Twenty-Four
Some time after dinner on Monday evening, I walk down the stairs in a long black evening dress, gloves, and high-heeled shoes. My hair is pinned back with a delicate gemstone clip on one side, cascading in curls over my other shoulder. The one thing Mom taught me well—aside from making sleeping potions of apparent illegal strength—was hairstyle spells. She never seems to use any herself, but she must have decided that someone born with gold hair should always keep it looking good. We used to try something different every day when I was in junior school. These days I leave it loose and unstyled most of the time, but I remember the spells Mom taught me.
I find Ryn and Vi in the living room. Ryn is draped across the couch reading some papers and Vi’s sitting on the floor by the
