I nod.
“The caster controls the illusion or the illusion controls them,” she adds, moving to the center of the mat. She gestures for me to join her. Moonlight streams through the window, illuminating us as she stands by my side. Gran lifts my chin with fingers like icy claws, sending a chill through my bones.
I swallow the urge to spill my fears and my frustrations. Instead, I choose to be strong, silent. She’ll respect that. Maybe it will even make her think that I can survive the Tether. But I’m shaking inside. I don’t want to die for some stupid witch’s entertainment. So I’m determined to meet Malcolm, get Grace’s necklace back, and find a way out of this awful mess. Somehow.
“Okay.” Grandmère steps closer. “First, you need to clear your mind. Close your eyes and picture stardust. Feel it glitter in your veins, like liquid fire.”
I let my eyes flutter closed, the stardust swirling to make shapes behind my lashes.
“Is it pulsing and alive inside you?”
I nod, the feeling of my magic streaming through me, taking over.
“Good. Imitate my movements.”
When I open my eyes, Gran points out the window. A cloud trembles. The stars ripple. With a soft snapping sound, the moon flickers, and silverflecks of stardust rain like glitter. She extends her palm toward the corner of the sparring ring, and the shimmering drizzle starts to whirl and float down like snowflakes. She swirls her wrist, and stardust whips into a funnel cloud that spills all around the ring. The ropes of the boxing ring twist into shiny vines. The canvas mat below us melts into a blanket of deep red and orange leaves.
“Wow,” I breathe.
She beams. “Now, change the color of the leaves, Emma.”
I point to the window, and a slimmer trail of stardust floats over and glitters the leaves. Many change from copper to green. But some refuse to change.
“Focus,” she says. “Picture the image you want to create in your mind. See the leaves in bold new colors.”
I close my eyes again and imagine all the leaves changing. Flipping my wrist and wiggling my fingers, I mimic the intricate swirling motion of Grandmère’s illusion-making. I feel a throb of energy. Sweat bubbles on my forehead and rolls down by my face as I’m thinking of a change in color for the leaves. I open my eyes and gaze at the window. Stars ripple as I pull more dust and stare with glee as it soars through the glass like a shimmery comet before cascading down. All of the leaves darken from copper to forest green. “I did it!” I cheer.
“Green?” Grandmère’s lips curl into a teasing smile. “You need more imagination, dear.”
We move in sync creating beautiful illusions: spheres of pink and blue fluorescent light that loop, dip, and reflect off the photos on the walls; a canopy of roses that bloom in the air above us; and bunnies made of pulsing white light that hop on the emerald leaves near our feet.
Electric power and control wash over my body. For once, I feel like I have power over my own destiny. I grin until my cheeks hurt because these illusions will help me sneak away to see Malcolm.
“Excellent job,” Grandmère says.
I beam.
“Grace would be proud of you,” she adds.
And just like that, I’m shattered. My heart spreads out in bits and is trampled by the bunnies on the leaves. And I’m reminded vividly of thecold and manipulative way my grandmother used my sister’s face to torment me during battle training.
The illusions shift—the sparring ring fuzzes into a bloodred fog. The world twists and turns. My vision stretches like a panoramic photo. The canopy of roses above us melts down and becomes a brick wall across from me. It shimmers like water and then becomes solid. The leaves under my feet turn brown as bruises, before turning black and melting into asphalt. Everything shifts until I’m standing in a dark alley, with bricks lit by blinking fairy lights. Horrified and confused, I try to stop the illusion, but I can’t. There’s a lion’s roar. A girl screaming. A drop of red by my feet grows into puddles of blood on the asphalt. I stagger forward. A gray blob appears. It looms over a female silhouette that cowers and whimpers in agony. The blob twists itself into a clearer shadow before shifting into a lion, the curves of the creature’s muscular black body outlined in flickering flame.
My stomach clenches as the silhouette of a girl lightens. It melts into the form of my beloved sister Grace. She’s crying, crawling on her hands and knees across the rough asphalt of an alley. She nearly falls on bits of refuse and rubble as she pulls herself forward, leaving behind a trail of blood from her long cuts and scrapes. The brick walls around her blink with tiny fairy lights that buzz in the foggy gloom. The air reeks of rotten food from nearby dumpsters.
The scent of sulfur, cinnamon, and burning streams into my nose—magic.
Grace cries. Stardust glimmers gold at the edge of this illusion. It spreads across the room, painting everything around me in a 3D vision so real I can touch it. Is it illusion? A memory?
“Make it stop!”I scream.
Grandmère Clair appears beside me. I had been so lost in the vision, I had nearly forgotten she was here. She has stardust coating her finger like dripping honey. “I’m not doing this,” she says.
Flaming paws. Blood. My sister’s screams…
My body locks in horror. “Make it stop,NOW!”
Gran says in a singsong voice, “You have been haunted by Grace’s memory since she died. This is what happens when grief mixes with illusion. Isay her name, and you crumble. One glimpse of her face, and you’ve already lost the battle, Emma. It’s time for closure. Stop mourning Grace, before we end up mourning you. The Tether won’t spare your precious little feelings, birdie.”
