Page 14 of House of Marionne

I have literally no memory of this. My throat thickens. A picture of little me on her lap pries its way into my memory. I replace it with one of dead magic bleeding from my hands.

“Afterward, your mother and I had a nightcap as usual. And then the next morning, she was gone.” She pauses and the silence hovers like a guillotine. “She pretended.”

I gulp.

“She lied.”

I flinch.

“Despite all I’d given her, shown her.” Her lips purse. “Would have given her. She took everything from me.”

I look around at the scroll-armed furniture, the blanket of green outside. How is she the one with the short end of the stick? Grandmom must read my mind because her smile deepens.

“Don’t be fooled by things, Quell. She took from me what no one could buy. My legacy. A daughter to love. A granddaughter.”

A chill sweeps over me. “Family.”

“Exactly.” Grandmom’s lip trembles for a split second, her composure cracking.

I hadn’t thought about it like that, what it must have been like for Grandmom. I can’t imagine just not seeing Mom again. Without a goodbye. Mom lost all this because of me. My grip slacks on the metal key chain hooked on my fingers.

Grandmom sits back down beside me, closing her hands around mine. I hesitate at her touch.

“You coming back here is a dream.” She pats my arm. “And I intend to make you as welcome as she was. I do not coddle. I am firm. But there is always love behind my words.”

She plucks a book so thick it requires two hands from one of her shelves. Its gold-lettered spine glistens: Book of Names. She opens it and turns past countless blank pages to one with a handful of names on it.

“It’s our second chance.” She smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. “Sign here.” She hands me a pen and indicates the next open space beside four other names, beneath the title: Inductee Roster.

“I . . .”

“House of Marionne was the second-ever-created House in the Prestigious Order of Highest Mysteries to oversee magical instruction of prospects in the southern quadrant.” She pauses, taking my silence, I gather, for my needing convincing. “There are four territories and thus three other Houses with their own Headmistresses who rule by Council.” She steeples her hands. I’m not sure her nose could rise any higher. “Houses are run like a magical boarding school, if you will. There are no school year semesters here. We have one Season from May to August where débutants are able to officially join our societies. Since its inception, House of Marionne has held its own study and exhibition of magic as a cut above the rest.” She rolls her wrist, unfolding her palm up. “Supra alios.” Then she snaps it beside her, before unrolling her fingers to lie flat, and I realize it’s some sort of official gesture. “Don’t worry, you’ll learn.” She smiles and it tugs at something giddy in me.

I slide to the edge of my seat, eager to hear more.

“Since Sola Sfenti unearthed the Sun Stones in the ancient days, the Order has done what it must to protect and preserve its magic. For centuries, there was nowhere safe to grow or study it. Hiding magic was the only option. Until . . .” Her lips curl in a clever smirk. “The world shifted, capitalism boomed, and Britain began to tout itself as a world power. Within those lavish shows of disgustingly acquired wealth, the débutante was born.”

“So the Order . . . magic has been around since forever?”

“If you don’t know true history, dear, you will learn it here.”

“History is actually the one class I never skipped.” The honesty spills out before I can tug it back, my skin tingling with excitement. I bite my lip.

“We attend all our studies here, the intriguing and the mundane.” She raises a brow, and I slink back in my seat. When she returns to my side, kindness has softened her expression, and I sit up a little straighter.

“We adopted the débutante concept, and of course put our own spin on it. But, Quell, those were the years everything changed for us.” She cups her hand over mine. “We’d finally found a veneer to exist in the world, one to cloak our wealth, excuse our exclusivity, one to allow us to safely, privately, study and grow our gifts.” She exhales. “That is . . . for those of us fortunate enough to be invited . . .” She pushes the Book of Names toward me.

Exclusive. Magic. Wealth.

I swallow. “I . . . I can’t sign that.”

Mom didn’t tell Grandmom about my toushana. Instead, she fled, choosing a life on the run. There has to be a reason for that. I scoot away from her on the couch. “I’m sorry it’s just . . . a lot, so fast.”

Insistence burns in her eyes, and I pull my bag strap closer to me.

“You understand there is magic inside you, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”