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what do you know about Brecken?”
    “Brecken?”
    “Yes. The Guardian that walked us back yesterday? I tried to get him to talk but he barely said a word.” Her lips pulled down in an uncharacteristic frown. “I can’t figure him out. I’ve never had a problem getting a Guardian to talk to me before. They’re all so excited for the attention of a lady they practically beg me to speak.”
    I laughed and stepped away from the window. She had all their affection-starved hearts in her sweet little hands. All except one, it sounded like.
    “And who can fathom a Guardian that doesn’t swoon over your every word?” I asked with a dramatic flair. Camille didn’t notice my sarcasm.
    “That’s what I was wondering!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. Then she sat down with a happy sigh, her trouble expression disappearing. “Oh, Bianca! Living at Chatham Castle is so much better than school! I’m going to die of jealousy when I have to go back to that wretched old manor in the fall and you get to stay here.”
    “I agree,” Leda said, piping up. “Bianca, it’s a waste that you should be here with a library so extensive when you don’t even like studying.”
    “Maybe I’ll pick up reading just to spite you," I said in a light-hearted tone. "Then I’ll write out book reports and send them to you so you’re maniacally jealous of me.”
    Leda shot me a playful glare from her two differently colored eyes; one was an olive green, the other a light straw. Behind her lay a rigged-up bookshelf, nothing more than an old rotting board held up by two cracked pots. Most of the books she’d smuggled out of the library lay stacked in perfect piles along the shelf and wall. A skinny little bed with tucked covers and a white pillow hid behind the tattered sheet she kept pulled to separate her area. Leda took her own space very seriously.
    Camille’s side of the turret looked like it had just weathered a windstorm. Dresses and ribbon clotted the floor and rained from the divan. The doors to an abandoned armoire she’d brought up with the help of a few Guardians were thrown open and belched even more clothes onto the ground. A bouquet of pale pink spring flowers, a gift from one of her many Guardian admirers, wilted in a small vase nearby. She’d forgotten to water them again.
    “Merry meet,” another voice said, huffing from climbing the stairs.
    Michelle’s burly frame appeared in the doorway, accompanied by the shuffle of her heavy feet. She was tall and hefty for a girl, raised in southern Letum Wood with a family of five brothers that worked as foresters and ran a farm to sustain themselves. Her broad shoulders, disappearing eyes, and thick facial features made her look awkward and boyish. She had been a third-year at Miss Mabel’s School for Girls when the rest of us were first-years.
    Fina, the main cook for Chatham Castle, hired Michelle once Miss Mabel’s School for Girls closed down. After Mama’s death, most of the students had been pulled from the school by their parents. With rumors of war threatening from the West, Miss Scarlett finally cancelled the school year until the fall. Because Michelle was so talented in culinary means and wanted to pursue a career with food, Miss Scarlett allowed her to take the final tests.
    As a result of her early graduation, Michelle was hired on at Chatham Castle after earning her marks and spent most of her free time with us. Though she had quarters of her own, she often slept on oversized pillows piled into a kind of lumpy mattress on the Witchery floor. Because the school was closed, Leda and Camille continued their lessons with private instruction from Miss Scarlett once a week.
    “Why didn’t you levitate the platter up, Michelle?” Leda asked, flummoxed that anyone would do physical labor if magic could do the work for them. Her puny muscles testified to her bookish ways.
    “Oh, I don’t mind.” Michelle shrugged. “Papa had us do almost everything