Midnight Dolls (9 page)

B
ram drives me to Chloe's house and insists on coming inside, in case we need his help. Chloe, Peregrine, and I are forbidden by the rules of zandara from involving outsiders in anything related to our sosyete, but I don't think Bram really qualifies as an outsider. The lines are getting more and more blurred by the day.

The front door is open, so we head inside the house without knocking. We find Chloe in the living room with Peregrine and Peregrine's mother. Chloe's mother is lying on the couch, apparently unconscious, with several slash wounds through her blood-drenched silk blouse.

“What happened?” I demand.

“Scarlett was attacked!” Peregrine's mom says. “Right in her own home!”

Chloe is crying, and I'm filled with horror as I turn to her.

“Is she . . . okay?” I ask.

“I don't know,” Chloe says. “That's why we need you. To help us with a charm.”

I nod. Queens from different sosyetes can't cast together, so Peregrine's mom couldn't do much to help her daughter and Chloe before I arrived. Now that I'm here, my sister queens and I should be able to cast powerfully enough to save Chloe's mom. “Has someone called my dad?” I ask. “He should know about this too.”

“He's here with all the protectors,” Peregrine says. “They're in the parlor with . . . the person who did this.”

A chill runs through me. “Another Main de Lumière soldier?”

I'm thinking of the terrifying man who attacked me last week, so I'm surprised when Peregrine nods solemnly and says, “Yes. Mrs. Potter.”

I blink at her, my lungs suddenly constricting. I'm sure I'm hearing her incorrectly. “Mrs. Potter? The sweet old lady who runs the library?”

Chloe chokes out a laugh. “Sweet? I'm not sure you'd call her that if you walked in on her slicing your mother to shreds.” She begins to cry again.

“Girls, you can't waste any more time,” Peregrine's mother says. “You have to help Scarlett before it's too late. We can deal with the Potter woman afterward.”

I nod and join hands with Peregrine and Chloe.

“Who's Mrs. Potter?” I hear Bram whisper to Peregrine's
mother as I begin chanting with Peregrine and Chloe.

“Someone we've all known for years,” she replies. “And someone I intend to destroy as soon as we're done here.”

I call on Eloi Oke to open the gate, and Peregrine invokes white oak bark, althea, wormwood, and walnut leaf. As Chloe begs the spirits for help, we begin to tap our feet slowly in rhythm and sway to the beat. A wave of gratitude sweeps through me as I watch the wounds on Chloe's mother's chest close and some of the color return to her face. We stop dancing when her eyelids flutter open.

“Chloe?” she asks, her eyes rolling around frantically until she sees her daughter.

“Mesi, zanset,”
Chloe says, her voice thick with relief as she thanks the spirits.

“Mesi, zanset. Mesi, zanset,”
all three of us say in unison, ending the charm.

Chloe releases our hands and rushes over to her mother. She throws her arms around her and cries, “I thought you were going to die!”

“What happened?” her mother asks, looking around at all of us.

“That's what we're about to find out,” Peregrine says, her voice heavy with anger as she leads the way into the parlor.

Mrs. Potter is sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, her feet bound so she can't run away. Oscar's father, Anton, and Patrick's father, Benjamin, stand watch over her while my father speaks to Caleb, Oscar, and Patrick on the other side of
the room. Caleb's eyes lock with mine as soon as I walk in, but then he sees Bram beside me and quickly looks away.

“Scarlett,” my father says, staring at Chloe's mother. “You're okay.”

She nods weakly and glances at Anton, who looks like he's about to cry.

“I'm so sorry, ma'am,” he says, his voice choked. “I would never be able to forgive myself if she had succeeded in . . .” He can't finish the words.

“But she didn't,” Chloe's mom says right away. “And you didn't do anything wrong.”

But he doesn't look any less miserable, and when I glance back at Caleb, he's looking right at me again.

“You really think this is the only attempt that will be made on your life?” Mrs. Potter surprises us by asking from the corner, her tone full of venom. “You fools! The end is near for you evildoers!”

Her words and the way her normally docile eyes are blazing trigger a wave of fear in me. I glance at Peregrine and Chloe, who look as worried as I feel.

“Nonsense,” Peregrine's mother shoots back. “You're just a crazy old hag. Who would recruit someone your age to act as an attacker? You practically have one foot in the grave already.”

“Annabelle,” she says in the sweet, high-pitched voice I'm accustomed to, “how you've underestimated me.” She laughs and adds, “Or are you not bright enough to have realized by now that the biggest threat always comes from the people you least expect?”

“Whatever,” Peregrine speaks up. “Main de Lumière is getting desperate. If you're the best they could do, we have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, Peregrine,” Mrs. Potter replies. “Stupid, stupid Peregrine, who believes the world revolves around her. Don't you see that this is all part of the bigger plan? Your magic is the work of the devil. All of you. But I, dear friends, am a messenger of God.”

She turns her fake smile on me, and I shudder.

“And Eveny Cheval,” she goes on. “How naive you are. This is all about you. Don't you see that? You hold the key to everything, and that's why you must die. But first, all those who support you will be sacrificed to atone for their sins and yours. And in the end, you'll be struck down in a field littered with the bodies of your family and friends. How I wish I could stick around for the show.”

I can feel myself shaking. The venom in her voice fills the air like poison gas.

Bram puts a hand on my back and steps forward. “How dare you try to scare Eveny with empty threats?”

“Empty?” she laughs. “Oh no, young man. Main de Lumière will prevail, bringing with it the dawn of a new era, an era free from your evil, free from your filth and your destruction. I'm merely the opening act. Rest assured, the next time we come after you, the job will be complete. Peregrine, Chloe, you might as well say good-bye to your mommies now. Their end is coming soon.”

“Bitch,” Peregrine says as Chloe chokes back a sob and
hugs her mother tightly, as if by holding on, she can protect her against Mrs. Potter's words.

“Sadly, I must go now,” Mrs. Potter says, her tone suddenly eerily calm. I look at her in confusion as she focuses on me and says sweetly, “I would say I'd see you in heaven, but we all know
you're
not going there, devil-child.”

Before anyone can make a move toward her, she flings herself forward, smashing her necklace hard on the floor, shattering the glass beads. In less than a second, her tongue flicks out, picking up a small pill that must have been inside one of the beads. She swallows quickly and smiles at us. “Cyanide, you see,” she says before her words dissolve into choking and foam pools at the corner of her mouth. She doubles over, writhes for a moment, and then goes still.

Anton steps forward and puts a hand on her wrist. “Dead,” he says. “What the hell? Why would she commit suicide?”

“Because she knew you'd kill her,” I say, glancing at Caleb, who looks upset. “She'd delivered her warning, and she didn't want you to get any information out of her that she wasn't supposed to give.”

“Eveny, the things she said,” my father says after a moment of stunned silence. “She's wrong. Nothing's going to happen to you. I won't let it.”

“Me neither,” Bram says. His hand is on my shoulder again, and I try not to notice Caleb glaring at him.

“But what if her threats weren't empty?” Chloe asks. “She managed to get past Anton and Oscar to my mom, didn't she? And if someone like her could be allied with Main de Lumière,
who knows who else has been compromised? They told us on Caouanne Island that there were at least
two
operatives here.”

We all stare at the crumpled body of Mrs. Potter.

“How do we stop this?” Chloe finally asks in a near whisper. “How do we prevent Main de Lumière from coming after us?”

“We don't,” I say after a pause. All eyes turn to me as I add, “We learn to fight back before it's too late.”

I say good-bye to Bram and my sister queens, and then my father, Caleb, and I drive home together, the silence heavy around us. I don't know what they're thinking about, but I can't stop replaying Mrs. Potter's death, the way her body thrashed around violently and then suddenly went still.

What would make someone so convinced of a cause's righteousness that she'd willingly die for it? What would make someone buy into something so dark and malicious?

Caleb pulls into our driveway and cuts the ignition. None of us moves for a moment, and the quiet suddenly feels loaded.

“You're going to be okay, Eveny,” my father finally says. “We won't let anything happen to you. I promise.”

“I promise too,” Caleb says, his eyes flicking to mine in the rearview mirror.

“But you can't know that for sure,” I say. “Main de Lumière wants me dead. They want all of us dead. There's no guarantee that we'll be able to fight them off.”

No one says anything, so I speak up again. “Look, everyone's fine for now. Let's just stay safe tonight, and we can all
meet tomorrow and figure out what to do. Do we have to call the police or something? Ask Chief Sangerman for help covering this up?”

“I think we just get rid of the body,” Caleb says softly. “I don't think Mrs. Potter's death will lead back to us. The fewer people involved, the better.”

My father nods and gets out of the car, cueing Caleb and me to follow. That's when I notice the silver Mercedes parked in the driveway, just slightly down the hill. My father sees it at the same time and frowns.

“Who's that?” I ask.

“No idea,” he says. He glances at Caleb. “Stay close to Eveny.”

Caleb nods, and as I fall into step behind my father, my heart thudding, I can feel Caleb behind me, his breath on my neck, his heat radiating through me. We approach the front door, but before my father can insert his key in the lock, the door swings open, revealing an old man standing there, his eyes sunken and hollowed.

He focuses first on me, then on Caleb, and finally on my father. He smiles slightly and in a low, raspy voice says, “I hope you don't mind, but Boniface let me in. Hello, son. It's good to see you.”

My dad's expression is unreadable. “Hello, Father,” he says.

W
e all stand motionless on the doorstep, staring at each other, until my father finally nudges me. I shake my head in disbelief as we all walk inside. I can't stop staring at the bald, weary-looking man in the foyer. He looks like an older, far more worn-out version of my father.

“Now, what kind of welcome is that, son?” the man—my grandfather—asks. He turns to me with a smile. “Eveny, it's lovely to see you again, my dear.”

I have no memory of this man, but he feels strangely familiar. “Again?” I repeat, studying him. He looks weak, gaunt, and I recall what my father said about his cancer.

“We met once before, when you were just a baby.” He chuckles, but the sound turns into a cough. “Forgive me,” he says, once he recovers. “My health, it hasn't been wonderful, needless to say. But yes, Eveny, I was here just after you were
born. I had to see my grandchild, the heir who would carry on my family's future.”

I glance at my father, who is staring at my grandfather as if he's trying to figure out a particularly complicated puzzle. My grandfather's emphasis on my status as his heir makes me uneasy; it's a reminder of just how much rests on my shoulders.

“And who might you be?” my grandfather asks, turning to Caleb. “Wait, don't answer. Let me guess. You're Eveny's protector. Charles Shaw's son? I'd nearly forgotten about him, the one who was responsible for protecting Sandrine. I met him when I was here just after Eveny's birth.”

I can feel Caleb stiffen. “Yes, sir. I'm Caleb.”

“Ah. Of course. Well, Caleb, you don't need to stand so close to my granddaughter. I don't bite, I promise.” My grandfather smiles as Caleb clears his throat and takes a small step back.

“Father,” my dad says, seemingly finding his voice at last, “you still haven't said why you're here. Or in fact,
how
you're here, inside the town's walls.”

My grandfather chuckles again. “Well, I hate to be the one to tell you, but your protective gate seems to have shorted out. I'd recommend fixing them as your first order of business. I could have walked right in on my own, but I'm a gentleman, so I went through the proper channels.”

“Channels?” my father asks, his forehead creasing.

“Bill Saxon. Young Bram's uncle,” my grandfather replies,
glancing at me. There's something about his expression that makes me feel like he can see beneath my skin, can read my mind. “Of course you remember they live in Carrefour now. So,” he adds, clapping his hands together, “what do you say we do something about this mess you've gotten yourselves into?”

Boniface prepares the guest bedroom for my grandfather, and my father disappears for a while, mumbling an excuse about needing to call Simon, so I'm left with my grandfather and Caleb.

“Perhaps you could go help Boniface for a little while so that I can catch up with my granddaughter,” my grandfather says, turning to Caleb.

Caleb glances at me, and I try to tell him with my eyes that I'd rather he stay, but he either doesn't understand or he's feeling just as awkward as I am, because he shrugs and says, “Sure.” He strides out of the room without looking back.

“Pleasant young man,” my grandfather says.

I nod, unsure how to reply.

“He certainly seems fond of you,” he goes on, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

I shrug. “So,” I say quickly, changing the subject, “what brings you here?”

“Ah, a young woman who cuts right to the chase. I like that. Well, Eveny, you see, I've come because you need me, and I need you, and when families are in need, they should stick together. Don't you think?”

“But why come back now?” My grandfather's absence in my life doesn't sting as much as my father's does, but it's still disconcerting that he's shown up suddenly after so many years, talking about how family is important.

He frowns. “Things are coming to a head, aren't they? Today's events are a perfect example.”

“You mean . . . ?”

“Scarlett St. Pierre,” he says. “The attack. It's only the beginning, Eveny.”

“How did you know about that already?” I ask. Then I realize I know the answer to my own question. “Bram's uncle told you?”

He nods. “I had just arrived in town and was meeting with him before coming to see you and your father when I got the news. I think you'll agree that there's no time to waste.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, leaning forward. But my father interrupts us by walking back into the room.

“You okay, Eveny?” he asks.

“She's just fine, Matthias,” my grandfather answers, his voice flat. I can practically feel the awkward tension in the air between them.

My dad stares at me and then turns his gaze back to his father. “I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of dinner, but Caleb and Boniface are putting some cold cuts out for sandwiches. Shall we head into the kitchen?”

“Whatever you say, son,” my grandfather says. I follow the two of them into the other room, where Caleb and Boniface
are spreading out deli meats and cheeses on a plate.

“Mind slicing a tomato and onion, Eveny?” Boniface asks, winking at me.

I nod, grateful for the distraction. I grab a knife and stand beside Caleb, but it's only when I begin to cut the onion that I realize my hands are shaking. Caleb notices too, and he takes a small step closer.

“You okay?” he whispers.

I nod. “Just completely weirded out.”

We all prepare sandwiches and settle around the dining room table. Boniface comes in with a pitcher of iced tea and pulls up a chair, which is unusual, because he typically declines dinner invitations. I can tell by the way he's looking at my grandfather, though, that he's not sure whether he can trust him or not.

“So?” my dad says after we're all settled. “Shall we talk about what you're doing here, Father?”

“As you know, son, I'm very ill,” my grandfather begins. He's interrupted by another coughing fit, and when he straightens back up, he's looking right at me. “Lung cancer,” he adds. “Not a particularly pleasant cancer to be dying from.”

“I thought you were receiving chemotherapy,” I say.

“I've been receiving treatments in Miami for the last couple of months, but it appears my time is finally up. The chemo, well, my body just can't take it anymore. And the cancer has metastasized and spread. So I've come here, to spend my final
days with the people I love most in this world: my son and my granddaughter.”

“I'm so sorry,” I say. As uncertain as I feel about his sudden arrival, it makes me sad that he knows his days are numbered.

“Don't worry about me, Eveny,” my grandfather says, looking into my eyes. “I'm at peace with my fate. We all have a destiny, and it's not always the one we hope for. My only goal now is to make the most of the rest of my time on earth.”

He looks at my father, and the two of them hold each other's gaze. My dad blinks first. “How are you feeling, Father?” he asks.

“Weak,” my grandfather admits. “But being here, seeing you, fills me with strength. In any case, enough about me. Shall we discuss the attack on the St. Pierre woman?”

“Something has to change,” my father says right away. “If Main de Lumière is here . . .” He shakes his head. “With the gate open and their operatives hiding in plain sight, I'm afraid things are more dangerous than ever.”

My grandfather looks at me. “Will you consider going to Caouanne Island until the storm has passed, Eveny?”

I shake my head. “No. There's no way to keep the people of Carrefour protected if I leave.”

“But perhaps it's not your job to protect them,” he says. “The things that are happening now are things your sister queens and their mothers have brought on themselves by years of misusing their powers. They wouldn't be in Main de Lumière's crosshairs if they had practiced more responsibly.”

“But they've also been weakened for years because my mom's gone,” I point out. “If she'd been here to cast charms with them, the protections around the town never would have crumbled. And that's not their fault.”

“It's certainly not
your
fault,” my grandfather says.

“But it's my responsibility. I'm my mother's daughter, and this is her legacy. This town was her home, and the people under attack are her sisters.
My
sisters. I have to stay.”

“I suppose that's very noble of you,” my grandfather says.

The doorbell chimes, interrupting us. I exchange looks with my father as Boniface stands to go see who's here. “Go with him, Caleb, just in case,” my father says.

A moment later, they return, accompanied by Bram. Our eyes meet, and a sizzle of heat runs through me. I look quickly away.

My father asks if he's hungry, and he says no, then turns to shake my grandfather's hand. He seems to bow to him slightly, which reminds me just how important my grandfather is among andaba practitioners. None of us have eaten more than a couple of bites, and as I look down at my sandwich now, my stomach lurches. I push my plate away.

“I hope you don't mind that I've invited Bram Saxon to join us,” my grandfather says, glancing at me and then at Caleb, who seems tense and on edge. “I thought it would be helpful to put our heads together about this Main de Lumière problem. And I have some news I'd like to share.”

He looks around at all of us before continuing. “While
I was in Miami, I had some dealings with muerdaya practitioners from Haiti. They're not on Main de Lumière's radar to the same extent we are, which has allowed them to gain more insight into the organization. In a ceremony last week, a group of priests managed to coax some information out of the Main de Lumière general assigned to their region.” He pauses. “Then they killed him.”

I'm surprised by how much this bothers me. There's simply too much bloodshed, no matter which side it's on. I feel a surge of guilt, like I should be doing something to stop all of this. But it's a chain of events that was set in motion long before I got here, and I know I have yet to understand even a fraction of it.

“So what did he say?” my father asks.

My grandfather pauses dramatically. “There's infighting within the Main de Lumière ranks,” he says. “A split between those who believe the organization has gone too far and those who believe that the only way to cleanse the world is by spilling the blood of all who have magical ties.”

I swallow hard. “I thought they
all
believed in killing us.”

“They do, to an extent,” my grandfather says. “Main de Lumière was founded on the idea that magic—in any form—is the work of the devil and that they're doing something virtuous by eliminating us. But finally, there's a faction within the organization that believes murdering innocents is wrong. The problem is that there's a disagreement about what makes a person innocent. Are we guilty the moment we draw upon our powers for the first time? Or are we only
guilty if we use our abilities to do harm?

“That's exactly why the split within Main de Lumière focuses largely on Eveny,” he adds, turning to me. A chill runs through me as he goes on. “For those who believe that magical blood alone isn't reason enough for punishment, you've become almost a symbol of a movement. But this has only infuriated the others, who harp on the idea of your great potential for power—and thus your great potential to do harm.”

“But I'm not planning on doing harm!”

“Still,” my grandfather continues, “you remain a symbol to both sides, which makes you more important and interesting to Main de Lumière than ever before. When you were younger, they feared that your power would one day be a threat to them. Now you're a threat regardless of your power, because you're capable of dividing them and turning them against each other.”

My head is suddenly throbbing. I close my eyes.

“What are we supposed to do with that information?” my father asks.

My grandfather leans back in his chair. “Be aware. Defend ourselves. Darkness is coming, but it may not come from the places we expect. Who knows? There may even be people within Main de Lumière who wish to help us.”

“You think we should work
with
Main de Lumière?” Caleb says. “You can't be serious!”

“Oh, I'm very serious, young man. And you should be at least considering the possibility too, if you truly want to save Eveny's life.”

“Of course I do.” Caleb looks at me, pauses for a second, and then looks back at my grandfather. “It seems like what they're afraid of is that she has andaba powers too. That's just making things worse.”

“But isn't it her zandara side that's been getting her into so much trouble?” Bram counters. “What if andaba isn't a complication? What if it's something that could help?”

“That's insane. How could it help?” Caleb says. “It's making Eveny a target.”

“It's not andaba that's making her a target,” Bram says. “It's the fact that she has two kinds of magical blood.”

“Including andaba,” Caleb says.

“
And
zandara,” Bram replies.

The two of them glare at each other.

My grandfather holds up a hand. “You both have different reasons for protecting her. But looking at Eveny's face now, I don't imagine your war of words is making much of a difference.”

They both turn to me. I'm tired of being asked to pick sides, to turn my back on a part of my own history.

I take a deep breath. “I just want all of us to survive. I don't see why I have to choose one tradition over the other. Wasn't I born to practice both? Isn't that who I am?”

I don't wait for an answer. I get up from the table and head for the back door, leaving a divided room full of people staring after me.