A Bitter Magic by Roderick Townley

canvas.That might work. I reach up and try to detach it. It’s surprisingly heavy and fights me, but I twist it free.
    Hefting the pole like a battering ram, I aim for the pane beside the door. Easy now. Slow down.
    I lunge and strike the glass with a loud crack. I’ve hit a corner of the pane. A web of lines radiates outward, but the glass is intact.
    I hoist the metal pole again and steady myself. Careful. This should do it.
    I lunge forward, but immediately I’m yanked
backward
! I spin around.
Uncle Asa!
His eyes burn into mine!
    Neither of us says anything, each of us holding on to the pole with all our strength. He rips the thing from my hands, flings it aside with a clatter, then slaps my face. I hit the floor hard.
    “How dare you!”
he roars.
    I groan. The fall hurt much more than the slap, my cheek gashed on the edge of the metal flower box, and my hip throbbing.
    “Look at me!”
he shouts.
    Not possible. My cheek is bleeding, starting to swell up, partly closing one eye. A fuzzy image of Asa’s face swerves over me. His momentary fury has changed to something else. A frown scrolls his forehead. “You’re bleeding.”
    I must look pretty bad for him to care. I lick the corner of my mouth and taste blood.
    “How can you be so clumsy?”
    I don’t reply.
    “We’d better do something about this. Janko!” he calls out.
“Janko!”
    “Never mind,” I manage.
    “No. You’re going to need a bandage. And I don’t want to hear you whining about this. You brought it on yourself.”
    “Never mind!” The sharpness of my tone surprises me. I cup my hands over my puffy cheek, my eyes closed in concentration.
    “Look,” he says, his anger lessening, “you need to put something on that.”
    “Shh!”
    His anger may be lowering, but mine is rising. I can hardly remember the fearful girl I was before his slap woke me up.
    He starts to say something, but I cut him off. “Will you be
quiet
?”
    After a few seconds, I feel the heat building on the left side of my face. It grows warmer, then actually hot. Uncle Asa is speaking, but I can’t listen, can’t break my concentration. I feel the swelling subside, the pain leak away. Give it another few seconds, to make sure. When I lower my hands, I can see Uncle Asa clearly. His look has changed to astonishment.
    “What did you
do
?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Just now. The bruise is gone! The bleeding—”
    “How about my lip?”
    He continues to stare.
    “The lip,” I say impatiently. “Has it stopped?”
    He nods blankly. “It’s…” He seems to lose the thread. “It’s perfect.”
    I nod. Getting to my feet is painful. I’ll heal my hip later, when I’m back in my room. Hard to explain how I feel. I’m not at all afraid of this man. What I am is furious. He’s never hit me before, as bratty as I’ve been. I can guarantee he’ll never do it again.
    “Look,” I say through my teeth, “I can’t talk to you now. But I’ve got some questions, and I’ll want answers.”
    He’s still looking at my face. “Yes, yes,” he murmurs.
    As I limp away, he speaks to my back: “I’ll have some questions for you, too, young lady.”

Chapter Eleven
    No thanks. I don’t plan to face my uncle over the dinner table, even with Miss Porlock between us. I reach for the tapestried bellpull and call for the chambermaid, a pleasant, mostly silent woman in her fifties, and ask to have supper brought up.
    The truth is, I’m famished. I get hungry when I’m angry. He hit me! He hit me hard! I’m all right now, after giving my hip the special hands-on treatment.
    The vaulted window looks out over the waters of the firth. Somewhere out there, my little friend Elwyn is scuttling about making a new life for himself—or making a meal for someone else. I should have taken off that golden collar. Unwanted attention.
    Thinking about him, I almost don’t hear the soft knock on my door. I hurry over to let the chambermaidin. But it is not the chambermaid.