For some reason I wake early the next morning. A good gift, I decide, would be to prepare breakfast myself for a change instead of letting other people do it for me. Then again, a good gift to myself would be half an hour more sleep, and these blankets are warm and comfortable… I shake my head and untangle myself.

  I discover over the next few minutes that I’m not very good at cooking breakfast. This might have been a bad idea. I at least don’t actually burn anything, but… it’s just not something I’m used to doing, and I’m constantly scared I might do something wrong and overthinking how long the bacon should cook for and how my grandmother likes her eggs. Hopefully I haven’t got anything too wrong. And hopefully if I have they’ll agree that it’s the thought that counts.

  Once they appear, they certainly seem pleased with the breakfast, and their smiles don’t become notably more forced as they eat it. I’ll call that a victory, I suppose. I even tackle the dishes while I still have my enthusiasm for helping.

  We exchange gifts once that’s done. My dad appreciates the paperweight I bought what seems like forever ago, before I left Ryk. I can’t help feeling like it’s not that impressive, not compared to what he knows I made for my grandmother.

  And he’s got me a new set of self-inking quills which write in different colours. That will make my life a lot easier; I trained myself out of colour-coding my notes to avoid the inconvenience of carrying around different-coloured inkwells, so it’ll be nice to be able to resume the practice. I just try not to think about how much it must have cost him.

  My grandmother wants to give my dad her gift while I’m not there. I can’t blame them, though I’m instantly curious about her intentions. So I just pick up the candleholder from where I left it last night, brush my hand along its base to activate the enchantment, and hand it to her.

  She looks confused for a second, until she takes in the ball of light that clings to the top. She flips the candleholder over so that the ball is at the bottom now, and marvels at how it stays intact rather than falling off, and how her hand passes through the light without disrupting it.

  “You can turn it on and off,” I say. “If you touch the base – “

  She does so, and the light vanishes. Then, a second later, reappears at her command.

  “It’s not really bright enough to work by. I wanted to do that, but that’s impossible without it being built into a full ward network, and I don’t know how you’d go about making one of those – “

  “Tallulah. It’s great. It’s magical, and it’s mine. That’s all I need.”

  I can’t help but smile at that. And watching her play with her new toy is wonderful. You really don’t have to be a magician to understand the joy and wonder that magic can bring. In fact, in some ways I think that makes it harder. If it’s just something that has always been there, it’s so much harder to understand how extraordinary it is.

  Maybe I have the best of both worlds there, for once.

  Once my grandmother eventually tires of her playful experimentation with the enchanted candleholder, she fetches me my new dress. It’s a beautiful shade of blue, simple but carefully-crafted, the sort of thing you could imagine wearing to a party. And not the sort of thing I could imagine myself wearing.

  I thank her and go to the bathroom to change. It fits me perfectly. That shouldn’t be a surprise, considering the measuring sessions I went through, but I’m not used to having clothes tailored to my body shape. I didn’t realise how much of a difference it makes.

  There’s a mirror in the bathroom, but it’s far from full-length, so I can’t see how it looks on me properly. I don’t think we even have a full-length mirror in the apartment. I know it’s possible to enchant a surface to reflect light, but I’ve never taken the time to learn that enchantment. Maybe if one of the textbooks Edward sent happens to contain it – quite possibly, actually, it would be a logical thing for a book on visual enchantments…

  I return to the living room thinking about that and completely forgetting I’m supposed to be showing off my new dress.

  “I like it,” says my dad. “It suits you.”

  “Suits her?” my grandmother scoffs. “Tallulah, you look beautiful as a princess.”

  I blink. I haven’t ever thought of myself as beautiful. I’m used to just looking different. There was gossip at Genford about who was the prettiest and who wanted to lose weight or wear different makeup or change their hairstyle, but I never featured. I wasn’t even in the same category. I was glad of it at the time – worrying about all that seemed exhausting, and I certainly couldn’t have done it while also maintaining my grades – but now…

  Now I feel as if I’ve missed out on something. I like hearing those words. Even if she’s only saying that because it’s the dress that’s beautiful, or because I’m her granddaughter and she’s obliged to. Of course, it also comes with the familiar awkwardness of praise I don’t feel I’ve earnt. “Thank you,” I say. “I can’t see how it looks, though. Is there a mirror anywhere?”

  “I – no. Not a full-length one.” My dad grimaces. I guess that’s another thing he didn’t take from the house when he left, and it hasn’t mattered enough to justify the expense. He hasn’t told me how much money he has, but I know it can’t be much, not until the divorce is settled.

  “My hand-mirror probably isn’t any better than the one in the bathroom,” my grandmother says. “But I could go and – “

  “No, please don’t buy one, I can – “

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Neither of you need to,” I interrupt, knowing that my dad would absolutely spend more than his budget reasonably allowed out of sheer stubbornness. “I can enchant a piece of wall.” At least, I hope I can. And if I can’t, then at least I can spend long enough trying that it’ll be time to leave for this morning’s service and they’ll forget about it.

  “You can enchant walls into mirrors?” my grandmother asks.

  “Well. I can’t. Not yet. But it’s possible. And I think this book explains how, so I can learn.” I gesture to the textbook on enchantments, which I left on a side-table after last night.

  “Isn’t that one of the books Edward Blackthorn sent you? I thought those were…” I realise the conclusion she’s coming to. Historical records and books from the Blackthorns’ private library are one thing. Spellbooks from the Blackthorns’ private library? People would literally kill to get their hands on those.

  “No,” I correct hastily. “He did send it to me, but it’s not from his library. I asked him for help with enchanted light for your candleholder, and that was part of it.”

  “You asked Edward Blackthorn to help you make me a present,” my grandmother says flatly.

  “Yup,” I reply, equally deadpan.

  “Well, then do thank him on my behalf when you next see him.”

  “I will,” I reply, grinning as I imagine the look on his face when I do that. He doesn’t even know my grandmother exists, never mind that he helped produce an enchanted gift for her. I pick up the textbook and begin leafing through it, hoping that I will find the enchantment rather than having to fake it.

  Fortunately, there’s a whole chapter on enchantments that change how light interacts with an object. Not just reflection, but making objects transparent, or making objects that would normally be transparent opaque. I flop onto the sofa and begin skim-reading.

  “I guess we should leave you to it?” my dad says.

  “Now does seem a good time for me to give you my present,” my grandmother agrees, and they retreat to the bedroom and leave me to read.

  The downside of my little scheme is that I now actually need to learn this enchantment, because my grandmother will insist on seeing it demonstrated and I don’t want her to realise that I’m far from an all-powerful magician.

  It can’t be that hard, though… I realise the problem as soon as I get to the enchantment in question and its attached caution: Do not attempt to enchant larger surfaces such as walls, floors or ceilings unless you can maintain clear mental separation of the area you wish to enchant. I narrow my eyes and reread the sentence until I work out what exactly I’m being cautioned against and why. I think what it’s saying is that I could accidentally end up enchanting a far larger area than I intend to, and that doing that could drain a dangerous amount of magical power.

  The book does give examples of tricks to maintain that separation, such as drawing a chalk outline on the floor or wall in question. Is that why chalk is often used in setting up temporary wards, then? It makes a lot of sense.

  I don’t have any chalk, since I don’t regularly make temporary wards and have always hated writing on a slate. But I imagine a line drawn in pencil would have the same effect. Then again, I don’t expect the landlady would take too kindly to my drawing on the walls. I’ll ask my dad about it.

  Or I could just find a smaller surface. If I stood the kitchen table on its side… yes. That would work. With that difficulty resolved, I continue reading to find out how I’m actually supposed to cast the enchantment, and then end up accidentally starting the next section because I wasn’t taking in the information.

  My dad and grandmother emerge just as I’m about ready to start. They both seem notably subdued. I really wish I knew what they’d given each other and said to each other. Did she tell him part of what she told me?

  “I don’t know about you,” my grandmother says, “but I could really use some tea.”

  “I’m guessing this wouldn’t be a good time to knock the kitchen table over and turn its surface into a mirror, then,” I say.

  She laughs. “Probably not. But I can make you tea as well?”

  I accept that compromise.

  I like the way she makes tea. I’m not sure why it seems to taste a little sweeter and lighter than it does when I make it for myself, but I enjoy it while I can. It’s starting to sink in a little that I’ll be leaving and returning to my other life in only two days. I’m surprised by how mixed my feelings about that are. I miss my friends – particularly Edward, of course – and the Academy itself, and being able to close the curtains on my bed and shut out the world.

  But I know I’ll also miss this. Quiet days, days when I can just exist rather than having to survive. Having my dad here, knowing that he cares about me and will try to protect me, lying to myself that that’s enough. Not having to worry about what comes next. Feeling less alone.

  All I can do is enjoy these days while I still can.

  I don’t particularly enjoy the last Temple service of Holy Days, though. The sermon feels too harsh and judgmental. It has me wondering whether I’m a bad person for not sending more gifts and doing more to show my appreciation for people I care about. At least I’m able to remind myself that it’s just one priest’s interpretation of scripture I don’t particularly keep to for most of the year, and try not to let the words get to me.

  And at least I don’t have a Malaina episode. I’m a little afraid of it for a while, but I recite my list of kings and breathe slowly and nothing comes of that.

  The weather has finally ceased being unseasonably pleasant, and we’re attacked by a short sharp rain shower on our way back. It’s not bad enough to soak through my coat, thankfully, but I only wore tights underneath the new dress and they’re definitely not designed to keep out the rain. I make a note to learn water-repelling enchantments and use them on all my clothes. What’s the point of being a magician if I don’t use magic to fight life’s little annoyances?

  I have to change in the bathroom again when we get back. I keep the dress on, even though its lower half is damp, and apply a warming-spell that will hopefully dry it while I’m still wearing it. If it doesn’t make my legs uncomfortably hot first. It might be a bad idea, but it’s still a worthwhile experiment.

  But I can’t work on creating an enchanted mirror while maintaining the spell. I decide I don’t mind that too much, not when I’m too focused on getting warmer and drier to want to teach myself any more enchantments. I just curl up on the sofa, wrapped in blankets.

  My grandmother does the same on the other sofa, the one my dad sleeps on. I’ve got used to her disappearing to the bedroom to work, but I guess she doesn’t need to do that now that my new dress is made. My dad, who was last to change out of his wet clothes, laughs as he walks back into the living room. “Where am I supposed to sit, then?”

  My grandmother and I share matching grins. I curl myself into a tighter ball so I take up less space and my dad has room to sit besides my feet. He does so, sighing.

  “Well,” says my dad. “Delightful weather we’re having.”

  I can’t help laughing at how flatly he says it and how utterly undelightful the weather is. The silence is awkward at first, but gradually becomes more comfortable as we relax in each other’s company. I wonder if it’s socially acceptable for me to read some more of Georgiana’s diary. And if I can untangle myself from the blankets to fetch it.

  “I’ll go and make lunch, then,” says my grandmother finally, and a little pointedly.

  “In that case I’ll cook dinner for the three of us,” my dad fires back. “That seems fair, since Tallulah already took care of breakfast.”

  My grandmother smiles ruefully, which I take as reluctant agreement, and tosses her blankets aside to make her way to the kitchen.