The Isadora Interviews Read Online Free Page B

for what you want.”
    “But I didn’t even get the potion that I wanted.”
    “Maybe not, but you tried. I don’t need to see or hear anymore. You are very bright, I can see that. Motivated as well, if not isolating and prone to anger. Those can all be worked with. Welcome to Miss Mabel’s School for Girls, Leda. I’d love to purchase all of this Leigh from you, but I can’t afford it. I know a witch who would be interested in buying all of it, but we can discuss that later.”
    Leda just stared at her, frozen and shocked.
    “You’re going to let me in?”
    “If you will agree.” Isadora cast her eyes around the small hut. “I think you have enough Leigh to pay your way through and possibly a little more.”
    Leda hesitated, her mouth open. This had been an accident. Luck wouldn’t help her pass. The Leigh crystal didn’t prove she was talented, or even had heart. All this showed was that she was desperate to escape her life.
    “Miss Isadora, I—”
    “Will be wonderful, I’m sure.”
    “Thank you, but—”
    “I’ve been doing this for over fifty years now, Leda.” There was a gentle tone of chiding in Isadora’s tone. “In that time, I’ve met thousands of girls, tens of thousands, probably. All of those I’ve chosen have succeeded in the school. I’ve never made a mistake.”
    “This was an accident,” Leda admitted, gesturing to the hut.
    “Perhaps. But your determination and intellect are not.”
    “Never?” Leda asked after a small stretch of silence. “You’ve never made a mistake?”
    Isadora gave her a toothy smile.
    “Never.”

Camille
    B ettina cleared her throat as she took a sip of black currant tea.
    She did it before every single sip. Just as she read the mail every morning over the same type of tea, in the same cup. Routine was life, and Aunt Bettina lived it well. She wore the same black dress, the same stern bun, and the same apathetic air. She was small boned, with a thin frame, graying blonde hair, and sharp eyes. Bettina’s unwavering lack of change was enough to make fifteen-year-old Camille dotty.
    Worse still was Aunt Angie, who sat at the far end of the table, her right index finger constantly lifted to her upper lip with a handkerchief wrapped around it. Her nose ran all year, rain or shine, forcing her to sniffle every two-and-a-half minutes. Camille didn’t doubt that her two aunts were good people, but she imagined they were better in smaller doses.
    “Once I finish the mail,” Bettina said, without looking up from the current letter, “we will start your first algebra lesson.”
    “Algebra?” Camille groaned, earning a sharp look of reprimand. She forced away a frown and lightened her tone. “Is there something else we can try?”
    “Absolutely not.”
    Camille tightened her jaw and steeled herself for another long day.
    With a methodical air, Bettina lifted a scroll with her left hand, took it in her right, undid the twine tie with her left, took another sip of tea, had a careful bite of biscuit, took another measured sip, set the cup down, then tugged on the parchment, and peered at the words over the top of her half-moon glasses.
    Camille watched the ritual with detached interest.
    I’m going to fall asleep at the breakfast table, and then she’ll make me sit in the chair again, staring at the wall.
    “Can I work on my sewing instead?”
    “You do need some work with your stitches,” Angie whispered, eyes flickering over her plate half-full of breakfast. She gazed off, out the window, wandering vapidly into lands that no one else could see. Camille wished she’d drink more of her special tonic and slip further into the stupor that usually claimed her.
    Knowing she could do nothing but wait for the algebraic torture to begin, Camille settled back in her chair with a sigh. Once Bettina finished the letter, she folded it up and looked to her niece. Camille gave her a hopeful, pleading look.
    “Yes,” Bettina said, “you may work on your