“We have to work twice as hard, perform twice as well, just for them to see us as on the same level,”Dad said to me once, when I was ranting about the handful of classmates in fourth year who ranked higher than me even though I knew I was performing better.
It was a shitty lesson for an eight-year-old to learn, but time has proven over and over again that it’s true. And Iamperforming, in every sense of the word, every day I step into the company of the established families. Because we’re never offered one bit of the respect we’re due after our two generations proving ourselves in this country and all our history in England before that.
We look different from them. Most of the other Black magical families in North America have been stuck in the Beacon-Prep-to-void-enforcement pipeline, sent off to risk their lives exterminating the soullessly feral animals before they can wreak much havoc. The few who’ve managed to get a foothold at Luminary Academy still tend to get stuck with lesser management jobs after graduating.
Eventually, we Worths might be able to change that. If we keep showing our successes until the establishment can’t ignore it. If we never give them a single reason to see us as different other than the color of our skin and the texture of our hair.
Speak like them. Dress like them. Act like them, except the overtly conniving behavior they’d turn against us.
I can do all that. I’ve been doing it my whole life.
I just wish I didn’t feel like I’m performing every bit as much even when I’m only in the company of my own family.
After working a bit of ephemera into my hair so the short curls lie smoother, I decide I’m ready to face this stupid gala.
I reach for my gloves instinctively and pull my hand back. It’s going to be a room full of drabs. The Worth family maintains appearances with both magical and nonmagical society. “Better to keep our options open,” my grandmother would say.
No need to worry about accidentally sparking a match, only about making an odd fashion statement. The other gala-goers might not know about our lucent powers, but our business holdings and bank accounts are enough to impress them just fine on their own. My parents cover the bond marks on their palms with glamours so no one remarks about those either.
I run my thumb over my own palm, provoking a tingle I didn’t expect. It always feels a little strange being around so many strangers with my hands uncovered, even though I should be used to it by now.
I’ve heard a few of my classmates bragging to each other about hooking up with drab girls. It’s one of the few ways an unmatched lucent can get their rocks off without risking additional consequences.
It’s never seemed like much of a temptation to me. Meaningless grinding of bodies, using and then discarding.
A Worth is better than that. I’m happy to wait for my match.
But as my thumb skims over the sensitive skin again, an image of Elodie flickers up in the back of my mind. How would she respond if I trailed my fingers down her slender arm, over the curve of her hip…?
Fucking hell. What is wrong with me?
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing her lithe form out of my head. Open them again and tap out a count of the knobs on the bedposts, the diamond shapes embroidered on the bedspread.
There. Everything is fine.
Squaring my shoulders, I head downstairs.
Hannah follows a minute later, fidgeting with the lacy hem of her dress. Dad ushers us all out to the waiting car, guiding both his matches by the smalls of their backs. When we’re in drab company, we pretend Pa is his brother rather than a second spouse, but there’s no one here to find their fated arrangement unusual.
As we wait for the driver to open the doors of the SUV, Dad reaches over to clap me on the shoulder. “We can tell everyone you’re ranked first in your year, all set to graduate summa cum laude.” He chuckles, but he doesn’t sound at all like he’s joking when he adds, “Don’t you let the Devine girl take it back this time.”
With a surge of conviction, I draw my stance even taller. “Not a chance.”
Ten
Elodie
No trace of blood or gore remains on the pavement. I can’t help scanning the entire corner of the sidewalk where Aunt Daphne told me she found her actual niece’s broken body, my gut twisted in anticipatory revulsion, but it’s all the same dull gray now.
Nothing about the scene around me strikes any terror either. It’s not the kind of neighborhood I’d have expected Other Elodie to be wandering around in alone, but I’d have walked this strip in my own reality without thinking twice about it.
Low-rise office buildings with dingy street-level shops line one side of the street. Across the road from me loom a couple of warehouse-sized brick buildings, construction sounds carrying from within. The chemical tang of car exhaust mingles with the stink of frying grease from the fast-food joint on the corner.
A few pedestrians are popping in and out of the shops. It’s hard to imagine someone getting away with a hit and run rightnow, but who would be hanging around here at night? From glancing at the store signs, it looks like they all close at five or six in the afternoon.
It’ll be a pretty lonely stretch after the sun goes down.
As I picture the street in front of me darkening and emptying of people, a shiver ripples over my skin. It’d be about as desolate as the vacant parking lot I meant to cross that evening three years ago… where I watched Asher bleed out on the asphalt.
