Page 36 of House of Marionne

“Oh my goodness, stop!” She sets her plate aside, and I realize that horrid smell is coming from her food.

“What are you eating?”

“Pizza . . . with sardines. But it’s good with tuna, too. Never touched a pepperoni in my life and I don’t intend to.”

I dry gag. “On pizza?”

“Hey, you want my help?” she teases. “No making fun of my food choices.”

“Okay, deal.” I rotate a bit more comfortably on her bed. Her grin is infectious, and she holds up three fingers.

“Okay, three things! One, you can’t self-reject. Say it with me.”

I roll my eyes. “We don’t self-reject,” we babble in semi-unison.

“Okay, and two, it takes performing a type of magic at least thirteen times before it even responds consistently. Sometimes it just doesn’t work. You’re being way too hard on yourself. Practicing is what ultimately helps you get it down. Repetition is key. Say it.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“I’m waiting.” She holds her plate nearer to me, threatening to make me smell her fishy pizza again.

“Fine, fine! Get that away from me.” I laugh. “Repetition is key.”

“Good.”

“Seriously, dude, try pepperoni. It’s so much better.”

“Mmmmm.” She takes a rebellious bite, dramatically savoring the taste.

“Okay, so don’t self-reject, practice a lot. What’s the third thing?” All this seems like a no-brainer, but hearing it from someone else is somehow affirming. Maybe it’s not just me being a colossal screwup.

“Oh, three is omg, Jordan! He is so hot.” She squeals and shoves me playfully.

“You’re delirious.”

“He’s so . . .”

“Nope.” I hop off her bed and dig out the notebook Shelby gave me. “Between your pizza choices and obsession with Jordan I’m officially nauseated. I’m going to start studying and get some practice in.”

“You can’t deny he’s hot.”

“He’s . . . dangerous.”

“That’s what I said.” She snorts and tosses a pillow at my head. “I don’t know a person in this place who won’t be jealous when they hear the Jordan Wexton is your mentor.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and the foreign feeling unsteadies me. I toss the pillow back, and I stick out my hand for a shake. “Hi, I’m Quell, have we met?”

She chuckles, and a laugh bubbles up my throat.

“He is good-looking, I will admit.” I struggle to meet Abby’s eyes.

“And?”

“And yet . . . terrifying.”

She folds her arms. “I don’t see the issue.”

I roll my eyes. “If you have any notes on Natural Path of Change, I’d love to see them.”