“I swear to God, if we didn’t share faces, I’d punch you right between your eyes. Take your glasses off; I might change my mind!” Remilia fumed and paced back and forth like a lion sizing up prey.  

Schala twiddled her thumbs, hummed nervously, and tried her best not to count the stitches on her quilt. Her mind raced with the what-if’s – what if she just monkey-wrenched their career and blackballed them? What if mom and dad find out what she did? 

Remilia huffed and repressed a scream. Schala looked meekly from her hands. 

“You’ve got nothing to say for yourself?” Remilia pressed her fists on her waist and leaned closer to her sister. 

Schala looked back at her hands. 

“Exactly! You applied to Scalefall for the both of us without telling me? Your twin?” 

“I—” 

“You took it upon yourself to make this serious decision that could get us disowned!” Remilia interrupted. 

“But—” Schala said, looking as meek as a kid in the middle of a scolding. 

“I tell you I’m so freaking—” 

“Sorry.” 

“Proud!” 

Their words spilled out simultaneously, stopping them both in their tracks. 

“What are you sorry for?” 

“You’re proud? Why?” Schala raised an eyebrow and pushed up her glasses. 

Remilia ceased pacing and stared at a shocked and slightly embarrassed Schala. 

“We really need to work on our telepathy; did you just say you’re proud of me?” 

“Yes, and I mean it!” Remilia stifled her shout and held Schala’s shoulders. “You took charge and went for it! Sure, I wish you’d have told me first; you’re officially the risky twin!” 

“No, that’s still you,” Schala countered. 

“How am I risky?” 

“Remember when you snuck out to Cergy to watch a music video being filmed on the red bridge? You sat like a bird on top of the pillars—” 

Remilia held Schala’s mouth closed for a couple seconds. “Shh! Dad and mom still don’t know about that!” 

The dim, golden light of twilight bled through the twins’ window, caressing Schala’s cheek with warmth. They looked at the window and sighed harshly. 

“Damn,” Remilia growled. “Dinner’s coming soon. Mom’s preliminary birthday dinner.” 

Schala made a noise and waved her hands. “Back on topic, sis!” 

“Look, I’m proud of you, Schal. You’ve always been invested in what’s right for us.” Remilia hugged her and Schala chuckled nervously. 

“So, you’re really not mad?” Schala said. 

“No, I’m not mad. Wish you would’ve told me first, but on the bright side, I won’t get yelled at.” 

“Oh my gosh, I really couldn’t take you mad at me--wait, what?” Schala’s eyes went wide. 

Remilia planted a big, wet kiss on Schala’s cheek, who wiped it off frantically. 

“Now, we just wait for tauntine to smooth things over,” Remilia said while Schala sighed. 

Schala motioned for Remilia to follow and cautiously, they opened their door. The hinges creaked like an old man’s bones; Schala quickly uttered an incantation and the noise muffled itself. The two breathed a sigh of relief. 

Stealthily, they crept from their room, down the wall, and to their father’s study, concealed by an ornate, golden door. To their backs was the banister barricading the second floor from the lobby of the mansion, the foyer, and the entrance to the dining hall.  

The voices of their cousins and extended family filled the halls. At any time, wayward eyes could spot them skulking about, and the jig would be up. Concealer spells wouldn’t help; Cousin Barabbas could spot you through all forms of deception. 

Remilia kept a lookout, transmuting a small sparrow that perched on the banister. It chirped silently while the twins drew closer to the door, muffled voices leaking from the room. As they tried to discern the conversation, the voices grew louder. 

“No!” 

“Absolutely not!” 

Schala and Remilia were knocked back suddenly; their father Yusuf’s booming word struck the door with the force of a car. His voice, coupled with their mother Mathilde’s words created a bubble of rage and irritation that hung over the stairs and foyer. 

The door creaked open slightly, not enough to show the twins. The sparrow fluttered in a daze and dropped to the carpeted floor, transmuting back into a beaded bracelet that Remilia slid on her wrist. Schala was the first to peer inside through the small crack while Remilia did the same underneath her sister. 

Angelique stood firm as an oak as a slew of curse words in French that’d kill a priest hit her. Both arms folded behind her back, her cloak whipped in the wind ejected from her brother-in-law and sister. Yusuf, a muscular, well-dressed man with a sepia complexion, took a few steps until he was only a few feet from Angelique. 

Mathilde shared the same ochre brown skin and face as Angelique, save for much longer Russet-brown hair. She stood a step behind her husband, and both had a stern, unmoving glare of disapproval etched on their faces. 

“You haven’t even heard me out the least bit,” Angelique said simply. 

“I’ve heard enough,” Yusuf’s baritone filled the room. His voice never failed to quake the twins to their core, like they were always in some sort of trouble when he chose to raise his voice. “Our daughters are not going to Scalefall Academy.” 

“Mathilde—” 

“I agree with Yusuf. Don’t you remember what happened at Scalefall decades ago?” 

Angelique tightened her lips slightly. The twins shared a glance, trying to piece together where the conversation was going but couldn’t. The more time they spent eavesdropping, the more open to discovery they were at risk for. 

“I remember feeling like I let my family down because I lacked the support you could so easily give these girls,” Angelique retorted. 

“They have all the support they need right here in the presence of family,” Yusuf said while some of his spittle struck Angelique’s chin. “Do you feel they lack support?” he asked accusingly. 

Angelique countered, “Do you even know what these girls want to do?” 

“Sure,” Mathilde spoke up. “They want to join the family business. They want—” 

“To practice magic. To master their craft and find their own path.” 

“And they can!” Yusuf interjected. “Right here in France.” 

Yusuf breathed deeply and snapped his fingers. A cupboard in the room flung its doors open, and out danced three empty glasses. A bottle of ochre liquid sauntered into view, uncorked itself, and pour into each glass. With a small wave from Yusuf’s hand, the bottle returned to the cupboard. 

Angelique and Mathilde took a glass while Yusuf levitated his own, drinking hands-free. 

Angelique drank and began, “Schala’s talent with papercraft exceeded my expectations by a full five years. Remilia’s ability to transmutate on a whim feels like second nature to her. Their grasp of sorcery is amazing—" 

Yusuf interrupted, “As it should be. It means you’re doing your job.” 

“Why are you so invested in them going to Scalefall, sister?” 

Angelique smiled. “Because I see a little bit of myself in them. Eager to improve, always studying, practicing different ways and different scenarios. I know that with the proper training—” 

“Proper?” Yusuf raised an eyebrow. 

“—AND the social skills developed from being around their peers, they’ll become Master Witches in no time. Witches the Sorcery Society could be proud of.” 

“Why wouldn’t they be proud?” Yusuf clasped his hands. “They’re Claymores! We’ve done nothing but good for all the Sorcerers of the world, keeping what goes bump in the night from showing up on their doorstep. What could be a prouder profession than demon exorcism?” 

“As always, the problem is choice,” Angelique argued. “This profession, as we call it, isn’t chosen; it’s inherited.” 

“I just can’t see us letting them leave France without us,” Mathilde stated. 

“You could peek in—" Angelique began before her sister perked up with an idea. 

“You mean spy on them?” Mathilde said. 

Schala repressed a scream. Remilia exhaled as quietly as possible. 

“I never said that. Nor am I inferring that. You can still support them, even in America. What’s stopping you from saying yes? What’s so wrong about it?” 

“Other than the fact that we’re their parents?” Yusuf reminded. 

Mathilde sighed. “We come from a long lineage of darkness. We use darkness to fight darkness—” 

“And the Americans hate what they don’t understand. We helped during the war and…” Yusuf clenched his fists, the memory of centuries ago lingering as fresh as the previous day. He took deep breathes and calmed himself.