1
Iwas almost certainour neighbor was a witch.
Witches, they say, must be avoided at all costs. Some can turn you to stone with a glance. Some can conjure lightning and fry you on the spot. Some brew foul poisons day and night, hoping to slip them into your supper. When you’re dead, they’ll chop you up and use your flesh in their wicked alchemy.
They didn’t roam the kingdom anymore, of course, and I had never seen Julianna Alderidge brew poisons or turn people into stone. But there was no doubt she was a wicked creature I avoided at all costs.
I just wished my stepmother would stop inviting her to tea parties.
Julianna’s laugh rung across the lawn. “Mr. Sternfeld, you are a riot!”
Cedric Sternfeld said something inaudible, his pearly smile a stark contrast to his dark skin. Julianna dissolved in an explosion of giggles.
He was a rather handsome young man, but compared to his wealth, his face was inconsequential. The neighborhood girls stuck to him like caramel on a toddler’s tooth the second he moved in across the street.
None more so than Julianna. No doubt she would have hosted a welcome event in her backyard if my stepmother hadn’t done it first.
“Does she think he’ll marry the girl who laughs at everything he says?” I grumbled to Genevieve as Julianna giggled for the thousandth time. I didn’t need to turn to know my stepsister was smiling.
“He just moved in, Amarante,” Genevieve said, setting her sketchbook and charcoal onto the grass. The dappled light beneath the apple tree made her blond hair glow. “She’s only being friendly.”
I didn’t think it took more than a pretty face to impress a lord’s son, but I hoped for his own sake that Mr. Sternfeld wouldn’t fall for Julianna’s perfect curls and milky complexion.
“Or she’s waiting to pounce once his grandfather passes,” I said.
Genevieve coughed. “Amarante!”
“Rumors have it he’ll inherit a good mass of land from Lord Gideon Sternfeld.”
Genevieve gave me a reproachful look, but her lips were twitching. “Since when do you listen to rumors?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, Gen. Stepmother is the biggest gossip in the neighborhood.”
My stepmother, Lydia, was too busy playing hostess to notice we were huddled beneath our apple tree, away from the guests. Most of the neighborhood families had shown up this morning with their daughters in tow. Several of them swarmed Lydia now. Only the top of her impeccable updo was visible behind the heads of our neighbors, who were no doubt complimenting her for organizing such a lovely reception.
Genevieve started sketching again.
I sighed. “Do youeverstop drawing?”
“We’re in hiding, remember?” Genevieve said. The arched windows of our house took form on the page. “There’s nothing else to do.”
“Didn’t stepmother tell you to pick gowns for the Season?”
“I’ll do that later,” she said. “I have a month before it starts.”
“And you’re sure you want to go this year?” I asked, picking at the embroidery on my skirt.
“Yes, Amarante, for the fifth time. I’m already eighteen. The youngest girls attending are your age.”
I blew a strand of brown hair out of my face. “Ridiculous. I cannot believe they’re asking for marriage at sixteen.”
“They are not! The Season is a coming-of-age celebration,” Genevieve said. “That is all.”
“It’s frivolous and overrated.”
The scratching of charcoal stopped. “Really? Then how come I remember you dancing in the parlor with a bed sheet tied around your waist, pretending you were at the Debutante Ball?”
My cheeks burned. “Keep drawing, why don’t you?”
