A Bitter Magic (14 page)

On my way out, I practically knock into Cole, just coming in. He looks at me oddly. Must be the hair. I keep forgetting what's on top of my head.

Finally, I manage a “Hi!”

He sweeps his own out-of-control hair back from his face. “I didn't know you were here.”

“Actually, I'm going.”

“Oh.”

“Well,” I say brightly, “I've got to get some things, don't I? I can't very well go around wearing a ball gown all the time!”

“What!”

I break out in a crazy grin. “I'm going to live here!”

Cole is struck silent.

“Why shouldn't I? He's my father!”

He waits for me to go on. That's what I like about him. He lets a person take her time. I glance in Underwood's direction. “We've been talking. It's really true!”

“You're sure?”

“Yes, yes! It all makes sense. There's a lot I don't know yet, but yes.”

“That you, Cole?” Mrs. Havens's voice, trying to be quiet.

Cole and I head to the back. I see that Mr. Underwood—I mean my father—has drifted to sleep. All that talking must have worn him out.

“You doing okay, Mom?” says Cole quietly.

“Terrible, but I can last until you walk Cisley home.”

I start to object, but she holds up a hand. “It's almost midnight. No time for a girl to be wandering by herself.”

Cole looks at me. “Cis says she's going to live here.”

“So she says. I don't think she's actually thought it out.”

“What's there to think about?” I huff.

“For one thing, dear, there's nowhere to turn around. The place is hardly big enough for one.”

“I don't need to turn around!”

Mrs. Havens looks down, but I can see she's smiling. That makes me mad. “I don't
care
where I sleep. I'll sleep outside!”

“With the sand crabs,” she supplies.

Infuriating woman!

“She's right.”

I swivel around. It's my father, looking at me with a comfortable smile.

I kneel and take his hand. “You're awake.”

“I'm glad you want to stay.”

“Oh, I do!”

“But Mrs. Havens is right. The place isn't ready for you.”

He must see my expression. Hard to miss.

“But we'll get it ready. Meantime, would you visit me?”

I sigh. “Of course. Every chance.”

“And could you…?”

“What? Anything.”

“Could you ask your mother to come? Even a short visit.” Again my face betrays me, because he hurries on. “I know she wouldn't want to stay. She's a very grand woman.”

He doesn't know.

“Father?”

“She needs her servants and…” He twirls his hand. “All the rest.”

“Father.” I pause, gathering my courage. “I don't know where she is. I'm trying to find out.”

Fear widens his eyes. “She's missing?”

“Since Trieste.”

“That was months ago!”

“I know.”

“This is terrible!” He closes his eyes, remembering.
“At first, I thought she'd changed her mind. Then I saw you, so I was sure she was coming. But she didn't!” He looks at me helplessly. “I thought it must be part of her plan, and that she'd meet me later. She's so strong, so clever. Nothing can stop her from doing what she wants.”

“Well, something did.”

“Here I've been feeling sorry for myself.”

“Don't worry. I'll find her. I'll find her and bring her here.” I pat his hand and stand up. “You just get better.” I glance at Cole. “Looks like I'll have to stay in the castle a while longer. I wouldn't find any clues out here.”

He nods. “I'll walk you.”

“I'll be fine.”

“You walk her, Cole,” says Mrs. Havens.

I try to argue, but he steers me out the door. It occurs to me that maybe I shouldn't object so much.

We're at the edge of the bluff, about to descend. It's clouding up, but just now there's a break, and the moon blazes so brightly that we pause.

“So,” he says, “you found your father.”

“It's tremendous. He didn't know I existed till a year ago, when he saw an article somewhere that talked about Marina Thummel and her daughter—me! He had to find out how old this daughter was. When he learned I was twelve, he felt sure.”

“And he's followed you around ever since?”

“Followed her. He says he tried everything to get her
back. Even sent her a white rose every day, no matter where she was. He was doing it right up till his accident.”

Cole looks thoughtful. “Why did they break up?”

“I don't know. He says she wouldn't speak to him for years. Until Trieste.”

“What happened there, I wonder?”

“He didn't say, but she finally agreed to go away with him. With me.”

We start down, lowering ourselves over the lip of the bluff into shadow, holding each other's hands to keep balance. We can't see a thing, our feet feeling for solid ground. I think I'm doing pretty well until my ankle twists on a loose stone. The next moment, my arms flail, pulling Cole off balance. He barely catches himself. “Easy now,” he says, steadying me.

“Thanks,” I say to the darkness.

We make it to the bottom.

“You okay?” he says.

I nod. “You?”

We're standing at the exact dividing line between shadow and moonlight. Half his face is visible.

I like what I see.

His warm hand feels good in mine.

I should let go of it.

Just slightly, he squeezes my hand.

Did I really feel that? His grip tightens a little more. I'm not holding his hand. He's holding mine.

I look into his face. Half of it.

It bends toward me, and I lift my face to meet it, my shadow joining his.

“Hey, hey!”
Laughter and loud clapping. Shocked, I spin around to see a tall boy step from the shadows. He's followed by two other boys, younger.

Cole looks a little stunned, but recovers. “Nicolae,” he says.

Now I recognize him. Anna's brother. The others I'd seen in the Gypsy camp.

“Not interrupting?” Nicolae says.

Cole doesn't answer.

“Good idea,” Nicolae goes on. “Kiss her. Maybe she gets you a job.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The uncle fires us today. All the Roma people.”

My thumb is clicking madly. “Oh no!” I say.

He ignores me, just talks to Cole. “He wants we should go. No more dirty Gypsies in his nice town.”

I'm bursting to speak, to tell him that I'll talk to Asa. I'll make him change his mind. But the scorn on Nicolae's face stops me. I am the spoiled rich girl.

“That's bad,” says Cole.

“Yes, you are sorry. I am sure your girlfriend, she is sorry, too.”

“It's not her fault.”

“No. Of course. But since she comes to our camp, things go badly for us. He doesn't like that we talk to her.”

“So,” says Cole, “you think he's punishing you?”

“Let
me
talk to Asa,” I burst out. “He can't do this!”

Nicolae ignores me. “Go,” he says, with a flip of his hand. “Do what you are doing. But remember: a castle of glass can be broken.”

He strides into the shadows with his silent friends. Cole and I watch them disappear. We are no longer holding hands.

“I'd better go,” I say quietly.

“I'll walk you.”

“No. I'll be fine.”

“Cisley, there are angry people out here. It's not just the Gypsies. The factory isn't safe to work in, and your uncle doesn't seem to care. After my dad got hurt last year—”

“Your father?”

“His foot was crushed. He's had to use a cane ever since.”

“No wonder your mother doesn't like me.”

“She's coming around. Anyway,” he says, “you shouldn't be walking home by yourself.”

“I have to. Why do you think I'm wearing these silly clothes?”

“I thought you liked dressing up.”

“To go climbing around on sand dunes? No, it's to fool my uncle. He's always spying on me. From a distance, he thinks I'm Mother. As far as he knows, I'm still in my room.”

“Smart.”

“Wasn't my idea. A friend suggested it.”

“What friend?”

“Don't be jealous.” I throw him a smile. “Or do.” With that, I give him a little wave and start down the beach. But then I look back. There are thirty feet of wind between us, just like the first time I saw him, up on the seawall. “Hey, Cole!” I call.

“What?” he shouts back.

“Take care of my father!”

“I will!”

I continue on, my torn hem trailing in foam from retreating waves. The wind plays with my hair and flutters through the folds of the gown. It's been an amazing night. I talked with my father! And there was that moment with Cole. That almost moment.

Why am I depressed?

Rounding the curve of the shoreline, I know very well why. Up on the far cliff, the Crystal Castle glitters, a glass spike driven into the heart of the town.

I don't want to go there. I don't want to endure the stink of Asa's laboratory to help him create an impossible flower. The idea of it feels evil to me, like a velvet death. How much I prefer my father's white roses, sent each day to an empty room. Still, somewhere in that strange castle, there's a clue to my mother. There's bound to be!

Coming closer, I can just make out the secret entrance, above the seawall. You'd never know it was there. I clamber up, my gown catching on the rocks. The clouds are
thickening, the moon ducking in and out. Little whitecaps form in the firth. There'll be rain by morning.

“Okay, old friend,” I say, pulling open the door and peering in. “What have you been up to all this time?”

No answer.

The moon, briefly free of cloud, sends a shaft through the entrance, alighting on several small objects. I look closer. Stoop. Pick up one of them.

Bits of something hard.

My shell! My beautiful shell has been smashed to pieces!

It was just a shell. Why am I crying?

It was more than that. It was a
voice
!

Picking up every fragment I can find, even the smallest, I start up the narrow staircase. After a few steps, the darkness becomes absolute, and I hug the curving wall. A fall here would be serious.

Who did this? Who would break my shell?

How did they know where it was?

Dim light from above begins to reach me. I can make out the stairs, arched beams, and part of the chute I slid down during my earlier escape. Halfway, I pause, the shell pieces digging into my hand. I'm so disheartened I can hardly go on.

Finally, I reach the top and step past the mirror into the familiar world of Mother's closet, with its swaying
array. The gowns used to feel so friendly as I swept past them. Now I don't know. I don't know anything.

There's the silver hanger. Yes, why not? I slip off the gown and hang it up, then watch as tiny lights begin circling it. More and more lights, brighter and brighter, till the gown is dazzling. I leave them to their work and continue out to the bedroom.

Sitting at the vanity, I set the fragments in front of me. “I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I should have taken you with me.”

Slowly, I start the job of taking down my hair and brushing it out. It's quite a tangle. Three times the tangle, in the three-way mirror.

I pause midstroke. The light hairs on my arm begin to rise.
Someone else is in the room! I'm sure of it!
I stare into the mirror, trying to see behind me; but there's nothing, just candlelit dimness.

So why is my breath frozen in my chest?

Slowly, I turn.

No one.

I peer into shadowy corners, even under the bed. Then I go to the closet and trot all the way down and back among the glowing gowns. I must be crazy. But when I sit at the vanity again, the feeling is stronger than ever.

Just concentrate on what you're doing
.

I move one side of the three-paneled mirror a couple of inches to see myself better, and now, instead of three Cisleys, there are six, reflections within reflections. I'm

not sure, in my present mood, that I want to see that many Cisleys.

It's interesting, though. I move the other side an inch or so. Suddenly, there's an endless line of Cisleys, every one of them with tangled hair.

All but one.

Again, that freezing in my chest. One of the reflections, far down the line, is
not me
!

“Mother!”
I cry aloud.

There's no doubt. It's my mother's face, behind a dozen of my own, staring wildly out at me, her mouth wide.

“Mother! Is it you?”

Her mouth forms the word
“Help!”
Even with no sound, I can see it.

“
How
can I help you? Where
are
you?”

She keeps mouthing the same
“Help! Help!”

A noise behind me makes me turn. A soft, jangling sound, of someone fiddling with keys. My heart jumps as I hear the door fly open.

A familiar voice from the outer room: “Somebody has to fix that lock.”

“Miss Porlock!”

Miss P. looks into the bedroom. “Cisley! There you are!”

Of all the times for her to interrupt…

“I've come to warn you!” She stops herself, frowns, her forehead shining. “You're naked!”

“I am not naked!” True, I'm in my underthings, but you could hardly say…
“Why are you naked? And your hair!”

“I'll explain all that. Warn me about what?”

“Oh!” Miss P. collapses in a velvet chair, looking faint. “I've been translating Latin.”

“What?”
I can't believe this.

“The book,” she gasps out. “The book your uncle gave me.”

“I remember.”

Casually, I move one side of the mirror a couple of inches. Mother disappears.

“Please get some clothing on, Cisley! What do you mean, going about like that?”

“What about the book?”

“The book. It tells in very considerable detail how to create a black rose.”

“Good.”

She lays a hand on her bosom. “
Not
good. It talks about ‘golden blood.' ”

I wait. Why does it always take so long to get to the point?

“That's what it calls a magician's blood. I don't suppose it's actually golden. Probably just a figure of speech.”

“What
about
it?”

“Don't you see? He needs the blood to make the rose. That's
you
, Cisley. You're the one with the magic. He wants your blood!”

She sees the doubting look on my face.

“Listen to me. Your life's in danger!”

“I don't think so. Uncle Asa is not a nice man, but I really doubt that he'd kill me.”

“Can you be sure? You know how obsessed he is.”

“But I'm his niece!”

“How much do you suppose that counts with him? If I recall, he already hit you once.” She struggles to her feet, holding on to the chair back. “This whole business about black roses, I don't like it. I've never liked it.”

“Well, don't give him the book. Say you lost it.”

“Too late. He snatched the translation away before I was even finished. If I were you, I'd hide.”

“I will not hide. I'm sure you're wrong about my uncle.”
Well
, I think,
I'm almost sure
.

“Oh, Cisley.” She looks at me sadly. “You know so little about life. You've grown up without a father, and practically without a mother….”

“That's not true.”

“I wish it weren't, dear. Be honest. How much of a mother has Marina been to you?”

My cheeks flush. To say such a thing in this room! “She's been…” I falter only a moment. “…a fine mother!”

“Yes, well, you have to believe that, I suppose.” Miss P. pats my shoulder. “Anyway, you can believe in
me
. I'll protect you with my last breath. Your uncle will not lay a finger on you.”

“Thank you, Miss P.”

“Not a finger! Now,” she adds, turning to the door, “do put some clothes on, for heaven's sake.”

As she leaves, I quickly readjust the mirror until it again shows a long line of reflections, Cisley upon Cisley. There! Toward the end: Mother.

I flinch.

I've never seen such fury on a human face.