Pale Phoenix (26 page)

"Will you stay for dinner?" she asked Dan.

He hugged her. "Love to."

And so it was after dinner that the three Brownes and Abby and Dan were gathered by the living room fire. Although she usually stayed well away from fires, tonight Abby made a point of sitting next to Miranda and Dan right in front of the screen. Together they watched the sparks.

Helen and Philip looked up when Miranda turned to them and cleared her throat.

"I want to talk to you guys."

"Okay, shoot," said Philip, closing his book. Helen placed a slip of paper in hers to mark the place and laid the book on the coffee table. They looked at Miranda expectantly.

"I would like to change my mind," she began, her eyes on Abby, who was watching the flames dance as if mesmerized. "I mean, about Abby."

Abby turned abruptly to Miranda, the spell broken. Her eyes were bright.

"I know there have been—umm—problems," Miranda said. The fire at her back warmed her with a heat that spread to flush her face. She licked her lips, suddenly nervous, but knew her words were the right ones now. "A lot of problems. But I think we've worked things out. The social worker said that Abby could stay through March—but that's almost here. So I think we should do something legal—something so she can stay longer."

"How much longer did you have in mind?" asked Helen carefully.

"Like about fifty years."

Philip whooped, then leapt off the couch to hug Miranda. He reached over and hugged Abby, too. "I think the best we can do is get permission to keep you until you're eighteen, Abby. Will that be long enough for you?"

"You'd always be part of the family, even after that," Helen hastened to add. "But legally you would only have to stay until you turn eighteen."

"Have to stay," murmured Abby. "Have to? It sounds like a prison sentence. I would absolutely
love
to stay. Till I'm eighteen—or longer."

"Like forever," said Miranda.

"Fortunately not that long—anymore." Abby and Miranda exchanged a long, intimate look that left Helen and Philip puzzled.

"I have the sneaking suspicion there is something I'm not in on," said Helen.

"I feel that, too," said Philip. "Girls? Dan?"

"Abby sure has a story to tell—," he began, but broke off when Abby shook her head.

"But not now," Abby said. "Not yet."

"But sometime," Miranda said.

"It's an illustrated story," added Dan. "Kind of like a photo essay."

Abby caught her breath, but Miranda and Dan smiled at her reassuringly. They would not tell Abby's story or show Abby's collection of photographs until she was ready. But it was a story that should be told, Miranda thought. It was a story like no other.

"Well, if we're not having stories," said Philip, "how about having hot chocolate?"

"A toast to Abby," said Helen, getting to her feet.

"Hot chocolate—with whipped cream to celebrate!" Philip followed Helen out of the room. "Just make mine nonfat." Their happy voices filtered back from the kitchen.

When they had gone, Miranda tugged the stone phoenix from her jeans pocket. She held it out to Abby.

"I gave it to you freely, Mandy," said Abby. "Keep it if you really want it."

How to decide? A wealth of conflicting emotions glistened in Miranda's eyes as she stared down at the small stone whistle that had saved Abby's life and at the same time held her captive for three hundred years. Is it possible simply to refuse magic?

Finally she pressed the statue into Abby's hand. "No, I don't need it," she said firmly, and knew it was true.

"If I had known what Willow was really giving me that day, would I have accepted her gift?" Abby shrugged, gazing directly at Miranda as if searching for something in the other girl's eyes. "Maybe—who knows? I wouldn't have wanted to have missed ... all this. Your parents—and you, Mandy."

Abby's pale eyes mirrored the white stone of the bird. "A phoenix," she murmured. "Just a cold stone whistle." She ran her fingertips almost lovingly over the surface of the figure. "A bird, that's all." She raised her head and looked around the Brownes' comfortable living room—a warm, inviting room in an old New England house in a small New England town now well into the last years of the twentieth century—and then turned to Miranda and Dan. In the depths of those eyes Miranda caught a last glimpse of the young Puritan girl Abby had once been.

Abby held the phoenix high. Miranda watched, transfixed, suddenly knowing what her friend was going to do.

"Thank you," Abby whispered to it almost inaudibly and with one sharp movement, tossed the stone whistle into the fire.

Neither Miranda nor Dan tried to stop her, though the small explosion that followed brought Helen and Philip running in from the kitchen. As they all watched, sparks shot high into the chimney with a roaring, wind-filled blast. A high-pitched screech hung in the air before fading to a long, clear note—a mere whisper of song. Then the song, with the sparks, disappeared, and only the embers were left, and the people, and the comforting hot chocolate, inviting them to drink.

When Miranda Browne moves with her family to an old house in a small Massachusetts town, she discovers an antique dollhouse that duplicates her new home in miniature. Looking through the dollhouse windows, she is shocked to see scenes from the tragic lives of the real house's past inhabitants. She soon realizes that her home is exerting an evil power over the women who live there. And even worse, Miranda's own mother is succumbing to its influence!

Miranda must find the key to unlock the past and release the house from its spell. But doing so means Miranda herself must relive one of those terrifying dollhouse scenes.

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"Reminiscent of
The Indian in the Cupboard.
"
—Publishers Weekly

"Well wrought and entertaining."
—Kirkus Reviews

"Reiss spins a fascinating tale."—
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