I rearranged my blanket, staring out the gap between the curtains of my window. The chirping of crickets was the only sound that filled the silence. At the gap under my door, Genevieve’s light doused. I wondered what she would think of the whole affair. That I was half witch. That I possessed magic—actual, dangerous magic.
But the purple smudge at the garden didn’t seem dangerous at all. Was my magic merely seeing strange colors?
Rowena had made things move on their own accord. I squinted hard at the ottoman a few feet away from my bed, willing it to spin as she had done to my armchair.
Nothing happened.
I was too exhausted to know if I was relieved or disappointed.
8
When the sun rose, we set off to the Strongfoots. I had almost forgotten last night’s ordeal until Theodora and Rowena met me outside.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Theodora said, gripping my hands.
I looked earnestly at my nannies. I was half-tempted to take them with me but I knew Lydia wouldn’t be pleased. “I’ll be fine,” I said.
They looked doubtful, like how I felt.
Rowena pulled me into a hug and pinched my cheek—something she hadn’t stopped doing even after my face lost the chubbiness of girlhood. “We won’t be far. Write us if anything disastrous happens, alright?”
I pulled back. “Will anything disastrous happen?”
“Now look! You’ve gone and scared her again,” Theodora scolded.
Rowena put her hands on her hips. “Well, better expect the unexpected. During my Emergence I set a house on fire.”
“You what?”
“It was harmless fire. It was quite pretty, actually, from what I remember.”
“What Rowena means to say is that some things will take you by surprise,” Theodora said, nudging her out of the way. “But I doubt your magic will misbehave at this stage. Remember to stay calm.”
“I will.” I took a deep breath and gave each of them a tight smile. “I’ll miss you two.”
“As will we.”
Before I knew it, Genevieve and I were rattling down the road, waving goodbye to a tearful yet ecstatic Lydia. My stepsister gazed out the window, eyes shining.
“Well, Amarante. Are you ready?”
Her question, though I knew only applied to the Season, resonated on many levels for me. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said. I hoped very much that I wouldn’t set the Strongfoot’s house on fire.
When we arrived, I realized their residence could hardly be called a house—it was a mansion. Our footman drove us through ornate iron gates into a well-paved courtyard. We stopped in front of a short flight of steps that led to a massive structure of arched windows and creamy pillars where Tori and Lord Strongfoot stood waiting for us.
“Took you long enough,” Tori said as a greeting when Genevieve and I exited the carriage. She grabbed one of our suitcases from our footman and lugged it inside.
“Ah, welcome Amarante! And this must be your sister Genevieve!” Lord Strongfoot came forward. His beard looked even bushier and more impressive in broad daylight. “I regret Lady Strongfoot isn’t here to greet you two. She’s in the country tending to her old mother.”
After brief introductions and inquiries about the health of our respective families, Lord Strongfoot guided us inside.
Tori came down a spiral staircase. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’re staying.”
The guest room was enormous, big enough to fit two comfortably sized beds with quite a bit of room to spare. Along the far side was a lovely arched window that overlooked the front yard and a bit of the busy streets below. Potted plants lined the windowsill and two dressing tables, complete with a mirror and stool, were set before the foot of the beds. Beside the door were two armoires, in which we hastily shoved our suitcases to deal with later.
“You have a beautiful home, Tori,” Genevieve said as Tori took us down to the dining room.
She snorted. “Oh, I know. Sometimes I wish it weren’t so pretty. I’d feel less guilty about making a mess.” The aroma of baking bread wafted through the air, tempting my empty stomach.
We passed a small archway to the dining room, which had generously large windows along one wall and a long mahogany table in the middle. Lord Strongfoot was already seated, and to my surprise, so were two young girls, neither much older than ten.
“Gimme back my egg, Ria,” one of them whined. She looked like the miniature version of Tori. The other, who had a hard-boiled egg smashed in her small fist, was fair haired with stout features. At our entrance, the two quieted and stared with large eyes.
“Ha! We should have visitors more often,” Tori said, patting her miniature on the cheek. “There’s hardly a moment when these two don’t shut up.”
Genevieve and I sat.
“You didn’t tell us you had little sisters, Tori,” Genevieve said, smiling at the two petrified children.
Tori pulled up a chair noisily. “Oh, these two? Meet Victoria and Victoria.”
Genevieve gave her a puzzled look.
“It was Pa’s genius idea,” Tori said dryly. She reached over to grab a roll from the center of the table as Lord Strongfoot lowered the newspaper he was reading.
“Darn right. Hit me like a ton of bricks. I say, if mother nature is gonna be repetitive with me and give me three daughters, I’ll do the darn same.” Lord Strongfoot gave a bellowing laugh.
“Hence, I’m Tori, this is Vicky, and that’s Ria,” Tori said, pointing from herself to her miniature and finally to the one with the egg smashed in her hand. She looked exasperated, as if Lord Strongfoot had told the same story too many times to count. “Let’s just eat.”
“Can’t I entertain our guests in peace?” Lord Strongfoot grumbled.
Tori turned to us and whispered, “Pa always gets grumpy when I don’t let him bore people. No doubt he’ll ask me to hoe the garden later, so you
