“Lucius…” I pause. I don’t really want to say the words out loud again. They feel like a lie. Worse than a lie, even—a truth that you wish were a lie. “Lucius is my father.”

Nadine takes a step back. I don’t like the suspicion that crosses her face, but I get it. I’m not quite on the outside anymore. I’m part of the thing she hates, even if I don’t feel that way myself. She seems to shake herself, though, and reaches out to grip my hand.

“Then you can get answers here. About Willow. About…”

“I want to, but you saw how he just treated me. I’m nothing to him.” I don’t mean for my voice to crack on the last few words.

It makes Nadine squeeze my hand even harder. But it’s one part sympathy and one part pressure. “Try again. For Willow.”

She lets go of me and walks away like she has faith I’ll do whatever I can.

I believe in myself, but I don’t believe in him, and there’s someone else who might help me.

I’m not sure what place I’m looking for, so I focus on the who: Annalise, with her hollow cheeks and faded eyes. Eventually, I come to a dead end in a plain hallway with faded yellow wallpaper and a built-in bookcase that’s stacked with classic children’s stories. I glance behind me, half expecting to see the ghost of some Victorian child, and I almost leave, but there’s a pull, like the magic is clearing its throat, exasperated that I’m not understanding. I step up to the bookcase and start tugging the books. When I yank on The Secret Garden, one side of the bookcase springs forward. I’d be impressed if I had time for it.

I’m expecting another hallway or maybe a hidden library, but my feet sink into wild clovers, and my eyes squint against the sun in a sky without clouds. I hear trickling giggles before my eyes adjust to the light.

Flowers of every kind grow haphazardly from the field of clovers, so that it looks like a green canvas with splattered paint. It’s so bright and vibrant that it’s hard to stare at, like it shouldn’t exist, and I guess it doesn’t, really. A whimsical swing set rises from the center of it all. It’s nothing like the cheap metal ones in neighborhood parks. The bars are wood carved into perfect spirals. Vines curve around it and down the ropes of the swings, where the twins sit, pumping their legs back and forth. Annalise stands in front of them, bending down and plucking a handful of tulips at her feet. She tosses them into the air, and the twins laugh.

This is her happy place—just her sisters, away from Lucius and the rest of the magicians.