But I was never here for him anyway. I’m here to learn about Mom. I’m here because I love the magic. I’m here because my troupe feels like family. My father being here doesn’t change any of that.

“Earth to Ava,” Willow says. She waves a handful of nail polish bottles in my face. “Do you prefer matte or gloss or clear with sparkles?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done it before.”

“You’ve never painted your nails?”

“No.”

“Not even as a kid?” Nadine scrunches up her face like this is the ultimate cruelty.

There was a time when a question like that would have sent me spiraling into a well of painful memories, but now I let myself laugh. Because we’re pretending right now. We’re pretending we’re not three girls walking around with hidden hurts. We’re creating an illusion just to give ourselves a little moment of peace. That’s what magicians do in the real world. We should be able to do it for ourselves.

I shake my head and leave it at that.

Willow and Nadine exchange looks of pure evil. We all sit on Willow’s pink comforter with a pile of makeup and nail polish in front of us—most of which belongs to Willow. None of which belongs to me. They invited me over to get ready for the elimination ball tonight, because why not have a giant party to celebrate one of us not getting everything we’ve been fighting for?

I’m much too nervous to worry about my nails.

Still, Nadine holds up a bottle of black polish. Obviously she knows me better than I thought.

I shrug. I’m not saying no.

Willow shakes her head, leaning across the bed as she tucks her hair behind her ear. She holds up an electric-green bottle, smiling slyly. “This color suits you.”

Nadine chuckles.

I blush, and I don’t try to fight it. In this one moment I have everything I told myself I never wanted. I’m just a girl painting her nails with friends, giggling over a boy, and in a few moments we’ll put on beautiful gowns, not to go to some elimination hosted by a questionable group of immortals, but to go to a homecoming dance where the only thing we will worry about is if the punch is spiked and whether or not we’ll be queen for the night, not an eternity.

That’s the illusion. But one of us may be gone after tonight, and the boy I’m really thinking about doesn’t match the green nail polish.

My stomach somersaults. Will I lose my troupe if I choose Roman over Xander? They hate Roman, but what if I can be a bridge between them? Maybe it could work out, and I can have it all. Or maybe I’ll lose everything before the competition even ends.