Page 19 of House of Marionne

Light splits the darkness and the music swells. I peek inside. The light flickers and the laughter is louder. Inside, a long table wreathed in chairs fills most of the room. Stacks of old leather books are piled in the corner. I look for a record player or some source of the music, but there’s nothing like that. And no one’s here. The hair on my neck stands. I heard people; I know I did.

I back away, and my foot nudges something piled on the floor. It spills, clattering. The thin long rods at my feet are slender with knobby ends like very large bones. The music stops. I gaze around, but only shadows shift in the corners. Goose bumps race up my skin. I turn to go back the way I came.

“You’re early.” The voice comes from the entryway, or trick door, rather, just as a busty woman with an earthy complexion and slick, dark hair appears. Black tulle gathers at her neck and wrists, cinched with a glittery fleur brooch. Her diadem is low to her head, covered in a cluster of blue stones.

“Cultivator Dexler.” She sticks out her hand, and I take it, despite my confusion. “Your grandmother told the staff you might pop into some sessions today. I’m honored you chose to sit in on mine. No trouble finding the room, then?”

“I was—”

“Yes?”

“No, no trouble finding my way down here.”

“Good.” She claps me on my back. More file into the room, several with daggers in hand, and Dexler indicates a chair around the table for me to sit. I play the part, pretending. But when she dismisses us, I’ll follow the corridor and see if it leads to the outside. From there, I’ll try Mom again. I glance at my key chain, but it still isn’t glowing. I chew my lip.

Next to me, someone wearing a bemused expression flicks her blue eyes in my direction, smacking on bubble gum. She pulls at her earring, eyes me up and down, and offers me a plastic smile before turning her attention back to a small black book. But I’m too distracted by the gold diadem, tall and ornate, stacked with gems arced over her cropped blond hair.

Dexler claps. “Now, where were we?” The word Transfiguration is on the wall behind her. “We’ll start with recitations. Electus?”

“Ma’am?” a small group asks in unison, while the rest stay quiet.

“What is your charge?”

“Emerging one’s magic,” they chant. “Rich is the blood of the chosen.”

“Very good,” she goes on. “Primus, what is your charge?”

“Honing one’s dagger.” A different group speaks this time. “Arduous is the work of the laborer.”

“And Secundus, what is your charge?”

Only a handful speak this time, including the blue-eyed girl next to me. “Binding fully with one’s magic. Entrusted are many, proven are few. Duty is the honor of the willing.”

“Excellent, and two more. Transfiguration?”

“To transfigure is to change,” the group says in unison. “The core of magic is change. Transfiguring one thing to something else with regard to the Rules of Natural Law.”

She snaps, keeping tempo with the cadence of the class’s recitations. “And what is the First Rule of Natural Law?”

The session answers, their voices a blur of words and meaning.

“Superb.” Dexler’s gaze falls on me. I shift in my seat. Please don’t call on me. I know nothing.

“Before we get started, hand up your independent study work on augratics.” She moves around the room, collecting papers. I sit up.

“Today I’ll be reviewing necrantics, a type of Shifting that deals with the transfiguration of dead anatomy, for those who need the refresher.” Whispers swarm. “Remember, these reviews in sessions are only a fraction of your training. Magic is a kinetically acquired skill. Staring at me talking isn’t going to grow your magical ability.” She pulls her glasses off her face, eyeing each of us in the room. “You should be spending hours every day on actual independent practice and study. You Secundus, especially. Free time isn’t for socializing.”

Dexler shushes everyone and picks up a bone from one of the piles on the floor. It’s longer than my whole arm. I hang on her every sentence, awestruck.

“Today’s lesson is a bit more hands-on. First, you’ll need your kor. Your energy source. Eventually you’ll be able to summon your own energy, but for now, most often fire will do.”

Fire. I swallow.

She secures a ring with a chunky purple stone on her knuckle before pulling a bunch of uncut taper candles from a box and separating one, slicing the wick close to the wax. Once she fits it into a candleholder, she rubs her hand over it, the purple stone glows, and the candle ignites.

I flinch, pressing back in my seat for a moment before leaning forward, gaping in awe. I realize I’m gripping the table so tightly, people are watching.

Dexler smirks at me. “First, I shifted the composition of the air to make it more flammable.” She holds her palm face out and it’s dull gray. “Shifted my skin to give it a layer of something complementary to the kor. For fire I chose magnesium.”

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