"What do you mean, you get Lilly?" Mom asked in a furious whisper.

Grandma sat up straighter, her lips curving smugly. "Exactly what it sounds like. Lilly would continue to live with us when you moved out."

While that would probably make studying magic a lot easier, it would only alienate my parents more. I didn't want to lose them over this. Didn't she know that?

Grandpa shook his head, a crack appearing in his composed exterior. "Honey, we can't trade Lilly for a house."

Of course not.

"And why not? This woman threatened to disown Lilly for practicing her natural gifts." She crossed her arms. "As far as I'm concerned, that's abuse enough to forfeit any claims she has to the girl."

I cringed. At the beginning of the summer, I'd let slip Mom's threat about what would happen if I did magic. Grandma wasn't supposed to bring it up in front of Mom, especially not when I was already planning to practice magic.

Mom cried out, a hand clutching her blouse. "You must be possessed to invent such terrible lies. I would never disown my own daughter."

Dad put a hand on Grandma's shoulder. "Mom, I think I know where this is coming from, but you shouldn't-"

She shrugged off his hand. "I shouldn't what, tell the truth? Lilly herself told me about your wife's threat when she started to train with me."

I stiffened. Why'd she have to say that? All summer, I'd done my best to keep my training a secret, and now she just blurted it out? Maybe Mom hadn't been paying enough attention to notice.

Stone faced, she turned to me. "How long has she been teaching you?"

I sunk back in my chair. Things were tense enough without Mom knowing about my lessons. Why hadn't Grandma just quiet?

"I-" I couldn't say it. Mom would find out the full truth sooner or later, but I couldn't make myself dig my own grave. I couldn't even look her in the eyes. She had to hate me now. Why had I ever thought leaving the estate was a good idea? If I'd just stayed, she never would've found out. Things would be the same as always--tense--but at least the tension wouldn't be orbiting around me. 

Someone sobbed. I looked up at Alice, but her eyes were dry. She stared at the tears running down Mom's cheeks. Dad gingerly put an arm around her shoulders, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. I'd never seen Mom cry. It didn't seem like anyone else had, either. We all stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, Mom dried her eyes on her sleeve and let out a long breath. "What did I do to make you think practicing magic would take away my love for you?"

"When I was a kid-" I blinked away moisture welling in my own eyes. "You took me to all those doctors, just to get rid of my magic. When it didn't work, you said I would have to leave for good if I started using magic on purpose."

"Oh, Lilly-" With a sniffle, she nodded slowly. "There are facilities for people who've been corrupted by magic. They rehabilitate magic-users, that's all. I meant to say I would have to send you to one if you started using magic, but I never meant it to be permanent. You would be welcome back home as soon as your treatment was over."

I scoffed. "My treatment--what, would they carve the magic out of me with a scalpel?"

"No, of course not. They're much more civilized than that. They have medicines and counseling."

Grandma stared incredulously at her. Grandpa massaged his temples, a faint grimace on his face. Even Dad shook his head almost imperceptibly. Alice was the only one agreeing, her curls bouncing as she nodded emphatically. 

Mom stroked her hair with a faint smile. "I don't expect any of you to understand. You've never seen the horrors I have." Her expression grew hollow and dark. "My parents taught me magic. They were skilled, confident they had the power to control any creature they summoned. On my seventh birthday, they caught a minor wraith and made it my familiar."

Grandma gasped. "Your parents were monster summoners?"

"Yes." Her voice dropped to a low whisper, and her gaze drifted to the tablecloth. "What they did was wrong, but they thought it was the only way to live. They were following the path of their parents and grandparents and great grandparents."

How was that possible? How could my mom ever have studied magic, especially magic that dangerous? It wasn't even legal in most countries. Teaching it to a child was more than cruel; it was almost murder.

Mom continued, her voice still low. "By the time I turned fifteen, I'd outgrown my wisp familiar. My parents wanted to give me something stronger for my birthday. They wanted me to become even more powerful than they were."

Swallowing, she wiped a stray tear from her eye. "They opened a portal to Draconia. They followed every rule of the summoning ritual to keep themselves safe. My father and I stood in protective circles, while the portal appeared in yet another protective circle. Everything should have gone perfectly."

"As the silver dragon stepped from the portal," she continued, "I saw my little brothers cowering at its feet. My father screamed at me that it was just a glamour--an illusion to trick me into the circle--but I didn't listen. I tried to save them."

She'd never mentioned having brothers before. Then again, she'd never mentioned her parents, either. All at once, I knew what had happened. I knew why she never talked about her childhood. I knew why she was so afraid of magic.

And I almost understood her. But I wasn't the same. All I wanted was to learn useful magic, maybe a few party tricks. Summoning a monster to obey my every whim was the last thing I needed. She had to understand that we weren't the same person, that I didn't think about magic the same way she had as a child.

"Mom, I-"

Her gaze met mine. Anger and frustration had long since melted away, replaced by desperation and sorrow. The corners of her eyes crinkled.

"You think you're different. You think you're invincible, that you won't make the same mistakes I will." She shook her head. "But we're more alike than you think. I loved magic, and I wouldn't give it up--even when every witch and nomahu in town said my family was doomed to die young.

Eyes welling with tears again, she shuddered. "My father summoned a shield around me. It kept me safe, even after he was gone. But he wasn't fast enough to save the others waiting for us downstairs. At the end of the day, the dragon flew off, and I was utterly alone."

We sat in silence, digesting the weight of what she'd said. I wished I could comfort her by saying she'd convinced me to give up magic once and for all, but I would've been lying to both of us if I said that. Magic was in my blood. It was as much a part of me as any organ. I couldn't just choose to stop using it, as much as I couldn't just choose to stop breathing.

"There's more." Mom straightened a little. "It didn't stop there. Even when I tried to put that tragic day behind me, I couldn't. When I got married, I discovered that using magic at such a young age had caused organ damage. I couldn't have children. No amount of surgery or fertility treatments could change that."

I wanted to ask, "What about me?" but it was like she read my mind.

"Several years later, you came, Lilly." She nodded at me. "You were such a surprise that we couldn't get to the hospital in time. I had you at home." Her eyes glazed over as she thought back. "I was so loopy from pain that I don't remember most of the night. I just remember holding you in my arms, thinking you were the miracle I'd been hoping for."

She chuckled. "When we brought you to the hospital, the doctors had no idea how it happened. They did tests and scans, but I hadn't healed. There weren't even any signs that I'd had a baby. Afterward, we tried for a second child, but it was as impossible as before. When we adopted Alice, she was our second miracle." She squeezed Alice's arm. "I love you two so much, but I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle."

Standing, she let out a sigh. "All I want is to protect my little miracles, but I can't do that if you're all against me." Without another word, she left.

"I'm not against you," Alice called. She and Dad raced after Mom.

I couldn't move. All I could think about was how impossible my birth sounded. How could Mom have had me, even after all the doctors said she couldn't, and then she hadn't changed at all afterward? Couldn't doctors tell when someone had a baby? And why couldn't Mom remember that night? Whenever one of my teachers had a baby, they always said they could remember the birth vividly.

The more I thought, the more it was like I'd lifted a veil off my mind. Things I'd never noticed before now seemed glaringly obvious. Why didn't I look like Mom at all? She had dark skin and hair, but I was as pale as Dad. And weren't blue eyes like mine genetically recessive? Mom's were brown. She was short and curvy, but I was like a stick. Plus, she didn't say anything about having inherent magic gifts like mine.

I couldn't be adopted; there was no reason why my parents would've lied about that to me but not to Alice. Besides, I was the spitting image of Dad, and my personality was like Grandma's in so many ways. There had to be some other explanation. I just couldn't think of one.