Page 7 of House of Marionne

She doesn’t have poison coursing through her veins.

I’m the reason we’ve had to do any of this.

“Guard these things as if it’s your life,” she says, opening her duffel. She pulls out a journal and tears out the last page, where there is an address hastily written. “Go here. Hopefully, the safe houses are still intact.” She digs out what I’d thought was a makeup compact and a tiny vial of glowing powder. She spreads it into a smooth shallow circle in the silver dish of the compact, tipping the vial all the way upside down until it’s empty. “Should be enough.” She hands it to me. “Whisper the place you want to go, then blow. It’ll take you there.”

“What about you? I can’t—”

“Do you have your key chain?”

I pull it from my pocket.

She pulls out one just like it and squeezes. Mine glows. “Let me know you’re okay by squeezing it. I’ll do the same. It’ll send me your location. So I can find you wherever you are.”

I squeeze mine, and sure enough, Mom’s lights up.

The compact is chilly to my achy fingers, my toushana stirring with something that feels like recognition. Come with me, I want to say, but the words won’t form.

“I’ll sort this out here, get rid of the Dragun, and come for you tonight.” She zips my bag and nudges me to go.

“But—?” Tears swallow my cheeks. Running without Mom doesn’t feel right.

“Quell.” She shakes me. “Get ahold of yourself!”

Knock. Knock.

“Open up, ma’am.” It’s the hotel manager. “I have someone here with me to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

“Just a minute!” Mom says in her plastic cheerful voice. To me, she whispers, “Buckle down. You know how to stick to the shadows.”

I nod, saltiness on my lips as she presses her own to my forehead.

“Mommy, please. I’m scared!”

“You’re a Marionne,” she says, her chin rising ever so slightly. “You can do this.” She gives my hand a squeeze. The door handle jiggles, the lock clicking.

“Now, Quell!”

My heart hammers. Fear kneads my insides. I glance at the safe house address again. “Twelve Aston Lane,” I whisper into the powder, and blow. The world tips sideways. A rush of pressure latches onto me and I feel it like a weight on my chest. Breath sticks in my lungs, and I lurch forward as if I’ve been punched, a thread of cold winding me tighter in its clutches. I blink, but the world fades into nothingness.

* * *

Grass mushes under my feet. The air is thick with the scent of woodsy pine and wet moss. Trees surround me like a thousand sentries. Between the rustle of foliage meddled by the wind is deafening silence. I move through the forest toward a break in the canopy up ahead. Though, there is no semblance of a roof or porch.

My foot catches on something, and clanging rings through the trees. I swallow a dry breath, holding still to see if anyone heard. Nothing moves but the broken lantern cracked under my shoe. I’m close. I hustle to a clearing up ahead where I find a house.

What’s left of it.

My hopes for safety shatter like the wreckage I see: crumbled foundation, furniture in pieces, collapsed walls, and broken windows. Mom’s given her whole life to keep me safe. This time, it’s on me. I have to figure this out. For both of us.

“Watch it; that’s my foot, you klutz,” a whisper breaks through the forest. I wedge myself in the thicket between the trees.

“If your feet weren’t so big, they’d be easier not to step on,” someone else says. “Honestly, how do you even find shoes for those things?”

Two girls in long black cloaks lined with thick red fur pass, hoods slung over their heads.

“Dancing with you is probably like trying to woo a bear.”

“Brooke, shut up!” She shoves the other girl playfully. “Keep talking, I’ll turn your bones to metal. See how you like that.”

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