Mine to Spell (Mine #2) Read online

I stare at the stack of papers on the kitchen table, which looks large enough to wallpaper my room with. But it’s time. Time to make a choice. I’d much rather faint in front of everyone again, as I did when I saw my blood during the testing. At least that part is over.

  Waverly entertains the younger girls with her antics outside while Bethany prepares dinner in the kitchen. Serena and Zade are sitting at the table, trying to be helpful, though they have yet to be so. Still, I wish I could switch places them, or with any of the others. Or go back to my room, cast the silencing spell, and scream some more.

  “I didn’t think there would be so many.” The stack is just so large. I knew there would be a lot of interest in me, but this much is unfathomable.

  Serena and Zade exchange a look but say nothing. I’m too busy trying to keep myself together to figure out what the look is even supposed to mean.

  “This is good.” Not really, but I press on. “We’ll be able to find a worthwhile warlock with so many options.” There has to be at least one. Please be one.

  Serena places her hand on mine. “Not we. You. We will aid you as much as we can. However I won’t make the decision of who will own you next. If I could decide anything, you’d be gaining your freedom instead.”

  Freedom. A word more magical that any spell I can cast. And yet, even if I were as free as she is, I wouldn’t be really free to do what I love most. Magic.

  What would happen if they knew I could cast spells? If the warlocks knew? The council? Or, Master forbid, the Grand Chancellor? It goes against everything society wants, what the council and Grand Chancellor want. Everything they talk about and feel. Freedom wouldn’t bring the ability to do magic. No. Trying to make us appear as if we’re still a normal family, a family that complies with their expectations, is what they want and what will keep the girls safe.

  Waverly bounces in the back door, short of breath. “Your sisters are wild. I can’t keep up with them. Presha is watching them while I take a break.”

  “They weren’t wild before you came along.” And it makes me smile, a true smile, like nothing else has since my birthday. Everyone in the house has grown happier since Waverly started spending much of her time with us.

  Serena laughs. “Now you have more sisters than you know what to do with.”

  Waverly returns the laugh as she heads to the wash basin. “It’s true. I do, but I’m not the only one. Zade has his hands full of them, too.” She gives him a sly look. “Maybe he wants more sisters permanently.”

  Serena and Zade both blush and pointedly look anywhere but each other. Usually their antics are endearing, but now it just reminds me I’ll never have anything like that unless I can find a miracle in this stack.

  I skim another application, but the words mush together after the first line. All my choices are the same: Will give lots of money for my purchase; Will restore some honor to the family name; Have great magic to join with mine in passing down to their sons. As if I want that to happen. None of the options are remotely appealing, but the thought of having a son with one of them is enough to make me vomit. Or hex each and every one of them.

  Yet, thinking of all the magic makes me wonder about something I’ve wanted to know for a long time. Something only a warlock outside Chardonia would know. One who just happens to be sitting at the same table.

  “Zade,” I say, “do women in Envado do magic?”

  The room goes horridly quiet. It’s as if father cast a silencing hex on everyone and everything. I shouldn’t have let the question slip. Except I want to know. I can’t be the only woman in the world that does magic, can I?

  No, I can’t possibly. There have to be others like me somewhere, only where are they? Why am I so alone? Envado seems like a good place to start looking for answers. Or at least I thought it did until the already awkward silence keeps pounding on like a beating that will never end.

  I focus harder on the application before me, trying to pretend the answer doesn’t matter. Though the longer the stillness permeates the air, the more I change to pretending as if the question was never asked.

  Serena finally says, “What a strange question. You know only men do magic, which is just as well. Even if there are good things done with magic, there’s too much hexing involved.”

  Her words singe me right at my hidden desire to be known for doing magic and to be accepted for it, yet it’s not as if she’s aware of how personal a question it is. I risk glancing at Zade. A strange look is on his face, one that’s impossible to decipher.

  Those at the kitchen counter aren’t any better. Bethany’s eyes are innocent and wide with shock. Waverly is frozen with a glass of water partway to her mouth. She’s the first to come out of her trance, taking a sip of her drink before putting a big smile on her face.

  “Really, Serena?” she says. “Magic isn’t that bad. I thought you liked what we did with the ball.”

  “True,” she concedes. “Zade did a great job with everything.”

  Waverly’s smile dims some but doesn’t disappear entirely. “Yes, Zade did.”

  I scrutinize her, searching for a deeper meaning.

  “Honestly,” Serena replies, “it’s not that I didn’t enjoy it. I did. Yet, it’s hard to forget the consequences that followed. Zade’s life almost ended, and he was injured. You were knocked out. Luckily there were no lasting effects from that. Nathaniel’s fiancée was killed. That is what magic brings.”

  But it doesn’t always.

  Not that it matters. It doesn’t. At least not to the well-behaved, boy-crazy, family-saving girl I’m pretending to be. Back to acting as if I didn’t ask, and putting all my focus on which warlock will be my next owner.

  Blast. Just the thought makes me wish I’d never gone through with this, but there are too many others depending on me. I can’t abandon them when I’ve finally grown brave enough to help. There hasn’t been a single threat since I was tested, and I’m not about to take that relief away. Not that I could anyway.

  Zade pops out of his trance, bolting to his feet. “I think I’ll go see if any of the girls want another shooting lesson.”

  He strides from the room, boots pounding across the floor. The silence that follows manages to be more awkward than before, even without my asking a forbidden question.

  We pretend to work at our tasks, none of us looking at each other. At least I’m still pretending. Perhaps Serena really does find the pattern of the table interesting, Waverly enjoys staring at half-empty glasses of water, and Bethany thinks her vegetables a prize worthy of staring instead of chopping.

  Serena runs her hand across the table, drumming her fingers a few times before saying, “I didn’t mean his spells were bad.” She stares after his long-retreated form. “Perhaps I should assist him.”

  “I’ll help with the girls so you can talk,” Bethany says. “If you don’t mind taking over for me, Waverly? Or would you prefer to distract the girls?”

  “I’m still recuperating from distracting the girls last time. They’re always more energetic than I expect. Why don’t you go ahead, and I’ll finish up here?”

  Bethany nods and coaxes Serena out the door.

  My question broke things more than I expected. The guilt brings a sharp sting to my eyes, leaving the applications too blurry to read. I blink away the pain, wondering if they’ll sort their differences.

  Waverly works on the vegetables, the snap of her knife familiar. Though she’s occupied with the task, she keeps an eye on me as I muddle through the mess of papers. And what a mess it is. I don’t know what to do with any of them, strewn as they are across the table.

  What do I look for in a potential new owner? How much money they’re willing to pay for me? How much clout they have in politics and with fellow countrymen? How each one says they’re the best choice out of all the candidates? The one thing that doesn’t sway me: how much magic they will pass on to our… sons. I grip the seat of my chair until my fingers ache.

  “Maybe you should make piles,�
� Waverly suggests. “Stacks of men who are no good, okay, and maybe. Something like that. Then you can look closer at the better options.”

  Why didn’t I think of something like that? It seems so simple. “That would make it easier.”

  Yet, I still can’t do anything but stare. The words just won’t come into focus.

  “What if I helped? These vegetables are about done anyway and won’t need my attention while simmering. I could help go through and take out warlocks I know you won’t want, the ones who are obviously rude and condescending.”

  The tears want to come again but not with stinging, more like soothing relief. It’s the best thing someone has said since I plunged into this crazy scheme. “That would be fantastic.”

  In less than ten minutes she has a growing pile for me to go through and an even bigger pile set aside for fire starter. I’ve never been so grateful for assistance before, or so enthused to start a fire.

  Looking through the applicants still brings on a headache, but at least I can focus. Once I get into a rhythm, I stop thinking about what the papers are actually for, what they mean, and it gets easier to toss them where they need to be. I divide them into more piles, as Waverly suggested, for sorting later. No decisions have to happen now, only narrowing the options.

  Together we work, making progress on the requests. After some time, she says, “Why were you wondering about women using magic?”

  My fingers tighten around the paper they’re holding. I try to shrug nonchalantly except if feels more like a jerk. “The thought just crossed my mind.”

  The papers rustle, filling the room with their shuffling. I should let it go. Not say another word on it, but I’ve wanted to know most of my life. With the changes coming to my life, I yearn to know more than the usual, but caution urges me toward the silent survival route.

  Quietly, I ask, “Do women use magic?”

  I pretend to focus on the paper in front of me, but really I’m paying heed to her every move. Not that she’s moving. She’s still again, like the first time I asked. Everything seems to depend on what she says next, but she’s not speaking. She lowers the paper to the table as if it’s a sleeping baby being laid down in its cradle before studying my face. Not just looking, searching.

  Whatever she’s hoping for, she must come to a decision. “Even if they did.” Her words are so faint they can barely be heard. “Chardonia would never allow it. Especially not the council and the Grand Chancellor.”

  I swallow past the sudden thickness in my throat. We return to sorting, but her words don’t leave me. All afternoon they ricochet around my head, more pressing than the warlocks, one of whom may become my future owner.

  Perhaps whether or not other women can do magic shouldn’t be my question. My real question should be: What will the Grand Chancellor do if I’m caught?

  ***

  When Serena and Zade return several hours later, they stand close together. Yet, something is off. Both are stiff, as if they’re afraid what will happen if they relax. Perhaps afraid of what will happen if they let their words loosen too much and bring trouble again. I don’t know. It’s hard to comprehend the type of relationship they have. It’s nothing like mother and father's, and that is the only relationship I know. Not for much longer, though. The pile of acceptable applicants is small. Too small.

  Serena takes the chair next to me while Zade sits across from us.

  “So,” she says. “Have you made any progress?”

  After giving my necklace a tug, I randomly pick one of the three choices I’ve narrowed it down to. At this point, there’s nothing different about any of them. All are rich warlocks offering much for possession of me but say little else. Any warlock who said anything more always said something distasteful. “Contact this one. And make sure he pays for me before you sign anything.”

  “You’re making the decision so soon?”

  There’s no holding back my emotions any longer. This isn’t something I want any more than she does, but there’s a part to play. I focus all my negativity into cheer. It comes out in a squeak of giddiness. “Naturally I did, Serena. I can’t wait until I’m with my new owner. Excuse me while I go embroider a handkerchief with his name on it.”

  The stunned look on her face makes an apology want to tumble from my lips, but there’s no saying the words. I spring from the room like I’m the happiest woman in Chardonia, not the one returning to a world full of hexes and beatings and warlocks. A world where my own spells will have to be even more hidden. A world I despise.

  Chapter Three

  The next day it takes a concentrated effort not to let sparks fly. Literally. I try to spend my time alone in my room with the curtains drawn, wondering why I didn’t pick one of the other three applications it had come down to. One who wouldn’t insist on signing the engagement contract the day after I accept it.

  The spells that flare out of me are hot and angry, once even triggering a fire. I throwing a blanket over it and put it out quickly enough. The charred coverlet is now hiding at the bottom of my trunk. At least the smell was easy to chase out by opening a window.

  When I leave my room, not only is it hard to keep my frustration from showing, but it’s extra difficult to pretend I’m excited to be sold, to be owned by some man who will treat me like father did for years. It was easier to pretend interest in men when I was only watching them for their spells. Now even that sounds unappealing.

  Soon, I’ll be officially owned by a warlock again, instead of having the freedom of Serena owning me. Learning a few new spells is pointless in comparison to that. Why learn new spells if it’s near impossible to cast them?

  It’s likely I've made the wrong choice.

  The study where we’re sitting, waiting, is dreary. Not because of the weather outside the picture window, but for what’s brewing in here in the midst of forbidden books, a desk, plush chairs, and my dark secrets. I can’t stop my fingers from moving from my necklaces to my bracelets before twisting my rings and doing it all again. My face paint is thick, a heavier reminder of how I'll have to return to wearing it all the time now as society expects.

  Serena breaks the silence. “May I ask something?”

  Please don’t. But I force a cheerful face. “By all means.”

  “I’ve been wondering, why did you choose Edward as your owner?”

  “He seemed like he might be good. There wasn’t anything aggressive sounding in his application.”

  “Yes, but…” She bites her lip. “He didn’t provide much information save for the basics.”

  I shrug like it doesn’t matter. Because it doesn’t.

  “It’s only…” She hesitates a moment than hurries on. “If this is truly the choice you wish to make, I’ll support it, but he was one of the highest bidders. And, well, I want to make certain you made the choice because you thought he would be the best for you and not because of the money. We have enough for our needs from my own sale. And I’m sure Zade would assist us with anything should a need arise.”

  “It’s not the money.” Or at least not wholly. I figure if one option looks the same as another, she might as well have more coin from my sell. I force all my frustration to come out as excitement. “He’ll be fantastic. I’m certain of it. And I’ll get to have Katherine design an engagement dress, and then a wedding dress. It’ll be fantastic.”

  “Awful lot of fantastic.” Her mouth bunches as if she disagrees but is trying not to say so. Not that I blame her. I disagree as well. “Well, if it’s what you want?”

  “Obviously, it is. I’m happy.” So fakely happy. “And eager to meet him when he gets here.” Which should be much too soon. When Serena sent his acceptance, his reply was swift and his desire to see me even swifter. For good or ill, he’s coming. At least it’s here at home and not at his house like Serena had to meet Thomas.

  Zade enters and, without a word, begins pacing the room. Serena watches a moment before staring out her window, her hands knotted in her lap. Waverly an
d Presha are entertaining the girls so we won’t be disturbed and so Edward won’t see how wild they’ve become under Serena’s care. Laughing and playing as if they were boys. It’s difficult not to be jealous of what they’re gaining while I sacrifice.

  Yet there’s no undoing the past. The only thing I can affect is the now and the future. The future holds nothing bright, except keeping my family safe. Nothing but standing happy yet aloof, wishing I could spell myself out of this. But the only thing I can spell away is my voice when my frustration can no longer be bottled.

  It’s difficult to determine how much time passes as we wait. It’s long and cold. No forcing of enthusiasm or mindless chatter. I must save all my energy for when Edward arrives. My new owner.

  “Zade,” Serena interrupts the silence. “Do you know anything of this Edward?”

  “Very little. He’s never been in a tournament, doesn’t do much publicly, and is very wealthy, keeping almost as many servants and tarnished as the Grand Chancellor.”

  It's difficult to think of him having tarnished. At least servants are paid or are working off debts. The tarnished are already forced to be bald, barren, and have their face not only tattooed but the tattoos spelled to glow a different color every month to make certain they're checking in with the council. Can't have them breaking any rules. It makes me sick to think of people treating someone like my close friend Katherine that way. But maybe Edward is like Serena. Taking in as many tarnished as possible and treating them well.

  Serena looks at me before glancing back out the window. Perhaps it’s something I should have thought to ask before. What will he be like? I don’t even know his age. Some applicants included it, but it wasn’t a requirement. What if he’s as old as father? What if I’m his fourth wife, soon to be tarnished with the first girl I bear? Other than having a child, this is the preferable option.

  It’d be difficult to be tarnished, especially with the ever-growing restrictions placed on them, but at least I wouldn’t have an owner. Katherine would surely take me in and help me learn the ways of the tarnished. How to deal with someone keeping track of my movements. Of being filled with unbearable agony if I leave an area I'm supposed to be in. Of having that pain kill me if I don't return to where I'm supposed to be. I swallow past the growing tightness in my throat.