Page 144 of House of Marionne

“In here, now,” she says.

We move, though I don’t feel it.

“Release your magic, Jordan, now!”

He does and life rushes into my limbs.

“What is the meaning of this?” Grandmom’s entire sitting room is different than it was a moment ago. The fire that burned is out. The newspaper I left strewn about is gone. The bouquet that sat on her writing desk is gone, too. Her bedroom.

“Jordan, the records. They’re all in here.” I rush at her bedroom doors and halt. The floor, which was just a mountain of books, is cleaned up. The shelves are neatly arranged with ornaments, plants, and doodads. There isn’t a single leather-bound book in sight.

“Quell Janae Marionne, is there something I can help you with?” Grandmom hovers in the doorway, and her composure shifts with knowing, a single brow raised. Now she knows it was me. Jordan’s gaze darts between us with a flicker of doubt.

“It was all here. It was all just—” The books. The shelves. I pull at the bookcase doors, but they’re locked.

“I apologize for bursting in, Headmistress,” he says. “But I’ve come into grave news about Quell and needed to tell you immediately.” He holds my gaze for one more beat, but when he breaks it, it shatters my heart. “A private word, please.

“Your granddaughter is afflicted,” he says beyond the door, and my heart hammers, imagining Grandmom’s face. “She has toushana. I felt it myself, just a moment ago.”

They step out of earshot, their voices too low to hear, and I tear through Grandmom’s things for some glimpse of the truth. Grandmom, with Jordan as her shadow, reappears and my fingers dig in my pockets, squeezing my key chain. Wishing I could tell Mom I’m thinking of her one more time. There’s no escaping. Death is my fate and has always been, I suppose. One I foolishly hoped I could outsmart. Grandmom grabs my wrist so tightly I yelp. She runs her nail along my finger, and it feels like fire is attached to my fingertip.

“Ow!” I try to tug away, but her grip on me is iron as a dot of blood pools under my fingertip, answering to her magic. She smooths her finger over it, and it feels like rubbing sandpaper into a fresh wound.

“This is not possible,” she mutters to herself. “I took a sample when you arrived.”

I writhe in her grip, the pain rippling down my spine, into my head. She steadies me with an aggressive shake, and I squeeze my eyes shut to manage the pain. The blood under my finger shines bright red a moment before gleaming black. She sucks in a silent breath. “How did I miss this?” she mutters, then her lips part in understanding. “The test shows what was last used,” she mutters to herself.

My heart thuds in my ears, and I can’t find a single word to say. I glance at the door, but there is no way out of here that doesn’t end in my death. For several moments the only sound is the beat of my hammering heart. I glare at the floor, trying to think of something to say or do. My toushana unwinds, but I don’t even try to calm it. I can’t muster the strength.

“Jordan, I’ll take care of this. Please see yourself out.”

“Headmistress, I said I could do . . . what’s required of me.” He clears his throat. I look for some glimpse of scheme in him but only find resolute duty. I shake my head, my heart grasping for straws that aren’t there. He wouldn’t!

He would.

He did.

“I would never doubt your sense of duty, Mister Wexton. You have served me well. Please, see yourself out.”

I wait for him to look at me, to shatter the fragments of me left into nothingness, but he doesn’t. And somehow that hurts more.

“I’ll be outside the door should you need me.” He hesitates a moment, his gaze lowering before he turns on his heels and takes the last bit of wind in my lungs with him. The world swims as Grandmom motions me to her velvet armchair beside the fire in her bedroom. She fills the hearth with flames and motions for me to sit. I back away.

“Closer to the fire, Quell. Relax.”

I hesitate. My heart pounds, but I can’t ignore the lure of the fire that could chase away this poison. I step closer, tentatively, and a sigh shoves its way up and out of my mouth. The heat is an undeniable relief. My toushana soothes, beginning its retreat. Grandmom hovers near it too, warming her hands.

“Better?” She offers me tea. I ignore it.

“I’m surprised I didn’t see the signs. Sometimes we’re so good at seeing only what we want to see. Your coming back here, Quell. I can’t put into words just what that means for our House. For me, too, yes, but for our House. And now to learn this.” She sips from her tea again before retrieving a hair clip from her drawer. It’s a tiny butterfly clip with pearls for eyes, one missing. “I am grieved. But fortunately for you, grief is something my shoulders have learned to carry well.”

“What?” I manage.

“I was ten when my mother burst into my little sister’s room in the middle of the night and caught me trying to help her warm her hands by the fire. I didn’t know what it was called then. I just knew my sister was in pain and cold.” Grandmom stands just feet away but she’s somewhere else entirely. “I didn’t have the ache then, but Moriette did.” She strokes the clip. “I’ll spare you the details, but I saw then what happens to those with toushana. So imagine my surprise when on the night of my own Cotillion, after I’d bound with my magic, my limbs turned to ice.”

I sit up. I can’t have heard her correctly.

“I knew it was toushana, even though it shouldn’t have been possible since I was already bound. But toushana is an ever-elusive mystery. There’s only so much we understand about it, still. From what I understand about it now, my situation is extremely rare.”

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