So we weren’t having swan.
“It’s set. Ready for the party, yeah?”
Harry said “party” like someone might say “billion-dollar bank balance.” He knew Jagger’s parties almost always included murder, and he, like any good slipshot, was looking forward to it. Whether it was me, another slipshot, a pickpocket, a shill—anyone, really—it didn’t matter, as long as there was blood.
He grinned and reached for my other braid. I shook my head, and he paused mid-reach.
“I expect,” he said, dropping his hand, “once Mari’s initiated, she’ll bring us to an era of glory. The streets’ll run with conjurer blood. We’ll loot their houses. We’ll take their objects of power. We’ll . . .”—his eyes glossed over happily—“use their skulls as piggy banks to hold their gold. Jagger hasn’t said it, but I know”—he tapped his nose—“Mari here is a mine after a slipshot’s heart. She’s the pride of Hell Gate. Murderous thief. That’s what it is. That’s what we like.”
He winked at me and held up the second hair band. My double French braid unraveled.
“Looks better down,” Harry said.
He grabbed the platter and hurried from the kitchen.
“He’s right,” Rou said.
I frowned at the loose, wavy brown ends falling against my pure white shirt. White shirt, white pants, pale skin, and dark hair. I was wearing what all mines wore the night they learned whether they’d live or die.
“I like it better braided.” I tugged on a strand.
Rou tsked and wiped the sweat dripping down her forehead with the back of her hand. “I meant he’s right about you. You’ve always denied it, but there’s a monster in you. What’s wrong with that? If you don’t accept the monster . . .” She shrugged. “Bad things happen when you deny your nature.”
That was the trouble. I didn’t want to be a monster.
When I looked in the mirror, what did I see?
I saw everything I’d missed before.
I looked like my father. I looked like Jacob.
I was forgettable. I was a quickly flowing river your eyes moved past. I was leaves flickering in the wind, casting shadows and light, keeping your gaze from settling and capturing my likeness. But when your eyes finally settled, what did you see?
Innocence.
Just like my twin brother, my final form was the personification of innocence.
Softly spun brown-gold hair, with wispy tendrils at my temples. Round pink cheeks flushed with uncorrupted youth. Soft pink lips. Unblemished skin. Blue eyes unpolluted and crystal clear.
Young. Pretty. Nonthreatening.
I’m sorry for the horticultural lesson, but my new form reminded me of a buttercup.
Bright, yellow, sunny, and poisonous.
Innocence packaged around deadly intent.
A monster.
“You want me to be a monster?” I asked.
Rou shrugged. “If you want to live past midnight, you’ll have to be.” She bent down and pulled a rack of ham from the oven. The heat blew over me, singeing my cheeks and bringing out the scent of charred meat.
“Mari?”
I turned. Justice was at the entrance to the kitchen. Instead of looking at me, he kept his eyes on the scorch-marked wall.
I stood and pushed my chair in. “Yeah?”
