Chapter 7 #2
She pats my cheek gently and then takes me by the arm and leads me to the door.
I wonder how much of what I feel is visible on my face.
She can’t possibly know everything I’m going through.
Then again, she could be an empath witch.
Either way, when I thank her for her help and I step out into the hall, I feel lighter than I did when I first entered.
In fact I barely feel the pain from her boots when I shuffle down the hall and back to the men’s wing.
There are Crane and Brom together, waiting for me outside Crane’s room.
My men.
My people.
They’re what’s waiting at the end of the right path.
God, I hope this is the right path.
Crane is leaning against the wall, fiddling with his watch, but straightens up when I approach, his storm-cloud eyes pinned to my every move.
Brom is beside him, brooding in an ever-present state of tension, but his shoulders relax when he sees me.
And for the first time today, I really see Brom.
Because the horseman won’t be inside him until dark.
I see my old friend, the one I used to trust more than anything. It gives me a dash of hope.
“You look nice,” Crane says, clearing his throat as he looks me up and down, taking his clothes from my arms.
“Ms. Peek was kind enough to lend me her things,” I tell him. “She also gave me some information that I think you’ll want to hear.”
“Do tell,” Crane says, unlocking his door and tossing the clothes inside so they land on a heap on the floor, not even bothering to hang them up.
This man is such an enigma sometimes.
Then he locks the door and puts his hand at my lower back. I can feel the heat of his palm through the fabric, and my eyes close for a moment at his touch.
“I’ll tell you when you feel like telling us about your late wife,” I say, using the information as leverage.
He lets out a huff of amusement, the corner of his sculpted lips rising.
“Well played, little witch,” he says. Then he sighs. “But all must wait because first you have to see your mother.”
I balk. “She’s here already?”
Brom nods toward the windows at the end of the hall that face onto the courtyard. “I just saw your mother’s horse and cart go down the path toward the women’s dorm.”
I make a face as my heart sinks. I don’t know why I’m so scared but I am.
“We’ll go with you,” Crane says as he gently prods me down the hall. I notice he said we as in him and Brom and not just him, for once.
I sigh heavily, squaring my shoulders, the tight bodice pulling at my back as I do so. “I want you both there, but…I need to do this alone. And I don’t think she’ll let either of you in the girls’ dorm.”
“Not even your future fiancé?” Brom asks flatly, which makes Crane’s fingers press into my back, his breath a sharp inhale.
“No,” I say, trying to weigh my words so that I don’t hurt Brom, knowing what he said to me last night. “They can think what they want to think about us getting married, but the both of us know that’s not going to happen, not when they want it to happen for reasons we don’t understand.”
Crane’s grip relaxes slightly, but I can’t ignore the pinch of rejection on Brom’s brow and I instantly feel bad. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated all the time?
They lead me down to the first floor, but before I walk out the door, Crane pulls me aside and lets his thumb hover above the wound on my forehead. “I should have done this earlier. This might hurt a little.”
I go still as he gently presses his thumb to my skin. It stings and I grit my teeth. “How you seem to love causing pain,” I manage to comment.
“I happen to be very good at it,” he says before closing his eyes and chanting a few words that I barely hear and can’t decipher. Slowly the pain melts into something warm and soft, like honey, and then he’s removing his hand. “There. That should take care of that.”
That warm softness spreads from my head and down the rest of my body and I feel the urge to fall into his arms and give in to it, just succumb to his strength, let it wrap me up in golden chains.
But Crane seems a little drained from what he just did, and I realize he did more than heal me. I think he gave me some of his own energy so that I can survive the next ordeal.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He gives me a quick kiss on the forehead and spins me around to the door. “You’re welcome.”
With newfound verve, I give them a wave goodbye as I gather up my courage and walk down the curved path toward the women’s dorms, my gait awkward thanks to Ms. Peek’s boots.
It’s still early and everyone here seems to sleep in on the weekends, so the grounds are quiet except for the birds chirping about, small flocks of sparrows and finches that land on the heads of the statues like jaunty hats, coupled with the sound of the breeze rustling the dead and dying leaves of the surrounding woods.
The mist from earlier has started to infiltrate the campus, like a phantom’s translucent fingers wrapping around a neck.
A chill runs through me and I look back to see Crane and Brom still standing in the doorway to the faculty dorms, watching me until the fog moves in and makes them blurry.
I gulp and turn around in time to see my mother emerging from her buggy holding a box of my things, heading to my new dorm, the door to the building propped open. Her back is to me but she senses me anyway because she comes to a dead stop and whirls around to look me dead in the eyes.
“Kat!” she says sharply, and for once in my life I see relief in her face, as if she’s actually been worried about me, even though it does nothing to hide how frail and awful she looks.
“Goodness gracious, where have you been?” She adjusts the box in her hands as I approach her, and she looks me up and down. “And what on earth are you wearing?”
Time for another lie, but this one is one she’ll want to hear.
I perfect a sheepish grin. “I had to borrow clothes from one of my teachers.”
She shakes her head. “Why? I don’t understand? When I woke up this morning and you weren’t there, I was afraid the worst had happened.”
“And what would the worst be?” I ask curiously.
She frowns. “That you were murdered or abducted by the headless horseman.”
Funny. She didn’t seem that concerned about it before.
“Oh,” I say. “No. I met up with Brom at the bonfire and we came back here to his room for the night. My clothes, uh, they got damaged in the process.”
She seems to transform before my eyes. The whites of her yellowing bloodshot eyes growing brighter, her cheeks turning pink, a smile broadening.
“You were with Brom?” she says, excitement palpable in every word.
I keep the shy smile on my face.
“Yes.” I say. And I shouldn’t say the next part but I do. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Her expression falters for a moment. “It’s what everyone wants. And it’s what you want too.”
I nod slowly, keeping up the appearance of the daughter who doesn’t want to discuss such intimate things with her mother. “Yes, well, I would like to get some of that special tea from you.”
Her eyes narrow. “Tea? What do you mean?”
“I just started school, Mother,” I tell her. “I don’t want any children, not yet.”
She scoffs loudly at that. “Gracious me, Katrina. Your studies aren’t as important as your future husband and family. Just who do you think you are, expecting to choose an education before all else?”
My head spins with whiplash, but I don’t have the energy to get into why my mother wanted me to marry Brom my whole life, then forced me to go to this damn school once he disappeared, and now wants me to marry Brom again as if the school no longer matters.
If I questioned her about it she would just give me a bunch of lies stacked on top of lies.
“Still, I’d like the tea,” I tell her in a measured voice.
Her eyes narrow further and for a moment I feel suction, as if I’m looking into an airless void.
God. What kind of witch is my mother?
“I will not make you any such tea. You were born to carry Brom’s baby, Katrina. That is your purpose. That is your fate.” She gestures to the school. “All of this is just…filling the time.”
My teeth grind together and I can’t keep the words to myself. “And what if Brom isn’t the only man I’m still sleeping with?”
She reaches out and snatches my wrist, her grip hurting me until I cry out and try to twist away but she doesn’t let go. “Don’t tell me you’re still with Crane? What kind of whore are you?”
Turns out I only like being called a whore when Brom says it.
Rage explodes inside me and I growl at her, pushing all my fiery energy onto her until she yelps and lets go, the force causing her to tumble backward onto the ground, dropping the box, my books spilling out onto the cobblestone.
She stares up at me and I expect her to get back up and come at me, fueled by anger, or perhaps back away out of fear of her own daughter, but instead she’s staring at me with awe, her mouth open, while my hand prickles with electricity.
“Sarah,” Famke calls out, and to my surprise I see her coming out of the building, hurrying over to us. “Kat!” she exclaims when she notices me. “Where have you been, child? What happened here?”
I feel a rush of relief at seeing Famke, though it’s a little jarring given that she’s not a witch and yet has somehow been allowed on campus. Then again, there’s a lot I don’t know about her. Or this school.
“I—I’m fine, I lost my balance,” my mother says, her disbelieving eyes still on me as Famke helps her to her feet. Famke then crouches down to start gathering up the books.
My mother stares at me, wobbling slightly.
I lift my chin to let my mother know I’m not to be reckoned with.
But my mother only smiles in return.
A cunning smile.
The one a fox would have before it corners its prey.
With cold clarity, as if being doused with ice water, I realize I’ve made a huge mistake.
Promise me that when you feel the call to magic, to the strange and the unusual, to power, that you ignore it. My father’s words ring in my ears.
That you will never show it or tell anyone about it…including your mother.
“I knew you had it in you, Katrina,” my mother says in a low voice. “All this time your father made me believe you didn’t have power, but I knew he was lying. I knew this school would bring it out.”
Famke looks up at my mother with concern, and I can feel her eyes on me but I can’t look away from my mother’s gaze, the way she’s staring at me like I’m her next meal.
“Look at you, my dear daughter,” my mother goes on. “You’re ripe for the picking.”