I nod with a sharp jerk of my head. “I know. You’ll be upstairs. You’d better get some rest.”
So you’ll have the capacity to send me home as soon as possible.
To my relief, she doesn’t argue. Maybe because she looks about five seconds from collapsing. Her footsteps drag across the rug as she walks back to the staircase.
As soon as she’s vanished upstairs, I peer around the landing, noting the route to the first floor and the elegant doorway that must lead outside, framed by stained glass panels. Always good to know your options if you need to make a run for it.
Even though Daphne indicated that we’re the only people in the house right now, I shut the door after I’ve returned to the bedroom. With my back to it and the incredible luxury spread out before me, I drag a breath deep into my lungs.
I need to pretend to be another me. A me who was raised in a mansion at the top of magical society.
I need to figure out who would have wanted to kill that me, or I’ll never get back to the world where I belong.
Another memory flickers between my thoughts:hard, wet asphalt; blazing pain in my back.
Is it possible this Elodie’s murder has something to do with my attack three years back?
I don’t see how. She was hit by a car, not stabbed by a knife. She’d have made totally different enemies in her life than I would have in mine.
And she didn’t have a chance to survive.
My gaze drops to my blank palm. My pulse stutters.
I hurl myself toward the vanity’s mirror, yanking up my tee.
The flat, reddish lines of my scars remain, slashed across my back on either side of my spine where my unknown attacker’s blade carved me open. So do the three straighter, thinner scars on my chest and the scattered symbols etched over my sternum.
Those marks weren’t formed by a supernatural connection with any specific person. Only my bond mark vanished with my trip to this reality.
Which also means my glim, the deepest part of my magic that’s a combination of all the ephemera passed down through my bloodline, isn’t active here, right? That power only woke up when I touched my first match.
This world’s Elodie didn’t have her glim. She might have survived otherwise.
With another jolt of urgency, I paw through the vanity’s drawers. Grab a steel nail file. Jab its pointed tip into my little finger, hard.
The spot stings. A delicate bead of blood wells up from the tiny cut. Both linger beneath my stare, confirming what I already guessed.
Relief and apprehension twist together in my gut.
Ican’t count on surviving if my doppelganger’s murderer comes after me. Not that I’ve ever felt keen about tapping into my innate magic.
I’d better hope the killer screws up out of shock rather than regrouping for another attempt. I need to get through this mess and get back to the men I love.
Which means I need to act my heart out in the part of this Elodie Devine.
I tug my shirt down to cover every hint of the scars. At least Uncle Nik isn’t in my life in this world. I’m free from his sinister missions for a little while.
Just thinking that, appreciating anything about this place, causes a twinge of guilt. I shove myself toward the bed.
I pick up Other Elodie’s phone first, perching on the edge of the mattress while I flick my thumb over the screen. Fuck, how can a duvet be this soft? I have to snuggle a little deeper into it.
The face ID registers in an instant, and I’m in. No one is easier to spy on than yourself.
I open the messaging app, but the threads of choppy sentences and inside jokes without context might as well be word salad to me. I switch to the photos app instead.
There’s a video from just a few days ago with a smiling face I almost recognize as mine peering from the screen. When I tap on it, a warble of wind and bouncing laughter carries from the phone’s speaker.
Other Elodie grins at the camera. “This is just to record that I wastotallyright when I said we should buddy up with Monica this month.” She glances over her shoulder, swinging the phone at the same time. “Aren’t you happy with the results, Madison?”
