Chapter Text
Blaise had protested, loudly and every step of the way, but it was no use. Her fate was sealed. Her bags were packed and she was going to stay with great-great-aunt Ursula at the house known to younger members of the family as The Convent. The Inner Circle of the Witches didn’t know everything she’d done, but they knew she’d been playing with human boys and, far worse, hadn’t said anything when her cousin actually fell in love with one. Thea had asked to be exiled from her own family to be with her human boy and her wish had been granted. As far as anybody else knew, Thea didn’t even remember she was a witch now.
So the Inner Circle had nobody to blame for this very upsetting occurrence. So they blamed Blaise, even though they didn’t know half of what she’d done. And Blaise wasn’t about to tell them that she’d switched the potions so Thea remembered everything about what she really was, so Blaise just figuratively kicked and screamed about being sent away, and finally agreed to it.
Being kicked out of a home was nothing new; Blaise had experienced it several times with style and panache, and at least this time it wasn’t her fault.
Gran had been positively gentle as she’d explained that after the ‘scandal’ and the ‘loss’ of Blaise’s cousin Thea it would be better for Blaise to go away for a while so the Inner Circle could calm down. Out of sight, out of mind. And in the spring Blaise could come back to Las Vegas and living with Gran and Gran wanted that, wanted Blaise to live with her. It sounded like Gran really meant that, which was new, but it didn’t matter because she wouldn’t mean it for long. None of the other relatives the cousins had lived with in their seventeen years had meant it for long.
So Blaise got on the plane and stewed for four hours in the air and another two in the airport waiting for her luggage. Great Aunt Ursula had sent her assistant, a huge bear shapeshifter so stereotypical he was actually named Bjorn. He lifted all of Blaise’s bags without complaint and carried them to a van. He opened the backseat door like a taxi driver—which was just what Blaise had expected but for some reason it annoyed her. “No. I think I’ll sit in front. Better view.”
Bjorn grunted and opened the front passenger door. Blaise swept her skirt aside and settled daintily into the black leather seat. Heated leather. Maybe Aunt Ursula wasn’t completely hopeless. “Nice car. Aunt Ursula ever let anyone else drive it?”
“No.”
The car pulled onto the highway. It was a gray day, spitting down rain, and cold. If Blaise hadn’t been so angry at everything it would have been very nice riding in the warm clean-smelling car. But Blaise was angry. “So, what’s the house like? Do you live there?” Blaise looked up through her lashes at the shifter, who was driving and didn’t notice.
He waited long enough Blaise thought he wasn’t going to answer then he said, “The house is very nice. I live there and help Madam with the chores. There are three young witches staying at the house for education.”
Well that was interesting. “What did they do?”
This time Bjorn actually didn’t answer.
Blaise hadn’t realized there would be more bad kids at the Convent. Her first order of business would be finding out what they’d done. Maybe some of them would be the good kind of interesting. Blaise had never lived somewhere with only other witches, no humans at all. It would take some getting used to.
The van was leaving the city, going up into mountains that had been bright with fall foliage a month ago but were dull and brown now. Through some cute little towns and then one last touristy little place and then away from all civilization.
It was going to be hard to sneak out.
Of course Blaise was going to sneak out.
She was going to stay at the Convent for long enough to let the Inner Circle calm down and forget about Thea but she wasn’t just going to straighten up. She was going to sneak into town and find human boys to play with, see if Aunt Ursula was hiding any forbidden spellbooks or interesting artifacts, and maybe make her fellow delinquents her followers. Blaise was planning on being herself.
She didn’t let her determination wobble as the van pulled up to a high stone wall with an iron gate in it. Blaise had heard about the Convent, it was legendary among rebellious teenage witches, but she hadn’t expected the stone wall to be literal. The gate swung open—like magic, but Blaise spotted the button in the van so it was electronics. Behind the gate the road continued through more pine trees and boulders. They were high enough that the clouds became fog, snaking between the trees. Blaise thought she saw something, the fog taking on a human shape for a moment. She craned around, trying to see, but then ahead the Convent came into view. It was everything the rumors around the maidens’ circle described: big and square and stone, with columns and gargoyles. Blaise tried not to be impressed but—she’d lived her whole life among humans, living in human houses. She knew there were enclaves where the people of the Night World lived as they had in times past, when witches were respected and shapeshifters roamed the forests. Most of them were whole valleys or islands where a few hundred people could live but the Convent was just one old mansion on the side of a mountain in Connecticut. One really old mansion with an actual tower at one end.
Oh Goddess, would the place have toilets? The Tudor era might have been a good time for witches but it hadn’t been a good time for plumbing and Blaise liked her modern comforts.
The van pulled up outside the huge, double wooden front door and the driver gestured Blaise to get out. “I will bring your belongings to your room.” He said. Fair enough. Blaise had brought nearly everything she owned.
Before Blaise had a chance to look around, the front door opened and there stood Great Aunt Ursula. She was old, but not old and tiny like Gran. Great Aunt Ursula was old and tall and straight, with iron gray hair dressed in a long black skirt and black jacket. She looked like a modern witch. A black cat peeked around her ankles.
“You would be Blaise Harman, last direct descendant of Hellewise.”
Blaise disliked her immediately. What did you even say back to that? So Blaise flounced past the old witch and into the house. She had time to notice it looked modern inside before her great aunt said, “You will look at me when I address you.”
Blaise looked. “Fine. I’m Blaise, and you’re Great Aunt Ursula—not really my great aunt but you’re my something. You’re going to put me on the straight and narrow, turn me into a proper witch.”
Something happened to Aunt Ursula’s face that might have been a smile. “exactly. You will not leave the Citadel. You will still be attending school and studying our history. Your grandmother hoped some time away from outsiders would ‘help you settle down.’ The schoolroom is at the end of the hall but you can stop in and freshen up first.”
Blaise had no interest in settling down but it had been a long drive and longer flight and Aunt Ursula was leaving her alone so that was good. And it was a modern bathroom with a white marble counter, so at least the place would be livable. Blaise took her time washing her face, fluffing out her hair and reapplying her makeup. She’d opened the door for the last step, to listen for her aunt.
She heard a gasp and looked up to see a girl hesitating in the doorway. A skinny, mousy girl who looked at Blaise with wide brown eyes.
“Hello?” Blaise said after a moment when the girl still seemed too surprised to speak. Instead of saying anything she squeaked and retreated.
Was that what the other students here were like? That one didn’t even look like a witch. Witches were… vivid. Skin the slightest bit clearer, hair and eye colors brighter. Blaise, with her smoldering gray eyes and long hair a sooty near-black, looked like a witch. The girl with sallow skin and long dull brown hair did not.
Almost curious, Blaise finished her makeup and went back out to the entryway. The house was a strange mix of modern and ancient. The stone walls had been covered with… normal wall… but the windows were deeply set and all the furniture was heavy and ancient. Past the entryway a hall led to a big open room that should have been a living area but someone had dragged in desks and a chalkboard and turned it into a classroom. Three teenage witches were sitting with stacks of books.
The mouse-girl was sitting with a boy almost as dull as she was. He was wearing a sweatshirt for some outsider high school. The other girl had caramel-brown skin and reddish braids adorned with beads and bells and… bones?
Blaise gave them a minute to notice her then walked slowly to sit on the boy’s desk so all the parts that boys like to look at were right in front of him.
He barely looked. “Hi. There’s another desk, over there.”
Blaise only arched her back, waiting for the reaction she always got. “And you are?”
The boring boy answered, “This is Inez and Turnspit, and I’m Derrick. And you’re… Blaise Harman?”
He didn’t just look kind of like the outsider who’d stolen Thea, his name sounded similar. Blaise decided to hate him. Inez with the beads in her hair, gave Blaise a catty smile. And the mouse-girl’s name was… “Your name is spit?”
“Turnspit.” She could talk after all.
After a minute Blaise asked, “So, what do we do here?”
Inez flipped her hair back with a ringing of tiny bells. “Learning to be good little witches who follow the rules and say ‘Unity.’ By doing all the homework for human school and studying all the boring parts of witch history. With no parties, no trips, and no vermin to play with. Welcome to the Convent.”
That was about what Blaise had expected. It wasn’t supposed to be fun. She gave up on Derrick for now and went to the empty desk. There were some high school textbooks, familiar from the last few schools, and a few leatherbound volumes. Those looked interesting and Blaise carefully opened the one on top.
How old were these books? The paper was going brown and the writing was spidery and hard to read. Blaise pieced out, ‘Arabella Harman, Her Booke.’ Gran had a book like this. She’d told her grand-daughters that once every witch had one, part diary and part recipe book, recording spells and the secrets of magic for their descendants. But the practice had fallen out of favor when literacy became common among outsiders so all it would take would be one slip-up to reveal all the Night World’s secrets. This book’s leather tingled against Blaise’s hands with old spells meant to keep it hidden from any humans who might come near it.
Then Blaise had another thought. The soulmate principle was old. Maybe these old books would have some information about it—like how to get rid of it. If Thea wasn’t soulmates with that vermin she wouldn’t want to be with him, she’d want to be with her family again. She’d want to be with her twin again.
So this whole stupid stay at the Convent might be worthwhile.
Blaise opened to a random page. It was about charms to make bread rise. The next random page was a map of paths to move sheep between pastures somewhere in some country that wasn’t America. The next random page was illuminated letters with with different charms cast with color and brushstroke. Then a journal entry describing decisions made by the Inner Circle after the awful witch persecutions in Europe that sent so many real witches fleeing to the New World as soon as they could. The burning Times had wiped out whole bloodlines and spilled over onto enough unwary shapeshifters and vampires that the whole Night World had gotten scared.
Blaise kept flipping pages and copying down charms and things she wanted to try.
Then a hesitant voice said, “Um, we have to do outsider school first.”
Blaise looked sideways at Turnspit, then back to the book. She didn’t see a need to listen to a witch as mousy as a human. Also from what Blaise overheard from the desk next to her, Turnspit could barely read and Derrick was teaching her.
He really was just like Eric Ross, disgustingly nice.