I nodded and continued with the doomed tale, and my mother listened, her gaze resting on me and the scars that gleamed at my neck. She was quiet when I was done, and her silence made me feel uncomfortable. As if she was weighing what she wanted to do with us and our predicament.

“Will you let me and Papa and Imonie stay here for a little while? Just until we can find new work in the city,” I asked, because I didn’t know if she lived alone. If she had a lover or a companion, even though her house felt empty and quiet, full of golden trim that glittered in the shadows.

“Of course, Clementine,” she replied, a lilt of offense in her tone, as if I were being absurd to assume otherwise. “It’ll be like old times.”

It would not be like old times, and we all knew it.

Papa arrived, letting himself in the front door. His footsteps were heavy as he approached, and he stood awkwardly on the threshold of the den, trying not to look at my mother. She rose from her settee, elegant in her lavender gown, her black hair swept back in a loose chignon.

“You haven’t aged a day, Ambrose,” she said to him.

Papa at last looked at her, unguarded, and I thought I saw regret in his eyes. They had parted ways seven years ago. I remembered how they had reached a point when all they did was bicker and argue. They held different ideologies about magic and the intent behind spells. My mother studied metamara and used its whimsy on the stage, captivating audiences as she transformed one thing into another. She believed magic should be fun and entertaining, and my father, with his rigid avertana opinions, believed magic should only be used in logical, practical ways. As a means to guard and defend others.

“Same to you, Sigourney,” he said. “If Clem and Imonie can reside with you, I’ll find lodgings elsewhere.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” my mother replied. “I live here alone, and this house has far too many empty rooms. Stay here for now.”

He nodded but still seemed frozen on the threshold.

I suddenly felt exhausted by the weight of everything—worry as to where we would go, what we would do now, and the sheer amount of homesickness that pinched my lungs every time I drew a deep breath.

That first night in my mother’s town house, I lay in bed and relived my new moon battle with Lennox and Phelan, over and over in the dark.

And I finally let myself cry.