Free Spiral Path (Night Calls Series Book 3) by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel, Cat Kimbriel

“In the slops bucket for the
pigs. We set a crock on top to keep them from escaping.”
    The man’s eyebrows rose. “Then let us make sure they have
not escaped and tracked rotted vegetables throughout the kitchen. Lead on, Mr.
Smith.”
    The boy flinched. “Yes, sir. This way, sir.” He disappeared
around a corner.
    “ Miss
Sorensson.” Another nod, this one sharp, and the rituals professor followed the
boy around the corner, the odor of fresh bread clinging to the small cage he
was toting. For the first time I heard a door shut. They’d probably had it
propped open.
    “You hid them in the slops bucket?” I asked softly.
    “We didn’t know what else to do.” Daniel said, his
expression a bit worried.
    “Ask an older student for help?” I suggested. “Call a
teacher? Aren’t there spells to prevent magic in the kitchen?” This will liven up the morning, I
thought, but did not say.
    “The fire is spelled so nothing catches fire except wood,
and the pump so it won’t freeze,” Daniel told me. “But otherwise, no one uses
magic in the kitchen, except to heat big pots of water. Why would they? It
would take more energy than cooking and washing up by hand.”
    “Well, I suggest you ask an older student or teacher how to
take care of little problems like that. You were the practitioners in charge.
It was your problem to solve!”
    “They would not tell us what to do—only that we should not
have done it to start,” the tiny redhead’s voice was resigned. “We do not get
to do fun things like that.”
    “And your name is?” I asked her.
    The child actually grabbed her skirt in each hand and dipped
in a curtsy. “I am Moira O’Donnell, Miss.”
    “There is probably someone whom you could ask,” I said. “Did
you ask the person in charge of the kitchen?”
    Every child’s eyes grew larger. So, asking the cook was not
a good idea. “She won’t know about magic?” I asked hesitantly.
    “Oh, no, Mrs. Gardener is a practitioner,” Daniel said. “Most
people here are—or will be. But she never lets anyone do magic in the kitchen,
unless she’s asked for it. She says too many things like fire and knives could
get caught up in a magic mess.”
    “And there was that chicken that got up, no head or feathers
or anything, and chased the kitchen cat . . . . ” Moira
murmured to the floor.
    “Well, let’s finish eating. I’m sure you have other things
you want to do today.”
    “Start dinner,” Daniel said gloomily. But his statement
seemed to free up the group, and the children resumed their meals or cleaning
up.
    I remembered the young woman at my shoulder, and turned back
around. Our honey bearer waited quietly, a slight smile balancing eyes tinted
the soft blue of flax flowers. Small she might be, but her face was that of a
woman, not a child, her cheekbones sharp.
    Mist clung to her, as if she could call for rain without effort.
Magic floated around us in a cloud.
    Was it safe to offer her my hand? I rose to my feet.
    “Thank you so much for your help with the biscuits with
teeth,” I started.
    “I was happy to assist. I am Miss Smith. I have boundaries
duty this morning, but I look forward to furthering our acquaintance, Miss
Sorensson.”
    Was she related to the boy who made biscuits? There was no
resemblance. “I look forward to visiting with you,” I said, smiling back.
    I hoped that was formal enough for this place. The grandeur
was a bit intimidating.
    “Welcome to Windward.” Another smile and a nod, and Miss
Smith walked briskly from the dining room, the soft mist immediately obscuring
her form.
    She was the only one who approached me.
    No longer the center of attention, I dug in to get as much
cereal in my stomach as I could before anyone else showed up at my elbow. The
tea was lovely, with the slightest hint of bergamot in its fragrance. I sipped
and listened to the conversation around me. Several children were going back to
the kitchen, and I saw a few wands coming out