As Fifer meandered toward the stairs feeling very sorry for herself, her feet crunched down on some broken glass on the floor, apparently having been missed in the cleanup efforts. Fifer checked her costume pockets to see if she had anything that would help with the mess. Finding no magic broom components, she went to the kitchen to get an actual broom. Maybe one of the cooks would want to chat while Fifer had a bedtime snack.

But the kitchen was dark and empty—a rare sight. Light from the moon streamed in through a broken window.

Fifer stood in the moonlight for a moment, then got a broom and dustpan and went back to clean up whatever glass she could find. She returned the items and fixed herself a fig jam sandwich and an orange cream drink. Feeling despondent, she didn’t bother going all the way to the tubes by the dining room, and instead she stepped into the room service tube in the corner and sent herself up to her room. She was beginning to worry about what age thirteen would bring. If tonight was any indication of how it would go, she wasn’t very eager to find out. She arrived in their room to Thisbe’s big mess of fake blood all over their bathroom. Disgusted, Fifer cleaned it up.

By the time Thisbe came into their bedroom and slipped into her bed, Fifer startled awake. “Finally,” she said angrily.

Thisbe’s eyes widened in the dark room. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Fifer said grumpily. “Just be quiet so I can sleep.”

“I am being quiet.” Thisbe wrinkled her nose at her sister. Things were definitely getting unbearable between them. They used to agree without exception and do everything together, but now they couldn’t be further apart on their thinking. They each wanted the other to see things her way. It was terribly unsettling. And it was starting to suffocate them both, stuck in this room together. Unfortunately, neither of them knew how to stop their relationship from changing and spiraling out of control.

Changing Times

I suppose I should get my own room,” Thisbe said a few days later at breakfast. She was already mentally preparing for her training with Florence for the day, but the thought had crossed her mind several times since the night of the party. Having her own room might be nice—she could practice her magic and go to bed whenever she wanted without disturbing Fifer.

Fifer looked up, her hand poised to take a spoonful of boysenberry oatmeal. “What?”

“Now that we’re thirteen, I mean,” Thisbe said, wiping her mouth and tossing her napkin on her plate. She pushed back her chair. “Everyone else has their own room. And last year Alex said we could split up if we wanted to once we were thirteen, remember?”