The Dolls (20 page)

I try not to let the words slice into me. “Well, what’s the name of the guy who was killed outside the gates?” I persist. “Obviously the killer used his identity to get in.”

“The police haven’t released his name yet. But I’ll keep trying to find out.”

“You do that,” I say tightly. I can’t resist adding, “I don’t believe this is happening. All because you wanted to have a party.”

Peregrine’s eyes narrow. “You can quit blaming me, Eveny. You know
nothing
about how this town works. Nothing.”

With that, she spins on her stiletto heel and walks away toward the Hickories.

Back in the cafeteria, Max, Drew, and Liv stare at me as I slide into my seat and pick up my fork. I take a bite, but the lasagna’s cold. I’ve lost my appetite anyhow. “What?” I ask after a moment.

“Did you just stand up to her?” Liv asks.

“She had a question she needed to ask. It was no big deal.”

“It’s like she thinks she runs this town, like she thinks she’s
so
much better than the rest of us,” Liv mutters. “It’s about time someone lets her know she’s not the queen of the world.”

Liv returns to chatting with the guys, and I watch them for a moment, feeling like I’m miles away. Although Peregrine may not be the queen of the world, she
is
one of the Queens of Carrefour. And like it or not, I am too.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

T
hat afternoon after school, I’m changing into jeans and a T-shirt in my room when I spot my mother’s letter lying on my desk. I pause and sit on the corner of my bed to read it again. It feels like the answers about what I’m supposed to do should be there in her words. Then again, maybe that’s the wishful thinking of someone who’s just stepped into the most mystifying situation of her life.

I head outside to look for Boniface, who I’m hoping will be able to help me understand. He’s not in the rose garden, but I eventually find him in the toolshed, organizing a rack of hammers and screwdrivers. He turns when I enter. “Hi, honey,” he says. “How was school?”

“I need to talk to you,” I say instead of replying.

He stops what he’s doing and looks at me with concern. “What is it?”

“We think there’s a Main de Lumière soldier in town,” I tell him. “Not just the one who killed Glory. But someone from the outside.”

“That’s not possible.” He looks suddenly unsteady on his feet. “How would they have gotten in?”

I reluctantly explain the fraternity party and the guy whose body was found outside the gate. “I know it was the wrong thing to do,” I conclude miserably, “but at the time I thought it was a harmless sort of wrong.”

“Of course you did,” he says. “But Peregrine and Chloe, they know better. They’ve gotten out of control.”

I pull my mother’s letter out of my pocket and hand it to him. “I feel like there’s something in here I’m supposed to understand, something connected to what’s going on now. Can you take a look?”

“Of course.” He unfolds the letter, and a shadow crosses his face as he begins to read. “This sounds just like her,” he says when he’s done. “God rest her soul.”

“What do you think the two verses are supposed to mean?” I ask. “Or her line that dark times are coming?”

“She knew her sister queens well enough to realize that if she was gone, they might resort to practicing zandara in a way that defies your ancestors’ rules. And she knew enough to be afraid of what that might lead to.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The universe is like a seesaw—when one side is lifted up, the other has nowhere to go but down—and zandara exists in the middle. Action and reaction. But when your mother died and Carrefour lost its triumvirate, her sister queens’ power was greatly reduced, and they could no longer cast with the strength they were accustomed to. In other words, they can use herbs, but there’s nothing to magnify their power anymore.”

“Right, it’s why the protective charms around the town are crumbling. I know all that.”

“But did you ever stop to wonder why the wealth of central Carrefour hasn’t crumbled too?” Boniface asks.

My stomach swims uneasily as he continues.

“A few years after your mother died they realized there was another source from which they could draw power,” he says. “They’re still able to execute small charms with herbs and flowers, and they do so when they can. But the bigger things—new cars, great wealth, unnaturally good looks— those have to come from somewhere else. So they tapped into the Périphérie.”

I look at him in horror. “What are you talking about?”

“The Périphérie was always less privileged than central Carrefour, but it wasn’t like it is today,” he says. “That’s a result of Annabelle Marceau and Scarlett St. Pierre realizing they could achieve great things by taking from the other side of town. Casting a charm to get a new sports car, for example. Because they can’t draw a large amount of power from flowers and herbs without having three queens working together, they cast using the Périphérie’s good fortune instead. So they get their car, but something of value crumbles in the Périphérie, the same way an herb dies in the world when it’s drawn for a simple charm. That’s an overly simplistic explanation, but you get the idea. There’s always a balance, and when it doesn’t come from plants, it has to come from somewhere.”

“So they’ve been taking from the Périphérie all these years, making themselves richer while people out there get poorer and poorer?” I whisper.

“Yes. I don’t approve, and neither do most of the people in the sosyete. But they’re the queens. They don’t need our permission. And until you came back, Chloe and Peregrine were doing the same thing. Now they won’t have to; they have you.”

My mind is spinning. “But look at all the destruction they’ve caused.”

Boniface nods, and that’s when I realize he hasn’t addressed the second verse my mother wrote. “What do you think the rest of her letter means?” I ask.

He looks away. “I’m not sure.”

I take the letter back from him and read it.
Blood of my blood, in dreams I will come to show you the way.
And suddenly, I know.

“I need to get into the parlor, Boniface,” I say. “There’s something in there I’m supposed to see; I think that’s what the verse means.” I quickly explain the dreams I’ve been having and the way the door handle burned my hand when I tried to open it. “My mom’s letter specifically mentions blood and dreams,” I conclude. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

He looks into my eyes for a long moment, like he’s trying to figure something out. Then he sighs and says, “There’s no missing key, Eveny. The room is charmed. It hasn’t been opened in fourteen years.”

Well that explains the burning-hot handle. “Who charmed it?”

“Ms. Marceau and Ms. St. Pierre closed the parlor off years ago. It holds memories that they wanted to forget—but that they couldn’t afford to lose altogether.”

“Memories connected to my mother?”

“I think I’d better call your aunt,” he says.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m going to uncharm the room myself.” I don’t trust the mothers, especially now that I know they’ve been destroying the Périphérie. If they’re hiding something connected to my family, I have to find out.

I stride toward the house, and Boniface follows me. “Please, Eveny, I think you should wait until someone can be here to explain things to you.”

“Explain what?”

He looks uneasy, but he doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he says, “How about I call Peregrine and Chloe? Perhaps they should be here for this.”

“
They
know about the parlor too? Unbelievable.” Once again, everyone has been keeping me in the dark. I feel a surge of anger as I storm away, my mind spinning through the herbs and flowers I’ve studied over the years.

What comes to mind as I reach the closed parlor doors is a shrub I once planted in our community garden. Its technical name is
Euonymus americanus
, but it’s more commonly known as bursting-heart or burning-bush. Superstitious people put it over their doorways to repel unwanted magic.

It may not be the perfect plant for what I’m trying to do, but it should work. I stand in front of the doors and ask Eloi Oke to open the gates. Then I take a deep breath, think of my mother, hold my left ring finger against my Stone of Carrefour, and say, “Bursting-heart,
Euonymus americanus
, I draw your power. Please, spirits, open this door to me and reveal the secrets that lie inside.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Then I hear a click, and one of the doors opens a crack. Musty air escapes in a whoosh, and I drop my stone and reach for the handle, my heart racing in anticipation as I push it open.

As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I realize the room is exactly as it appears in my dreams—except now enormous spans of cobwebs hang from the chandeliers, and the mirrored walls are covered with a film of dust and smoke so thick that the images blinking back at me are dark and hazy. Candles still stand, half melted and covered in dust, on big candelabras.

I walk across the room to the spot where I’ve seen my toddler self standing in my dreams. I bend to touch the floor, and as I do, I can see a huge, dark stain on the hardwood. It vanishes as soon as I pull my hand away. A chill sweeps through me, and I turn around slowly to find Boniface looking at me. “This is blood, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says sadly.

“Whose?” I ask. But the look on his face tells me all I need to know. “My mom’s?” I ask in disbelief. “But she died miles from here. Didn’t she?”

Boniface frowns. “Eveny, I really think you should wait until your aunt comes home. She’ll explain everything.”

“If she’d wanted to explain,” I say, “she would have already.” I clench and unclench my fists. “Are there herbs that will let me see what happened in this room?”

“Eveny, your aunt will be furious with me,” he says.

“Please!” I exclaim. “I promise, I’ll tell Aunt Bea you tried to stop me. I deserve to know what happened.”

“Yes, I suppose you do.” He crosses the room and stands in front of the bookcase for a moment before pulling a narrow, leather-bound volume from the shelf. He flips through it, seems to find what he’s looking for, and returns to me. “I believe peppermint leaves and flax seed will call the past into focus.”

“What’s that book?”

“Your mother’s herb journal. It’s only half complete, but she took notes on herbs and charms that worked particularly well for her. It’s yours now.” He hands it to me. “I hope this is the right thing. Good luck. But I can’t be here for this,” he says as he walks out of the room.

I put the journal down on the coffee table and take a deep breath. I again call on Eloi Oke to open the gate, then, with my left ring finger on my Stone of Carrefour, I invoke peppermint and flax and ask the spirits to show me what happened here. As the wind picks up, the candles around me flicker suddenly on, their flames growing and shrinking like the room itself is breathing. Suddenly, all of the flames go out, and we’re plunged into blackness. I hear the faintest of whispers, a woman’s voice saying, “It shall be.”

When the candles flicker on again, the cobwebs are gone and the parlor looks entirely different. It’s just like it was fourteen years ago, just like it has looked in my nightmares the last few weeks. Suddenly, three figures appear in the middle of the floor. They’re hazy at first, but they quickly materialize, and I gasp as I recognize my mother and younger versions of Peregrine’s and Chloe’s mothers. All three are dressed in long, gauzy gowns that catch the candlelight and make them look like ethereal fairies.

“Mom!” I cry and take a step forward. The women don’t hear me, though, and when I reach out to touch my mother, my hand goes right through her. It’s like I’m watching a projected image on a movie screen.

The three mothers begin to chant and dance, and then the candles flicker out again. I hear a panicky voice ask, “What just happened?” I’m pretty sure it’s Chloe’s mother.

Another voice—Peregrine’s mom—replies shakily, “I don’t know. It must have been the wind.”

Then there are heavy footsteps and the sound of something sliding. “Who’s there?” says a voice I recognize as my mother’s. Hearing her after all this time pierces my heart.

There’s silence for a few seconds, then a pealing scream and a soft thudding sound before footsteps retreat and a door slams. A moment later, the overhead light flickers on, and I see Peregrine’s mother near the light switch, blinking into the sudden illumination. “Sandrine!” she cries.

I follow her eyes to see my mother lying with her neck sliced open in a rapidly spreading pool of her own blood.

I sob uncontrollably as the rest of the scene unfolds. Peregrine’s and Chloe’s moms are screaming. Chloe’s mom tries to revive my mother, but she’s drifting in and out of consciousness. “We have to go get Bea,” Peregrine’s mother says.

Chloe’s mother stands up, and when she does, I see that she’s covered in my mother’s blood. Her mascara is running down her face in teary rivers. “And Boniface,” she adds weakly. She turns back to my mom. “Sandrine, we’ll be right back. We’re going for help. Hang on, sugar.”

They run out of the room and, in the sudden quiet, I can hear my mother gasping for air. It breaks my heart. I move toward her, and that’s when I see my younger self amble into the room, blinking in confusion. She’s wearing the same nightgown from my dreams, and I know this is the moment I’ve been seeing. I watch as she rushes over and wraps herself around my mother, trying to fix her, trying to stop the blood.

My mother whispers something, and I can just barely make out her words: “You’re the only one who can save us all,” she says, and then her whole body goes limp.

“Mommy?” I hear three-year-old me ask in a small voice. “Mommy, wake up!”

I’m full-out sobbing as the images slowly fade away and the room returns to the present. Dazed, I stumble out of the parlor and into Boniface’s waiting arms.

“You saw everything, didn’t you?” he asks gently as he rubs my back.

“I saw my mother die,” I sob. “She didn’t kill herself. She was murdered. Why has everyone been lying about it all these years? Lying to
me
? Why has everyone let me believe my mother took her own life?”