Waking (7 page)

The door creaked open and Luna's mother poked her head out. The sunlight caught the purple in her hair and the silver hoop in her right nostril.

“You must be Beauty,” she said, motioning her inside. She hugged Beauty, enveloping her in cinnamon and vanilla and the lingering traces of incense. “Luna's told me all about you. I'm Star.”

Beauty smiled, wondering how she should act. Her regular parents-of-friends manner seemed too stiff for Star. She certainly didn't look like a typical mother. She was wearing a paint-splattered kimono and a multitude of silver bangles.

“It's nice to meet you, Ms. Bird,” Beauty said. “Thanks for letting me stay over tonight.”

Star waved her hand, laughing. “Honey, call me Star or I'll feel positively ancient.” She closed the door. “Luna's in her room. Can you find it?”

Beauty nodded shyly. “I think so.”

“Good, go on up. And don't mind Trumayne if you see him. He's in one of his infamous moods.” She winked. “It just means he'll do some brilliant work tonight. I hear you're an artist too.”

Beauty felt herself blushing. “Not really. I'm just learning.”

“Nonsense,” Star scoffed. “An artist is born, not made, and I can see you've got the spirit of an artist. You just let her out and shame the devil.” She rolled her eyes. “I'm in lecture mode. You'd better escape while you still can.”

Beauty went up the stairs, dragging her sleeping bag and her knapsack. She felt a little like she'd just been swept down a tumbling river. She could definitely see where Luna got it from. She smiled to herself as she headed down the hallway toward the second set of stairs. The carpet was wearing thin in spots, and she heard a crash and a curse when she passed a closed door painted an eye-scorching shade of magenta.

Farther along, she glimpsed Simone through a half-open door. Her long blond hair settled around her shoulders, and her feet were bare again. She looked like she belonged in one of the Pre-Raphaelite paintings Beauty was falling in love with. She decided she would use Simone as a model for Keats' “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” or maybe for Shakespeare's Titania, Queen of the Faeries. The thought made her smile. Maybe Star was right; there was an artist inside her who just needed to be set free.

She took a deep breath. Even the air tasted different here. She could almost feel all of her worries and doubts fading away like a tapestry left too long in the sun. This was the one place where she could truly feel like an artist, like someone with a voice.

She knocked softly on Luna's door. It whipped open and Luna blinked at her.

“Hi!” Luna said. “About time you got here!”

Beauty blinked back. “What's up?”

“Should I call Kennedy?” Luna twisted her hands together. Her collarbones were dusted with glitter.

Beauty dropped her stuff and tilted her head. “You're acting like a girl,” she said, a little awestruck.

Luna frowned. “I am a girl.” She plucked at her T-shirt. “Mind you, I think my boobs got lost in the mail.”

Beauty made a sound that was half-snort, half-laugh. “I know the feeling. I just meant, you never seem to get worked up over guys and stuff. And you're not exactly shy.”

Luna sighed and flopped onto the beanbag chair. Incense burned on the windowsill next to thick white candles. “I know.” She pushed to her feet again and started to pace. “I don't know, it's different with Kennedy. I get all nervous.” She winced. “I'm afraid he'll laugh at me,” she admitted.

Beauty rolled her eyes. “Welcome to my world,” she said dryly. “Kennedy will love you. You're totally his type.”

Luna stopped, grinned wickedly. “I am, aren't I?” She twirled once, hands outstretched. Her glance was full of mischief. “You're Poe's type too, you know.”

Beauty shook her head. “I'm not anyone's type,” she replied wistfully. “I'm not even sure I
am
a type. I look in the mirror and I don't see anything. I'm boring.”

Luna crossed her arms. “You are not,” she declared. “I don't hang out with boring people.”

“You do now. I mean, look at me. Boring hair, boring clothes, boring little nothing.”

Luna shook her head. “Don't talk about yourself that way. Besides, you can look any way you want to. I'll help.”

“I don't have your kind of courage.” But a small flower poked its nervous head above ground. Beauty's fingers began to tingle. “I don't think.”

“Ha!” Luna pounced on her, grabbed her hands. “Come on, let's go.”

Beauty dug in her heels.“Where?”

Luna pulled on her hand. “We're going to have a makeover. We'll work from the outside in. I'll even teach you how to scream.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious. Beauty laughed. “My dad'll kill me.”

She let herself be dragged downstairs, through Star's bedroom, which was surprisingly sparse, and into the adjoining bathroom. Jewelry boxes lined the shelves, stuffed to overflowing. Perfumes and candles and scented body soaps were jumbled into baskets along the side of the white claw-foot bathtub. Luna pulled another basket out from under the sink. It held more hair dyes than the average drugstore.

Beauty watched Luna carefully. “What did you have in mind?”

Luna held up a large tube of dye triumphantly. “We're going to make your hair the same color as those roses you love so much.”

Beauty's eyes widened. “We are?”

“Definitely.”

“That's awfully red.”

“That's the point.”

Beauty swallowed. “I don't know if I can pull that off.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “Of course you can. Don't think so much.”

Beauty looked at her reflection. Her long hair was simple and brown, the same as it had been for years now. She looked at herself and didn't feel anything, didn't see anything that made her real. She wanted the beauty of Guinevere, the glitter of Ophelia, the danger of Nimue. But she wouldn't get any of that by hiding.

“Okay,” she found herself saying. “Let's do it.”

Luna all but squealed with excitement. "This is going to be so cool," she said. "Come on, let's get you set up."

“Won't your mom mind?”

Luna shook her head. “No, in fact, I'll go get her. She can Luna shook her head. “No, in fact, I'll help us out. She's great with hair stuff.”

It was decidedly surreal to be sitting on the floor of her friend's mom's bathroom, drinking cinnamon coffee, while said friend's mom worked dye through her hair.

“This will be a great color on you,” Star said, stripping off her rubber gloves and tossing them in the sink. There was a tattoo on the inside of her elbow. Beauty wondered briefly if Luna had ever brought her mom to kindergarten for show-and-tell.

“This needs to set for a bit so I'll let you and Luna chat. Help yourself to anything in the studio for your project,” she said. “But don't touch the oil paints.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And don't pierce anything,” she ordered.

Beauty shook her head, careful not to splatter. “This is so weird,” she said. “But thanks. And thanks for letting me sleep over. Dad was freaking out about having to work so late tonight.”

Luna leaned back against the cupboards and stretched her legs out in front of her.

“It's totally cool. Besides, we still have to finish up the journal for class tomorrow so it's perfect.” She crossed her ankles. “We should make our own artistic society, like the
prb
did.”

Beauty thought about having hair like rose petals and painting all day. “Yeah,” she said, surprising herself again. “We should.”

They decided on the layout for their journal, spreading out all their notes on the cold tiles. They punched holes into the pages and bound them together with blue ribbons. They decided it gave the journal a more old-fashioned, cozy feel.

The egg timer by the sink rang. It was time to rinse out Beauty's hair. She knelt on a folded towel and hung her head into the tub. White porcelain filled her vision. Luna extended the showerhead and fiddled with the taps until the water was warm. It was awkward, but she managed to hang over the side enough to aim the water through all of Beauty's long hair.

The water hit the tub with a soft rhythm, the sound of rain on a small lake. It was vaguely hypnotic, but the water was bright as roses and looked too much like blood swirling down the drain. Beauty thought of her recent dreams and of the one that had haunted her since
the accident
: her mother lying in a white tub filled with red red flowers. Blood would have filled the bath and tainted the water. She would have watched it, waited for it.

Beauty gagged, tears burning her eyes. She didn't hear Luna calling her name until she touched her arm. Beauty jerked and scrambled back, her hair whipping out and spraying the bathroom with water. She didn't realize she was crying until she stopped to wonder why her tongue tasted salty.

And then she kept crying, tears falling down her cheeks and running down her neck. She remained on her knees, letting everything around her blur. She was vaguely aware of Luna kissing her cheek and then rubbing her back and calling for Star.

She was a river, a lake, a waterfall.

When beauty woke up
it took her several moments to figure out where she was. The bed was unfamiliar and the pictures lining the wall beside her were of tragic-looking women in pale gowns. The room smelled like sandalwood and vanilla perfume. The lights were off and it was getting dark outside. Candles in bowls burned on the desk.

She'd slept without dreaming and felt strangely lighter, calmer. Her throat ached a little and her eyes were sore, but she felt better than she had in a long time. She rubbed her lids and sat up, stretching her back. Her hair fell over her arms.

Hearing movement, Luna looked up from where she was adding some finishing touches to their project. Her smile was subdued. “Feel better?” she asked.

Beauty brought her knees up to her chest, remembering. “I'm a little embarrassed,” she said. “I'm sorry I lost it like that.”

“It's okay.” Luna handed her a cup of warm tea. “It's chamomile. omile. Star swears it's the most soothing tea on earth.”

Beauty cradled the mug in her hands and tried to smile. It was surprisingly simple. “Thanks. I hope I didn't scare you.”

Luna grinned with her characteristic zeal. “Are you kidding? Clare with
pms
would scare me. This was nothing.”

Beauty chuckled and sipped the tea before setting it down and stretching. “What time is it?”

“Just past seven. I'm almost done the rest of the journal.”

Beauty looked guilty. “I'm sorry for that too.”

Luna shrugged one shoulder negligently. “There wasn't much left to do.” She bit her lip. “I guess dyeing your hair wasn't such a good idea,” she said. “I'm sorry if I bullied you into it.”

Beauty stroked her hair, smiling. “I love it,” she assured her friend. “It's perfect.”

“Star says you just needed to open the door.”

“I think she's right,” Beauty murmured. She
did
feel like the air could move through her, like she was an attic recently cleaned of cobwebs and trunks filled with old dresses that didn't fit anymore. It was a wonderful feeling.

She looked at the paintings on the walls with a crooked smile. She pointed to
The Sleeping Princess
by Edward Burne-Jones.

“That,” Beauty said. “That's who I want to look like.”

Luna followed her finger and stood slowly. “Are you sure you're up for it? You don't want to lie down some more?”

“I think I'm tired of lying down.”

Luna seemed to sense the switch in her mood and clapped her hands, creating a distraction.

“Great. I know just the thing.” She disappeared into the chaos of her closet for a few minutes while Beauty turned on the stereo. Delerium's
Karma
flooded the room. Beauty thought she could step right into a Pre-Raphaelite painting.

Luna was throwing clothes behind her onto the floor and muttering to herself.

“Should I be scared?” Beauty joked.

Luna emerged with a butterfly clip hanging over her eye, shaking off a tangle of clothes that had fallen off the rack and onto her head. She surveyed everything with a critical eye, like a prospector. Anticipation was nectar on Beauty's tongue.

Luna tossed her a simple white eyelet shirt with cap sleeves and a pair of hip-hugger cords the same color as Beauty's hair, hemmed with ribbons and beads. There were quilt-like patches on the bottom. She added a skirt with a matching ribbon along the bottom.

“Put those on,” she said, marching over to her jewelry boxes. “We'll start simple and very you.” She winked and started to pick through beads and crystals and Victorian-style monstrosities. Once Beauty had slipped into the clothes, she waited, fiddling with the ring on her thumb.

Luna looked over. “Put on the skirt too.”

Beauty blinked. “Over the jeans?”

Luna laughed. “I promise it'll look good. Just trust me.”

Beauty wiggled into the skirt and started to turn around to look at herself in the mirror hanging inside the closet door.

“Ah!” Luna stopped her. “Don't you dare. We're not done yet. You wanted a look, we're going to give you a look.”

Beauty shifted her weight from foot to foot. “You're bossy,” she said amiably.

Luna nodded. “I am. All divas are.” She batted her eyelashes. “And soon you will be one of us.”

Beauty recoiled in mock terror. Luna ignored her and snapped a necklace around her neck. She added thick silver bracelets and an anklet. She brushed out Beauty's hair and tugged and fussed and braided until Beauty was squirming with impatience.

“Are you done yet?” Beauty asked.

Luna mumbled something vaguely rude through the clips clamped between her lips. She finally stepped back, folded her arms over her chest and took a good look. She nodded slowly. “Okay,” she decided. “You can look now.”