Chapter 3
Three
Elodie
If I had any doubt about just how different the other Elodie’s life has been from mine, it vanishes the second Aunt Daphne escorts me through the doorway.
“I’ve got the third floor,” she’s saying. “My workroom here, my office, and my bedroom across the hall. Your dad has to travel for his job so much, he wanted you to have family close by. It’s been a good arrangement for all of us, I think.”
The words float through my head without sinking in.
I’m too busy gaping at the vast landing with its majestic dark wood railing where the posts are carved in delicate spirals.
An antique-looking chandelier shines overhead, brass arms and crystalline shades gleaming.
A landscape painting hangs on the wall between the two doorways in an ornate gilded frame that would fit in at an art museum.
And this is just the fucking hall.
Daphne leads me down a curving staircase to another landing that’s even huger than the one above. “Julien’s away right now—he’s due back on Monday—so you’ll have time to adjust before you see your father. Here’s the TV nook. Your bedroom’s through the doorway next to it.”
The Devine version of a “nook” is what I’d consider a fairly large room, open to the hall and stairwell other than two arching lintels with a pillar in the middle.
An immense L-shaped sofa and an ottoman fill most of one half, facing a built-in entertainment center that features a TV so wide I couldn’t touch both sides with my arms outstretched.
The cozy tang of leather and wood varnish warms the air.
I step away from the stairs across the landing’s thick Persian rug. My head feels as if it’s floating up off my shoulders in my daze.
Daphne moves to follow me and sways on her feet. She snatches at the railing before her knees buckle, but from the whitening of her knuckles where she grips the dark wood, she’s still on the verge.
She really did drain herself dry summoning me across the universes. How much has she been running on sheer adrenaline? First she finds her apparently beloved niece murdered, then she pulls off an act of magic so incredible I’ve never heard anyone even mention it being possible…
Daphne sees me noticing her lapse and pushes her mouth into a smile—one that looks pretty wobbly too. “I’m all right. Go on in.”
As I open the door she indicated, she follows at a careful pace.
The first thing that hits me is a lingering floral note. Jasmine. My chest clenches even tighter with a smack of nostalgia.
It’s so close to Mom’s favorite perfume, the one she only wore on special occasions because she couldn’t afford to buy more. Did the Elodie of this world hold on to one small piece of that side of her family, even though she lost Mom much earlier?
Nothing else about the room before me is familiar.
The four-poster bed with its gauzy rose-print canopy is double the size of the one I slept in growing up.
Its regal wooden frame coordinates with the vintage secretary desk on one side of the room and the vanity on the other.
There’s a picture window with a cushioned seat and a small sofa draped with a fluffy blanket.
Two doors stand ajar deeper inside the room.
It takes several steps inside for me to be able to peek past them—into an en-suite bathroom with a marble sink and glass shower enclosure, and into a walk-in closet with a central island, a vibrant mishmash of clothes hanging along the walls, and shelves with dozens of pairs of shoes.
This is how my alternate lived for all these years? She had… everything.
And for a little while, I guess, so do I. Except my hands clench at the thought of touching anything in this space, like it’s an exhibit in a stately home where visitors are only allowed to look.
It’s not as neat as an exhibit would be.
The dusty-rose bedcovers are only loosely pulled up, as if Other Elodie simply gave them a quick yank and called it made.
A couple of dresses drape over the end of the bedframe.
The secretary desk is open to reveal a laptop, scattered textbooks, a rumpled pair of silk gloves, and a tube of lipstick.
A half-full bottle of water sits open on one bedside table.
The room still feels inhabited. She expected to walk back in tonight like she must have thousands of nights before.
Instead, it’s me.
Daphne has remained by the doorway, gripping the frame. Her expression has hollowed out, as if she’s looking far, far away but seeing nothing at all.
I’m not the Elodie she expected would return to this room tonight either.
She gives herself a little shake, sways again, and manages to steady her stance.
A limp wave of her hand directs my attention to the farther bedside table.
“I—I plugged in her phone to charge. It should unlock for you. You can look through her photos and videos, texts and all that… The laptop too. I’m not sure what else… ”
She seems to drift away again. Despite the fact that I don’t want to be here and I hate that she wrenched me away, sympathy tugs at me.
Strange as it is to think this, she’s been put through the wringer as much as I have.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say.
Daphne hesitates. “If you need help or have any questions or anything—”
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.
I can’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 was totally right 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?”
A petite girl I recognize from Luminary Academy’s upper echelon appears, patting down her chin-length white-blond bob.
“All right, all right, you called it. Even if hanging out with her was so boring.” She wrinkles her nose and then lets out a squeal.
“But she knew about the secret Chanel launch. Look what I got!” She waggles a hot pink purse by its gold chain.
Another girl elbows in, identical other than the shorter pixie-cut of her hair, brandishing a more subdued ivory clutch. “Definitely worth it, even if my twin never stops complaining.”
“Seriously!” someone calls from out of the frame. “Madison got to skip out on half of the making nice with that dullard by going off to combat club.”
Other Elodie arches her eyebrows at the girl beyond the camera. “Like you didn’t ditch us for a bunch of Blossom meetings too, Cadance?”
An arch laugh follows. “I put in enough time. And I have the goods to show for it.” A taller figure with tumbling honey-blond ringlets leans in front of the camera, brandishing a mint-green handbag. “And I hope I never have to look at Monica again. You can put that on the record too.”
The video jiggles and then cuts out. I lower the phone to my lap, my stomach churning all over again.
The Somerset twins—Madison and Mia—and Cadance Hathaway. The other me seemed awfully chummy with them and their mean-girl talk.
It’s been years since anyone took a jab at me at the academy in my reality.
Probably because they know Salvatore wouldn’t hesitate to literally jab them and carve them into little pieces as an encore.
But I remember with sickening clarity one of the early days when I’d just started at Luminary—reeling from Dad’s death, the sudden move, and my grandparents’ rejection—when Cadance shouted across the cafeteria, “Hey, who let the mutt in?”
If I’d been able to keep Dad’s last name, it’s possible no one would have realized.
I wouldn’t be surprised if my doppelganger’s friends have no idea she has anything but old-money, old-magic, European blood running through her veins.
My skin’s light enough that people often assume I’ve simply got some Spanish or Greek in my background.
But in that other world, where my grandparents stole Dad’s name from us, I was Elodie Singh.
That, and my classmates saw my unmistakably brown mom dropping me off in her ancient sedan. I’m sure my grandparents tried to suppress the story altogether, but it didn’t take long for gossip to go around about a shameless tramp who’d tried to con them into believing I was their son’s kid.
It didn’t matter that I’d scored well enough on the entry tests to attend Luminary in the first place. All my classmates saw was that I didn’t belong, and so many of them figured it was their job to regularly remind me of that fact.
Which may be why it looks like my double went out of her way to erase Mom’s part in her existence.
As I skim through more videos of vapid escapades with her friends and selfies showing off new outfits, new eyeshadow styles, and yet another frappuccino in some ridiculous flavor, it’s clear the highlights in Other Elodie’s hair have been a continuing style choice going back years.
And it could be the lighting, but I think she was toning down the innate tan of her face with a slightly paler foundation.
Was she ashamed of her background all on her own, or did our grandparents encourage her disdain?
Did Dad?
My thumb stalls over a pic someone else must have taken of Other Elodie at fifteen, posing in front of a concert stage. I’d know the man next to her anywhere even though his tawny hair is a tad grayed and peachy face a bit more wrinkled than in the photos Mom held on to.
My heart flips over under a wave of memory.
“Who’s my best daughter?”
I giggle as Dad sweeps me up off the living-room rug into his arms. “I’m your only daughter, Daddy.”
“That means you must be the best, then.” He sets me on his shoulders, but when he turns his head, I can still see the corner of his broad grin.
He dances a little jig in time with the drumming of rain on the windows, swaying me with him but always keeping a firm grip on my legs so I’m thrilled but not scared of falling. “It’s almost pizza time!”
Mom appears in the doorway, smiling but rubbing her temple. “I know I said I’d pick the food up, but this headache came on strong. The painkillers are taking their time kicking in.”
“Not a problem. You get your rest.” Dad whirls me through the air and sets me back on my feet. “You can look after your mom for twenty minutes, right, Sunshine?”
I jerk to attention. “I’ll take care of her.”
Dad salutes me, grabs the keys out of the bowl in the front hall, and walks out.
For the last time.
I shudder and blink hard. I haven’t cried over Dad in nearly a decade, but seeing him like this—seeing what I might have had if it wasn’t for tires skidding in a too-slick puddle—it hits harder than I was ready for.
I swipe the photo away and turn off the phone.
It’s late. My day’s been so long it stretched into an entirely different reality.
I’ve seen enough. I know who Other Elodie’s closest friends are, how she talks with them, how she dresses up her school uniform and what styles she favors when she’s out of it.
I’ll practice her flippant tone and carefree gestures tomorrow. And then I’ll go out into the world and see who looks pissed off that she’s still in it.