“Diana?” Matthew’s face was creased with concern.
Marthe entered the room, alert as ever to any change in the household. She located Becca, sitting in her chair with spoon aloft and eyes round. Philip had stopped thrashing and was staring at me.
“Uh-oh,” Philip said.
Shaking extended up my arms. My shoulders trembled.
Something happened in that chair. Something that I hadn’t liked. Something that I wanted to forget.
“Sit down, mon coeur,” Matthew said gently, resting his hands on my back.
“Don’t touch me,” I said, twisting and thrashing like Philip.
Matthew stepped back, his hands rising in a gesture of surrender.
“Marthe, go get Sarah,” he said, his gaze fixed on me.
Fernando appeared in the kitchen doorway as Marthe rushed past.
“Something’s wrong,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I didn’t mean—”
I didn’t mean to fly.
“The tree house,” I whispered. “It was after Dad built that tree house in the backyard.”
I stood on the platform that stretched between the stout limbs. It was autumn, and the leaves were the color of fire and iced with a coating of frost. I stretched out my arms, feeling the touch of air all around me, whispering. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be up there without an adult. That had been drummed into me, over and over and over.
“What happened?” Fernando asked Matthew.
“I don’t know. Something triggered her,” Matthew replied.
My arms rose.
“Oh, shit.” Sarah had arrived, pulling her kimono around her. “I thought I smelled power.”
Don’t lie to me, Diana. I can smell it when you do magic.
“What does it smell like?” I wondered, then and now.
The room was filling up with creatures—Marcus and Agatha, Marthe and Sarah, Fernando and Jack. Becca and Philip. Apollo. Matthew. They were all watching me.
I didn’t care if my mother could smell my magic or not. I wanted to play with the air. I dove headfirst into it. Something jerked at my arm. Fear gripped my belly, held fast, twisted me around.
“Go away,” I shouted. “Just leave me alone. Stop watching me.”
Philip burst into tears, confused by my outburst.
“Don’t cry,” I pleaded. “Please don’t cry, baby. I’m not mad. Mommy’s not mad.”
Becca joined in, sobbing along with her brother as her surprise gave way to something else.
Fear.
Past and present hit me in terrifying, bruising waves. I did the only thing I could think of to escape.
I rose into the air and flew away, up the stairs and out onto the top of the tower where I dove, headfirst, into the whispering air.
This time no one tried to stop me from flying.
This time, I didn’t hit the ground.
This time, I used my magic.
This time, I soared.
* * *
—
MATTHEW WAS WAITING on the battlements when I returned from my unscheduled flight. Though it was a bright, sunny day, he had lit a fire and thrown green wood on it to create a plume of smoke, as if he wanted to make sure I could find my way home again. I could see it as I approached, a thick gray feather rising into the blue sky.
Even after my feet touched down on the wooden deck, Matthew didn’t take a step toward me, tension and worry making his body a tight spring. When I came to him, slowly at first and then in a rush, Matthew folded me into arms that had the gentle strength of an angel’s wings.
I sighed against him, my body cleaving to his. Exhausted, emotionally drained, and confused, I let him hold me up for a few moments. Then I drew away and met his eyes.
“My parents didn’t spellbind me once, Matthew,” I told him. “They did it over and over, little by little, month after month. They started small, with tiny leashes and weights to keep me here, to keep me from flying, to keep me from starting fires. By the time Knox came to the house, they had no choice but to tie me up in so many knots I couldn’t escape them.”
“I triggered your memories, trying to buckle Philip into his chair.” Matthew looked devastated.
“That was just the final straw,” I said. “I think it was Marcus’s stories about Philippe, and the hidden hand that guided his every action that broke through the walls I built around those memories.”
In the grass below, the children chattered while they played with Apollo. Soft plonks suggested that Marcus was fishing in the moat. Hushed conversations among the adults provided a quiet, steady background melody. But there were vampires among them—young and old—and I had no wish to be overheard.