“He’s right, Emma,” Mom adds eagerly. “Your fighting skills and your use of stardust as a weapon have improved remarkably.” She swirls the pink fluid in her glass like her mother does. “You have more control and skill, and you’re getting better at illusions quickly. We are all proud of you.”
Pride isn’t needed right now. But I’m glad they think I’m getting good at illusions. I had to for my plan to escape in one of their Bentleys to work.
Demetri flashes his dimples at me. “I always knew my baby sister was a fighter.”
But nothing in me wants to battle and risk my life for a witch’s entertainment or some stupid contest. If he doesn’t know that, he doesn’t know me at all.
Grandmère’s silver bob and golden-brown skin look so immaculate in the candlelight that you’d never suspect she has been attacking me in the name of battle training for days now. Her posture is regal as she plays with her pearls. She points to my wrist, and a bright swirl of moonlight slides through the window across from her, morphing into a crystal bracelet adorned with stars and moons that loops around my wrist.
Surprised, I drop my fork. I thought she was mad at me. Or at least suspicious. Maybe I misread her, and she was fine, just being her normal moody self. Trying not to draw attention to my plans to escape this house, I pick up the fork and attempt to mask how irritated I am with everything. “Thanks, Gran. It’s beautiful,” I say, with the biggest smile I can fake. Thebracelet beams and glitters like stars above us. But it doesn’t cure the curse that rots this family on the inside.
“You earned it.” Grandmère Clair turns her eyes in my direction, giving me a stern look. “You’ve improved. But don’t let compliments swell your head, birdie. The Tether is deadly, and you haven’t learned enough to survive. Yet.” Her smile glows under the soft light, but her eyes look worried. I can feel her questioning my ability to win the Tether as clearly as if her doubt were a reaper sitting beside me passing me potatoes.
“Okay,” I say, my voice shaking as if that reaper is inching closer.
I think of Josephine Baker singing, “The Times They Are a-Changin’,” and it begins to play.
I guess it inspires Mom to clink her glass. Her light brown skin is radiant as she announces, “We’re resuming the circus soon. Your dad and I are going to scout new locations and times tonight.”
Go? As in take one of the Bentleys?Oh hell, no.They might discover that one is missing and ruin my plans.
Papa’s face lights up, and he looks at me warmly. “We can bring the circus to Paris. You’d love that, right, Emma? We can go during a time when Josephine Baker is there. You can see a show.”
Desperate, I try to start a fight, hoping it will interrupt their plans. “Should I be happy? Is this my last wish being granted?” My words are like bullets aimed at their faces. “Emma, enjoy a show while everyone waits for you to die!” I fire back. “Lucky, Emma!” I scowl. “None of you believe in me! Admit it!”
Papa’s face falls; his eyes get full. I can tell my dad really wanted to make me happy, and it cuts me to be cruel to him. Any other time, his suggestion would be exciting; I’d love to see my idol perform. But tonight, it fills me with dread. I need to meet Malcolm and plot so I can live to see a million performances.
Desperate, I let my frustration spill out in hopes that it will change their minds. “I can’t believe you’re doing this again. You’re leaving, and you didn’t even tell me! The secrets, the trip to Paris? Like I don’t know you’re attempting to let me have fun before…” The words hang heavy in the air. I choke on the end of the sentence. “Before you bury me like Grace.”
A stunned silence follows. It gets broken by my mother’s sob. My father pulls her in close, holding her. Demetri looks at me with a mix of surprise and guilt.
“We’re not burying anyone,” Grandmère says. Her aged eyes soften slightly, understanding flickering inside them. “Darling, we… we were trying to reward you.”
“No. You planned to restart the circus before tonight,” I say, adding, “You don’t do anything on a whim. You’re always keeping things from me.” My heart is banging as I spring up from my chair, dramatically letting my fingers hit my glass of punch. It tilts, but instead of falling, it defies gravity, staying suspended at an angle. The red liquid in the glass splashes high and hovers, curling in midair above the table and forming a swirling pattern before the liquid curves back into the cup. The cup rights itself, standing proud, without a drop spilled. It fills with more red punch as if an invisible hand is pouring it.
Scowling at the spectacle of it, I say, “Magic can’t fix everything that’s broken in this family.” I raise my voice. “I’m surrounded by liars and secrets! I hate this life!” I yell. “I hate the circus!”
Mom’s face is pained. “Emma, we thought… Wehopedgetting back in our normal routine could make you happy.”
“You thought what? That I’d be okay being left out again? Okay with everyone choosing for me as usual?” My voice bounces off the lofty ceilings. “Thought that I’d forget about the death match you’re training me for if I dance under the big top and grant wishes for paying customers?”
Papa stands, reaching out for my hand. “Darling, we didn’t mean to upset you. We have a little more training time before the Tether, so we thought you’d want a small release from the tension. That Paris would be a nice reward. I…”
The pain on his face makes my voice shake as it rises. I’m almost certain the only reason I haven’t been punished for the way I’m speaking is because they think I’m gonna die. They pity me. And I hate it.
“Stop assuming you know what’s best for me!” I say. “You don’t take the time to get to know me!”
My family tries to reassure me; their voices are a blend of love, concern, and restrained anger. But I ignore it all.
“I never asked for this,” I say, my voice cracking. “Why couldn’t we be normal?” Tears stream from the corners of my eyes. “I’d rather have nothing but peace than sit here with crystal stars over my head and magic that was purchased with the blood of my ancestors. I didn’t want to lose Grace. And now I could die too.” I’m shaking, sobbing, and all of a sudden the fake fight I wanted to start to interrupt their plans feels so real. “Mom and Papa, don’t pretend you love me when you’re about to leave before a fight that could kill me! I need you here! I need my family. Now!”
My family rushes to hold me, their voices full of love and anguish as we embrace in front of the table.
“We were planning on coming right back… I didn’t know you’d feel this way, Emma,” Mom says, her voice soft as her tears. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I feel a pang of guilt for my harsh words and the devastation on their faces. They’re trapped in the shadow of this curse too, and none of us have a guidebook for handling this. But instead, I say, “Keep your sorrys. I hate all of you!”
I push away from them, swallowing the bitter lie in my mouth. I love my family with every inch of me, even when I hate their actions. But I need them home and concerned tonight, instead of going near the fleet of Bentleys. So I storm out of the dining room.
