Page 5

Three

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me!” Lydia stood in the open doorway of Kitty’s cluttered bedroom, inside their shared suite on the teachers’ floor of the academy.

Kitty lay sprawled on her stomach across her unmade bed, swinging her feet behind her.

She looked up from her book with a mix of feigned innocence and gleeful pride.

“Och, I’m so sorry! I wanted to tell you everything, but Isadora was so serious about the whole thing, I was sure she’d hex my whole family if I told.”

“I forgive you, you silly thing.” Lydia tossed herself onto the bed next to Kitty and kicked off her shoes with a sigh. “But only if you tell me everything, I’m dying to know.”

“It was boring, really. Mostly I was just hanging around some drafty castle, pretending to be a pudgy old Frenchman until I could get the book. It was honestly the dullest mission I’d ever done, right up until I got punched in the face.”

“Punched?” Lydia was aghast. “Who punched you?”

Kitty grinned. “Henri Boudreaux.”

“Who?”

“One of the curators. Well, the curator’s assistant, I think. Big fella with a nasty right hook. Handsome, too, but we didn’t exactly have time to get acquainted, what with me being a fat old Frenchman at the time.”

The realization was dawning on Lydia now. “Last week you went home for a few days and came back with that horrible fat lip. You told me you’d been out walking and fell on your gob.”

“I know, but I didn’t! I was in Dordogne, getting punched in the face!” Kitty was obviously delighted with herself.

Lydia wrapped her arms around her friend. “Kitty, I love you, but you are absolutely mad.”

“I’m just glad I can finally tell you! So there I am, being old, and dull, and French , and praying to the Mother that I can get my hands on this bloody book before the fella I’m impersonating comes back from the café where my Traveler, that absolute prig , Fiona McGann—”

“Fiona McGann is no prig! Why, she abducted that Nazi scientist last month with nothing but a nail file and a simple muddling charm. Really, Kitty, if I didn’t know better, I would say you’re jealous—”

“ Jealous? Why would I be jealous?”

“Because Fiona’s nearly as good a Glamourer as you are, and we both know you couldn’t travel into the next room if I paid you.”

Kitty gave her a filthy look. “I happen to be a specialist . Can I finish?” She waited until Lydia gave her an exasperated nod.

“Right, so horrible, uptight Fiona McGann is batting her lashes and getting the real Frenchman pissed in some café. Meanwhile, I find where they’re keeping the book, and pop open the crate, when who comes along but Henri bloody Boudreaux! ”

“And he just punched you? With no provocation?”

“Well, no. First, I tried to talk my way out of it, and then I tried running, and then we tussled for a little bit, and then he punched me.”

“Oh, Kitty . ”

“But when he punched me, I dropped my glamour. So, there we are, he’s just seen a fat old Frenchman turn into a beautiful fiery-haired maiden, and he’s punched her right in the mouth!

He was off me in a second, but he’d also grabbed the book.

Anyway, I had to get out of there, so I took off running.

I broke in and tried again the next night, but by then it was too late. The book was gone. So here we are.”

“Kitty, he saw you?” Lydia sat up on the bed. “The curator saw you drop your glamour?”

“Relax. Nobody will believe him. I’d be surprised if he still believes it himself.”

Lydia couldn’t imagine how the man could ever forget such a thing, but held her tongue. “That piece of the book you stole. Where is it?”

“Isadora has it. Said it needed to be kept under lock and key until the full moon, when we could trace it, just for safekeeping.”

Kitty was getting bored now that the topic had shifted away from her grand adventures in France. She sat up and began fussing with Lydia’s hair, pulling out the pins and rearranging the curls.

“What do you need me there for, anyway? I thought you Projectionists could find anything, anywhere, just by putting your mind to it.”

Lydia laughed; Kitty had never had the patience for advanced projection.

“It doesn’t work like that. If I’ve touched something, like, say, this hairpin, then I can project to it anytime I like.

I could even project to you , if I had to.

But I’ve never touched the Grimorium Bellum . I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“You’ve never touched the Grimorium Bellum , but I have. Is that right?” Kitty fluffed Lydia’s hair, making it go wild.

“Exactly. The Grimorium Bellum left a mark on you the second you touched it, and that’s what I’ll use to track it.

There are other ways too. Using a piece of the thing, like that scrap of paper you nicked.

Or if I go to the place where an object once was, sometimes I can follow the trail from there. ”

“So you don’t need me after all.” Kitty sprawled across the bed with her feet in Lydia’s lap. “ Thank the Mother . I can’t stand these fussy late-night rituals, and black really isn’t my color.”

Lydia gave Kitty’s leg a swat. “I do, too, need you.”

“Och, why ?”

“For insurance, mostly. Using a piece of the thing can be difficult if it’s too small or too damaged. If that happens, I’ll have you to draw from instead.”

Kitty groaned. “Fine. But I’m wearing your pearl earrings to the ceremony.”

“Go ahead. They’re fake.”

Kitty gave Lydia’s shoulder a playful nudge. “What will it be like, anyway? Will you go into a trance and speak in tongues?”

“No.”

“Will the whole council be there?” A hint of nerves crept into Kitty’s voice, although she did her best to hide it.

“Yes. Like I said, if I’ve touched a thing, I can project to it anytime I want.

But tonight, I’ll have to send my projection who knows where, and with nothing to guide me but a scrap of paper and your silly self.

That’s tricky business, even for me. Something like that can only be done under a full moon at midnight, and it’s near impossible without a full coven.

The council will act as a sort of amplifier, to make the book easier for me to trace. ”

“Lord, will it be a lot of horrible chanting?”

“Only for the first few minutes. After that it’s mostly silent.”

“So I shouldn’t try to make you laugh,” Kitty said with a wicked grin.

“Definitely not.”

Kitty tossed herself across Lydia’s lap.

“But I’m so good at it!” Quick as a blink she transformed her face into that of Mistress Helena, who had taught them both healing arts when they were still just girls.

Helena had always been a ridiculous figure to Kitty and Lydia, simultaneously self-important and exceedingly sensitive.

Kitty loved to imitate her whenever Lydia was taking herself far too seriously.

Lydia squawked with laughter, pushing Kitty away, and Kitty tumbled to the floor shrieking, wearing her own face once again.

“I have to get ready!” Lydia wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Will she be there?” Kitty lay sprawled across the floor. “Please say yes!”

“I’m getting dressed.” Lydia walked across the hall to her own tidy room, leaving Kitty where she lay.

“Should I go like this ?” Lydia turned back, and Kitty was Helena once again, grinning up from the floor in Kitty’s bright green dress.

“Get dressed, Kitty!” Lydia shouted, still laughing, and slammed the door.

···

Kitty announced she was going to dinner, and was still gone when Lydia emerged from her room, freshly made up and dressed in a slim black velvet gown with a matching clutch.

She thought about joining Kitty in the dining room, but then thought better of it.

Lydia rarely ate before a tracking spell, as she was almost always too anxious, and the spellwork often left her feeling queasy.

Kitty, on the other hand, could seemingly eat any time of the night or day, and often did, claiming that all her constant shape-shifting required extra fuel.

When Lydia arrived in the ceremonial chamber, the high council was already there, gathered like black crows in groups of twos and threes in the dimly lit chamber.

The sight of them put a sudden twist of uneasiness in Lydia’s stomach.

Mistress Jacqueline was grumbling in a low whisper to Mistresses Helena and Pearl, all three looking annoyed to be there at such a late hour.

“…don’t even see why it’s necessary. It’s no business of ours if…”

“…what has Britain ever done for us? Why should we continue to risk witch lives for…”

“…power hungry, that’s what it is. She never should have been allowed to involve the academy in…”

Just then, Mistress Jacqueline caught Lydia’s eye and fell suddenly silent. She offered a syrupy smile and quickly turned away.

Moonlight cascaded down from the round skylight above the altar, the soft silver glow mingling with golden pinpoints of scattered candlelight.

Isadora stood alone in the center of the room, cutting a severe figure in her black satin evening gown.

She nodded to Lydia when she arrived, but did not move to greet her.

Lydia scanned the room, passing over the gaggles of whispering gossips and the false, sickly sweet smiles, until she found a friendly face at last—Mistress Sybil, who appeared to be caught in a rather one-sided conversation with Mistress Alba.

Lydia watched with amusement as Sybil made her apologies and crossed the room to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.