Page 3 of House of Marionne

“No, nothing’s wrong. May I go?”

He releases me.

“Better get a Retentor out here to take a look,” he mutters to himself before smiling at me. “My apologies. I thought I knew you from somewhere. The exit is there, behind you.”

I turn, and sure enough, behind me where there was a stone wall is now an arched exit that opens up to the avenue. That was not there a moment ago.

“Right. Thanks.”

He smiles, turns, and I book it onto the street, grateful to put more distance between me and whatever that was. But my breath hitches.

My envelope.

I turn back, but stone has reformed where the archway just was. Some mangled mix of irritation and sorrow burns through me. That money was supposed to feed us for a week!

“Hey, let me back in, please?” I beat on the wall, and the icy chill of my toushana, already on edge from this whole tirade, seeps into my bones in a fury, rushing into my fist before I can pull it away. I groan at the burn of what feels like daggers tearing through my skin. The stone blackens under my touch, its facade crumbling with rot, brick by brick, inch by inch, until I’m standing before a decayed expanse of building that looks singed. What have I done? What have I done!

Muscle memory urges me into motion. I run. Back up Ursulines, right on North Peters. Blue, Honda. A horn blares and Mom is waving behind the steering wheel. Seeing her is a balm to my toushana. The chill in my bones retreats as I dart between traffic, yank the passenger door open, and duck inside.

“Go!”

“Did you get the money?”

“Go, Mom, just drive, go!”

Mom slams the gas, and the French Market grows smaller behind us.

* * *

I’m still grasping for my next breath when Mom tosses me one of those cheap disposable hand warmers and my rice pack. We keep one in the car and two at the motel. My toushana has worn off, but the throbbing ache that comes before and after lingers. Those people. They used magic. They killed a man!

“What happened?” She eyes her duffel bag on the back seat and white knuckles the steering wheel. Creases hug her eyes. Her pulled-back hair has grayed in spots, like threads of silver in a bushel of black wheat. Memories are buried in the folds of her skin, mysteries I’d give anything to understand. Like why I have magic and she doesn’t. Who are we running from? But the curve of her lips as she merges into the thoroughfare tells me precisely what she’s worrying about—whether it’s time to leave again.

I bite down and find something outside the car window to look at so Mom cannot see the frustration on my face. I’m so close to graduating, which means some semblance of freedom. No more truancy checks. No more teachers breathing down my neck. Mom and I will just be able to be, hide in plain sight, much more easily in two short weeks.

“Well?”

“It was nothing.” Those men at the Market didn’t see me watching. And the one who caught me let me go. He didn’t actually see my toushana destroy that wall. I’m not adding fuel to her fire.

“Do not lie to me.” Her stare burns.

A shiver skitters up my arms. I’m just so tired of running. Mom exhales and snatches up a box of cigarettes from her purse and lights one as a string of museums I’ve only seen from the outside rush past us in a blur.

“You know that everything I do is to protect you?” Her expression softens. “We may not have much, but we have each other.”

I look away. A house swallowed in flames flickers in my memory. I can still taste the smoke. We left our last place after this guy’s house was burned down because he and I’d hung out after school. Even then, Mom offered no explanation. I know she loves me. But that’s not the same as understanding. I could have been killed back there. If I knew more, I could be smarter. If I knew more, we could be safer. Maybe she thinks I’m too young to get it. She reaches to rub my shoulder, and I want to pull away. But I don’t. I sit there and smile, so Mom feels like her best is good enough.

We continue the rest of the drive in silence, and I try to lose myself in one of the library books in my bag. But the car jerks to a stop in the parking lot of the motel, the latest spot Mom was able to secure for us, and I hurry out of the car.

Once inside our room, I can’t hold it in anymore.

“Mom, I want to understand my magic. To understand why we’re doing this.”

She takes off her shoes, after setting her duffel bag right beside her, and for a moment I wonder if she heard me. “Quell.” She takes a deep breath and the weariness carving her expression deepens. “I’m not even sure where to start, how to—”

“Just tell me the truth. I can handle it.”

“You assume.”

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