“I don’t think that’s the important thing here.” Camille drags a manicured finger down the edge of the grimoire page, flipping it once again.
I cross my arms and glare at my sister. “Oh no, I do think it’s important. First of all, did you go into my locker and get my phone? And secondly, how do you know my code to unlock it?”
“Please, JoJo,” she sings, mocking the nickname my friends call me. “I assumed you wanted me to see what you’ve been up to since you left your phone where anybody could get it.”
“Anyone invading my privacy.”
“Who’s the boy?” Camille smiles as though we’re two friends gossiping instead of sisters with a terrible relationship.
“That’s really none of your business.” Roman’s in my phone as R. Not that I imagined my sister would go through my messages, but I still hesitated to put his full name in there.
Camille stops on a page, her eyes lifting to mine. “But it is. Everything in this family is my business. I’ll be leading the Delvaux family someday. I need to know of any possible threats.”
“Threat.” I laugh because my sister isn’t delusional. She knows that the only threat to me is the rest of my family. But that’s not what she’s referring to, is it? She’s talking about something that could disrupt the dynamic my mother has put in place for our family. Which, until recently, I wasn’t a threat, but …maybe I’m turning into one.
Or at least the possible loss of my magic might be, especially if they’ve been stealing it month after month for years. Why? My mother never stops talking about how powerful the Delvaux line is. If that’s the case, why bother siphoning power from me? Does it have anything to do with our coven only worshiping the Maiden? Or what did the grimoire say, something about bonds?
My temple throbs as a headache creeps up. I have so many questions and nowhere to go for answers.
“In the spirit of Thanksgiving,” Camille smiles in a way that reminds me too much of my mother. “I want to express how thankful I am to have you as a sister.”
I know she doesn’t mean it literally. Condescension drips from her words.
“I’m grateful that I have such a weak, pathetic older sister. One who could take the family curse, allowing the true power to rise up and lead us into the next generation of greatness. However, I feel like you need a reminder of your place. And I’m not the only one.”
The creak of the floorboards draws my attention to the door where my mother and father stand, watching me and Camille like a tragic play.
“I thought the party was downstairs.” My father sighs, as if this is all an inconvenience for him. That’s how he always treats me. I can’t remember the last time he said hello or asked how my day was. I’m not worth his time. He shrugs off his suit coat and tosses it in the back of a chair. I grip the edge of the desk, desperate to hold on to something. If I run, could I escape? Then what? What would my mother do to Penelope as punishment? I desperately want to call Roman. Not that he can solve this problem for me, but I always feel braver when he’s around.
“I was just getting a bit of air.”
“Yes, because the air is so much different in the library than in the dining room.” My mother sneers at me, her eyes also dropping to the grimoire before they return to my face.
“It seems you need a reminder of how to be a polite hostess.”
I shake my head and step away from the desk. “I’ll just head back downstairs.”
My mother blocks my path, her hand stretched out, ready to lay it upon my skin. She clucks her tongue. “Not so fast. We wouldn’t want you to forget your manners again. We’ll just make sure the lesson is ingrained nice and deep this time.”
The three of them surround me until I’m trapped against a wall of books. All of them are so eager to inflict pain.
My father’s face is serene as he reaches out and cups my cheek, the first to touch me. His eyes hold a darkness, a malice that isn’t right. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your family, would you? You must learn your place.” His tone is airy, almost wistful, but his words are damning.
My eyes slide shut, and I grit my teeth, preparing for what I know is to come. My father drops his hand, granting a brief reprieve, but it only lasts a moment. Camille strikes my cheek. The bite of her slap is as sharp as the pain caused by the touch.
My mother drags her fingers down that same cheek, pressing hard, bruises likely forming. She doesn’t stop, though; her finger continues its path to my collarbone and all the way down my arm.
It’s revolting, yet I can’t move. I don’t know how to get out of this. If I fight them, I won’t win. There are three of them, and all they have to do is lay their hands on me. How do I fight back against that?
It’s my mother’s touch that hurts the worst. Her hand is a frozen shock of ice. When she touches me, it’s not just pain from my curse; the cold soaks into my bones and makes everything ache until I’m afraid I might fracture. My teeth chatter and I jerk her hand off, but she grips my arm tight. Camille clamps her hand down on my shoulder, shoving me into the bookshelf. I don’t even care that the wood is biting into my shoulders and my hips. That feels like a caress compared to the touch of these people surrounding me.
My father brushes my hair back from my forehead as though he’s comforting me. I can barely see through my wavering vision, but the smile on his face shows he knows exactly the pain that he’s inflicting. Camille cocks her head and links our fingers together.
“Dear sister. Poor thing. When will you ever learn?”
Apparently, not tonight. My head falls back, my whole body shaking from the pain and the cold. My knees give out, and I collapse to the floor. If only that gave me some relief. Camille, still holding on to my hand, wrenches my arm in an awkward position. My mother and father both reach back out, grabbing hold of any bare skin they can find. I retch, my back bowing as I heave, but nothing comes up.
“Maiden help you, if you throw up on my carpets. I will punish you until you won’t walk for weeks.”