The Esmelda Scrolls 

Mildred woke to a whisper.

The wind had settled into an occasional caress, blowing thick black clouds past the castle and revealing glimpses of stars in the night sky. Papers fluttered to the floor. Smoke steamed out of the scorched wall behind the fireplace, but the flames lived no more. Mildred blinked to clear the dust from her eyes. Her hand burned; her side ached. She gingerly shook her head, surprised to be alive. Several rocks tumbled off her back in poofs of dust when she straightened onto trembling feet.

Stones and broken rafter beams littered the floor. The oblong area where she had lain remained free of debris. Somehow her own magic had protected her from itself.

“Blessed be.”

Sitting within arm’s reach was a square wooden box with metal corners, the same box that had sat on Evelyn’s desk. An ornate pattern of words inscribed the top and sides. Hints of soot dusted the top, filling the claw feet at each corner. Mildred looked past it, to the enormous pile of stones, and Evelyn’s ghostly white hand sticking out of her makeshift tomb.

Mildred’s heart stuttered. “Oh, Evie,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

A ting broke the silence. The High Priestess bracelet dropped from Evelyn’s wrist and rolled across the floor, landing a breath away from Mildred’s feet. She stared at it in quiet disbelief.

SAC ERO DOS SUM MUS

The gentle whisper that woke Mildred returned on the wind. Sparkling fragments of a deep yellow cloud formed around the abandoned bracelet, lifting it into the air. She struggled to keep her feet as the glittering mist surrounded her.

It’s a far greater sacrifice than any will ever know, an ancient voice sang in her ear, but it is yours to make.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered, staring at the bright silver bracelet rotating in the cloud. “I didn’t want it.”

That is why it is yours.

“What if I don’t accept?”

You already have.

Mildred drew in a deep breath. “Yes. I have.”

The bracelet widened, slipped over her extended hand, and shrank to the size of her wrist. The cool metal dropped onto her skin, and a suffocating weight fell with it. It seemed to press through Mildred’s skin, into her muscles, crushing the very marrow of her bones. She fell to her knees, struggling to bear the unexpected burden.

Her ribs would not expand. Her mind could not comprehend. Darkness played at the edges of her vision, threatening to pull her away into the welcoming maw of nothingness, free of the pain she had just escaped. When she could bear it no longer, the merciless weight slackened. Her muscles released. Mildred pulled in a giant gasp of air, and a surge of strength followed.

Evelyn tried to come to power through control. She grieved and never let go. Because you understood what she did not, you have won.

The top of the wooden box flipped open. Nestled in a bed of sapphire silk lay two scrolls sealed with Donovan’s stamp. Mildred started at the sight of them, her heart in her throat.

“Would she have been able to destroy them?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “Would she have broken the Central Network?”

No magic is infallible.

Mildred glanced at the bracelet. Her entire body hummed with new life, prickling underneath her fingernails and consuming her skin. A distant shout of voices in the hall drew her gaze to the doorway. The box holding the Esmelda Scrolls closed.

Be true to the Central Network, and the Esmelda Scrolls will be true to you. The scrolls will return when you are alone and able to comprehend their words and the power they bestow. The whisper began to fade. Under the blessing and empowerment of Esmelda, you are now the leader of the scrolls, and the Highest Witch of the Central Network.

The final words faded in a dissipation of yellow cloud.

So mote it be.

A scuffle of shoes announced Marten and Stella. They skidded to a stop in the doorway. Their eyes skimmed the field of boulders, Evelyn’s hand, and finally the bracelet glinting off Mildred’s arm.

“Mildred,” Stella said.

“Evelyn and I had a little disagreement about her ruling style,” Mildred said, clearing her throat and glancing askance at the room. “I won.”

Marten fell to one knee, his hand over his heart. “High Priestess,” he whispered, head bowed. “Allow me to be the first to pledge my life to your service.”

“Stand up,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You don’t bow to me, Marten.”

“I bow to you forever.”

“But Mildred, y-you’ve given up everything,” Stella said in a breathy voice, rushing forward. She stopped an arm’s length away, as if she were frightened to touch her. “You—”

“Have a mess to clean up,” Mildred said, ignoring Stella’s tears. “What’s happening with the Resistance?”

Marten paused, blinking. He swallowed. “Thanks to Lavinia and her maids, we control the castle, Your Highness,” he said, rising. “Guardians maintain the peace, and four Council Members have been locked in the dungeons. Eddy’s dead—at Evelyn’s hand, I might add—so there are only nine more to track down. The gypsies control most of Chatham City, but Jorden is struggling to claim Ashleigh. We just sent a group of fifty Guardian reinforcements. Most smaller villages report no problems, although a few High Witches have abandoned their post, and rioting has overtaken the bigger cities.”

“Any idea how many we’ve lost?”

Stella shook her head. “At least twenty from the castle takeover.”

“Thirty gypsies so far.”

Mildred received the news with little change in expression, though her heart felt heavy.

“And rioting?”

“Newberry is the worst,” Stella said. “Dale just left with his Guardians to try to subdue it, but it sounds ugly. Ten Guardians have already died. More of the injured are transporting into the High Bailey as we speak.”

“I see,” Mildred murmured. “It’s time I addressed the Network as her new leader. I’ll leave for the worst places immediately. Perhaps we can frustrate the violence.”

Marten motioned to several shifting shadows in the hall at his back. “Since the castle is secure, we came to ask for your orders.”

A group of ragged Resistors appeared behind him. Lavinia walked in first, eyes dazed, face burned on one side, bearing an injured maid on one arm. Witches limped into the open space along the wall with broken legs, burned skin, and torn flesh. If they had looked haggard before, they were downright ugly now.

Tears filled Mildred’s eyes.

So many missing, she thought, her heart clenching, wondering where Todd had gone. Mrs. F? Lavinia’s sister, Leslee? Had they all fought and died for her? Once they’d all gathered in a mass of sweaty, bloodstained bodies, Mildred climbed on a boulder and held Marten’s shoulder for stability, for he stood ever at her side.

“Donovan and Evelyn are dead,” Mildred said, her voice cracking. “You’ve won it for the Network, by the heavens. The good gods know that you have done it!”

A deep, guttural sound erupted. Witches fell to their knees, weeping. Hoarse cries filled the air, disappearing into sobs and weak exclamations of relief. Lavinia ducked her head and wept. Two kitchen workers clung to each other near the door.

“To the Highest Witch that dispelled the dark days!” Marten cried, his voice breaking. “Mildred Graeme!”

One by one, the witches of the Resistance lowered to a knee, their filthy, tear-streaked faces tilted high with pride.

“To our High Priestess!” they called. “Mildred, the Lioness of the Central Network!”