Page 3

Two

Lydia sat at her mother’s kitchen table and reminded herself, not for the first time, that she was a grown woman now.

She told herself that she was the right hand of the grand mistress, and had been for nearly three years. That she was a graduate of the academy, nineteen years old and in the full bloom of her power. That she had the respect of her peers and of her students and of the grand mistress herself.

And yet somehow, sitting in her mother’s kitchen, Lydia may as well have been eleven years old.

“What do they have you teaching now at the academy?” her mother asked.

“Projection. Mistress Sybil has decided to dedicate herself fully to council matters, and they’ve asked me to take on her classes.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Both women sipped their tea.

Lydia glanced around the cluttered flat, taking in the hodgepodge of amber bottles and canning jars, each one holding something more disagreeable than the last. Fat bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling—calendula, feverfew, primrose—all giving off the same musty, herbal smell that had always given Lydia a headache, even when she was a child.

On the cookstove, some murky concoction simmered away, stinking like hot, wet laundry.

Lydia’s mother, Evelyn, had never attended the academy, nor was she interested in the political or magical goings-on inside its walls.

She was an herbalist, with a talent for soothsaying she had inherited from her own mother, who had inherited it from her mother before her.

She made a modest living selling tea and telling fortunes and had always assumed her daughter would do the same, until the day Lydia, then eleven, announced that she’d applied for entrance to the academy, unbeknownst to anyone at all, and had been accepted.

“Do they teach herbs at the academy?” Evelyn asked.

Lydia sipped her tea. “They teach Advanced Botanical Philosophy as an elective.”

Evelyn frowned. “Would you say the class is more botany or… philosophy ?”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t take it.”

Evelyn pressed her lips together like she had something to say but was determined to keep it to herself.

She often looked like that, as if she were biting her tongue, trying to hold in something that desperately wanted to come out.

Minding my mouth , Lydia once heard her say.

As if that made her meaning any less obvious.

They made a strange pair, sitting across from one another at the rickety kitchen table.

Evelyn Polk was forty-four and barefaced, with no evident interest in fashion or appearances.

Her hair, once dark, had now gone woolly gray and hung in a single plait down her back.

Lydia, on the other hand, wore her glossy black hair swept up and rolled in the fashion popular among the other young women of the academy.

Her dress was a deep indigo, and on her lapel, she wore a silver rose entwined with thorns—the emblem of the academy.

The brooch had been a gift from Isadora upon Lydia’s graduation.

She finished her tea. Evelyn reached for her cup, but Lydia placed her hand firmly over the top and kept it there. Evelyn made an exasperated sound.

“Mother.”

“What, I’m not allowed to read your tea leaves anymore?”

Lydia left her hand over her cup and said nothing.

“Why? Because it’s not high magic ? No classes on reading tea leaves at the academy I suppose?”

“No, it’s just none of your business.”

Evelyn looked bruised, and Lydia immediately regretted hurting her feelings.

She’d always resented that nothing was a secret from her mother.

Every private longing and event of Lydia’s childhood had been spied by Evelyn in the bottom of her teacup, to the point that as an adult, Lydia had developed a strong preference for coffee.

Evelyn began to clear the dishes, leaving Lydia’s teacup behind.

“Mother,” she said again.

Evelyn puttered at the sink, keeping her back turned.

“I understand you’ve been busy at the academy, Lydia.

I understand you’re a young woman now, and you want your privacy.

And I know you’re supposed to present yourself a certain way, being the right hand of the grand mistress.

” The dishes clattered loudly in the bottom of the sink.

“But, Lydia Polk, you are still my child, and when you come into my house, I would appreciate it if you wore the face I gave you.”

Lydia was surprised by her mother’s sudden intensity. She considered standing her ground, then thought better of it, and allowed the subtle glamour to fade.

“I thought it was quite tasteful.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the face you’ve got.” Evelyn came closer to get a better look at her daughter. “You’ve got my mother’s cheekbones, I think.”

“As well as her nose,” said Lydia.

“It’s a lovely nose!” Evelyn gave it a tap with her index finger.

“I’ll never understand why you hate it so.

” She turned back to the dishes in the sink, taking more care now that the tension had dissipated.

“I have an idea. Why don’t you stay for supper?

I have a little gin if you’re tired of tea.

We could stay up, get tipsy, and read each other’s cards. What do you say?”

“I can’t. I have academy business this evening.” Lydia watched Evelyn’s face fall again.

“So late?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What type of business?”

“Mother, you know I can’t—”

“Is it to do with Project Diana?”

Lydia felt herself go very still.

Damn her , she thought. She never could keep anything secret from Evelyn.

“I don’t know what you mean.” But the lie was somehow worse than saying nothing at all. It fell flat on the floor between them, clumsy and obvious. Lydia retrieved her handbag from the kitchen chair and wrapped her mother in a stiff embrace. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you next week. All right?”

“Next week. Right.” Evelyn looked deflated.

Lydia kissed her on the cheek. “Goodbye, Mother.”

She made for the door and had scarcely turned her back before the glamour appeared once again, a softer version of her own face, with full pink cheeks and a perfect, upturned nose.

“Lydia—”

But the door closed, and Lydia was gone.

···

Lydia felt an uneasy guilt settle on her as the taxi carried her away from her mother’s flat in Hackney.

Her relationship with Evelyn had always been fraught, even when she was a child.

Lydia had felt like a changeling in her mother’s house—a fastidious, particular child, raised among the cheerful chaos of Evelyn’s life.

Lately the chasm between them had become wider still as Lydia’s role in the war effort had grown, and secrets had begun to pile up between them.

Lydia reminded herself that she kept things from Evelyn for her own protection.

Still, lying had never been easy for her, least of all when it came to her mother, who had a tiresome habit of knowing everything all the time, whether you wanted her to or not.

And now Evelyn knew about Project Diana.

No, Lydia thought, she knew the name, nothing more.

There was no telling where Evelyn had come up with it—likely from some dream she’d had, or from dabbling in a bit of bibliomancy, as she had a habit of doing.

But there was nothing at all to suggest that she knew anything more than that.

Evelyn wasn’t omniscient, after all. Just nosy.

As she paid the driver and stepped from the taxi, Lydia looked out across the mass of brown-and-gray-clad commuters and spotted a flash of red hair atop a brilliant, kelly-green overcoat—it was Kitty Fraser, navigating the current of bodies at a brisk pace, a stack of parcels under her arm.

Lydia waved, and Kitty grinned and waved back, nearly dropping her cargo.

“What did you buy?” Lydia called as she quickly crossed the busy street.

“Oh, a few things I’ve been needing, and then a lot of things I didn’t need at all.” Kitty spun on her heels, momentarily distracted by a handsome fellow in uniform. “How’s your mum?” she asked, hooking her free arm through Lydia’s as they walked together toward the academy.

Lydia sighed. “Evelyn is… Evelyn .”

Kitty was a Scottish girl of twenty and Lydia’s best friend for the last eight years.

She was a full head shorter than Lydia, and sportily built, with a mass of flaming red curls that refused to be tamed and a smile that could get her out of almost any kind of trouble.

She and Lydia had met their very first day at the academy, and they’d been inseparable ever since.

“I don’t know why you’re so tough on your ma. I think she’s brilliant. She’s like the witches in the old stories.”

“You didn’t grow up with her. She’s never understood why I joined the academy. She still wishes I would move back home and become a fortune teller, like her and Gran.” Lydia turned to say something else but quickly recoiled, finding that suddenly it wasn’t Kitty by her side at all, but Evelyn.

“Oh please, love, don’t be so hard on your old mum. Why, I only want you to come back home and make charms and potions with me forever and ever. Maybe we’ll find you a nice husband and you can make lots and lots of wee witch babies!”

“ Great Mother , that is creepy, Kitty!” Lydia choked, but she couldn’t keep herself from doubling over with laughter. “You know you shouldn’t change out in the open like that.”

Quick as a blink, Kitty was Kitty again.

She rolled her eyes. “People only see what they expect to see.” She grinned, and where just a moment ago Kitty had stood, now there was Isadora Goode, in her full glory.

“Miss Polk, do stop goggling,” Kitty intoned, in a perfect imitation of the grand mistress’s voice.