But then I just shrugged and spilled it. "I don't know anything about being a witch. Everyone else here grew up in this world, and I didn't, and that sucks."
Her mouth did that puckering thing, and I thought she was about to bust me for saying "sucks," but instead she said, "Mr. Cross told me that you didn't know your father is the current head of the Council."
"Yeah."
She picked a small piece of lint off her suit and said, "I'm hardly privy to your father's reasons for doing things, but I'm sure he had a reason for keeping his position from you. And besides, your presence here is very . . . sensitive, Sophia."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She didn't answer for a long time; instead she stared out at the lake.
Finally she turned to me and covered my hand with hers. Despite the heat, her skin felt cool and dry, slightly papery, and as I looked into her face, I realized that she was older than I'd originally thought, with tons of fine lines radiating from her eyes.
"Follow me to my office, Sophia. There are some things we need to discuss."
Her office was on the first floor, off the sitting room with the spindly chairs. I noticed as we walked through this time that the spindly chairs had been replaced with prettier, much sturdier-looking wingback chairs, and the vaguely moldy-looking couches had been reupholstered in a cheery white-
and-yellow-stripe fabric.
"When did you get new furniture?" I asked.
She glanced over her shoulder. "We didn't. It's a perception spell."
"Excuse me?"
"One of Jessica Prentiss's ideas. The furnishings of the house reflect the beholder's mind. That way we can gauge your comfort level with the school by what you see."
"So I imagined the gross furniture?"
"In a way, yes."
"What about the outside of the house? No offense, or anything, but it still looks pretty rank."
Mrs. Casnoff gave a low laugh. "No, the spell is only used in the public rooms of the house: the lounge areas, the classrooms, and so forth.
Hecate must maintain some of its brooding air, don't you think?"
I turned in the doorway of Mrs. Casnoff's office and looked again at the sitting room. Now I could see the way the couches, chairs, even the curtains shimmered and wavered slightly, like heat rising off a road.
Weird.
I'd thought Mrs. Casnoff would have the biggest, grandest room in the house. You know, something filled with ancient books, with heavy oak furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows.
Instead she led me into a small windowless room. It smelled strongly of her lavender perfume, and another stronger, bitter smell. After a moment I realized it was tea. A small electric kettle was bubbling away on the edge of the desk, which wasn't the wooden monstrosity I'd imagined, but simply a small table.
There were books, but they were stacked in vertical rows around three of the four walls. I tried to make out the titles on the spines, but those that weren't too faded to read were in languages I didn't know.
The only thing in Mrs. Casnoff's office that was even remotely like I'd expected was her chair. It was less of a chair, really, and more like a throne: a tall, heavy chair covered in purple velvet.
The chair on the other side of the desk was lower by a good five inches, and as I sat in it, I immediately felt about six years old.
Which, I guessed, was the point.
"Tea?" she asked after primly arranging herself on her purple throne.
"Sure."
A few more moments passed in silence as she poured me a cup of thick red tea. Without asking, she added milk and sugar.
I took a sip. It tasted exactly like the tea my mom made for me on rainy winter days: days we'd spent curled up on the couch, reading or talking. The familiar taste was comforting, and I felt myself relax slightly.
Which, again, had probably been the point.
I looked up at her. "How did you--"
Mrs. Casnoff just waved her hand. "I'm a witch, Sophia."
I scowled. Being manipulated has always been one of my least favorite things. Right up there with snakes. And Britney Spears.
"So you know a spell that makes tea taste like . . . tea?"
Mrs. Casnoff took a sip from her cup, and I got the impression she was trying to hold back a laugh. "Actually, it's a little more than that." She gestured to the kettle. "Open it."
I leaned forward and did just that.
It was empty.
"Your favorite drink is your mother's Irish breakfast tea. Had it been lemonade, you would have found that in your cup. Had it been hot chocolate, you would have had that. It's a basic comfort spell that's very useful for putting people at ease. As you were before your naturally suspicious nature kicked in."
Wow. She was good. I had never even attempted an all-purpose spell before.
But not like I was going to let her know I was impressed.
"What if my favorite drink had been beer? Would you have given me a frosty mug of that?"
She lifted her shoulders in something that was far too elegant to be called a shrug. "There, I may have been somewhat stymied."
Pulling a leather portfolio out of a stack of folders on her desk, she settled back into her throne.
"Tell me, Sophia," Mrs. Casnoff said, "what exactly do you know about your family?"
She was leaning back in her chair, one ankle crossed over the other, looking as casual as was possible for her.
"Not much," I said warily. "My mom's from Tennessee, and both her parents died in a car accident when she was twenty--"
"That is not the side of your family I was referring to," Mrs. Casnoff said. "What do you know of your father's people?"