Page 85 of House of Marionne

“In here, now.” Grandmom squeezes, and I wince as she urges me into a neighboring room. Once the door is closed, she faces me, her nostrils flaring in and out with the sharpness of her breath.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” she seethes. “But you’ve made a fool of this House!”

“Grandmom, I—”

“Silence! Understand me well, Quell. I’ve crossed a line I never thought I would have to in order to fix this for you.” She spits the words, and I taste their poison. “The Council has agreed to give you one more chance to demonstrate pushing magic into your blade. One. Tomorrow, at eight a.m. Which is entirely against the rules, and all protocol . . . You will tell no one about this. I will speak to Jordan myself. He is due for an earful and more!” She takes in a long slow breath, and her nails dig into my arms.

“You’re hurting me.”

She tightens her grip.

“You will pass tomorrow, or I swear you’ll regret the day you ever stepped through my doors.” She releases me with a push, and I stumble back into the wall as the door slams shut. Tears uncinch from their hiding place, stealing their way down my cheek. I hold my arm to my chest, smoothing the half-moons dug into my skin, wishing I knew how to shift them away.

Head buried between my knees, I weep until my chest aches. I can practice all night, but would it help? Will my toushana ever behave? I tug at the roots of my hair just to feel the pain somewhere else. My fingers feel for the familiar lump of my key chain. But it’s not there. I clean my face and hurry through the halls to my room. Inside I find a sullen Abby shifting the neckline of a gown. Great. I don’t know what to say to her, and it doesn’t even matter. When Mom responds, I will get going tonight and explain everything. How I’m not good enough and this wasn’t a good plan in the first place. How it doesn’t feel safe here, not anymore.

“Hi,” she says, and it’s ice.

I offer a smile instead of words for fear they might crack and say too much. My fingers hover over stationery to write to Mom. Too slow. I grab my key chain, stuff my book into my bag and the T-shirt I had on when I came, but shame stops me at the door handle.

“I’m sorry, Abby. I’m really sorry about how things went.”

She looks at me but doesn’t respond, so I leave without another word and set my sights on the uncertainty ahead. Come on, Mom. Answer. I squeeze my key chain and head down the halls. It’s probably best to exit out of the back door rather than the front. Or maybe the forest?

I head toward the foyer, where the broom closet is, but my key chain still hasn’t lit up. I’ll tell her all about my magic, how it sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. I’ll show her all we can do. And maybe we can use some of what I’ve learned here to hide us? I squeeze the key chain again. Please, squeeze back.

I close myself in the closet, waiting, staring at the ring on my key chain. If she doesn’t respond, where am I even going? If she doesn’t respond, how can I leave? Mom knows more about getting around out there, evading the Order. I glare at the metal key chain. Glow, please! The urge to cry again pulls at me. But I exhale away the tears, white knuckling my key chain. I squeeze again and again until my hands ache. Until I’m numb to the scratch of my nails in my fist. Until the truth slaps me so hard in the face the wall has to hold me up.

I can’t run.

Those days are over. Running the way I used to is done. I don’t know where Mom is. I want to believe she is okay, nearby and waiting for me to finish like we’d planned, but what actual proof do I have beyond Grandmom’s word? None. The only thing I can count on is what I do know. Which is that Headmistress Perl knows exactly who I am, what I look like, even where I am. But here, under Grandmom’s nose it seems she can’t get me. Mom must know that because she wants me to stay here now, too. I have to be here. Or Beaulah has to at least think I am.

My safest option is to pass this exam.

Which at the moment is impossible.

I’m reminded of a certain someone as I finger the hem of my dress. His advice has been the only that’s truly helped.

I just can’t trust myself around him. Because I like him. I sag against the broom closet door. It feels good to admit it. I like Jordan. My stomach does something weird below my belly button as I stew over a million reasons going to Jordan for help is the worst idea. But I can’t forget the way he showed me how to fold in those enhancers, made me realize my dagger transfiguring was a good thing. The way he taught me how to dance a dance I’d never done in my entire life because we are good together.

“Arrggh!” Frustration burns through me, colder than my magic, and I slam my fist to the floor. I’m out of options.

“I need him.” I hug around myself. As swiftly as he’d end my life if he knew my secret, I need his help to survive. I know what I have to do.

I leave the closet and hurry out onto the grounds toward the guard shack at the gate down the hill, when a Dragun spills out of the shack. It takes me a second to realize I recognize him. Felix.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, before I think better of it.

Felix disappears. I could ask you the same, his voice seems to say in my head, but I blink and only see dark fog. My heart patters faster. “I’m here to see Jordan.” The strength goes out of my legs as I grow cold all over. Not my toushana, but whatever this Felix guy is doing to me. “Please. Just tell him I’m—”

“Jordan’s busy. Anything I can help you with?” Cold fingers trace down the side of my face. I blink and blink, but I still can’t see.

“What’s going on out here?” It’s Jordan.

The world returns, Felix appears in front of me in his regular form.

“Quell? Are you all right?” He casts Felix a wary glance that hardens on impact.

“I’m fine. Just cold.”