The Dolls (17 page)

There’s something in her voice that makes me pause. “What is it?”

“Do you still like Trevor Montague?” she asks quickly.

“I guess.” I’ve had a crush on Trevor for as long as I can remember, though nothing ever happened between us. “Why?”

“Well, he kinda asked me out,” Meredith says.

“Trevor, who I used to ask you for advice about on a daily basis? Trevor, who I used to draw pictures of in my notebook in middle school? Trevor, whose name we carved into that tree in the park in ninth grade?”

“Yes,” Meredith replies, her voice flat.

“Well, you said no, right?”

“Not exactly.”

The silence is heavy between us. “You didn’t?”

“It’s not like you’re coming back, Eveny. You just said so yourself. And I’ve liked him for a while too.”

“No, you haven’t,” I protest. “You’ve never said anything about liking him.”

“Well, maybe I do!” Her tone is defiant, and it wounds me. I close my eyes and try not to think of them together. After all, she’s right; I might never be coming back. But that doesn’t mean my best friend has to go out with the guy I’ve liked forever.

“Meredith—” I begin, trying to sound calm.

But she cuts me off. “You don’t get to call dibs on someone if you’re not here.”

She hangs up without another word. I try calling her back, but it goes right to voice mail. Finally, I settle for texting Drew.
Your band was awesome
, I tell him.
Did you and Liv have fun?
But there’s no reply.

When my phone stays silent, I head up to bed, feeling more alone than ever.

I wake up the next morning to a return text from Drew.

Thanks again for coming,
he writes.
And yeah, Liv is cool.

I grab my phone and text back,
Anything happen with you guys?

Nah. We just talked about music and stuff.
There’s a pause, then he writes,
So I hear you went home with Caleb Shaw??

My cheeks heat up as I text back,
He only gave me a ride cuz I was on his way
. But even over text, I can sense Drew’s jealousy. I feel like adding,
Caleb acts like the very thought of me is offensive, so you don’t have to worry
, but instead, I settle for,
Call me later
, before I head down to the kitchen.

Aunt Bea is sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee, when I round the corner.

“Morning,” she says. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and I realize they’re bloodshot and underlined in deep blue half moons.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I didn’t sleep too well last night,” she says. “A lot on my mind.” That’s when I notice a small purple jewelry box and a yellowed envelope on the table in front of her. She follows my gaze. “I picked this up yesterday while you were at school,” she says.

“What is it?”

Aunt Bea just shakes her head. “Sit down,” she says, sliding the envelope and box over to me. “They were left in a safe-deposit box for you many years ago. Your mom wrote the letter the year you were born, in case anything ever happened and she wasn’t here when you turned seventeen.”

She pauses and looks down at the table. “I should have given them to you on your birthday, but I was hoping to prolong the sense that our lives are normal. Now that zandara has found
you
, though . . .” Her voice trails off, and there are tears in her eyes when she looks up again.

“You knew it would when you brought me back here, didn’t you?” I ask, turning the box over in my hands.

“I was doing what I had to do.” She nods at the envelope, and with shaky hands I open it carefully. A dried rose flutters out first, and I recognize it as one of my mother’s gold-tipped Rose of Life blooms. There’s also a single piece of thick paper, yellowed at the edges. I unfold it shakily and begin to read.

My dearest Eveny
, my mother writes.

Happy seventeenth birthday. If you’re reading this, it means I am no longer with you, and for that, I am sorrier than I can ever say.

As I’m sure you’ve realized by now, Carrefour is full of secrets, and only you can make the decision about what’s right for your future—although I suspect others around you will have opinions of their own. Remember that zandara can be used for good or evil, selfishly or selflessly. But one thing remains true: it exists always in balance with the universe.

Dark times are coming, and in order to survive, you’ll have to tap into everything inside of you. You have the chance to become the greatest queen the world has ever known.

I have always loved you, Eveny, and I always will. I hope that one day, you’ll understand everything.

Then, in verse form, she has printed the poem from the front hallway:

For each ray of light, there’s a stroke of dark.

For each possibility, one has gone.

For each action, a reaction.

Ever in balance, the world spins on.

But there’s a second verse too.

Blood of my blood, in dreams I will come

To show you the way, soul to soul.

The pieces are shattered, a puzzle undone.

You must piece them together to make it whole.

Beneath the second verse, the letter is signed simply,
Love forever, Mom.

When I finish reading, tears cloud my vision. I slide the letter over to Aunt Bea. “I don’t understand. Why would she write all this if she was going to kill herself?”

Aunt Bea doesn’t reply. Instead, she looks up from the letter a moment later with tear-filled eyes and pushes the box toward me. “Open it,” she says.

I take the top off gently. Inside, a smooth black stone with one jagged edge hangs from a long, thin gold chain. I pick it up, and as my fingers touch the stone, a jolt of electricity shoots through me. “It’s just like the necklaces Chloe and Peregrine have,” I say.

Aunt Bea is watching me closely. “It’s a third of the Stone of Carrefour. When the town was founded, Eléonore and the other two queens channeled a huge amount of magical energy into a piece of obsidian And when they cast the protective charm, the stone itself was so laden with power that it split into three. The reigning zandara queens in Carrefour each have one, passed down to them on their seventeenth birthdays.

“Only a zandara queen can harness its strength,” she continues. “Once you put it on, it will hang from your neck until you die, or until you pass it on to your own daughter on her seventeenth birthday. If someone tries to take it from you, the magic within the stone burns them. And as long as you’re wearing it, it’s all you’ll need for minor charms.”

“You’ve lost me,” I say, confused.

“As long as you’re touching the stone with your left ring finger,” Aunt Bea explains solemnly, “you can channel any herb or flower, without actually having it in your grasp. The queens designed it that way so that they didn’t always need access to their gardens. Actually holding the plants in your hand always makes a charm stronger, but the stone is sort of like a backup plan.”

I touch the stone, and it throbs with possibility and foreboding.

“If you channel a specific herb while you’re using it, somewhere in the world, one of those herbs dies,” Aunt Bea continues “Zandara always requires balance, which means power always comes from somewhere.

“Now,” she adds, looking up at me, “about your mother’s letter—”

“It sounded like she knew what might happen with Main de Lumière,” I cut in, “and like she thought I should do all I could to learn about zandara.”

“But that’s an easy thing to say in the abstract, Eveny. You were just a baby when she wrote this. She never had the chance to know you as a young woman, and she didn’t have a chance to see you blossom outside of this town. She assumed that your choices were already made for you, like hers were for her.”

“But my choices
are
made, aren’t they?” I ask. “If I walk away, the town will get weaker, until Main de Lumière figures out a way to destroy us.”

“On the other hand, perhaps if zandara wilts here, we’ll fall off Main de Lumière’s radar,” Aunt Bea says. “Maybe losing its magic is the one thing that will allow Carrefour and zandara to survive.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

T
hat evening, I wander out to the garden, the place I feel closest to my mom.

I have no doubt that Bea has my best interests at heart, but in the last fourteen years she has watched her sister take her own life, assumed custody of a child she never expected to raise, and left behind everything she ever knew. All because of zandara. It’s no wonder that her feelings about magic would be less than glowing.

But if my mom wrote me a letter telling me that the only way through the storm is to stay strong and tap into everything inside of me, there must be a reason. Suddenly, it occurs to me that there might be a way to ask her directly.

My heart thudding, I stand up and put my left ring finger on my Stone of Carrefour like Aunt Bea told me to do. “Come to us now, Eloi Oke, and open the gate,” I say uncertainly. “Come to us now, Eloi Oke, and open the gate. Come to us now, Eloi Oke, and open the gate.”

There’s an almost imperceptible shift in the air, and a small gust of wind picks up around me, swirling like a miniature cyclone. I take a deep breath and realize I don’t know what to do next.

“Eveny?” A concerned voice from behind me startles me, and I release the Stone of Carrefour and whirl around. In an instant, the air pressure regulates and the air stops spinning.

It’s Boniface, and he’s holding pruning shears and staring at me worriedly.

“Oh, hey,” I say casually, trying to act normal.

“Sweetheart, what were you doing?”

“I was trying to talk to my mom.” I feel suddenly silly and childish.

His expression is sad as he shakes his head. “I’m afraid you can’t. Her spirit has moved on. Zandara queens can only communicate with spirits in the nether.”

“Oh,” I say.

Boniface puts his shears down and pulls me into a hug. “What brought all of this on?”

“Aunt Bea gave me a letter from my mom, I was just trying to find some answers.”

I sit down on the edge of one of the big rose planters, and Boniface settles beside me. After a moment he says, “This is all very new to you, isn’t it?” When I nod, he adds, “And very unsettling.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I tell him, “or how I’m supposed to become this great queen my mother thinks I’ll be.”

Boniface seems to consider this for a moment. “I’ve been around these parts—and your family—for quite some time now. I reckon I’ve picked up a few things. How about you learn to work a bit of magic on your own?”

I feel a flutter of excitement. “Really?”

“For something minor like charming roses, you don’t need the herbs themselves as long as you’re touching your Stone with your left finger and as long as you’re thinking about the herbs you’ve chosen.” He strokes his chin for a moment and appears to be thinking. “You always want to look for herbs and flowers associated with what you’re hoping to achieve. For this one, let’s invoke squaw vine and master root. They’re both used to foster growth. Are you familiar with both plants?”

“Yep,” I say, and Boniface looks impressed.

“Great. Start with something simple, like, ‘I draw the power of the squaw vine and the master root.’ Then command the roses to grow.”

I take a deep breath and touch my Stone of Carrefour as Boniface and I say in unison, “Come to us now, Eloi Oke, and open the gate. Come to us now, Eloi Oke, and open the gate. Come to us now, Eloi Oke, and open the gate.”

Boniface nods to me, and I take a deep breath. “I draw the power of the squaw vine and the master root,” I chant, touching one of the rosebushes with my right hand. My stone hums against my breastbone. “Spirits, please grow this rose, raise its height.”

Nothing happens. I try again but still nothing. “What am I doing wrong?”

“The words you say don’t matter as much as the things you’re channeling as you say them. You touch the stone with your left ring finger because people believed in the
vena amoris,
a vein that runs from the ring finger to the heart. That’s one of the reasons that finger is used for wedding rings, you know.”

I look down at my ring finger and touch it to the stone again.

“Touching the stone with your ring finger links your magic to your heart,” Boniface explains. “It has to do with harnessing specific memories, times when you’ve been filled with love. Harnessing feelings that pure can enhance a queen’s magic tenfold.”

“Then how can Peregrine be so powerful?” I mutter. “She doesn’t exactly seem like the warm and fuzzy type.”

Boniface chuckles. “Love of oneself is also a very powerful emotion, not to mention love of material things.” He leans in and adds, “What she’s missing, though, is the power of someone loving you in return. That can magnify your magic too.

“So think of a memory in which you felt love,” Boniface says, “and try again.”

I close my eyes. When I recite the invocation, I think about my mother smiling proudly at me in our front yard when I was a little girl as I showed her the cartwheels I’d just learned to do. I feel a sizzle shoot from my left ring finger through my heart to my right hand, which is touching the rose. I open my eyes and see that the bush has grown a foot taller and has sprouted three new rosebuds.

“So somewhere out there, a squaw vine shrub and a master root plant just died?” I ask.

He nods. “
For each action, a reaction, ever in balance, the world spins on.
Now try again.”

I touch another rosebush. This time, I reach even further back, to my oldest memory of my mom. I’d fallen in the driveway and skinned my knee, and when I looked up, there she was, with a look of concern on her face so deep that I felt instantly soothed. I recite the words and crack my eyes open.

“Even better.” Boniface looks approvingly at the second bush, which is blossoming in a rainbow of colors now. “You were thinking of your mother again?” When I nod, he says, “Try again, thinking of someone else.”