The Bone Garden

by Heather Kassner

  “What good does it do us if we’re stuck in here?”

  “We’ll find a way out.” She looked around the shed as if there might be another door that she had somehow overlooked, one that did not require a skeleton key to open.

  “I’ve been all over this place. There’s no other way out.”

  Guy went to the window and wiped at the dirt and dust with his sleeve, but even if they broke the pane of glass, she could see it was much too small to pass through. He simply seemed to want to avoid looking at her. “I thought I could distract him and you would find Lass and hide. I didn’t think he’d catch any of us.”

  “I know,” she said, though her cheeks warmed. She had not known, not at first. She had not put enough trust in him. “It was a good plan. I spoiled it.”

  “I thought I was faster than him. He never came close to catching me before.”

  Irréelle did not want to remind him of the many months he had spent in the underside of the graveyard, immobile. His legs were probably not as strong or sure in their footing. “You were faster. Much faster. He only tricked you by circling around from another direction.”

  Without warning, the lock rattled on the door. Irréelle jumped.

  She stared at the handle, bracing for the watchman’s return. It jiggled and clattered for several long minutes, but it did not turn and eventually quieted again. A few moments later, a soft tapping came at the little window. Irréelle’s head whipped to the side.

  Lass’s face bobbed into sight on the other side of the glass. Irréelle and Guy rushed over, crowding close together.

  “Hurry. Get us out of here,” Guy said.

  Lass’s mouth moved, but she must have been whispering, wary of the watchman. Irréelle could not hear her, but she read her lips. “She can’t open the door.”

  Guy’s shoulders slumped.

  “It’s okay,” Irréelle said. “We’ll be okay.”

  If anything, Lass looked even more defeated than Guy. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed, and hung her head.

  Irréelle touched the window. “Go back to the house so you don’t get in trouble with Miss Vesper. She still trusts you.”

  Lass stood there stubbornly.

  “Go, before the watchman sees you,” Guy said.

  She hesitated another moment and then darted away from the shed.

  Irréelle was staring at the spot Lass had so recently occupied when Guy suddenly hurried to the shelf. He began examining the assortment of tools, picking up this and that. “Maybe Lass couldn’t bust the lock. Maybe I couldn’t push past the watchman, but the two of us together should be able to get by him. We’ll just have to better prepare ourselves.”

  With that, he spun around. A pair of goggles, perhaps used for protection when cutting inscriptions into stone, were propped on his head. In one hand, he held the trowel, and in the other, a spade, which he tossed to Irréelle without warning.

  Surprisingly, she caught it.

  Geared up, Guy (with his goggles, a trowel, and a rake) and Irréelle (with the spade and a shovel finally wrenched free) stationed themselves in front of the door. They listened for the watchman’s tread on the ground and for the clinking of his skeleton keys.

  And they waited and waited and waited. Prepared for battle.

  When the watchman returned, they had no warning. He came for them silently. The door slammed open. Irréelle dropped the shovel. The goggles fell forward onto the bridge of Guy’s nose. They lost the element of surprise, and before they could charge forward, the watchman swept into the shed and, with his gloved hands, clasped hold of them by their wrists.

  He squeezed tight, until Irréelle released the spade and Guy let the rake fall to the ground. Still in his hand, the trowel looked only like a gardening tool, nothing that would hold back the watchman. He dropped that too and shook the goggles from his face.

  “I’ll be glad to be rid of the two of you. Now, come along.”

  “Be rid of us?” Irréelle said, fearing whatever horrible punishment the watchman had decided upon.

  He pulled them through the door and marched them past the cottage and toward the gate.

  Toward Miss Vesper.

  Irréelle startled at the sight of her, swept up in a rush of emotions so mangled she could not separate dread from hope.

  With small, fast steps, Miss Vesper paced up and down the sidewalk outside the cemetery. And above her, a lone tattletale bat flew through the sky on its four dirt-and-cobweb wings.

  Somehow, it must have survived the storm and found its way to Miss Vesper’s ear.

  Irréelle quavered. She felt like she was falling backward, remembering her very small place in the world—no matter her desire for something more.

  The watchman strode forward. “Imagine my surprise when the bell rang at the gate and I received a midnight caller. One so gentle and fine, come to collect the likes of you. Worried sick by her poor lost orphans, she said. I would not be so good as she, taking in what someone else thought fit to abandon.”

  Irréelle would have much preferred Miss Vesper’s sad tale to the truth, and she could almost believe it. Despite the late hour, Miss Vesper looked as neat and tidy as she always did. She wore a thin black jacket over her black dress and her honey-brown hair fell to her shoulders. When she saw Irréelle and Guy, she hurried closer and placed a hand to her chest. Her mouth shaped an O.

  Irréelle had never seen that expression cross Miss Vesper’s face before. How she had longed for Miss Vesper to gaze upon her with such care, but Irréelle knew it was an act. A pretty mask that veiled her anger. Irréelle stole a look at Guy.

  His face was downturned. He shuffled his feet as the watchman walked them over to the gate and unlocked it. It clicked open and the watchman swung back the gate. It shuddered on the hinges.

  “Thank you ever so much.” Miss Vesper’s words dripped with sweetness, so thick it made Irréelle’s bones ache. She turned to Irréelle and Guy, throwing both arms out in front of her. Despite her air of concern, her icy blue eyes cut straight through Irréelle. “Children.” When neither of them moved toward her, she came to them, placing one hand on Irréelle’s shoulder and the other on Guy’s forearm. Her fingernails dug into their skin, in contrast to her honeyed tone. “You mustn’t scare me like that.” And then to the watchman, she said, “Thank you again for your trouble.”

  The fluttering in Irréelle’s stomach intensified, her conflicting emotions tumbling all over one another.

  Miss Vesper dipped her hand into her purse and passed a wad of bills into the watchman’s hand.

  The watchman grinned, a slow slide of his lips. “It was no trouble, no trouble at all.” He pocketed the money.

  Miss Vesper led Irréelle and Guy out of the cemetery and onto the sidewalk. Behind them, the watchman shut the gate. He began to whistle.

  23

  A Gust of Wind and Dirt

  The streetlamps glowed yellow and lit their way past dark-windowed houses. Not a soul stirred, except for the bat overhead.

  Miss Vesper took Irréelle by the hand and then she reached for Guy, who had pulled ahead, as if they would otherwise run. Not that they could have. Irréelle moved along, compelled by Miss Vesper’s will.

  A strange sensation, to be sure, but Irréelle marveled more at Miss Vesper’s touch. Her palm was cold; her fingers were icy. They are the fingers of someone who has died, Irréelle reminded herself. She stole a glance at Miss Vesper, who looked as she always did. No less perfect. No less alive.

  Someone both real and unreal.

  Miss Vesper’s heels clicked on the sidewalk.

  “What a reunion we will have,” she said to Guy. If Irréelle had heard sweetness in her voice when she spoke to the watchman, it was gone now, replaced with an affected delight. “Wherever were you hiding all this time?”

  On the other side of Miss Vesper, Guy walked as far from her as the stretch of their arms would allow. Irréelle could see no more than his profile and his jaw clenched tight.

&nb
sp; “And you.” Miss Vesper turned to Irréelle. “What a game you played, running off as you did, and with the only candle. I was caught in the dark in that dreadful basement. If it were not for the matches still in my pocket, I might have lost my footing and fallen quite horribly down the stairs.” Miss Vesper’s smile looked like that of a doll, small and stiff and painted on.

  Irréelle sucked in a breath at the reference to the long-ago accident.

  She had the suspicion Miss Vesper wanted no one to know her secret and would be most displeased she and Guy had discovered it. Miss Vesper might do anything to protect her secret, even grant Irréelle and Guy their deepest wishes. Or destroy them once and for all.

  Each of their footsteps fell out of rhythm of the others. Quiet and grim, Irréelle stared forlornly at the neighbors’ homes. She wondered about the lives within them, so very different from her own. Real mothers and fathers. Real children. What elements were they made of that she was missing?

  From the end of the block, Irréelle caught sight of her own home, snug among all the others. Smoke billowed from the two chimneys, the only house that burned a fire in summer. Light blazed in every window, even the small attic window on the third floor. The house looked warm and inviting and …

  In the attic, a shadow passed in front of the light.

  Neither Guy nor Miss Vesper seemed to have noticed, and thank goodness for that. It had to be Lass sneaking about. Irréelle could hardly believe Lass had found a way into the attic, which Miss Vesper locked every time she left it.

  Irréelle should have thought of it before, but of any place in the house, in the attic they might find a clue leading not only to the unmarked grave but also to the source of Miss Vesper’s magic.

  Miss Vesper dropped their hands to open the front gate and herded them through. Once she fastened the lock, she went ahead up the stairs and then gazed down at them from the gabled porch. The dirt-made bat settled in the eaves. “Come inside.”

  Before he could step away, Irréelle touched a hand to Guy’s arm. She did not know when she would have another opportunity to talk to him, and she needed to right things between them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do but give the watchman her name. Please don’t be angry with me.”

  Guy’s eyebrows drew together. “But I’m not mad at you.”

  It was the last thing Irréelle expected to hear. “You’re not?”

  “I’m the one who got us both caught.” He looked down at the ground and then up again. “One way or another we were going to end up back here. You just saved the watchman from having to torture it out of us.” His eyes brightened a shade as he said this last remark.

  In other circumstances Irréelle might have smiled, but as it was, with Miss Vesper watching, she only nodded. On the inside, her heart swelled.

  “I won’t leave you, seeing as how you saved me. And you’re my friend and all.” His cheeks reddened and he hurried on. “I’ll help you find the unmarked grave.” Guy glanced at Miss Vesper from under his thick brows. “Although it might be our end.”

  Irréelle placed her foot on the first step. “No, whatever happens, this will not be our end. It will be our beginning.”

  Side by side, they climbed the wooden steps. Irréelle did not want to reach the top. For these last moments, she could pretend all would be forgiven.

  Miss Vesper herded them into the house. “Welcome back.” She strode past them and removed her jacket, hanging it in the closet beneath the staircase. Irréelle and Guy locked eyes, at once hopeful and wary, and followed. Catching the look that passed between them, Miss Vesper shook her head. “Oh my. Did you think I was referring to the two of you?”

  Irréelle stopped in her tracks. She had, of course, assumed exactly that. Her palms turned sweaty. It felt suddenly overwarm in the entryway. Through the double doors to the study, the fire roared in the hearth.

  “Come,” Miss Vesper said.

  In Irréelle’s pocket, the Hand fidgeted. A moment later, it slipped out and ran along her arm, which she raised in front of her. She was not surprised or disappointed, or really anything at all, other than accepting. She knew what it was like to have no choices.

  “Come,” Miss Vesper said more firmly. The Hand jumped from Irréelle’s arm to the banister. Miss Vesper patted it once and smiled. “Now, off you go.” The Hand leapt to the ground, landing nimbly, then it circled around Irréelle’s ankles, untied one of Guy’s bootlaces, and darted into the study.

  Guy took a step back. Though her legs trembled, Irréelle was determined to stay where she was.

  The weight of Miss Vesper’s gaze pressed into Irréelle. “The boy said something that caught my interest. That you saved the watchman from having to punish you.”

  “His name is Guy,” Irréelle whispered. She did not correct Miss Vesper’s other error. If she recalled, Guy had used the word torture. She swallowed hard.

  Miss Vesper went on, as if she had not heard Irréelle. “Well, now the pleasure will be mine.”

  Irréelle wanted to back away, but still did not move, Guy’s words offering her strength. More brave, more strange, more stubborn.

  A frown settled onto Miss Vesper’s face. “You did not even bother to wipe your boots.”

  Irréelle would have thought it an odd thing to mention, something insignificant when dirt clung to every inch of them, if she did not know Miss Vesper so well. She itched to brush off her skirt or straighten her hair, but all she said was, “I’m sorry.” But for the first time, she did not mean it.

  Miss Vesper stepped closer to Irréelle. She lifted her hand as if she was about to stroke her cheek, but then she thrust it forward, palm out. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

  A gust of wind and dirt rushed over Irréelle’s face and swept through the entryway. It tickled the backs of her knees and rippled her skirt, swirling up from the floor, spinning around her, soft at first and then twisting faster. Her hair lashed across her cheeks. The crystal prisms dangling from the body of the chandelier tinkled.

  It felt like she stood in the center of a storm. The dirt scratched like sandpaper on the exposed parts of her skin. Pressure built around her. Wind shrieked in her ears.

  Guy’s hair whipped across his face as the dirt and wind twisted through the strands and blew across his scalp. The wind scraped dust and dirt from their skin. It whirled in a cloud around them.

  Miss Vesper strained to control it. Though she stood very still with her feet set together, her arms shook. The color rose in her cheeks. They flushed pink. Her hair lifted from her shoulders and tossed in the air.

  Beneath their feet the floor vibrated. Miss Vesper pushed her hands forward. Her brow drew together. One finger at a time, she curled her hands into fists. When she raised her arms above her head, the dirt gathered in the air. It churned like a storm cloud.

  Irréelle blinked dust from her eyes.

  And then Miss Vesper opened her hands again, fingers spread wide. She shaped the dirt into a dark blade.

  It sliced through the air.

  24

  A Terrible Mistake

  Irréelle ducked and yanked Guy down beside her. The dirt-made knife spun end over end, clipping off the very tips of his tousled hair.

  Guy patted his body, as if to make sure everything was still attached. Irréelle felt faint. If she had not grabbed him in time, he might have lost his head.

  But there was still a chance he would.

  The knife swung round, making a perfect arc through the air and slashing low. Irréelle darted right and Guy leapt to the left.

  The blade cut through the sliver of space between them, snipping the hem of Irréelle’s dress. A mangled strip of fabric held on by a thread.

  “Be still.” Miss Vesper’s words fell sharp-edged and absolute. Her hands clutched at the air, as if she manipulated its very consistency.

  Irréelle froze. An itchy, demanding force kept her in place. Across the entryway, Guy’s body stiffened. His face scrunched up, his arms shook, struggling agai
nst Miss Vesper’s magical command.

  The dirt-made knife flashed above his head, taking another hank of hair.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Irréelle said, finding strength to defend him even though she was so unused to doing so for herself.

  Miss Vesper waved her arm through the air, and the knife swerved. It charged in Irréelle’s direction.

  “Stop!” She spoke before the blade stole her voice. Whatever half life she had, it was better than none at all. She did not want it cut short. “You are making a terrible mistake.”

  Miss Vesper’s eyebrow spiked. The knife swept through the air, faster and faster. Unable to move more than a few inches despite how she strained, Irréelle stared it down.

  Closer and closer.

  It angled for her throat.

  “Irréelle!” Guy cringed, watching everything unfold through squinted eyes, as if to prepare himself for her gruesome beheading.

  The knife was within inches of striking her.

  Desperate, Irréelle shouted, “We can help you with the other task!”

  Just as the blade pressed against skin—it stopped in midair.

  Miss Vesper’s hand wavered. The dirt-made knife dropped to the floor and disintegrated into a pile of earth and dust.

  Irréelle and Guy stood on wobbly legs, their will returned to them. She brushed her fingers across her neck, wet with the thinnest line of blood.

  Every part of her tingled, the nerves on the very surface of her skin icy where Miss Vesper’s magic had touched. She slipped closer to Guy, that feeling rushing through her again, that she was small and insubstantial. Her arm brushed against his, and their knocking elbows at least reassured her she was solid.

  Miss Vesper lowered her arms, fingers twitching, and rolled back her shoulders, everything about her appearance just-off. Her bright eyes darkened and the finest blue veins ran beneath her skin, almost translucent across her sharpened bones. She smoothed down her hair, which had gone quite wild and lost its luster.

  “Why would I need your help when I’ve already created your replacement?” Even her voice was not quite her own. Somehow, the dark magic plucked at her light and beauty. It drained her, Irréelle realized, if only temporarily. Miss Vesper twisted her ring, looser now on her skinny-boned finger. “A replacement much more competent and clever than either of you.” Guy opened his mouth, but Irréelle spoke over him, not trusting what he would say. Something to stir things up, she was sure, and they were already in enough trouble. Now was the time for her to be brave, to stand up to Miss Vesper the way she should have done all along.