Gilded in Vengeance

Prologue

Two girls attended a magical ball, but one was never seen again.

Their invitations arrived months in advance, whorls of black ink shimmering with eternal wetness. Hiding them beneath their

floorboards, the girls dared to gaze upon them only late at night, when the ruckus of their tenement house had settled to

a peaceful whisper. By day, they could not risk a glimpse.

Out of sight, but never out of mind.

They ought to practice their magic, Emmy insisted. To gain acceptance into the secretive Society of the Charmed, they needed

to perfect their rare magical gifts.

They ought to practice their dancing, Grace always countered. For the girls to gain acceptance, the Society must deem them

elegant young ladies, worthy of matches with their handsome sons.

Enchantments or etiquette? Magical laws or social ones? The same debate they’d had since they’d each discovered that the little

girl across the hall also possessed magic. The world’s oldest, most sacred secret, and they were both a part of it.

But never apart from each other.

Magic’s existence was an invisible shield, safeguarding them from the mundane world of school and sewing, all of which they endured together.

They had no thoughts they did not share.

No dreams that went unspoken. Whenever Grace’s mother disappeared into the beer cellars for weeks at a time, Grace wordlessly found her way to Emmy’s flat.

When the vile woman inevitably crawled home, Emmy’s father still set an extra place at his kitchen table for Grace, and one at his candlelit magic lessons, too.

He had one daughter of his blood, as he liked to say, but two of his heart.

And so, as the winter nights grew colder and the ball drew closer, Emmy timed how long she could endure magic’s suffocating

weight while Grace befriended a girl with the gift of fabric enchantment, then begged her to make their gowns. Emmy attempted

to transform cheap metals into solid gold while Grace perfected her posture by balancing Emmy’s books on her head.

Emmy dreamed of feeding her insatiable appetite for magical knowledge. For answers.

Grace dreamed of never feeling hungry again.

The night of the ball, Emmy and Grace draped cloaks over their gowns and hurried to the luxurious horse-drawn carriage. If

any of their neighbors had looked too closely, they might have noticed that faint clouds meandered over Emmy’s skirts while

snowflakes careened over Grace’s. Enchanted gowns, just like those in Emmy’s fairy tale books.

Jimmy Li, the tallest and most handsome of the tenement boys, offered Emmy his hand as she teetered on the carriage step,

unaccustomed to a proper gown’s absurd weight. Their neighbors beamed at Emmy’s father, whose gifts as a healer had saved

many from the curse of unemployment and its bedfellow, destitution. Even without knowing of magic’s existence, they knew a

miracle worker lived among them, and they loved him for it.

As the horses trotted away, Emmy rubbed the hand Jimmy had touched, her high spirits fading.

Truth be told, the girls knew little of the Society of the Charmed, save what Grace’s father had disclosed during his rare visits.

Merely accepting the invitation was to commit to one of two fates: That of Society servants, like the maids who harnessed wind to dust the great mansions or the gardeners who kept roses in bloom all winter long.

Or that of protégés, debutantes of humble roots but extraordinary potential who received patronage from the Society’s elite families so that they could join its upper ranks.

Both girls, Grace’s father had said with pride, had what it took to become protégés. Emmy thought he’d meant they were unusually

talented. Grace had thought it was because they were pretty. He’d died before they could ask. But two years later, their invitations

had arrived like he’d promised.

Tonight was their only chance to prove their worth.

If the Society deemed them protégés, this would be the first of many balls they’d attend together. It was a future they’d

envisioned for ages: Emmy losing time in libraries bursting with ancient magical texts, only to be dragged out by Grace, who’d

have closets full of fashionable gowns waiting, courtesy of their generous stipends. The tutors who’d push their magic to

new heights, ensuring that both girls remained beloved contributors to the Society. The culinary delights they’d taste together.

The music, the dancing, the pageants and plays. And though Emmy vowed to return home often to amuse Papa with tales of life

uptown, Grace swore she’d never set foot south of grimy Houston Street again.

Outside the carriage windows, regal brownstones replaced the ramshackle tenement houses. The streets grew quieter, the velvety

evening sky free of chimney smoke and clotheslines and telegraph wires. As Emmy gazed at the first stars, an otherworldly

calm swept through her, even as Grace trembled with unbidden anxiety. They both possessed unique gifts, which ought to set

them apart from the debutantes with common elemental magic. Wearing such stunning gowns, they looked more like proper young

belles than future maids. And most importantly, they had practiced and trained for as long as Emmy could remember. They were

ready.

That tranquility stayed with Emmy as they entered the alley beside the grandiose manor and masked guards hurried them through a hidden door, their revolvers dark streaks against their pearl-white uniforms. As they stepped inside the majestic ballroom and were promptly separated from Papa.

As they watched their fellow debutantes, also sixteen and wide-eyed, showcase their wondrous gifts.

Rain making. Wind harnessing. And, most astounding, a scarlet-haired girl who disappeared from the stage, rendering herself invisible.

Despite the formidable showing, Emmy’s cheeks ached from smiling. Until tonight, she’d seen only Grace’s and Papa’s gifts.

There was still so much to learn, so much she did not understand about how magic worked. Its origins. Why a few possessed

it but most didn’t. And although she cheered for each debutante, she knew, in her heart, that her gift could outshine theirs.

Grace knew it, too. All too well.

Upon her turn, Emmy climbed onto the stage and faced the sea of masked strangers: the Society of the Charmed. If Grace was

correct, some of the richest, most powerful people in New York were among its secret ranks. Beneath their white masks, their

eyes appeared icy, but Emmy kept her gaze fixed on Papa, who stood in the back with the other debutante parents.

Emmy held a small toy soldier out to the crowd. Once they’d had ample chance to see how ordinary it was, she closed her fist

around it and, with a ragged inhale, tugged on her power.

It answered her call immediately, the air cooling with the invisible mist that always accompanied magic. As she pulled it

into her lungs, its heaviness spread over her until her muscles trembled from the effort. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned

the toy soldier in her palm. Tin, tin, aluminum. Tin, tin, aluminum. With a heaving breath, she forced her magic inside the figurine, making the metal denser. Richer. Exquisitely shiny, like

the golden shimmer of Grace’s hair in the sunlight. As strong as Papa’s hands when he laid brick. As soft as his touch when

he kissed her forehead before leaving for his shift.

It was risky, attempting a transformation she’d achieved only a few days earlier, but Emmy could not think of failure, not while the metal grew warm and slick in her hand. She hardened the gold—it had to be gold, not metal gunk, or even gilded tin.

When she could bear it no longer, Emmy released her magic and opened her palms.

A golden nugget glittered in the candlelight. Misshapen, yes, but shiny and pure.

On trembling legs, Emmy crossed the stage and dropped it onto the table occupied by three men. The triumvirate, Grace had

called them. The leaders of the Society of the Charmed.

They snatched the gold she’d conjured, scrutinizing it as Emmy caught her breath. Their faces remained hidden, but their eyes

were rapt with interest.

One by one, the triumvirate rose, their gazes fixed on Emmy.

One by one, they began to clap.

The audience surged to their feet, their cheers so thunderous, the stage vibrated beneath her. Papa beamed with the same pride

that ballooned in Emmy’s chest. She could have drowned in her happiness, in the exquisite satisfaction that she’d done it.

She’d dazzled the Society of the Charmed by transforming cheap metal into solid gold.

So enraptured was Emmy, she did not notice the tuxedo-clad boy in the front row, gaping at her in unfathomable recognition.

His eyes were as gray as rain, his mouth parted in shock.

So enraptured was Emmy, she did not notice the strain in Grace’s smile as they embraced beside the stage. She did not even

notice how Grace’s hands shook as Grace showcased her own rare gift, imbuing a silk glove with the redhead’s invisibility

so that its wearer disappeared from sight. Bridging magic, her father had called it. Infusing objects with the magic of others.

But once Grace’s standing ovation had finished—a hair less enthused than Emmy’s, though both girls pretended not to notice—Grace never looked away from her oldest, dearest friend. Grace watched, her blue eyes wide with childlike innocence, as the triumvirate called Emmy back to the stage.

Grace watched, with bated breath, as they accused Emmy of fraudulent magic.

As Emmy tried to conjure gold again but found her power inexplicably gone.

As the guards slashed Emmy’s gown from neck to hem.

As fool’s gold tumbled out of Emmy’s skirts, hidden there at Grace’s request by her new friend, the enchanted dressmaker.

As Emmy was sentenced to rot in the Society’s secret prison.

As her doting father was shot like a rabid dog when he tried to intervene.

Two girls attended a magical ball, but one was never seen again.

At least, that was what those who betrayed her believed.