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“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 is allowed on campus. Then again, there’s a lot I don’t know about her.
“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 it in you, 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.”
Chapter 8
Crane
“Such a foul mood mother nature is in,” Daniels says as he sidles up behind me. He clamps a hand on my shoulder as he always does but this time it makes me jump. “Looks like you’re in a mood too.”
I glance at him. I’m standing at the front of the school’s herb garden. I’m supposed to be finding some yarrow to make another poultice for Brom’s almost healed shoulder but instead I’m staring off into the distance. To Daniels it probably looks like I’m observing the weather, the fine drizzle, the dark clouds above the treetops, hovering above the stone buildings like an ominous hand, the patchy line of fog that travels through the gardens.
But I’m not looking at the weather, nor am I looking for the plants. Instead I’m staring at the females student’s dorm, knowing that Kat is in there with her mother. I should be in there with her. I should be watching over her and I can’t. Kat didn’t want me there and I know Sarah wouldn’t have let me. If she were any other woman I would chalk it up to protective motherly instincts but I know that’s not the case with her. She’s protective over Kat the way a breeder is protective over their prized broodmare.
“I guess I’m a little tired,” I tell Daniels, forcing a quick smile. “You know, the nightmares and all. Any news about Desi?”
Daniels rubs at his moustache. “Not a word.” Then he shrugs. “Apparently they’re bringing a new linguistics teacher. From Greece. A man again, which is nice. Feels like it’s just you, me and the custodian against the world sometimes.” He gestures to the school.
“Well, you know witches,” I say, absently plucking some damp sage with my fingers, releasing the scent into the air. “It’s a woman’s world. Male witches seem to be in short supply.”
“It’s probably for the best,” he concedes. “I have a feeling this institute would be chaos if male witches were in charge. You know how Jeremias would run it.”
Jeremias is a dark mage, a male witch who has done some questionable things with his powers, according to the rumors. But at this point anyone would be better than the Sisters.
Then, as if I conjured her up from my own thoughts, I hear a voice call out.
“Ichabod Crane?”
I turn around to see Leona Van Tassel come out of the mist, hood up, face in shadow, cloaks floating around her like black ink.
“Sounds like you’re in trouble,” Daniels says under his breath. He seems like he’s joking but from the uneasy look in his eyes and the way he quickly nods at Leona and hurries away, I don’t think he is.
“Ah,” Leona says, lowering back her hood, her all-seeing eyes following Daniels as he scurries off. “I’m starting to get the feeling that Mr. Daniels is afraid of me.” Then she turns her sharp eyes to me. “But not you, Ichabod. You seem able to handle all sorts of things.”
I don’t want to ask what she means by all sorts of things.
I lift my chin as I peer down at her. “You know I can.”
