“What’s a huge deal?” Pilar asked.
Hannah ignored her. “Armand said that technically the title would pass to the male heir, but that since it’s modern day, you could potentially contest Charlie’s right to —”
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “Did he tell you that titles don’t exist anymore in France?”
“He said he’s working to bring them back, and that you were going to help. And I told him I’d help, too — I’d make Dad let me go to school here and then I could do whatever he needs me to do.”
She laughed. “All you ever do is fight with your brother, Colette. Why not do it over something important, for a change?”
Peely’s head went back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. “I’m still majorly confused, by the way.”
“Just think …” Hannah said dreamily, the low lamplight casting a golden glow on her pale skin as she rested her head on my shoulder. “We’ll be duchesses together.”
MY HEAD HURTS. I’m sweating. I try to move, but I feel sluggish, heavy. It takes me two tries to get to my feet. And then something is dragging me down, like a fifty-pound weight harnessed to my shoulders and hips.
The room I’m crossing is full of people. Soft music plays, but I can’t see the musicians because I’m holding a fan in front of my face. I pause in front of a mirror and steal a glance at myself.
My wig is a monstrous mass of curls and bows and powder. That’s why my head hurts. And the weight pulling me down? It’s a dress of dove-gray taffeta that grips me around the waist like a boa constrictor and then explodes out from my hips.
It’s midsummer, and the room feels stiflingly hot, especially as I’m wrapped in fifteen layers of fabric. I just want to find the exit and escape out into the evening air.
But I can’t; there’s someone I need to talk to.
I scan the room over the top of my fan, and I can tell something is wrong. Though we’re gathered for a small party, the mood is tense. The guests are pretending to be festive, but something is off.
I keep walking. I bump into a servant girl with my skirt, and she turns to me and blushes.
“
Pardon, madame
,” she says, curtsying.
Then people clear out of my way, and I find the person I’m looking for: a woman who reclines on a chaise, her head held high, her large eyes surveying the room with what I know is feigned interest. Her gown is the finest pale-pink silk, with delicate tufts of silk flowers sewn onto it. It rests low on her shoulders.
Around her neck she wears the most fragile-looking silver chain …
And from the chain hangs a medallion.
I woke in a cold sweat to sunlight peeping in through the closed curtains. I had an unsettled, unrested feeling, like I’d hardly gotten any sleep at all. I’d been dreaming, but I couldn’t remember the details — only that there was something I’d been trying to do, and I hadn’t been able to do it. The frustration lingered as I lay on the sofa bed and stared up at the crystal chandelier, running through last night’s talk with Armand.
Even if I were a duchess, it wouldn’t make a huge difference in my life … would it? I thought about Dad and how status-conscious he is. He’d jump at the chance to be the
Duc de Broglie
… and then I started to daydream about how maybe dukes weren’t allowed to be divorced and he’d have to come crawling back to Mom and beg her to be his
duchesse
. And then we could all spend the summer in New York together.
One clear advantage of being part of France’s
noblesse ancienne
— it made Hannah treat me like someone who approached being her equal. So I hadn’t heard another word about not coming back up for dinner, or even about my unplanned meet-up with Armand.
When I heard Hannah’s phone alarm go off, I got up and took a shower. I put on jeans and a vintage sweater I’d found at a thrift store, dark blue with a sequined dolphin on the front, and a pair of gray ankle boots. I gathered my hair into a ponytail and put on berry-colored lipstick and no other makeup.
Pilar came out of her room. She’d toned everything down — from her just-bought-in-Paris Burberry moccasins all the way up to her hair, which lay in soft curls over her shoulders. She moved hesitantly.
“Hey, you look great!” I said.
“Thanks.” She relaxed. “I thought I’d try your style today — it’s so fast.”
Hannah came out looking like her usual dressed-to-the-nines and made-up-to-the-nines and flat-ironed-to-the-nines self. She did a double take when she saw Pilar, and her head made an unhappy little tilt to the side, but she didn’t say anything.
Well. Ten points for the
duchesse
.
Our first destination was a place called the Catacombs. I remembered Jules mentioning that Marie Antoinette’s bones could have been there, and it was all I could think of as our group waited at the Metro station for him to meet up with us.
“Don’t look now, Colette,” Hannah said quietly, “but I think that puppy you fed has followed you home.”
I didn’t understand what she meant until I turned to see Audrey standing a few feet away, watching me anxiously.
“See? That’s the problem with getting buddy-buddy with people you don’t really like,” Hannah said, in the manner of a wise elder advising a pupil. “They think you’re BFFs, when really you were just bored or whatever.”
I nodded, a little distracted. Audrey seemed genuinely worried about something, and I kind of wanted to go ask her if everything was okay.
I didn’t have to, though. Because a few seconds later, she was tapping me on the shoulder.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” she said.
“Oh, hey,” Hannah said. “What’s up, Autumn? Love your sweater. Is that from Walmart?”
Audrey, who was wearing a perfectly serviceable black sweater, shot her a confused look and then looked back at me. “Do you have a minute?”
“We’re actually kind of busy at the moment.” Hannah gave her a sad little smile. “Maybe Colette can just check in with you later?”
Audrey’s glance traveled to Hannah and stayed there. And as she stared, her expression went from one of worry to one of utter apathy.
“You know what?” she said. “Never mind.”
Audrey spun on the wide rubber heel of her athletic sneaker and marched back to Brynn. She said something in a low voice, and Brynn’s face scrunched up in disgust.
“I’m telling you, it’s for the best,” Hannah said to me. “People like us don’t have time for people like that.”
I didn’t answer. Audrey always seemed to have time for me, when I needed her.
Hannah draped her arm around my shoulder. “Don’t look so tragic. We’re about to explore some dusty old French place — that’s like your favorite pastime.”
When we arrived at the Catacombs, we walked into the small building and Madame Mitchell herded us all into an even smaller room. I didn’t really see what was happening until we were right on top of the next phase of the attraction — a spiral staircase.
A tiny one.
That went straight down into the ground.
I came to a full stop.
“Um,” I said.
Madame Mitchell was already out of earshot.
“What?” Hannah said. “Go on.”
“I can’t.”
Pilar went around me and started down the steps.
“Colette, go.” Hannah’s voice was insistent.
“What exactly is this place?” I looked around for some sort of poster or sign.
“It’s the Catacombs.”
“What’s a catacomb?”
She wrinkled her nose with displeasure. “It’s a place where we’re about to go. What is your problem?”
“I don’t … I don’t like enclosed spaces.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well … I’m pretty sure once you get down there, it’s like a big cave or something.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “The Basilique was like a catacomb, I think.”
I glanced at the stairs, uncertain.
“You’re really scared, Colette,” Hannah said, her voice rising in surprise. “I had no idea. Is this why you won’t take the elevator?”
I nodded, and then the most extraordinary thing happened: Hannah hugged me.
“It’s going to be fine,” she said. “I’ll help you. We’ll do it together.”
I could hardly refuse now. Besides, the people lined up behind us were getting pretty grumbly. Hannah gestured for me to start down the steps, so I did. One at a time.
When I say these were tiny stairs, I mean they were minuscule. And they went around and around and around in an endless downward spiral. About thirty seconds into our descent, my fingers started to feel numb.
Hannah put her hand on my shoulder. “Breathe,” she said. “You’re fine. It’s not much farther.”
I took a deep breath. It did seem to help. And the fact that she was being so insanely nice to me was a terrific distraction.
So I kept going. Hannah cheered me on and made jokes and sang little songs, and before I knew it, we’d reached the bottom.
I expected the next doorway we went through to be the wide-open space — the underground cavern Hannah had promised me — but it wasn’t.
It was a tunnel.
A very small, very dark tunnel.
In a slight panic, I turned to the nearest person — who didn’t happen to be Hannah. It was an older woman holding a tour book.
“Is this the Catacombs?” I asked.
“No, this gets you there,” she said. “It’s just a little walk.”
Hannah watched me quizzically. “Okay? Come on. You can do it.”
I wasn’t so sure. Now my whole body was buzzing. “I don’t think I can, actually.”
For a moment, I saw a sliver of impatience beneath Hannah’s sweet exterior, but it was gone as quickly as it came on.
“You heard the lady — it’s just a short walk.” She gave my arm a gentle tug. “Let’s go.”
“It’s so small,” I said.
“Don’t think about that. Think about something that makes you happy.”
Something that makes me happy …
Jules’s face popped into my head.
We made our way through the tunnel, and I survived by pretending to be somewhere else. My feet carried my body along, but my mind was at the Martins’ apartment, having dinner and laughing and hanging out.
“You’re doing great,” Hannah said. “Now, look, here we go …”
I blinked back to the present. We turned a corner, and I waited for the relief of soaring ceilings and far-off walls.
“Oh,” Hannah said.
“What …” I couldn’t form words. “What …”
In point of fact, the Catacombs weren’t like the Basilique at all. They weren’t cavernous.
They were basically dark, dripping, cold tunnels, much like the one we’d just come through …
Except the walls were lined with bones.
Millions and millions of bones.
“Well, this isn’t what I expected at
all
,” Hannah said.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I could only stare at the walls of bones stacked like logs in an endless woodpile. Arranged among them in decorative ways — stripes, crosses, even hearts — were skulls. Thousands of skulls. Brown with age, chipped and cracked, with gaping, eyeless sockets and sharp, hollow spaces where people’s noses had been. They seemed to sneer with the jagged lines of their missing teeth.
