Grace lies on the rough asphalt, her skin smeared with blood, hands clawing at the ground as she drags herself forward. I want to run to her, but my feet are nailed still. “Emma, go!” Grace cries. “Get help!”
The flicker of fairy lights above casts an eerie glow over the dumpsters.
I can’t breathe. She spoke to me! Was I there? Does she see me now? Can I trust anything I see?
“Grace!” I call, but she doesn’t answer. This feels like déjà vu. Like part of some lost memory or moment. But I could never forget anything this awful.
The lion’s eyes are like lava. Its muscles tense, and it inches closer to Grace.
“NOOO!” I yell.
“You did this, Emma,” Grandmère says. “You made this illusion. Deep down, you must have wanted to know—”
Confusion locks my body. For an agonizing moment, the lion turns and stares at me like its next juicy snack.
“Being Tethered is unlocking some of your memor—” Gran stops herself from finishing the sentence.
“What?”
“It’s playing with your mind.”
The lion closes in on me, flames tracing the muscular curves of its body.
“Stop this!” I shout, wondering if I’ll make it out alive. I wonder whether the pints of my own blood will form a river, merging with my sister’s on the asphalt of this alley. Gasping, I inch away. Sweat bubbles on my back, and the hairs on my arms rise.
I’ve seen this animal before… but where? I try to think. My head hurts, my mind scrambles, and the scent of cinnamon fills the room. Is Gran doing this to my thoughts somehow? Does she want me scared and confused now? Is this part of her training too?
I back away, but the lion shifts its furry bulk. Its fiery black body inchescloser. Its glowing eyes burn into me, and a roar shakes the brick walls, vibrates along the asphalt streets, and shakes the foundation of the world around us.
It recognizes me—I can feel that in its stare.
I hear Gran’s laughter. “You did this,” she tuts. “This is your Frankenstein.”
“I don’t understand. Is my illusion turning against me? What’s going on?”
My grandmother ignores me as Grace lies bleeding and weeping on the ground in the lion’s shadow. The animal’s giant muscles tense and flex beneath inky fur, with every muscle and tendon outlined in fire. The pink cave of its mouth opens, revealing razor-sharp teeth that glint like blades of bloody steel. It’s right in front of me.
It lunges.
I scream.
With a snap of my grandmother’s fingers, the lion fades into a thin ghostly mist, taking Grace and the alley with it as it vanishes.
I’m standing in the sparring ring, looking at the pictures on the wall and quaking.
“Control your emotions and you can control the stardust, little bird,” Gran says.
“You said I was recovering my memories? Was that a memory?”
She shakes her head. “That was the stardust controlling you. I have control of it, so I was able to use illusion and spells to make my bodyguard look and fight like Grace during your training today. If you want to paint an illusionary picture that the world will believe, paint with intention, with a clear mind, and with a brush of focus and peace. So do what you need to do to move on from the trauma of losing Grace. That way, you can control your power, and no one can use your grief as a weapon against you.” Her smile is that of a killer who has just buried a body.
I shake more than ever.
Grandmère steps out of the ring and leaves me thinking of a plan. When it’s safe, I’ll leave behind an illusion of one of the Bentleys, drive to meet Malcolm, and try to find a way to stop the Tether.
And I’ll get the hell away from this vicious family.
CHAPTER ELEVENMalcolm DavenportPHILADELPHIA, 2024
