I sit, hovered over my dagger, tangled in my bedsheets, being judged by a half-eaten jumbo bag of chips and a bazillion chocolate candy wrappers. Honing exam is tomorrow, and I have hardly left this spot. Scrawly handwriting on a note catches my eye.
Are you ready?
I read Jordan’s foreboding words once more for the millionth time before knocking it into the trash. The truth is I’m not sure if I am. My fingers ache from holding my blade just so for so many hours yesterday. I flex them before grabbing one of the two final enhancers I need to fold in. The metal blade hasn’t contorted anymore either. The Amplifier Enhancer I used in the conservatory was apparently unique in its ability to change a dagger. But I’ve spent so much time folding in the enhancers that my note cards on what each actually does are collecting dust. The good news is I have my first and second declensions down backward and forward.
I eye the clock. Fifteen minutes until Abby’s fitting. I have time to do these last two. I glance at my notes, easing the bronze stone down onto my blade, one inch from its narrowest point. I press, but it shifts sideways, missing the precise spot it needs to bind to the metal.
Again. I hover it over the blade once more, careful to angle it up, and finally the stone snaps to the blade properly before folding in.
After reviewing a few handwritten notes in the margin of my book, I grab my last enhancer. Sealer Enhancer: helps homogenize the composition of the other enhancers in the metal. Do this one last. I steady the black stone over my dagger and in moments it coats my blade like a glaze of melted snow. I turn it in my hands, watching the blade absorb the sealer until it shines bright again.
I retie my unruly curls and roll my shoulders, which have been knotted since I woke up, thanks to not enough sleep. Then I sit up and hold my dagger firmly by its handle, ready to finally try pushing magic into my blade. I’m not sure how it works exactly, but I conjure warmth, and a swarm of heat gathers deep in my belly, granule by granule, until a weight sits like heated lead against my ribs. I focus on the handle firmly in my grip. Magic moves through me like live wire, pulsing with urgency, up my torso, through my arms. I tighten my hold, and I feel energizing magic coursing through me toward the handle in my hands. Now, into the blade. Nothing happens. I catch a glimpse of the clock again. Argh. I better go.
Today’s Abby’s dress decision day, and I don’t want to be late. I’m two steps down the stairs when I spot Jordan.
“Quell,” he says, just as I turn to go in the other direction. It’s been two days since our evening in the conservatory.
I stop and he catches up to me. “Jordan, I’m almost late for Abby’s fitting.” I fiddle with my bag to avoid looking at him.
“Did you finish?”
“The enhancers? Yes. I still need to practice pushing magic into my blade so when I take the exam, I can demonstrate without incident. And study for the written part.” I hold up a brick of note cards.
“Pushing magic into the dagger is the easy part. You just—”
A clock chimes. “I really have to go.”
“I’ll find you later.”
“Maybe, I don’t know.” I hurry off.
The room where Abby has me meet her is a quaint sitting room with a glorious view of the sweeping estate. Abby cradles a teacup, watching as trays of jewels are being set out in front of her.
“Quell, you made it!”
A Shifter curating a pot of tea with a pile of fresh herbs and rose petals offers me a cup, and I take one, looping my fingers into the handle the way Grandmom showed me.
“We’re just getting started. Here, come sit by me.”
The room is a traffic jam of racks lined with dresses in every color and fabric. Some glitter, others shine. Dazzling necklaces and dangly earrings are splayed across furniture.
“Is this the friend I’ve been hearing so much about?” A woman who could be Abby’s twin, only slightly older, sets down a stack of dresses and extends a hand. “I’m Teresa, Abby’s mother. You must be Quell.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Feldsher.” I curtsy.
“Oh, no, no. I should be curtsying to you,” she jokes, glancing up at my diadem. “She’s every bit as lovely as you said, Abs. Thanks for being here to support her. This has been a long time coming.”
“Mom, really?” Abby shoos away a server offering her a tray of iced cookies. “See why I need you here?” she mutters.
“Which one is your favorite?” I whisper.
“These are my two picks from the swatch samples.” Abby’s mom dangles a gold sequined gown and a shiny red one with embroidered fleurs on it. “And they have reinforced lining along the torso for stronger magic retention. What do you think?”
“Mom, I don’t like those.” She pulls me over to a rack of dresses in dark purples and blues that are simply stunning, and for a moment I imagine what it would be like to be in her shoes. An ache of sadness writhes in me, watching Abby and her mother fawn over the options.
“Quell?”
“Yes, sorry, did you say something?”
“I said I think these colors go better with my diadem.” Abby indicates a purple sequined one.
“It’s too humdrum and doesn’t have all the fortifications these do.” Her mother holds up her two favorites beside Abby’s. “We need function and maximum sparkle.”
“Mom, I don’t care how it functions. I care how it looks.”
“Let’s put it to a vote. Quell?”
“Oh gosh . . . I sort of agree that the gold ones go better with Abby’s diadem. But the purple and blues are gorgeous, too. But I think that’s the one.” I point to the purple one Abby’s wiggling ever so slightly and she grins.
“I should have known I’d be defeated against you two.” Her mother dotes on her with such sweetness that I have to look away. I’ll never have a moment quite like this.
Mrs. Feldsher checks the label. “This one is Civaolin. Let me see if my people can get his people on the phone. We need this done quickly.”
“Can’t you just wear this one?” I smooth my hand on the silk gown, trying to blink away thoughts of Mom.
Her mother guffaws. “She’s funny, too! I need a quiet room to make this call. Abs, can you work on accessories and such next?” she asks before leaving.
“Thanks for having my back.” Abby loops her arm in mine as we survey a collection of statement necklaces with fleur-de-lis shaped jewels dangling from them.
“Your mom is really nice.”
“She’s a lot.”
I reach for my key chain, which isn’t there. It’s in a drawer by my bed, in my room. Mom, I miss you. “It’s just really cool that you get to do this together.”
Abby goes on and on about all the preparations they’ve been making, and I muster as much enthusiasm as I can. But eventually, longing stretches the spaces between my words until I’m all out of them. She shows me more fine things than I’ve ever seen, but it becomes a blur, morphing into one big heavy feeling.
“You’re quiet.”
“Sorry.” My bag weighs a ton and I eye the note cards. “I actually should go, if that’s okay.” The words feel like sandpaper on my tongue. She isn’t even halfway done picking out her things. Abby deserves better.
“All right, I guess,” she says, her jaw working.
“Please tell your mother it was nice meeting her.”
Abby nods, her shoulders slumped in disappointment. I apologize again and hurry out the door.
