Prologue - The Chicago Dichotomy (Part One: The Ice)
There are two types of suffocation in Chicago: You can either choke on the bitter, sub-zero wind off Lake Michigan, or you can sit at the Pierce family dining table on Sunday night. My parents had my entire life laid out in a series of sterile corporate internships and high-necked navy suits - a golden cage designed to keep a dutiful daughter perfectly contained. They didn’t know that beneath the crisp tablecloth, my fingers were sparking with a raw, purple static that had nothing to do with the winter air and everything to do with the magic building up in my veins. They thought they were building a future for me, but all they were really doing was running out the clock until I broke the glass and ran.
The dining room itself looked like the page from an expensive, sterile home decor magazine. Everything was white, or beige, or off-white, and it was blindingly bright. The silver clacked against the fine china with agonizing precision. My father, Richard, is a man in his mid-fifties. He wore a perfect buttoned-down shirt and cut his steak like he had killed the cow himself. My mother, Helen, still wore her damn Sunday dress with her hair done up in a perfect, concise bun. I, meanwhile, was wearing a conservative, high-necked sweater that felt more like a woolen cage. I was barely listening to them, staring at my plate and not touching my food. I only looked up when my mother spoke my name, in that icy, honeyed tone she was so skilled at.
“I spoke with Eleanor Harrison today at the club, Tyra dear. Her nephew just became the junior partner at the firm downtown. Corporate tax law. He’s a lovely boy. Very stable.”
I didn’t look up, and merely moved a pea around with my fork. This wasn’t the first time they had tried to set me up with someone.
“It’s an excellent firm,” my father agreed. “I’ve already set up an informational interview for you next Thursday morning. You’ll wear that navy suit your mother bought you.”
“I told you, Dad. I haven’t decided on law school yet,” I informed him for the thousandth time. “I want to take a year off. Figure things out.”
“And I told you, sweetheart, the Pierce family does not take time off. We work, make money, and then we can buy pretty things. Wandering around with no direction is a luxury for people who do not want to succeed.”
“We just want the best for you, darling,” my mother piled on. “The world out there is changing. It’s becoming… chaotic. Unpredictable. You need a structured life, and a proper, safe circle.”
I clenched my hands tightly under the table, and looked to see the small, purple sparks of static electricity - raw untamed magic - arcing between her knuckles. I took a deep breath and forced my hands to relax. I could feel my temperature rising as a hot wave of anxiety crashed through my chest. On the table, the water inside my crystal glass began to vibrate. Tiny ripples rang outward from the center, matching the rhythm of my racing heart.
My mother noticed, as she always did, and disregarded the possibility that her daughter could possibly have the same magical powers that she had suppressed in herself. “Richard, is the washing machine running downstairs? The floor feels… like it’s buzzing.”
“I do not believe so,” my father shook his head.
I quickly grabbed the vibrating glass, swallowing a sip of water to break the magical connection. The water stilled, but overheated, and the expensive chandelier above the dinner table gave a sharp, high-pitched BUZZ. One of the LED bulbs flickered violently and then snapped out.
My mother looked up and gasped softly. “Oh dear. I swear I just replaced those bulbs.”
My father sighed, rubbing at his temples. “I'll call the electrician tomorrow. Back to Thursday, Tyra. Nine AM. Don’t be late. Your future depends on making the right impressions now.”
I stared at my father and then looked at the dead bulb in the chandelier, then down at my own hands. My voice came out in a deadpan, the mask firmly in place. “Right. Impressions. I won’t be late.”
But I WOULD be absent from said meeting if I had any say in the matter. I was done pandering to their future plans.
The dining room itself looked like the page from an expensive, sterile home decor magazine. Everything was white, or beige, or off-white, and it was blindingly bright. The silver clacked against the fine china with agonizing precision. My father, Richard, is a man in his mid-fifties. He wore a perfect buttoned-down shirt and cut his steak like he had killed the cow himself. My mother, Helen, still wore her damn Sunday dress with her hair done up in a perfect, concise bun. I, meanwhile, was wearing a conservative, high-necked sweater that felt more like a woolen cage. I was barely listening to them, staring at my plate and not touching my food. I only looked up when my mother spoke my name, in that icy, honeyed tone she was so skilled at.
“I spoke with Eleanor Harrison today at the club, Tyra dear. Her nephew just became the junior partner at the firm downtown. Corporate tax law. He’s a lovely boy. Very stable.”
I didn’t look up, and merely moved a pea around with my fork. This wasn’t the first time they had tried to set me up with someone.
“It’s an excellent firm,” my father agreed. “I’ve already set up an informational interview for you next Thursday morning. You’ll wear that navy suit your mother bought you.”
“I told you, Dad. I haven’t decided on law school yet,” I informed him for the thousandth time. “I want to take a year off. Figure things out.”
“And I told you, sweetheart, the Pierce family does not take time off. We work, make money, and then we can buy pretty things. Wandering around with no direction is a luxury for people who do not want to succeed.”
“We just want the best for you, darling,” my mother piled on. “The world out there is changing. It’s becoming… chaotic. Unpredictable. You need a structured life, and a proper, safe circle.”
I clenched my hands tightly under the table, and looked to see the small, purple sparks of static electricity - raw untamed magic - arcing between her knuckles. I took a deep breath and forced my hands to relax. I could feel my temperature rising as a hot wave of anxiety crashed through my chest. On the table, the water inside my crystal glass began to vibrate. Tiny ripples rang outward from the center, matching the rhythm of my racing heart.
My mother noticed, as she always did, and disregarded the possibility that her daughter could possibly have the same magical powers that she had suppressed in herself. “Richard, is the washing machine running downstairs? The floor feels… like it’s buzzing.”
“I do not believe so,” my father shook his head.
I quickly grabbed the vibrating glass, swallowing a sip of water to break the magical connection. The water stilled, but overheated, and the expensive chandelier above the dinner table gave a sharp, high-pitched BUZZ. One of the LED bulbs flickered violently and then snapped out.
My mother looked up and gasped softly. “Oh dear. I swear I just replaced those bulbs.”
My father sighed, rubbing at his temples. “I'll call the electrician tomorrow. Back to Thursday, Tyra. Nine AM. Don’t be late. Your future depends on making the right impressions now.”
I stared at my father and then looked at the dead bulb in the chandelier, then down at my own hands. My voice came out in a deadpan, the mask firmly in place. “Right. Impressions. I won’t be late.”
But I WOULD be absent from said meeting if I had any say in the matter. I was done pandering to their future plans.
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