A Little Taste of Poison by R. J. Anderson Page B

down. But soon after she graduated, she’d lost interest in being respectable and set out to become popular instead. She’d cut her hair, started wearing dramatic shades of lip tint, and found a new set of friends to whisk her from one party to another. If she didn’t nag Esmond or quarrel with Eryx anymore, it was only because she’d stopped caring about anyone’s life but her own.
    Still, he was surprised by how modest Civilla’s wardrobe was. She had only one armoire, and the closet wasn’t half as stuffed with dresses as he’d expected—though she did own plenty of hats and a mind-boggling assortment of shoes.
    What she didn’t have was a case with Eryx’s documents in it. Esmond swirled the bottle again, frowning as the particles drifted back the way he had come. Had he read it wrong the first time?
    Esmond spent nearly half a bell following the potion all over the house before he realized there was no point in trying further. The tracking spell kept leading him into solid walls, and changed direction every few minutes. Either it didn’t work for him the same way it had for Isaveth . . .
    Or Eryx had destroyed the letter, and there was nothing left for the potion to find.
    *  *  *
    After the incident in the charmery, Isaveth felt vulnerable as a newborn kit. Surely the news that she was Moshite was spreading far and wide by now. But none of her classmates troubled her, not even Paskin, and she made her way home at the end of the day in peace. Perhaps it was only the hush before the storm broke, but even so Isaveth was glad for it.
    Her head still throbbed where she’d hit the ceiling, but there were no obvious bumps or cuts for her family to notice, so she did her best to smile and act as though all was well. That evening she helped Lilet wash the laundry and hang it outside to freeze dry, while the next morning she went to temple with her sisters and spent the afternoon writing a new Auradia story. She hadn’t heard from Esmond since she gave him the potion, and she could only hope that he’d have good news for her on Mendday.
    When she returned to school the next morning (not without a wistful thought of how nice it would be to have a two-day weekend), Eulalie rushed to meet her. “Did you really jump on a floater last Fastday?” she asked. “I heard Seffania telling her friends about it. Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine,” said Isaveth. Her head felt only a little sore now, and no one ever died of embarrassment, as Papa would say. “But what about you? Mistress Corto said—”
    â€œSeffania actually asked me if you were Moshite, because she hadn’t heard you say the invocation. Can you believe it? Anyway, I told her you must have whispered it, and she just didn’t hear. After all, the spell could hardly have worked if you hadn’t!” Eulalie giggled. “She didn’t know what to say to that one.”
    Ice formed in Isaveth’s stomach. She hadn’t wanted tomake a show of being Moshite, but she didn’t want to deny it either—especially not after what had happened with Meggery. “But what happens next time I test a sage-charm? They’ll all be waiting to see if I make the invocation.”
    â€œWell, couldn’t you? It’s only an old superstition, you know. It doesn’t really mean anything . . .” Eulalie stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
    She didn’t understand. How could she? Isaveth hardly knew how to explain it herself. All she knew was that she couldn’t do what Eulalie was suggesting. “Don’t,” she said hoarsely. “Please.”
    Eulalie blinked, then swallowed. “Oh. Sorry.” She took a step back, one hand creeping to her middle. “I’ve—er—just remembered something. See you in class, all right?”
    *  *  *
    Despite its awkward