Rebel Belle

Chapter 25

MOM LOOKED toward The Aunts and, finding them, saw me. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Harper?” she said, walking toward the table. Compared to the aunts in their party-colored sweaters, Mom looked a little wan in her silky cream blouse and tan slacks. Her hair, a few shades lighter than mine, was mussed from the wind.

“Mom!” I said, trying my best not to sound guilty.

“Hillary, you didn’t tell us Harper would be here, too,” Aunt May said. Mom shook her head. “I . . . didn’t know she would be. You did say you were going out with Bee today, didn’t you, Harper?”

It wasn’t really a question; Mom knew exactly what I’d said. Still, I wondered why she looked so befuddled. I mean, she’d caught me having lunch in Miss Annemarie’s Tearoom with Saylor and David. It wasn’t like she’d found me smoking crack in an alley.

“Plans fell through,” I told her, wrinkling my nose like “What can you do?” “But then I ran into Miss Saylor, and she asked me out to lunch with her and David.”

Next to me, David lifted his hand in greeting, and Saylor picked up her teacup, taking a swallow. Only seconds ago, she’d been rattled and freaked out. Now she looked like she always did: cool, collected, Queen of Pine Grove.

“It was so sweet of Harper to join us,” she said. “Boys never really appreciate this place.”

No one under seventy-five really appreciated Miss Annemarie’s, but Mom nodded. Still, that crease between her brows didn’t ease.

“Why don’t we pull a table over?” Aunt Jewel asked, tugging at the hem of her purple sweater. “I’m sure Annemarie won’t mind, and then we can all have lunch together.”

“No!” I said, way more sharply than I should have. The crease between Mom’s brows deepened, and even Aunt Jewel seemed surprised.

“We’re about to finish up here,” Saylor covered smoothly. I saw The Aunts and Mom drop their gazes to our nearly full plates. “And, Harper, didn’t you say you were meeting Miss Franklin after lunch?”

“I did,” I said, nodding. “So . . . I wouldn’t want Miss Annemarie to go to the trouble of bringing a table when we’re about to leave.”

Mom was intent as she watched me. It reminded me of when I was little and she was checking me to see if I was sick. I half expected her to lay a hand on my forehead. “All righty then,” said Aunt Jewel, clapping her hands together. “Y’all finish your lunch, and we’ll go grab a table. Your Aunt May is absolutely perishing for Annemarie’s crab bisque, else we’d be eating at Golden Corral like we usually do on Saturdays.”

Cursing Aunt May’s sudden highbrow craving, I got up and gave each of them a quick hug. “I’ll stop by later this week,” I promised, breathing in The Aunts’ familiar scent of Youth Dew, hairspray, and smoke.

When I got to Mom, she hugged me back, but concern was still stamped all over her face. “Harper, are you sure you’re—” She gasped then, grabbing my hand and lifting it to her face. “What on earth happened to you?”

Gently as I could, I took my hand back, fighting the urge to hide it behind my back. “I broke a glass this morning. Stupid. But it’s fine! The bandage makes it look worse than it is.”

I think Mom would have asked more questions if Aunt Jewel hadn’t leaned over and taken my hand, inspecting it over her glasses. “Did you put peroxide on it?”

The Aunts would pour peroxide over a severed leg; it was their cure-all.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sniffing, Aunt Jewel gave me my hand back. “Well, then you’ll be right as rain. Now come on, let’s get a table before May dies of soup deprivation.”

They steered Mom toward a table in the corner, and I sat back down, taking a deep breath. Once I was sure my family was out of earshot, I leaned into Saylor. “That’s why we have to do things my way. I have a family here. Friends. A life. I have to keep those things. I have to make it through this as—as normally and inconspicuously as possible.”

Saylor raised one perfectly groomed brow at me. “And how exactly do you plan to ‘inconspicuously’ stop this Blythe from doing a spell on David at Cotillion?’”

“I’ll . . . figure it out,” I said, shooting a glance at my mom and The Aunts. Aunts May and Martha were arguing over the tea list, and Aunt Jewel was regaling Mom with a story that apparently required a bunch of hand gestures. Watching them, a wave of affection washed over me. “There has to be a way to keep me not killed, keep David un-bespelled, and still live my own life.”

If Saylor Stark were the type of woman who chewed her lip, I think she would have at that moment. As it was, she tapped her teaspoon against her saucer. “I’ll put up more wards around the town, wards geared specifically toward you. Of course, that won’t do you any good the night of Cotillion, if David’s vision is anything to go by. And you have to train with me. At my house, every day.”

“Train how?” I asked, thinking again of Blythe and the letter opener. What training would’ve prepared me for that? “Do you know how to fight? I mean, no offense, Miss Saylor, but you aren’t a Paladin. And you don’t exactly seem like the . . . fighting type.”

Saylor leaned back in her seat, raising one silver eyebrow. “You’re right, I’m not a Paladin. But I worked next to one for nearly thirty years, and I was there with Christopher when he trained under the Ephors. Now, if that isn’t good enough for you, you’re welcome to go to the judo classes at the community center.”

Chastened, I poured another cup of tea. “I’m sorry. I’d . . . I’d love to train with you, Miss Saylor, but every day—”

“We only have three weeks,” Saylor interrupted, sitting up straight. “And that is not nearly enough time to get you ready for something like this.”

“Trust me,” David said. “If anyone can handle pressure, it’s Pres.”

I appreciated his vote of confidence, but Saylor was right—three weeks was nothing.

On the other hand, three weeks was nothing. I could do this. I could find some way to balance my regular life with my Paladin responsibilities. Maybe all those other Paladins gave up their lives to protect Oracles, but they probably weren’t as good at organizing and multitasking as I was.

“I can do that,” I told Saylor, and as I said it, I realized that I could. I just had to be careful with scheduling and do, as Bee would say, a leeeeeettle bit of lying. And, I resolved, it was also time to start telling a leeeeeeettle bit of the truth to someone. “But I’m going to do it my way.”

Saylor’s brows drew together. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re in trouble,” David said, but when he looked at me, he was grinning.