Creatures of Charm and Hunger (The Diabolist's Library #1) - Molly Tanzer Page 0,5
when attempting Campanella’s Substantive Exchange,” said Jane. Jane was currently working her way through the Twelve Transmutations, a set of practical exercises. “I can’t quite parse it, and I’d like to see a practical demonstration. The Grimoire Italien says that demonic vapors and their impure properties are beneficial, but it’s not clear if it means for the demon or the diabolist.”
“The Grimoire Italien? Are you using the French translation of Trasformazioni della Materia?” asked Miriam. Jane nodded. “Oh!” said Miriam. “In the original medieval Italian, that passage is a bit clearer. The demon benefits, but there’s also a chance that . . .” Miriam trailed off as she saw Jane blushing angrily.
Miriam winced. The learning of ancient languages was not among Jane’s talents—which was nothing to be ashamed of, in Miriam’s opinion. Still, she should have remembered how sensitive Jane was about it.
“Miriam, as usual you’re not only correct, but your scholarship is impressively thorough,” said Nancy.
Nancy’s notice always thrilled Miriam, but it was hard for her to accept the compliment with Jane looking so unhappy and embarrassed.
“I wish I’d known you were reading that,” said Miriam. “The modern Italian translation is better, and I have it in my room to compare with the medieval, since the medieval is a bother to read. It’s barely even Italian, really—just a dog’s breakfast of medieval Venetian vernacular mixed with Latin.”
“Thank you,” said Jane, with the sort of formality and poise she usually reserved for impressions of her favorite actresses. “I’d be pleased to look at it when you can spare it.”
“Later,” said Nancy, with a tone that conveyed exactly what the girls ought to be doing just then.
Miriam began to clear the dishes, as keeping the kitchen tidy was one of her responsibilities. Jane, too, stood up from the table, but as she did, a great yowl split the air and a soft gray blur of wounded dignity streaked out the kitchen, the bell of his collar jangling merrily.
“Poor Smudge!” Jane, dismayed, hurried after the cat to check on him.
“You’d think one day he’d learn that sitting behind Jane’s chair will only get him a pinched tail,” said Miriam.
“Perhaps he enjoys the attention,” said Nancy, as she wrapped the remaining bread in a cloth. “I’m off to the stacks, my dear.”
“All right.”
“I hope you’ll join us when we walk into the village? I think it’ll be a lovely day in spite of the cold, and a merry party once Edie arrives.”
Miriam managed a smile even as her stomach churned at the thought of the long walk away from their safe, quiet home into the relative chaos that was Hawkshead. But she loved Nancy very much and wanted to please her—no, more than that: she wanted to be the sort of person who pleased Nancy.
“Of course!”
Miriam was rewarded with a smile. “I’m very glad,” said Nancy. “Now, I must see to a few things before my sister takes up all my waking hours. Ciao!” And with that, Nancy swept out of the room with more flair than was strictly necessary.
For all she was hard on Jane for being “dramatic,” Nancy, too, had a bit of the theatrical about her. And as with Jane, it came out even more when Edith visited.
2
* * *
SMUDGE WAS FINE, OF COURSE. The large gray tomcat just liked to make a scene. Jane knew that, but running after him had been a good excuse to get out of the kitchen so she could fume alone, in peace.
She was cross with her mother for being her mother, and she was cross at herself for being angry at Miriam. Miriam hadn’t meant to embarrass her, Jane knew that, but she had been embarrassed just the same.
Miriam and Nancy might not be related by blood, but they were more similar for that lack, as far as Jane could tell. While Jane might look like her mother (albeit a plainer version), Miriam thought like her. They came at problems in the same way; enjoyed the learning of languages and the quiet rustle of the turning page. They even shared a middle name: Cornelia, after the sixteenth-century diabolist Cornelius Agrippa.
Jane was glad for it. Mostly. She wanted Miriam to feel like a real part of their family, and of course that was helped by her having a real connection to Nancy. It was just hard, being the odd one out—and it was especially hard knowing Nancy wished her daughter was a little bit more like her ward.