I’ve spent so much time dwelling on the journey, it’s overwhelming to be here.

Maxine’s family lives in a flat in the 8th Arrondissement on the Left Bank of the Seine. It doesn’t take us long to drive there. I keep my face pressed to the window, drinking in the views like I’ve been starving for it.

The river Seine reflects the late afternoon light, shimmering as if from a dream. Along its banks groups of young people gather, chatting and passing bottles of wine between them. I wonder what their lives must be like, living in a place like this.

Even ordinary shops look like something from a fantasy, with shiny copper gutters and multicolored doors.

New York is all practicality, harsh angles, and dull gray. In Paris, it seems to be a rule that things must be beautiful as well as functional.

Maxine nudges my shoulder. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

The “yes” I whisper in response seems inadequate, but I don’t have words for my awe. If I’m going to find answers, surely it must be in this place. It’s already so full of magic. It’s somewhere worth running away to.

Once at the flat, Pierre takes us up the elevator while more household staff pour out of the magnificent building to fetch our trunks.

The elevator lets out into a marble foyer so similar to Haxahaven’s that for a moment I have to stifle a laugh.

“Darling!” A woman who must be Maxine’s mother comes exploding out of the doors that must lead to the living quarters. “You’re here!” She takes her daughter in her arms and gives her two kisses, one on each cheek, before pulling back to look at her.

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Oh, mon Dieu, Maxine, what are you wearing?”

Maxine rolls her eyes. “Lovely to see you, too, Maman. These are my schoolmates, Lena and Frances.”

Maxine’s mother is one of the few Haxahaven parents who know the truth of their daughter’s life. One of the few lucky enough to know their daughter isn’t wasting away in a sanitarium, but a scholar at a school of magic.

It isn’t expressly against the rules to tell one’s parents, but most girls choose the path of least resistance. Who would believe the truth anyway?

As Haxahaven’s resident Finder, Maxine is more bound to the school than other students. After one too many missed Christmases, she wrote home and told her family the truth. They seem to have taken the news well.

We mutter our hellos, and Maxine’s mother waves us into the receiving parlor.

“Your father is working,” her mother explains with a hint of a French accent.

“That man is not my father,” Maxine replies with no real malice, lowering herself onto a pale pink armchair.