Prelude

Rani's hands were cool against my cheek. It was in that moment—on the eve of July, backstage with the velvet curtains drawn and a thousand seats filled with chattering students—that I knew the next sunrise would be when her eyes opened into mine to stream light into my tortured soul. She knew that I was hopeless in the world of doctors and lawyers. She knew that I was born to entertain, to turn cards into doves, to spin gold from her dreams.

But she also knew that I was a lonely wolf craving the full moon's goodnight kiss. Dying, perhaps, but still able to howl in grief when the sun shrunk night into street corner shadows. Survival had always been my second nature, but I didn't know how to survive a fall when I was the one who was choosing to jump.

"Are you nervous?" she whispered, her forehead gravitating towards my trembling one.

"No," I lied. "Are you?"

I bit my tongue to swallow a sigh when she smiled at my response.

"I trust you not to drown me in front of the whole school." She smiled again, this time softer, this time to herself. "I trust you with everything."

She swirled a finger around my lower lip, the beginnings of a whirlpool, her touch inducing a thunderstorm in my chest. I heard the racket the audience were making on the other side, but all I could feel was my shallow breaths and her ever-waiting smile. Her words hovered between us like water droplets suspended mid-air; I was frozen, leaning back against the sloshing water tank with my top hat lopsided. She righted it with a boyish grin--always with her skimming, butterfly fingers to save the day. Always lingering, teasing, wanting, but never taking.

Rani knew that I wanted to win first place more than anything. To want so much, that was my greatest flaw. I knew it would be the end of me, but I didn't know that it'd be the end of us, too.

***

Chapter One | This Is Not A Battle Cry, This Is War!

[Song of choice: Turnover // Dizzy On The Comedown]

Sunday night is supposed to be the August of each week. There are a number of ways I could be spending my last night of fleeting freedom: I could be making a pyramid out of my tarot cards; I could be mixing a herb concoction I stole from Madame Penelope's wooden chest; I could be lighting candles and tracing a pentagram on my bedroom floorboards in crumbling chalk; I could even be meddling with an ouija board that never stops rattling like old bones.

Instead, as of the past hour, I have been a victim of child labour. More precisely: a victim of zipping up Mum's brimming suitcase with no luck. Lacy bras and straw sun hats spill from its large lips. I've tried jumping on it, singing to it, praying to it, kicking it across the room, cradling it in my arms and lying flat on its back like a starfish. I've even emptied it, refolded Mum's embarrassing granny knickers and repacked all fourteen gladiator heels. It was no use, thus making the suitcase the bane of my existence. And I thought Monday mornings were bad.

"Mum, the suitcase won't close again," I yell, jumping up and down on her suitcase and missing the living room's modest chandelier by a hair.

Her voice floats downstairs, followed by the cacophonous clicking of her heels. She pokes her head into the living room, wearing a towel on her head like a turban.

"Have you tried zipping it?" she asks, unaware of the fact that she is clad in nothing but a set of lacy lingerie that could pop a few eyes. Or mine, for that matter.

Mid-flight, I glare at her. My ponytail smacks my lower back like a steel rod when I land on the suitcase, which exhales sharply, winded by my weight, before it sags. It's not enough to seal it off forever, but it's progress.

"Of course I've tried zipping it." I jump again, propelled upwards when the suitcase sighs in relief and springs back to the size of Jupiter. "But someone thinks that one suitcase is big enough for a year long expedition."

"Well, that someone doesn't want to pay extra money for unnecessary luggage," she bites back, fiddling with her bra strap while trying to unwind her turban-towel at the same time. Curls spill over her shoulders in a shade short of molten copper.

"Well that someone needs to lay off cake so their clothes won't take up so much space."

Mum clicks her tongue and struts deeper into the room, flinging the head towel on the sofa. I roll my eyes, knowing it'll be up to me to clear up the tornado of clothes hanging from the chandelier after she leaves. One foot on the Devil's back, she clips her tongue between her teeth as she struggles with the suitcase's zipper, cursing my birth at the same time.

"You packed way too much," I remark sourly, earning a death glare. "What? You're telling me that you're going to need ten tubes of Colgate because Uganda can't supply you with that stuff? Get a grip. You're not flying to another planet."

"Holly," she warns me.

I flop down on the armchair. "What?"

"Quit whining and grab the other end of the suitcase."

I throw my arms behind my head and relax. "No way. I've been trying to close it for the past hour. It's your turn now."

Mum grunts as she grapples with her suitcase, wrestling and flattening it. "Stop . . . being . . . a . . . nuisance . . . and help me."

I make myself more comfortable. "What's the magic word?"

"Holly," she wheezes again, this time pinning the suitcase down with one knee. "I've nearly got it. Come 'ere. Quick!"

"What's the magic word, Mother?"

The suitcase holds its breath one last time before burping monstrously. The lid springs back and clothes explode from its mouth. Mum stands up to her full height and plants her hands on her wide hips. Her lips, stained blood red, tighten into a frown.

"The magic word is you're grounded."

"Yeah, right," I scoff. "You can't ground me."

"You can kiss the end-of-year magic show goodbye. I let you compete for the past two years and your grades were jeopardised. I don't understand why Principal Remington thinks it's wise to hold the show during exam season."

My eyes pop. "What? No!"

"You need to put this circus nonsense aside and focus on getting into university."

I jump up from the sofa. "You can't be serious. The past two years were starters compared to this year's show. First place gets to travel with The Riviera Circus this summer--the biggest circus in the world. I'll get to go places like New York, Cairo, New Delhi and Tokyo." My hands curl and uncurl. "I've spent months practising all my best tricks!"

"Tricks that you should have outgrown ten years ago. This whole thing is folly. At first I thought it was just a way for you to cope with your father's passing, but a deck of cards won't get you a real job, Holly."

"This is my life."

"It's child's play."

"I don't care. It's what I want to do with my life."

She purses her lips and shakes her hair loose in a centrifuge of droplets. Doused in a cone of white light from the overhead chandelier, Mum looks sterner than a primary school teacher. Her scowl, familiar and frightening, transforms her into Medusa. I press myself against the wall to make myself smaller, suddenly wishing I had a talent worth her approval but I've got nothing. Without circus magic, I am worth nothing. There is only one person in the world who can also turn me into stone with one glare but she won't be here for another day, which works out perfectly for me because I have plans for tonight that could ground me forever.

"Help me close this suitcase, Holly," Mum says in a tone I know all too well not to argue against. I nod quickly, eager to earn her love again. She knows how much magic means to me. She'll come around eventually. And if she doesn't then I'll just hypnotise her again. Kidding! That stuff only works in movies. Circus magic is all about practicalities. It's just like physics: you can't create anything that doesn't already exist. Conservation of energy...or something. Look it up.

We fight the suitcase together until it grows tired of our bickering and decides to seal its lips. Sweat beads on my brow. I punch a fist in the air and collapse onto the carpet in exhaustion. Mum complains about having to reapply her make up and retreats back to her room for another hour, only to return with the exact same face again.

"What do you think about this shade of lipstick?" she asks, hovering over the mirror in the hallway, face pulled down as her mascara wand works through her lashes. I lean against the banister, watching coppery lashes darken.

"It's the exact same shade as the previous one," I reply indifferently, reminded of all the evenings I used to watch her apply her makeup. Barely able to reach her thigh, I used to peer up at her and wonder why my older sister would scowl at Mum as she readied herself for dates.

"This one is matt red. The other one was glossy." Mum side-eyes me, deadpanned. She puckers her lips. "Can't you tell the difference?" She sighs, disappointed. "You have the observation skills of a duck."

I pick her clean-cut white coat off the hanger and hold it out to her when she caps the mascara and drops it in her Niccoli Romano handbag.

"The only difference I can tell, right now, is that you're wearing actual clothes," I reply with a cheeky grin, picking a stray hair off her shoulder as she shrugs on her fur coat.

"Funny," she drawls as I fiddle with her hair, flattening all the flyaway strands she missed.

"I try my best." I step back and size her up, hands on her shoulders. "You look great for your age."

"Hey!"

I breathe a soft chuckle, licking my thumb and wiping a smudge under her eye. "You look great, Mum."

She straightens her shoulders and smiles. "There should be enough food in the fridge to last you till the end of the week but after that I expect you to restock the fridge on top of your regular chores. There's a tenner on the kitchen counter if you want to order pizza tonight. You can invite Jack over if you get lonely but nobody else. I mean it, Holly. Don't smile at me like that. Jack and only Jack."

"Mmm hmm."

"No boys, young lady."

"Just Jack, I promise."

"Just Jack?"

I nod, fixing the collar of her crisp coat before planting a quick kiss on her nose. "Just Jack."

Her eyes, a laser beam of forest green, threaten to transform me to stone again. I pinch back a shudder and give her my best grown up look. She doesn't take notice. "Your sister and Lucas will be here by tomorrow morning so make sure you set up my bedroom for them. I want the bed sheets washed, hung and dried. OK?"

"Just Jack," I repeat.

She rolls her eyes. "You have the attention span of a two year old, Holly. Are you even listening to me?"

"Just Jack." She mutters a dark word under her breath. My ears sting in shock. "Mum!"

"Great. So you are listening." She clips my chin. "None of that two second dusting you do. I want the bed sheets washed, hung and dried."

I shake my chin free. She clamps my cheeks, forcing me to mimic a fish's pout.

"Gerroffme."

"Only if you promise to behave while I'm gone. Your sister has been through hell and back this year, so be nice to her."

I peel her fingers off my face, working my mouth back into human form. "Are you going to miss your flight telling me to do the same thing a thousand times?" She arches a thin brow and I force it down with my pinky finger. "Seriously, Mum. I'll be fine. Go and shakes lion paws in Uganda. I'll stay behind and make sure Sam doesn't try to hack Lucas again with a butcher's knife."

Her face creases. "Maybe I should cancel my flight until those two are settled in. Sam can be quite unpredictable at times," Mum wonders aloud. "I could book another one for tomorrow morning so that you won't have to spend the night alone. I've still got quite a lot to sort out with Mr Hansen."

"That creep?" Absentmindedly, I fish a penny out of my pocket, making it roll over my knuckles. "Stop worrying so much. I've got Jack to help me out with the hard stuff." I groan inwardly when she breaks out into a giddy smile and winks. "It's not like that. How many times do I have to tell you that we're just friends? He helps me out with the boring subjects like Maths and Latin, and in return I tutor him in Sacred Geometry and Elements."

"I caught you two in the bath together last weekend."

"So?"

"So?" she echoes, grinning.

"We were testing out the water element because there are only three months left till the show and I'm one of the last candidates yet to submit their stage blueprints."

Mum beams. "Sure, darling."

"The bath thing was just an experiment."

She keeps grinning. "If you say so."

"Not to mention that Jack and I were sitting at opposite poles and he promised to close his eyes when I got out. And the foam covered everything and to be extra careful I made him keep his underwear on. And the entire time he was filling out those crossword puzzles that Sam leaves around the house and was talking to me about his latest chess tournament. Jeez, Mum. He isn't even entering the show. He's just my assistant."

"Assistant, eh?"

I sigh heavily. "Just let it go. That ship has long since sailed."

For reasons beyond me, Mum has always wanted Jack and I to get together, claiming that he's the only person in the world who can balance my carelessness and tendency to eat with my mouth open, just because his parents are incredibly posh and he doesn't mind when I burp at the kitchen table during Mum's attempts to have a civilised dinner with the rest of the extended family, which only consists of Sam and Lucas.

I glance at the grandfather clock by the hallway mirror. "You need to leave now or you won't make it to Heathrow on time. And stop looking at me like I'm a lost puppy. I'll be okay by myself. I don't need Sam, Lucas or Jack to babysit me. Honestly, Mum. In six months I'll be off to Bristol. I'm a big girl now."

Her eyes well up and I groan aloud because if her face gets ruined she'll spend an hour drawing it back on and I've got a party to plan. "That's it. I'm staying. I'll catch the next morning flight—"

"And slap on an extra hundred quid?" I drawl, pushing her towards the door. "Yeah, right." I hand Mum her stubborn suitcase and usher her outside. "I'll see you in three hundred and sixty-five days."

She corrects me with an outraged cry. "One hundred and eighty-three days."

"Details, details." I wave a hand dismissively. "Leave."

"Why are you trying to get rid of me? Are you up to something?"

I lean forward and land a quick kiss on her cheek. She pulls me close and I wrap my arms around her neck, inhaling the softness that lingers alongside the blossoming trees outside, pinks and splashes of white. She pulls away and smiles, both corners of her mouth wobbling. The face she's wearing right now is the exact same face she wore when Sam moved out. I quietly wonder if she's reliving that memory instead of the fact that I'm the one getting left behind this time. I try not to dwell on it and push her away before the infection spreads. It's too late. My eyes are already stinging and my throat has tightened. The canyon in my stomach has widened and I already know that the burn of liquor is the only thing that can chase it away.

The waiting cab honks and Mum hurries along the cobbled path, wiping her under-eyes, careful not to smear her perfect makeup like a true lioness of the Bishop family. I watch proudly—and helplessly—as the handsome chauffeur holds the door open for her and shuts the door. Mum catches my eye and makes a googly-eyed face at the suited man, fanning her face, while I make a big show of gagging.

"He's way too young," I mouth.

"We'll see," she mouths back with a wicked grin.

I shake my head in disbelief, chuckling as I wave frantically at the departing black Bentley. "Go! Be free! Uganda calls!"

My phone rings and I fish it out of my pocket. Mum pokes her head out of the window of the departing cab, her voice resonating through the receiver, "I miss you already."

"You can miss me and wave your six figure paycheck all at the same time. Have a safe flight and call me the second you land."

Though she clears her throat three times, her voice trembles when she speaks. "Make sure you—"

"Hang up the washing, set up your room for Thing One and Thing Two, lock all the windows and doors before I go to bed. No tricks inside the house. No late night pig-outs. No strip poker. No unapproved parties. No Remington boys—"

"No Remington boys," Mum reinforces with force.

"No Remington boys," I repeat solemnly, eyes glittering with mischief even though she can't see me.

"Good," Mum replies, and I can imagine her nodding in approval. "You're worse than your sister, you know. The biggest headache she gave me was an odd party here and there."

"I am nowhere near as bad as Sam used to be."

"At least she never mixed with the likes of the Remington boys who flaunt all the money I put into that damned school you go to."

"Oh, be quiet. Sam was way worse. I'm pretty sure half her friends were off their head, but that's perfectly fine because Sam is perfect, right? God, Mum. When have I ever lied to you?"

"All the time," Mum replies flatly.

"Whatever. At least I've never dyed my hair or gotten any piercings."

"Because that's what rebels are made of," Mum drawls. "Hair dye and piercings."

"I'm a good kid," I protest. "All I ever do is wash the dishes and pamper your feet after a long day. All you ever do is nick my music player and my incense candles for your relaxing baths."

"I never nick your stuff," Mum huffs.

"Oh yeah? Where's the Niccoli Romano handbag Sam bought me for Christmas?"

"I'm temporarily borrowing it."

"And when will I get it back? In three hundred and sixty-five days?"

"One hundred and eighty-three," she corrects me.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, well, whatever."

She sighs. "Listen, sweetheart, I've got to call Mr Hansen and sort out the rent so that Sam and Lucas won't have to worry about dealing with that old git. Give your sister a kiss for me."

"I will. Love you, Mum."

"Love you, too."

I trudge my way back inside and start rolling the kegs out of the basement, a hiding place I learnt from the one and only party queen in the family: Sam the Man. Then it's back upstairs, into the bedroom, fling on the laciest lingerie I own—one of Mum's popping pieces—throw on a costume cloak that only Red Riding would wear and the faux pearl earrings that Mum inherited from her great-aunt. The cloak is more revealing than a Halloween costume so I pair it with sexy stockings and a pair of thigh-high Niccoli Romano platform heels that I stole from Sam's apartment in London.

I speed-dial my best friend, phone wedged between my shoulder and ear, as I stack red solo cups in a pyramid. Jack picks up on the third ring. "Is everything set?" he asks, voice muffled by the roar of an engine. Squeals sound from the back of his car.

"Jeez, mate." I wince, lowering the phone, when another round of squeals resonate from the line. "Did you stop by a brothel or what?"

"Rani and her party needed a ride," Jack says, unable to keep his voice from a pig's squeal. "Can you believe that she ask me of all people to pick her up tonight? I'm chauffeuring famous people."

"You mean her and her thousand and one trashy friends?" I drawl, eyes rolled back. "This party is targeted to attract the Remington boys, not their spoilt stepsister and her kitten-soft friends."

Jack manages to squeak, "It's only Elisa Brookes, Sarella Dunn and Aisha Mahmoud."

"And Rani Romano."

He clears his throat and announces in a strangled whisper, "And the Rani Romano."

"You know I don't like her," I mutter. "She doesn't need to finish off her education at Millennia Arts School of all places. I mean, why our school? There are a bunch of other, way better performing arts schools out there. She's got enough money to last her three lifetimes anyway." Bitterly, I add, "Wasn't she on Forbes last year for being the richest model under twenty?"

"She was also voted number one in FHM's Sexiest Woman of the Year." Jack releases another mangled squeal. "She isn't even eighteen yet and she's a goddess already." I imagine him drawing a cross on his body when he add in a breathy whisper, "R-I-P me."

"Get a grip, child. She'll tamper with my plans for tonight. I need the Remington boys trashed. I need their blueprints, and if she's around then Karl will be on babysitting duty instead. She's a liability. A loose end I don't have time to tie."

Jack sighs. "Isn't that the entire point of the party? To distract the boys and get them talk?"

"I don't like her."

"Well, I don't like Karl Remington. Or Ralph. Or Tate. Those three are dangerous with their tricks. I can't believe you're crazy enough to invite them without insuring your house first. They'll probably set your face on fire. There are rumours going around school that they're chosen Fire this year. Nobody has ever picked Fire before."

"Fire?" I gasp, cursing quietly. "Shit."

"I know right."

"Shit."

"And here I was thinking that they were going to great lengths with Water. I think somebody might have tipped them off that you're doing Water this year."

I palm my furrowed forehead, a headache quietly throbbing into existence. "Stop talking. I don't want to hear about those boys until I have my hands on their blueprints." I weave in between kegs to the hallway mirror. I fiddle with my cloak and unbutton the top four buttons. "Bra in or out?"

"Depends on whose eyes you want to take out tonight. If it's the Remington boys then keep the bra out. If it's mine then wear a bag over your face."

I laugh, "Good one, I'll give you that much. But you you nearly cost Ralph a tooth when you elbowed him last month and he's a Remington. Mess with them and you're messing with all of them. So try to stay out of my love life next time you want to cross a Remington."

"What love life? You're trying to tie yourself between three brothers like a three way voodoo doll. That's just twisted, Hols." Jack blows out a long breath, a cushion deflated by my drastic attempts to sabotage the Remington boys every year. "Fine, I won't pick a fight with Ralph again. But you had better stay out of mine, too."

I chuckle. "Which was nonexistent last time I checked."

"Hilarious."

"Why, thank you."

Jack lowers his voice to a smug whisper. "Watch when Rani Romano let's me drive her back home tonight."

"To hers."

Ambitiously, he corrects me, "To mine."

"Yeah, right." I wedge the phone between my shoulder and neck to free my hands. I pour myself a shot of whisky and knock it back, welcoming the burn in my throat like hell welcoming sinners. "Who invited Rani and her famous buddies, anyway?" Silence falls and I groan, pressing my belly against the kitchen counter. "In fact, don't answer that."

Jack chuckles nervously and speaks at a normal volume again. "So. . . Is the party still?"

My eyes skitter around the furniture I've pushed to the wall, submissive where Mum's suitcase was stubborn. They watch me in silence, sworn to secrecy.

I grin, lips upturned to form a satisfied smirk. "Oh, it's definitely on."

***

The entire non-graduated class of Millennia has turned up in freak costumes. We're all a writhing mass of masked creatures clumped together like sticky fingers—the street art kids, the drama clique, the belting singers, the acrobats, the gymnasts. Everyone who is someone at Millennia is here tonight. And then there are the reigning magicians, top of the food chain, carnivorous kids with blood-red lips and billowing cloaks.

There is barely space to breathe in the midst of smoke and dust. An elbow is pressing into my back on the dance floor. Another scrapes my arm. Someone's mouth is on my ear, talking in a low, chilling voice. I'm at the heart of the party, beating like a pulse in time to the thumping bass. Vibrations pass through the floorboards and up my bare legs.

"Great party, Bishop," the voice shouts over the clashing guitar riffs, cold lips bumping against the shell of my ear. "Didn't think that your talents lay anywhere besides faux tricks that have been tested and tried by even the worst magicians."

I force a smile and turn around so I don't have to look at Karl Remington's wolfish smile anymore. He doesn't need another pair of eyes on him when half the room is already following him like a spotlight. His grip on my hip tightens, a pain so sharp I have to throw a kick back.

"I won the magic show twice in a row. Fair and square. Don't test me, Remington, or I will have your balls."

"I know exactly what you're up to, Bishop. There's no need to get your lapdog to worm his way into Rani's pants because she is as much of a dull bulb as he is when it comes to this year's upcoming show."

I feel his smile before I hear it in his dipping voice, the ridge of his arousal prodding the small of my back. He spins his fingers, turning me around sharply. The lights in the room glow a little brighter, or maybe it's the ice in his eyes reflecting my slowly dimming smile.

I am left unhinged, a door left wide open for him. I try to shut down my face, but Karl opens more doors. The more I hide, the more he sees. I should never have thrown this party.

"I'm going to win again, Remington. Don't think I won't break your brother's fingers like a twig the way I did last year. Try setting me on fire ever again and you'll be the bitch burning at the stake."

"Oh, I wouldn't count on it," he replies with a clairvoyant's smile. A new set of hands grab me as he falls away like a dream, like a cardboard cutout that was never real to begin with. The crowd part to let him through.

"Is he bothering you?" Jack asks, side-eyeing Karl who has taken up post by the window. He holds up his hand in a surrendering gesture, lips twisted into another enigmatic smile.

I scoff and toss my hair over my shoulder, resting my boneless arms on Jack's sturdy shoulders and swaying in time to the music, shaking my head in response to his question. Jack cranes his head to study the strobe lights that skitter across the ceiling and dance floor in beaming eyeballs of neon green, royal blue and bright fuchsias. His top hat begins to slip and slide until it leans dangerously to left like a gravestone atop a hill.

I press my index fingers to the corners of his mouth and force his lips up. "Drink up and relax. I'll get those blueprints even if I have to break Tate's fingers again."

I catch sight of a brown girl talking to Karl with a bored expression."Oh my God. Look over there. What is she wearing? Doesn't she know that she's a Remington now? This isn't a slutty Halloween costume party. The least she could do is wear a top hat."

"Who?" Jack trails off and looks around wildly. "Oh." His eyes light up—a watered down, diluted green. "Crap, she's looking at me. What should I do?" Jack melts while I turn to stone. "What should I do? Shall I go and talk to her?" Pale faced, he turns back to me. "Is there anything stuck between my teeth?"

I shrink back at his hundred-watt grin. "Mate, back away from me." I squint at his teeth, running my gaze over the cute, crooked incisor amongst a bed of pearly whites. "Wait. . . No. . . Yes. . . Hold still for a second." I clip his jaw and flick away a leafy remnant of some sort of vegetable. "There you go."

Jack's eyes stray away from my face, wandering over my shoulder to track a shade of blood—the cloak that hugs Rani's curves is as unforgiving as cling film, effortless and streamlined, flowing from her shoulders like a weeping waterfall.

"Wish me luck."

I pat his back encouragingly before he wades through the crowd. "Break a leg, princess."

He turns back to glower at me but I shoo him away and make a beeline for the kitchen, desperate for something stronger than watered down beer. I'm intercepted by a flash of deep red, a curtain of blood floating around bronze, toned calves and thick, army boots—chunky and definitely not supermodel-friendly.

"Know where I can find the bathroom? I think I've had too much water."

My eyes trail up slowly, diseased with double vision, raking over the dangerously low neckline of Rani's cloak. Her dark, perfectly tinted eyebrows are arched, lips trained into the very careless smile that I've bitched about one too many times to Jack. It's infuriating and pisses me off beyond any measure. Rich kids shouldn't be eligible to study at Millennia if they haven't passed the aptitude tests, yet they always manage to pay their way into the only arts school in the Midlands that still teaches circus magic and circus gymnastics in their performing arts curriculum.

"Are you deaf or something?" Rani asks, ticking a finger to her ear and waving her other hand before my eyes. "Blind, too?"

Her face splits into two. I blink twice to fuse her dragon heads to the same neck.

"Upstairs," I slur, suddenly regretting the jello shots I took earlier. Rani blinks, her eyelashes bowing down to worship her deep-set eyes. "Down the hallway. Turn left. First door on the right. You'll have to push the door with a little force. It tends to stick."

"Thanks." She cocks her head to the side. "Sophie, right? I think you're in my Illusions class."

I grind my teeth together. My throat itches for another drink.

"Holly, actually. And we're in Modern History and Sacred Geometry together."

"Oh, right." She laughs, a strangely soft sound. "Where did you say the bathroom was, again?"

I roll my eyes. Her two faces bloom into four. I can barely stagger to the kitchen door—a mere metre's distance away. But instead I spit, "Come. I'll show you."

"Mmm. Demanding, aren't we?"

"Shut up, Romano." I cast her a flat look over my shoulder. She raises two palms, a playful surrender.

"Getting it on so soon, girls?" Ralph asks us from his permanent spot at the foot of the staircase, his pupils largely dilated. There's a deck of tarot cards in his hands. He shuffles them so fast I see a blur of blood and ink. "Didn't know you were into girls, Holly?" He winks at me in a glitter of glacier blue and holds up the The Death card. "That explains why doing you was like doing a corpse."

I bare my teeth to form a hiss, knocking his the deck out of his hand. "Oops, my bad, Ralph." I cackle, a switch that makes Rani's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. She cleans up her face pretty quickly.

"Tate," he corrects me in an explosion of curses, lifting his left hand to showcase his crooked fingers.

I clap a hand over my mouth to laugh harder, having made the obvious mistake between the Remington twins. Tate's face darkens into a deep shade of purple. Before he can retaliate, slender fingers circle my wrist and I'm being heaved up the stairs.

Down the hallway. A left turn. First door on the right.

The bathroom door is jammed but it loosens its claws when Rani kicks it open with her army boots. The door locks again behind us, and then I'm nose to nose with a girl I've heard way too much about and none of it good.

"Ever heard of personal space?" I drawl, clasping her shoulders and pushing her back. She doesn't budge.

"Ever heard of being a good host?" Rani drawls back, sizing me up. Her eyelashes fan out, clean of mascara. A spike of envy sears my insides.

"He's the one who provoked me."

"He dropped a joke."

"Clearly not a very funny one."

The corner of her lip rises. "Why? Because you wouldn't be seen dead heading upstairs with a girl."

"No," I respond quickly, "because I wouldn't be seen dead heading upstairs with you. Famous or not."

"Fair enough." The other corner of her lip rises, her mouth stretching into a wide smile, perfectly symmetrical like the rest of her face. "I've never heard that excuse before."

"Heard what? That there's at least one person who goes to Millennia who would rather drink acid than be stuck in a bathroom with you at," I glance at my wristwatch, "twenty to midnight."

"That the girl who has been trying to set me up with her best friend for months now is a surprisingly cranky drunk."

"I am not drunk."

"You're always drunk," she remarks, deadpanned. "You turned up to Illusions smelling like a liquor store."

"It was Modern History, actually. And that was once."

"Twice," she corrects me. "Just this week alone. My, my, my, Holly. You make quite the rebel."

"Shut up."

"You are such a cranky drunk."

"I am not drunk."

Her eyes dance into mine like fireflies. "But you're definitely cranky."

I glare at her. "And I am not setting you up with Jack. He's really into you so I told him to go for it. There's nothing more to it. It's not my fault he's into front page whoring bitches who have zero talents in circus magic or performing arts. What's the point in enrolling in Millennia if you've already made it? Do you need to be taught how to walk properly again?" I tilt my head back and laugh haughtily. "Rich kids these days," I spit. "They'll do anything to be special."

She cocks her head to the side. "Jack's pretty cute, actually. He's pretty popular at school." I swallow the sudden urge to snap her head back upright and wipe away the amusement with the back of my hand. "He's innocent, too. And the entire year group wants to date him because he's friends with you. I mean, let's keep this a secret between us girls, but nothing says hot like a Head Boy." Her voice is melodic. Almost.

My hands ball into fists. "Don't you dare turn him into one of your games."

"Games?" she echoes, laughing, singing. "You think that I'm the one who's known all over school for having the breath of a forty year old man who drinks sour vodka?"

"I'm the two-time, reigning champion of the end-of-year magic show. The other kids fear me more than your damned stepbrothers from hell."

"Sweetheart, I've only been going to Millennia for one term and you already think that I've trumped your reputation?" The smile drops, replaced with a deep scowl, eyes dead where they once laughed into mine. "I applaud you, Holly." She rakes her eyes over me and my ears flush pink at the sudden scrutiny. "Witty and deceitful. Yet surprisingly dense."

"I am not dense." I narrow my eyes. "I know your type." I sway back and forth on my toes, jabbing a finger at her chest. "You're not fooling anyone, Romano," I hiss, "which makes me anything but dense."

Calmly, she replies, "Or we're just the same." I open my mouth to protest, ready to fire back something to ease the knotted snakes trying to slither their way free inside my stomach but I'm at loss for words. Rani tends to have that effect of everybody. The entire school adores her feisty ruthlessness. But I loathe her flip-coin attitude more than I hate the Remington boys.

"I am nothing like you," I spit.

"Mmm hmm," she murmurs, eyes razor sharp. Her hands—delicate bones decorated with dozens of vintage rings—float over my shoulders as she busies herself with fixing my shirt collar as if we've been friends for years. "You keep telling yourself that, sunshine." She steps back and chuckles to herself. "And next time, don't follow anybody to the bathroom at a party. Even if it's in your own house." She pauses, a wry edge to her tone, haunting almost. "Especially in your own house."

"You knew where the bathroom was all along, didn't you?" I gawk; my face contorts itself in fury as she steps back into the hallway, sidestepping a very puzzled and hurt Jack. He glances between us rapidly, curls fanning out like a girl spinning in a brand new dress.

He settles his wandering gaze on Rani, but addresses me first. "We have a problem, Hols."

I try to dance around him. "Where are the twins?" I ask, looking around wildly. "Did they leave? Is Karl still here? Did they mention anything about their blueprints?"

"No, it's not that." Jack steals a glance at Rani and lowers his voice. "We have an even bigger problem than the Remington boys."

I sigh, relieved that Karl and his brothers are still here. There's still some hope.

"Leave it, mate. Whatever it is," I say, glaring at Rani as she weasels past me to light a cigarette, "I don't want to hear it."

"No, Holly. You don't understand." He grimaces at the muddy look in my eyes. I've been drinking more than we agreed, enough to worry Jack again. He worries a thumb over his lip. "You've got to get everyone out right now."

"Listen, Jack—"

"No, you listen. Sam and Lucas—"

He tries to stop me from sidestepping him but I shrug him off sharply. "Not right now."

I storm after Rani, snatching her forearm and cornering her against the wall. I'm not finished with her yet. Maybe she has some clue about the Remington's grand finale for the magic show. In response to my seething anger, she breathes a cloud of smoke into my face and laughs. My skyscraper heels have given me a great vantage point, and from this angle I can pick out the smatter of freckles dusting her nose, gold against bronze, barely noticeable. I reach forward to snatch her cigarette from her lips.

"Holly, forget the Remington boys for one freaking moment and just listen to me." Jack taps my shoulder, frantic. "You need to kick everyone out—"

Suddenly the music is cut off. Groans fill the air, discordant like a broken violin. Phantoms of smoke rise upstairs on a current of faded white and I cough when Rani tucks her lit cigarette back between her teeth and blows out another long stream. I crane my head towards the mouth of the stairs, watching sixth formers part like the sea Moses walked through, giving way to woman whose hair rustles like forest fire.

"Holly Mae Bishop!"

My sister's shrill shriek shakes me; a jolt of fear sharpens the cotton wool stuffed in my brain. A blond head bobs into view behind her. It's Lucas Kowalski, cautious as ever, and clearly desperate to extinguish Sam's fury before she destroys the house in a volcanic eruption. She's done it before. And she'll do it again.

It's too late. Eyes wide, I mutter, "Oh, fuck."

"What is the meaning of this?" Sam booms, burning holes through everybody with a glare that could melt winter away forever. It may not be Halloween but everybody has dressed up for the occasion. We shrink back together, one body, one mind, one thought: to escape. We're all stone statues frozen in our state of sin.

"Run," Lucas mouths at me from behind his girlfriend. I glance up at Jack, panic-stricken, seeking help. It's too late; the Beast is upon us. She dissolves into a tsunami of white-hot rage and knocks a family portrait off the wall. It springs off a skinny acrobat's head and he howls a foul curse. Sam eats him alive with her stone eyes.

"See you in class tomorrow, cupcake," Rani whispers quickly in my ear, lips grazing my skin and marking them red. She's dragged away by Karl Remington and hurried out of the house.

Flustered, I barely notice the hand that shoots out and pinches the same ear that burned and seared from the soft pressure of Rani's lips.

"You, young lady, are so going to get it!"

I smile sheepishly and wince when Sam twists my ear. My voice is strangled when I squeak, "Welcome home, sis. So, uh, how was the, uh, train journey?" I wince again, stalling. My hand moves to pat her hair. "Have you gained weight? Wow, you look great in that dress. Amazing, in fact. I love what you did with your hair. It's so chic!"

"Shut the fuck up."

__________________________________________________

A/N: Hello, friends! What did you think of the story so far? I know, I know, it's pretty long. I get it. But I did try to cut back on a lot . Guess I got quite carried away with the wordcount (lol, why am I acting like I care and this is something to apologise for) so tell me I delivered and I'll give you a virtual hi-5.

Mergh. Here's a hi-5 anyway *hi-5*

I can't wait for Holly's upcoming character arc but the development I have in store for the secondary characters is going to be i n s a n e. Maaaan, Rani and Jack are going to slay everyone the way Beyonce slayed the charts when she bombdropped her eponymous album out of the blue ;)

—Kaddy.