Crewel

humiliation burned in my chest. And then to make it even worse, Amie hadn’t waited for me to walk home.
    By the time I got to our house, I’d focused my rage on Amie for leaving me behind. I was so mad that I didn’t notice how her lower lip trembled at first. But when she saw me she burst into tears, and my anger dissipated.
    ‘What happened?’ I asked her quietly.
    Amie shook her head.
    ‘You can tell me anything,’ I pushed.
    Amie hesitated for a moment, but then began telling me about her day. Between her sobs, I pieced together what had happened. One of her friends had demanded that they each bring a piece of chocolate to academy that day. It was a game to see who would have the biggest piece, and poor Amie knew Mom wouldn’t give her any. So she took it instead.
    ‘I wasn’t going to eat it,’ Amie told me. ‘I was going to show it to them, and bring it home. I didn’t want to be left out.’
    ‘It’s okay, Ames,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘Go wash your face, and I’ll see if I can find some.’
    She turned the full force of her pale green eyes on me then, and I saw the tears glistening.
    ‘But I looked. There’s only a tiny piece left,’ she whispered.
    ‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said with a shrug. ‘I know a secret. Go wash up.’
    Amie looked at me doubtfully, but she did as she was told.
    When I was sure she was in the bathroom, I climbed onto the slick wooden counter in our kitchen and pulled down the last bit of chocolate. I didn’t want her to see me trying to touch the chocolate’s weave. I was still stretching out the strands of the chocolate to make more of it when my mom walked in from work.
    ‘What are you doing on my kitchen counter?’ she demanded. ‘And you’re filthy, too. Were you . . .’ The words dropped off her tongue when she saw what was in my hand.
    ‘That’s your father’s chocolate,’ she said softly.
    ‘I didn’t waste any of it,’ I said, showing her the pieces. There was at least twice as much chocolate as there had been earlier.
    ‘Go to your room,’ she ordered.
    I left the pieces on the counter and stalked away. I didn’t tell them what Amie had done. Instead I let them believe I had eaten the chocolate. And as punishment, I was sent to my room, where I waited until my parents came in later that evening. Amie was probably still too scared to talk to them, so she stayed in the living room watching the Stream.
    ‘Do you understand why what you did was wrong?’ my father asked as he sat down next to me on the edge of the bed. My mother stayed by the door.
    I nodded my head but wouldn’t meet his eyes.
    ‘Why was it wrong?’ he asked.
    I gritted my teeth for a moment before I answered. I knew the answer. I’d learned it at academy for years. ‘Because it wouldn’t be fair for us to have more.’
    I heard a strange gasp from my mom, as if someone had physically hurt her, and I looked up to see her regarding me with tired eyes. She turned away from me to look at Amie in the next room.
    ‘Yes, that’s part of it,’ he said slowly. ‘But, Adelice, it’s also dangerous.’
    ‘To eat too much chocolate?’ I asked, confused.
    He smiled a little at my answer, but it was my mother who spoke.
    ‘It’s dangerous to use your gift,’ she said. ‘Promise us that you’ll never do that again.’
    There was a raspy quality to her words, and I realised she’d been crying.
    ‘I promise,’ I whispered.
    ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Because I swear I’ll cut off your hands before I let you do it again.’
    Even now, as I nibble at the stale bread, the threat echoes in my ears, warning me to keep my skills hidden. So what if the Guild already knows what I can do? I can’t betray my parents again.
    The next day, when someone finally comes to see me, it’s not Erik or Josten, but Maela herself. She saunters into my cell in a long black gown, holding a lit cigarette. Light streams in from the hallway and outlines her sculpted silhouette. It’s how I imagine death will come to me: overdressed and smoking.
    ‘Adelice, I trust you find your accommodations lacking,’ she purrs.
    ‘I’ve definitely seen better,’ I say.
    ‘Two nights ago,’ she reminds me, puffing thoughtfully on the brass cigarette holder. ‘You are a peculiar case.’
    I remember what Jost said about them killing the other girls. I’m a peculiar case because I’m breathing.
    ‘I thought you might like to see this,’  she says, showing me a small digifile. Maela