calm. Can’t you just transport us out of here?”

  Bianca’s silky black locks swayed as she shook her head. “Transportation doesn’t work when two witches are touching. Just run back to Chatham. As soon as you’re safe, I’ll transport over and meet you near the back door.”

  “O-okay.”

  Camille lingered for a pause. But what about you? she wanted to ask. Although eager to escape the leering dragon’s gaze, she didn’t want to abandon Bianca to her death. Even if Bianca loved this kind of thing.

  Camille crept back through the field, the grass swishing beneath her as she forced each step. “Find a Guardian,” she muttered under her breath, attempting an awkward jog. “Find a Guardian. Be safe.”

  She cast one last glance over her shoulder. Bianca stood in the same spot, her hair fluttering in the tepid breeze. The dragon loomed high above the hedge, his angular head flashing a deep blue in the sunlight. He bared his teeth. His head whipped to the right. With a little squeak of fear, Camille spun back around, her legs flying as she ran for the castle. Oh, why hadn’t she learned transportation yet?

  “Find a Guardian. Find a Guardian!”

  The Guardians would flock around her at dinner after all this chaos for sure. They couldn’t resist a good story. Rumors about dragons circulated the contingents constantly. Now, she’d not only seen one, but practically been eaten.

  Panting, she crested the final hill leading to Chatham Castle, where butlers bustled around tables set for the High Priestess’s spring luncheon. Servants rushed to and fro with shiny silverware and taut lips.

  “Hey,” Camille screamed, waving an arm as she ran. “HEY! There’s a dragon!”

  The dragon bellowed, releasing a plume of fire. Camille’s feet tangled, and she fell to her hands and knees. She looked in between her arms. From her upside down perspective, she saw the dragon straighten, wings spread. Smoke billowed from his mouth. Bianca had disappeared.

  “Bianca!” she screamed, shoving to her feet. The nearest butler stared at the dragon in wide-eyed fear, a flute of champagne slipping from his hand and crashing to the floor.

  “Call the Guardians,” she snapped to him. “Now!”

  Camille sprinted back down the sloping hill. She threw herself between the hedges only to find a burly witch running for Bianca, a murderous gleam in his eyes. Camille stopped. Bianca didn’t even flinch as he barreled toward her.

  “Bianca!” Camille screamed.

  The witch threw out an arm, reaching for Bianca’s neck. A glowing ball of heat shoved between the two of them, forcing him back. He shrieked. The white light exploded into a hundred thousand shards, tossing Bianca and the witch like rag dolls. The repercussion rippled through the air, breezing past Camille and stirring her limp curls, heavy with the humidity. Bianca rolled toward the dragon, who seethed with broiling smoke.

  Camille’s heart leapt into her throat. “Bianca,” she wailed, gathering her skirts. “Why are you always getting into trouble?”

  With a deep breath for courage, Camille darted down the final slope to her best friend, eyeing the dragon in terror. The beast had retreated a few steps. His wings tucked back down against his back. His tapered eyes widened. He watched Camille with what appeared to be careful disdain.

  “Easy, dragon,” she pleaded, her hands trembling. Egads! Why were they so tall? “Just let me see my friend?”

  He snorted, as if he understood. Ludicrous. Camille crouched next to Bianca’s head, keeping the dragon in her peripheral sight.

  “Bianca? Are you alive? Bianca! Wake up!”

  Bianca moaned. Her head rolled to the side. The dragon shuffled forward a step, nostrils flaring as he leaned toward them. Camille stifled a scream.

  “We’re both going to die if you don’t wake up!” The ground shivered as the dragon inched closer. Camille bit back a sob. “Wake up! I can’t drag you up this hill. I’m not strong enough!”

  Her eyelids fluttering, Bianca slowly pushed up to a
sitting position. At first, she stared at the forest dragon, so close his heat radiated into Camille’s skin like a second sun. Sultry waves emanated from his mouth, surging over them in long strokes. Sweat trickled down the back of Camille’s neck. The dragon rumbled deep in his throat. Like an arrow, Bianca scrambled backward, putting herself between Camille and the beast.

  “No harm here,” Bianca said in a low purr. She ducked her head, but kept her eyes forward. “What happened, Camille?”

  “I ran back to make sure you were okay. I screamed for the butlers, then when I turned around you were gone, and I was scared that something happened to you. I-I didn’t know what to do, so I ran back!”

  “It’s all right. Where are the poachers?”

  Poachers? What poachers? Two witches lay prostrate on the ground up the hill, black smudges marring their expressions. A strange stillness struck a deep chill in her bones. “Those two witches?” she asked, lifting a weak hand. “They’re lying on the grass. I think they’re knocked out. They might be dead!”

  Bianca ignored it. “I’m going to stand up, and I want you to follow but stay behind me. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here we go.”

  Camille averted her eyes when the dragon sniffed the air. Once standing, Bianca hesitated, glancing to the poachers. Not a good time for sight-seeing! Camille wanted to scream. Do you see the dragon breathing fire above us?

  “Bianca?” Camille asked, swallowing. “What about the dragon?”

  “He won’t hurt us. He won’t. I can feel it.”

  “Are you mad? It’s a dragon!”

  “Maybe.” Bianca hesitated. Before she could say another word, shouts broke the silence. Camille shrieked when five Guardians transported into the air around them, forming a human shield. The dragon recoiled with a grunt, nostrils flaring. “About bloody time,” Camille muttered.

  “Are you all right, Miss Bianca?”

  A Captain strode toward them, his dark chocolate curls bouncing with every step. Camille lifted an eyebrow. Oh, merry meet, she thought. I don’t know you.

  “Yes,” Bianca said, as if they’d been taking tea. “I’m not hurt.”