“I say, Charlotte, will you also be taking over your aunt’s charitable institutions?”
The smile was full of teeth.
Charlotte took a deep breath. It was all happening so fast. She did not have time to ascertain the most correct response, or the best way to hold her mouth, or even how to rescue her hand from Miss Gloughenbury’s grip before nerve damage occurred. Elizabeth Bennet was gone, Anne Elliot was gone; she had only herself to rely upon. The thought terrified her.
Then Alex shifted slightly, clearing his throat, and as she glanced in his direction, Charlotte saw him smiling at her with calm certainty that she would bestrong, fierce, gorgeous, brave. She realized then that although she could catch herself with her own magic if she ever fell, she had him now—steady beneath his swagger, kindhearted behind all his deadly weapons—so she could make even the most daring leap and be sure.
“Ladies,” she said, and yanked her hand away from Miss Gloughenbury so firmly, the elder witch squeaked. “I will not be emulating my aunt’s charitable schemes. I intend to run my own philanthropy—and indeed the entire agenda of the Wicken League—on a new model.”
The witches exchanged worried glances.
“Rather than deciding ourselves what is right for the world, we will consult with those who would benefit from our witchcraft as to what would be most helpful for their circumstances, and follow that guide.”
The worried glances became alarmed stares.
“A fine scheme in principle,” Mrs. Chuke murmured. “Unfortunately, dear, people rarely know what is best for them.”
“But I—”
“Jolly good to see you trying to be clever,” Mrs. Vickers added with a smile so condescending Charlotte felt it knock ten years off her life.“Your charming little ideas will show just how valuable our League’s time-honored conventions are.”
“But as your president—”
“It will be reassuring to have another Plim at the helm,” Miss Gloughenbury averred. “Tradition is always such a comfort.”
“My tarot spread this morning depicted that very thing,” Mrs. Vickers said, nodding emphatically.
“And my crystal ball showed me a steady, familiar path for the League into the future,” Miss Gloughenbury agreed.
“I see,” Charlotte said. And she did, with a clarity so bright it blistered her. She muttered behind the clenched teeth of her smile.
Teacups began rising from the table.
“Good heavens!” Mrs. Pettifer cried out, trying to catch them.
Cushions began rising from the sofas.
“Charlotte, dear,” Miss Gloughenbury said, her eyes narrowing. “Are you quite the thing?”
“Of course she is!” Mrs. Pettifer said indignantly, her arms full of saucers. “Remember that Lottie is after all the Prophesized One, true heir of Beryl Black.”
“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” Miss Gloughenbury said, not taking her stare from Charlotte even for one blink.
Charlotte’s stomach dropped. Cups and cushions crashed down along with it. Ignoring her mother’s gasp, she stared at the bonfires in Miss Gloughenbury’s eyes.
“Despite the shambles of this past week,” the lady went on, her smile making cutlass-shaped creases in her taut face, “we can all agree that Charlotte is a good girl.”
And there it was—the force that had driven Aunt Judith all these years. Not power but fear. Not authority but obedience.
With bleak irony, Charlotte realized she was indeed heir to the forces that had driven Beryl Black’s destiny. She’d be able to keep theLeague in check, but only if she kept herself in check also. Show too much power and not enough obedience, too much magic and not enough manners, and the fire would burn for her just as it had for Beryl. Miss Plim might be gone, but Miss Gloughenbury was ready in the wings. And even if she asked Alex to fly the woman off the edge of the world, there would still be Mrs. Chuke, and Cousin Eugenia, and even her mother, well-meaning but having internalized Plimmishness so completely, she could not see beyond her own tea leaves.
Charlotte might rise to League leadership, but the sensitivities that sparked her joy in magic, in life itself, would have to be repressed again and kept that way forever.
Suddenly, Alex stepped forward. “I beg your pardon, ladies,” he said.
They turned to frown at him, but before they could speak he took Charlotte around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder.
“Egads!” Miss Gloughenbury gasped.
