Page 94 of The Black Witch

A sick, sinking feeling pulls me down. This sensation is something new.Desperation.Now that Uncle Edwin is ill, Ineedthis trade. And I need the Lead Apprentice to like me.

“Yes, Mage...” I shuffle through my papers, searching for her title. “Mage...”

“Bane,”she says, with unpleasant emphasis. “GesineBane.”

The sinking feeling pulls me deeper, weakening my voice as I take note of the wand hanging from her waist. “Might you be related to...”

“I’m Fallon’s cousin.” She flashes a quick, brittle smile. “We’requiteclose.”

All heads turn as the lab door opens and our professor strides in, the smattering of whispering snuffed out. Gesine immediately takes on a studious, deferential manner.

Our professor, Guild Mage Eluthra Lorel, sets her thick stack of well-scuffed botany texts down with a thump, then glances at some papers Gesine holds out to her. She wears conservative attire under her open professorial robe, an Erthia sphere dangling from a silver chain, along with a gold Apothecary Guild Master pendant, and slim, silver glasses set upon a finely chiseled nose.

“Mage Gardner,” she says as she reads over the papers, pausing to acknowledge me with a quick glance and nod. “It is a pleasure to have you with us.” There’s no pleasure in the statement. Only cool formality. She turns to Gesine, a slight hint of reproach in her eyes. “Why isn’t Mage Gardner working on her Pertussis Elixir?”

“I was late, Guild Mage,” I put in, quickly explaining what happened and how I had to stay late to convince my Chemistrie professor to pair a traumatized Aislinn Greer with a Gardnerian research partner instead of a Lupine.

Professor Lorel’s jaw tightens. “I don’t tolerate lateness, Mage Gardner,” she snaps, then shakes her head as if reconsidering. “But youwerehelping a fellow Gardnerian avoid a potentially dangerous situation. And thatiscommendable. So I will overlook your lateness.Once.”

“Thank you, Guild Mage Lorel.”

She goes back to looking through her papers. “You will read chapters one through three of your Apothecary text this evening, Mage Gardner, and be ready to present tomorrow.”

My stomach drops through the floor. “Present?”

Everything grows still. Guild Mage Lorel raises her head slowly, her eyes gone flinty. When she speaks, her voice is soft and even. “You will recite every medicinal in the first three chapters—their origin, uses and cultivation. Tomorrow morn. From memory.”

I swallow uncomfortably as all hope of sleep flits away. “Yes, Guild Mage Lorel.”

Guild Mage Lorel waves her hand lightly at her Lead Apprentice. “Gesine, pair her up.”

Our professor launches into her lecture as I follow Gesine toward the back of the room.

“There,” Gesine says with a flick of her hand as if throwing me toward a refuse bin. “With Tierney Calix. We’re arranged by wand level.” She shoots me another quick, disdainful smile. “The powerless in the back.” Then she turns on her heel and strides away toward the front of the room.

Several young women take turns glancing over at me, some with open dislike, some with wary concern. There’s some nasty sniggering, and my heart sinks like a stone. This class is bound to be torture with Fallon’s cousin as Lead Apprentice.

I walk around a maze of tables to the very back of the laboratory, self-consciously embarrassed over my lack of power. In wider Gardnerian society, my wand level is a common thing, but not here. These are the best of the best apothecary scholars.

Most of the young women sport military-style silver bands pinned around their arms—almost all of them Level Two.

My lab partner comes into view.

She’s hunkered down over her preparations, and I immediately give a start at the sight of her.

Tierney Calix is, by far, the ugliest Gardnerian girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Reed-thin, her face is sharp, her nose unevenly hooked, her straight hair oily and uncombed. And she appears bent, her back twisted to the side, trapping her into an odd, unforgiving posture. Like a spider protecting her webby lair, she seems to shrink down at the sight of me, drawing around her experiment protectively as she glares up at me through resentful eyes.

I set my book bag down and force out a perfunctory hello as I adjust to her unpleasant appearance. She ignores me and turns back to the equipment on the table, as if it can form a wall between us, her book open to the formulation of the Pertussis Elixir, her face tight with tension, as if wishing me away. She makes no move to make space for me at the table.

I sit down near the table’s edge and push my violin under it. I pull out my Apothecary text and open it to the correct page as anger flares.

“Are you friends with Fallon, too?” I challenge in a tight whisper. I instantly regret how petulant and weak I sound.

She glares at me as she begins to effortlessly milk liquid out of a pile of large glassberries with nimble fingers. “I lodge with her.”

“Oh, wonderful,” I say darkly. I grab up some berries and a ceramic bowl, push her text over to make some room for myself and attempt to mimic her deft milking. My bowl is quickly filled with a useless, coarse mash.

I glance over in jealous wonder at Tierney’s skill, her bowl already topped off with glossy, syrupy liquid, the berry pulp neatly discarded to the side. She’d clearly done this before. Disheartened, I glance around the room. Many of the young women have their wands out and seem to be drawing liquid smoothly out with spells.

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