This, the social farce and pretense and having to ever pretend a man is funny, I don’t think I could stand. The Countess of Essex is a stronger girl than me.

It’s right before the dessert course when it happens: a butter dish scoots across the table as if gliding across ice. It’s the small kind of magic we do all the time at school. I haven’t seen anyone open a door with their hands in ages.

Next to me, Maxine sports a wicked grin, and the game begins.

Lena responds in kind, lifting Maxine’s dessert fork up a fraction of an inch, then dropping it back down onto the white tablecloth with a small ting.

I go next. Feeling bold and bored, I direct my magic at Maxine’s knife and spin it in a full circle. The magic responds, and I sigh in relief. It’s so like Maxine to not treat me with kid gloves despite her knowing the strangeness of my magic lately, and I love her for it.

Lena swallows down a laugh.

I’ve wondered before if Maxine ever regretted giving up her high society life for Haxahaven. I know now she’s telling the truth when she says she doesn’t miss events like this, people like this, having to sit straight-backed and polite like this.

Lena sends a ripple through Maxine’s water, and Maxine floats Lena’s napkin up off her lap and onto the floor.

I’m next. The tendrils of my magic reach out and take hold of Maxine’s dessert spoon, lying gracefully above her plate.

I mean to nudge it, so it’s lying vertically instead of perpendicular.

But the second I try, a shock goes through me like zapping my finger on a doorknob after shuffling through carpet but ten times worse.

The dessert spoon launches itself across the table, shooting across the crisp white linen tablecloth and directly into Lena’s crystal water glass, which shatters.

The countess gasps, clutching her literal pearls.

Hedda rubs a hand across her eyes and blinks slowly a few times.

Maxine, Lena, and I hold our breaths.

A waiter appears immediately, sweeping away the broken glass and dabbing at the soaked tablecloth with a clean towel.

Maxine widens her eyes at me, and I shrug my shoulders. Lena places her hand on my knee under the table, and I turn to give her a small nod.

I need to reassure them that I’m all right, but am I? What is happening to me? The question makes me want to throw up.

“What on earth happened, darling? Are you all right?” Hedda asks Lena.

Lena smiles thinly and says, “The ship… moved.”

Hedda looks to Rose, but no more is said.

Another waiter arrives carrying a tray of Baked Alaska, already ablaze.