Page 16 of House of Marionne

“Did you follow me here?”

“I might have.” Hard lines frame his inquisitiveness. “Is that a problem?”

“Hiding in shadows and attacking people are your specialties, I’m gathering?” The sass slips out as I put more distance between us.

“I was making sure you knew where to find your room.”

No, you were spying on me because you don’t trust me. The flickering hall light catches the specks in his eyes, making them shimmer. I start in the direction of the Belles Wing.

“You’re being inducted, aren’t you?” Jordan asks to my back.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s none of your business.” I walk faster.

“Everything here is my business.”

I stop, his words slithering over me. “You’re a Ward. A visitor.”

“I am Jordan Wexton, Secundus, thirteenth of my blood, Dragun candidate, House of Perl.”

I scrub my expression of whatever it might show and turn to face him. His mask seeps into his skin and his tousled hair is a sharp contrast to his tidy tuxedo.

“I don’t need help to my room or your history lessons—”

“Don’t you though?” He steps closer, but nothing reminiscent of genuine concern glints in his stare. Only suspicion.

“Get back to your party or whatever you’re dressed for.” I walk away from him, but he reappears in a cloud of dark fog in front of me, arm to the wall, a barrier in my path. His chiseled body hovers over me. I inhale, but there is no woodsy scent of paneled walls, oiled mahogany. Only him. Vetiver and olive trees. Vanilla and sandalwood. My heart patters. Just get rid of him.

“What do you want from me?”

He steps closer, his posture unyielding like that of someone who isn’t often told no. I hold rigidly still. He can’t see me panic.

“A truthful answer to my question. How did you see through my cloak?”

Words stick in my throat.

“Perhaps some sleep will loosen your tongue.” He gestures toward the adjacent corridor. “Room twelve is that way. Rest well, Quell Janae Marionne.”

I hurry down the hall to a gold-plated number twelve plastered to a door, grateful for more distance between myself and Jordan. I twist the knob open, and Abby stares back at me with one eye open and pinned hot rollers in her hair.

She pulls the door open wider. “Headmistress let me know you’d be rooming with me.” She dangles an envelope with Abilene Grace Feldsher scrawled across it and a fleur seal at its back.

“Wow, she’s fast.”

“Order mail. Dropped in an outbox with a full name and proper seal, and it will travel right to the recipient, wherever they are, instantly. Tracer magic at its finest.”

Inside, the room is oblong with two twin beds on opposing walls. Next to each bed is a door, one leading to a private bathroom and the other to a walk-in closet.

“That one’s for you.” She points at a tidy bed with a fluffed pillow, so nice it looks like it belongs in a magazine. Not something you actually sleep on.

“My roommate debuted tonight.” Abby plops onto her bed. “So she’s out of here.”

I raise a brow.

“She finished the three Rites,” she says. “Cotillion? Being presented to the Order as a member?” She spins in a circle, pretending to dance. I shake my head, full of questions.

“You’ll learn.” She smiles with a twinge of surprise.

Beneath a window on the far end of the room are two desks with an iron stand protruding from their center. A black-handled dagger lies on the stand on what must be Abby’s desk. My hand instinctively moves to the shape of my protruding dagger handle in my bag. She catches me gawking.

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