Power Play

Vivienne

The boutonnière slips through my unfeeling fingertips. Breathe, I remind myself. Michael’s familiar honey-brown eyes widen and lose their heavy-lidded softness as he focuses them on me. The woman on her knees at his feet rises, her back still turned. She pulls the silky blue straps of her gown up and into place. I recognize the gown. I bought it after all. Even knowing it’s her, I inhale sharply when my sister turns and faces me. She flicks her tongue across her swollen lips. She positions herself in front of the worn leather armchair where he’s seated. A belated and misguided attempt at shielding Michael from view.

I remain frozen in the open doorway of my fiancé’s quarters as a strangled laugh escapes my throat.

“Vivi, please,” Quinn begs, “don’t be mad. It didn’t mean anything! It just…” she wrings her hands, “happened.” 

“Right. Like all the other times you’ve just happened to take what was mine. Well, this is the last time,” I say.

Behind my sister, the asshole ties the belt of my cashmere bathrobe around his waist.

“Vivienne. Shut the door. We don’t want to cause a scene,” Michael says. He places a hand on my sister’s shoulder and stands next to her. Contrived tears gather in her blue eyes and trickle down her face, glistening in the light of the fire that does nothing to warm me. 

“We don’t want to cause a scene? It seems to me there is no we anymore, Michael,” I say. Nevertheless, I shut the heavy oak door behind me. It creaks in protest. 

“Quinn is right.” He steps toward me and extends a hand toward my arm. I evade his touch. “It meant nothing.”

“It means something to me,” I say, “unlike your promises.” I twist the two-carat ring off of my left hand, wincing as a sharp edge pierces my flesh. With trembling fingers, I drop it. Metal and stone clatter hollowly until the ring settles next to the boutonnière on the polished marble floor. 

“Don’t be hasty, Vivienne,” Michael says.

I want to rage and scream and ask why, but instead I turn on my thrifted designer heel. With the shreds of dignity I can muster, I reach for the tarnished brass doorknob.

“You might want to reconsider walking out that door, Vivienne. You want me—my family—on your side,” Michael says. My hand falters, just for a moment. I twist the knob and heft open the door.

“You seem to have forgotten who I am, Michael.” I glance over my shoulder. His arms fall to his sides and his puffed-out chest deflates. I flash a cutting grin at him, infusing it with my power.

“I think I’d forgotten, too.” I sweep into the corridor, my head held high. 

The hallway—the whole campus, really— is in a state of gracious decay. An ancient doyenne showing her age despite her best efforts. Heavy air redolent with the smell of must and parchment carries the self-righteous judgment of previous inhabitants. Normally I scurry toward the exit, lest I be found lacking.

Tonight, I will not scurry. My stiletto heels echo as they strike the cold, hard floors. Murky green magic, which usually clings to shadowy corners like cobwebs, approaches curiously and the red gold of my own magic appears. My magic, ordinarily playful and effervescent, is subdued and distrustful. 

The shimmery green dust is insistent, and soon the red and green combine to form a mesmerizing bronze funnel cloud that travels beside me. The smell of moss and berries tickles my nose. I get the sense that I, or at least my magic, have met with approval.

I reach the door and wait for the comforting sensation of my magic returning to my core—it doesn’t. My whole body tingles and hums as shimmery bronze fireworks burst over my head. Then the magic, all of it, cascades over me. I feel a pleasant stretching sensation as it settles within. I’ve heard of this, of being chosen by magic left behind. I never thought I’d get to experience it.

I emerge from the building in a daze and allow the doors to swing shut behind me. The latch engages with finality. Five chimes of a bell resonate across campus. It will be dark soon. I pull my vintage fur shawl tighter around myself. 

I walk two doors down and enter the sanctuary of the library. My father hangs up the rotary phone he’s holding against his ear and rushes to meet me. 

“I was trying to call you—but wait, what is this? Your aura feels… different.” His bushy brows draw together in a question. 

I draw in a shaky breath, letting the familiar scents of parchment and dusty leather soothe me.

“Long story short? The magic lurking in Bramble Hall chose me…” I try to laugh and succeed, kind of. “And… I’m not engaged anymore.”

I’m immediately enveloped in my father’s sturdy arms. He pulls back, holding me at arm’s length.

“I was trying to call you. I overheard snippets of a conversation I shouldn’t have, but I’m glad I did. Michael’s sister was telling her little posse that you aren’t right for him. Too black-and-white, too many ideas. Maybe a broken engagement is all she meant when she said the family planned to get rid of you, but…” 

I swallow hard. We bend our heads together, exchanging information and coming up with a plan. I still have a lot to process, but there’s no time for that now. I’m late for the winter formal.

Quinn

The door shuts behind my sister. She doesn’t even slam it. I have to admit, I’m impressed. I gaze up at Michael with my baby blues, wide and guileless. I pout. 

“Do I really mean nothing to you, baby?” I press myself against him. 

He gently but firmly nudges me aside and drags his hand down his face.

“Quinn, not now. You and I both know your sister is the emotional one. Enough with the charade,” he says.

“I guess there’s no point in denying that.” I smooth my gown over my curves.

“If we work together, by the end of the night she’ll be back on my arm where she belongs," he says. 

“If we work together, you don’t need her. Don’t you see that? We’re a much better team than the two of you ever were.” I move into the bathroom where I know my sister keeps spare makeup for when she stays over. I swipe the ruby red shade of her lipstick across my full lips. I seek out her hairspray and spritz a bit onto my blond curls and rearrange them just so.

Michael hasn’t responded. I emerge from the bathroom and find him mostly dressed and seated at his desk, riffling through a thick tattered tome of spells.

“Spells won’t work. She might be a romantic idealist, but she isn’t weak. She’s nowhere near as emotional as I expected her to be, so—”

“As you expected her to be?! Are you telling me you planned this?” He slams the ancient book shut irreverently and the librarian’s daughter in me cringes. 

I shrug one slim shoulder. 

“I told her you’d asked to meet her here instead of in front of the great hall.”

“Holy hell, Quinn. Why?!” He explodes out of his chair, stalking toward me. He towers over me. 

“Because I’ve lived in that bitch’s shadow my entire life.”

“And what exactly do you stand to gain from this display?”

”You,” I say simply.

Michael scoffs.

“It’s so funny that my grades have continued to rise this semester since we’ve been spending time together, professor.” His mouth hardens into a rigid line. “That’s right, Mikey. It’s too soon to put this shiny ring on my own finger,” I pluck it from the floor and pinch it between my thumb and forefinger, “but it will be mine.” 

“That’s never going to happen. Who do you think is going to believe you?” His lips pull back in a sneer. He drapes his tie around his neck, still preparing to walk out on me and crawl back to her. I think not. 

“I’ve been documenting our sessions. You could use that against me, of course, but it would be mutually destructive. Oh, and just so you know, I have files that would be released if I were to meet a tragic demise… you do understand, don’t you darling?” 

His nostrils flare.

I give him a candy-sweet smile and the sapphire sparkles of my magic craft a flawless four-in-hand knot in his necktie. I take a slow deep breath, letting the tangy scent of sea salt and organic decay fill my lungs.

“This is not over,” he says through clenched teeth. “But for now, it’s in our best interest to attend the formal. And not together. I’ll give you a five minute lead.” 

Michael

Quinn blows me a kiss and saunters out the doorway. She’s smart and powerful, but she’s also naïve and predictable. Hopefully she’ll be carrying an heir before she realizes she’s been manipulated.

Picking up my phone, I click on my father’s face and listen to the phone ring. 

“Make it brief.” 

“Yes, sir. Quinn made her move. Vivienne showed up tonight when we were in flagrante delicto. Engagement’s off. But you know what they say about a woman scorned. And she’s more powerful than any woman has a right to be.”

”Understood. I’ll handle it.” 

“And by that you mean…”

But my father has already hung up. 

Vivienne

I step into the ballroom and reach for a glass of merlot offered on an antique silver tray. The aged wine is the unappealing red-brown of dried blood. 

Out of habit, my eyes seek out Michael. Quinn stands next to him and they clink their glasses together in response to a toast I hadn’t heard. There’s a thin line between love and hate. Do I hate them? I mull it over. I don’t think I do, which brings up a new question. Did I ever truly love them? The aching twist deep in my gut says I did. 

My phone causes my clutch to vibrate in my other hand.

“Hey, Dad. Did you have any trouble?”

“No, sweetie. I just sent it over to your email. All it needs is your signature.”

“Thanks. And thanks for looking out for me.”

“Always. And V?”

“Yeah, Dad?” I ask, my voice thick.

“Your sister… Well, it’s not your fault. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon?”

“Of course. And take care of you, too,” I say, and then hang up. I can’t afford the luxury of tears just yet. 

I open my email, sign the document, and send it back to my father to print. I draw in a deep breath and abandon the untouched glass of wine. As I make my way toward Michael’s father, I smile and nod at familiar faces. But I don’t stop to chat.

“Provost Miller.” I incline my head graciously. “Well played.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Miss Jackson.” His smile is brittle. 

“My resignation letter is on its way to your desk. I’ve decided to accept the offer at Whitethorn after all. As such, I’ve also terminated my engagement with your son. I thought you should hear it from me.” My voice quavers, but I meet his eyes boldly.

“We are sorry to see you go, Miss Jackson.” But I see the subtle release of tension in his shoulders. A professor walks up and I smile politely and excuse myself.

I shudder to think what accident may have befallen me had I not opted out of the chess game I hadn’t known I was a pawn in. I look around, for the first time seeing the cracks in the pretty picture that has been presented. The ugliness underneath the glittering surfaces.

I feel like I’ve been through the wringer as I walk out the doors and into the icy cold night. On the verge of both laughter and tears. My whole life has taken place on this campus. It is all I know. I’m jittery—anxious and excited to see what else is out there. My magic bubbles within me in agreement. There’s no going back now.