Page 8 of House of Marionne

Brooke laughs. “You think you’re something special all of a sudden with more than one trick up your sleeve?”

“Mother says I could be.”

“Ha, you wish.”

“Enough, all right? Come on. Mother said make sure.” She gestures at the rubble. “So get in there, make sure there’re no traces we’ve been here. Draguns will be all over this place inspecting by morning.” The girl’s hand hovers above a small pile of rubble. Air ripples beneath her fingers and the pile shifts, stretching, twisting until it’s turned into a heap of forest brush. I blink as she moves on to the next.

Amidst the wreckage, a cloud of black fog appears like a summoned ghost. The Dragun who is after me emerges from it. I gasp. How did he track me here? Mom . . . Is she okay? The pair of girls raise their arms as if they intend to defend themselves.

“Identify yourself,” he commands.

“You first.” Brooke flashes the Dragun something shiny. His fist hits his chest.

“Memento sumptus.”

The girls lower their hands. “Non reddere bis.”

“I’m looking for someone,” he says. “A girl. I’m on orders from Mother herself. I had a lead that she might be traveling with someone older. But that ended up being a monumental waste of time.”

I bite into my fist. Mom got away.

“Have you seen anyone come this way?” he asks, and the one with big feet inhales deeply.

“The levels of Dust in the air do suggest someone other than us recently traveled here,” she says, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together.

I swallow, pressing deeper into shadow. I need somewhere I feel safe. But there’s nowhere I can . . .

Chateau Soleil . . .

Grandmom.

I turn the compact in my hands, which thankfully have warmed.

“Shh.” The Dragun raises a hand, and all three heads rotate in my direction.

She’s my grandmother. Family. A kind woman from what I remember. And Mom said she doesn’t know about my toushana.

“She’s here.” The Dragun rushes in my direction.

I flip open the compact. Mom will come for me soon. Tonight, she said. I can hide my toushana for a few hours. “Chateau Soleil,” I whisper, and I blow, the last of the glowing powder dissolving into the night.

Hands reach for me as I disappear.

THREE

The powder transports me to the middle of a patch of dead trees. I latch my hands together to stop them from shaking. A gust of cool wind grazes my skin, and the earthy scent couldn’t be more unfamiliar. There’s no sight of the city in the distance. No neighborhood of houses. Only dense thick woods and musty blackened trees.

The buzz of barely getting away unsteadies my steps as I wander through the grove for some sight of Grandmom’s house. The glow of evening has deepened by the time I spot a road that halts at a pair of iron gates. Attached to it is a stone guardhouse, where a line of cars waits to enter. The barrier towers there like hands raised in worship to the dusky sky, the words Chateau Soleil on its front. I swallow. Gates like that exist to keep people like me out.

I force my fidgeting fingers still and tap my dying phone to call a ride. It’s linked to an account that probably has a few bucks in it. The wait drums my pulse faster. Will this actually work?

The driver rolls up after not too long and considers me with smooshed brows.

“You want me to give you a ride through the gate?” He twists his lips.

“I can pay extra.” I flash him the money I have left from the store.

“Get in.”