Page 48 of House of Marionne

“Ugh, not mine. I rarely hear from her.” She folds her arms. “Fine, but I need the entire rundown on what’s going on with you later.”

By then I should be able to make up something believable. “Deal.”

“Feel better.” She turns. “And drink water!”

I hurry to our room and shut myself inside.

I move to my bed, tucking myself under my covers, and bury my head in another book, trying to find something I can use. Something about toushana, something about controlling dark magic, or even emerging. But I turn and turn and turn, and it’s just more about how Draguns were created and why.

To kill people with toushana in order to “protect the integrity of magic.”

I drift off to sleep to the image of being ejected from session with a dagger at my throat.

Down the corridor,

Through the dark halls, something chases me.

Up the stairs to the balcony’s ledge,

Air whips beneath me.

I stare at the ground so far below, breathless.

My foot slips on the edge,

but I catch myself, nails digging into the unforgiving stone.

I gasp for breath, my ceiling solidifying in focus. Abby’s faint snores ease me into the present. A dream. It was just a dream. I try to sit up, but my head throbs. I reach for my temples, rubbing circles into my scalp.

My fingers touch something cold and hard.

I throw off the covers and dash to the mirror above my dresser. I flip on a lamp and see coils of metal snaking up from my scalp, tall and robust. My diadem sparkles, speckled with gems. But it’s not gold, or silver, rose gold, or even copper like other diadems.

It’s black like death.

Black like rot.

Black because of my toushana.

“Oh my god.” I’m strengthening the wrong magic.

FIFTEEN

I snatch the lamp’s cord. My heart pounds, and it’s all I hear in the darkness. The glass display cases of diadems in the hall. The black one was ripped from someone who’d had toushana. Abby twists in her covers, and for a second I don’t breathe. Her snores return and I snap to my senses, grabbing my shoes. No one can see me like this. A bright number two blares at me from the wall clock as I try to formulate some sort of plan. Think. Jordan crosses my mind. Think of something else.

The walls close in, and I rip through the moonlit room as quietly as I can to find something to cover my head. I pass my mirror and stop. Despite the dimness, my diadem glitters like a thousand stars. It’s as big as Shelby’s. Bigger maybe. The coils of black metal twist around one another like a nest of curls. Short narrow points rise around them like spires, and the whole thing gleams with dark pink gems. But, because of the black, the stones almost appear red.

I’ve emerged. I steady a hand on the dresser, gaping in the mirror.

My curiosity tries to morph into admiration, but I look away. I give the metal coming out of my scalp a gentle tug. My brain pulses with pain as if it’s being pulled apart at opposite ends, and I bite my cheek to stifle a scream.

Abby rolls in her covers, and an idea nudges me. I could try trusting her. But I don’t know how deep friendship loyalty goes. Shelby? No way. I hug around myself as Octos’s worn expression slinks through my memory. I shift on my feet, warring between impossible options. The gravity of what I’m actually considering tugs me down, and I sit on my bed. He said if I ever needed a favor . . .

I bite into my knuckle and glance again at Abby. I don’t believe Octos tried to kill me. I know the stench of desperation, and he reeked of it. I snatch up my jacket, Mom’s dagger, and a scarf of Abby’s before I talk myself out of what I know I have to do.

The halls of Chateau Soleil are so silent I fear the broom closet door’s creaks will awaken all three floors. The trick wall responds to my pushing easily enough, and I squeeze through and sprint down the corridor, holding my scarf in place. The door to the forest is latched shut, and I work my warm magic around it, just the way I saw Abby do. I shove down all the reasons this could go horribly wrong and step through. I’m out of options.

I don’t have the privilege of reason.