The Bone Garden

by Heather Kassner

  “We are not something to discard when you grow tired of us.” It felt good to speak the words, to believe them, even if they would never sway Miss Vesper. Irréelle tried to channel Lass, who seemed not to have a single bone of self-doubt in her body. She bared everything she had to Miss Vesper. “We are very close to finding the unmarked grave.” She may have exaggerated, but knew the offer must be strong or Miss Vesper would dismiss her without consideration.

  Miss Vesper gripped the banister, steadying herself. “Tell me what you’ve found.”

  Irréelle’s heart raced as fast as hummingbird wings. “I won’t,” she said. “Not until you promise something for each of us in return. Whatever it is we want.”

  “What has gotten into you?” Miss Vesper released the railing. She came closer and stared down her nose at Irréelle. “And what is it you want?”

  The words stuck in Irréelle’s throat. It took everything in her to dislodge them. “For you to magic me real.”

  Miss Vesper’s lip twitched. “Such a silly thing you are.”

  “Please, Miss Vesper,” Irréelle said, sounding less like Lass and more like herself.

  “You are bluffing. I will burn your bones to ashes and be done with you and the boy.”

  She spoke with such certainty that Irréelle shook with fright. Miss Vesper would snuff them out of existence.

  Unless Irréelle poked at the place where Miss Vesper was most tender.

  It was the same spot where Irréelle felt most vulnerable. Her heart. For it held Guy and Lass within its chambers, and she refused to be parted from them. “Imagine us away and you will be alone forever.” Irréelle lowered her voice. “You will never see the one you love again. Burn our bones and what we know will burn with us.”

  Miss Vesper’s features contorted, eyes shining with malice. She raised her hand.

  Guy nudged Irréelle to the side. “There is something wrong with your face,” he said to Miss Vesper. His upper lip curled back as if he found the sight of her most distasteful.

  “How dare you!” Miss Vesper crossed the distance between them in two strides and slapped Guy across the face. Her ring, already so loose, flew off her finger and clattered to the ground.

  Guy stumbled backward, tripping over his untied bootlace. He glared at Miss Vesper, who looked at her finger as if she could not believe the ring no longer circled it.

  Irréelle dropped to her knees and fumbled for the ring. It weighed almost nothing when she lifted it from the floor and tipped it to the light. She had seen the flash of its diamond so many times, only never this close. It sparkled like the brightest star. Yet it was not the glittering stone that hypnotized her but the golden band and the words inscribed in the metal. They tangled together like the most delicate tree branches.

  Like a hawthorn, fair blooms my love.

  She lost her breath. The inscription mirrored the lines from Miss Vesper’s gravestone. Or they almost did. Something was different, but Irréelle had no time for reflection just then.

  Miss Vesper’s shadow fell across Irréelle’s bent form. “Give it back at once or I will pry it from your fingers.”

  Irréelle scrambled to her feet, as careful with the ring as she would be with the flame of a candle. Something she should not touch. She placed the ring on Miss Vesper’s outstretched palm.

  With a shaking hand, Miss Vesper slipped it over her knuckle.

  Irréelle moved closer to Guy. “Are you all right?”

  “Didn’t hurt,” he said out the side of his mouth, but Irréelle knew he would not admit if it had.

  “You truly are little monsters.” Miss Vesper touched her ring, a sure sign she was thinking of N.M.H., perhaps recalling the promises they had made to each other long ago.

  “After all I’ve taught you of obedience, look at the disgraceful way you behave.” Miss Vesper’s eyes narrowed, as if she could peer into Irréelle’s mind and snatch up the truth. “But maybe you have more inside your head than cobwebs. Find me the unmarked grave, and quickly.” Miss Vesper’s mouth pinched. “But one misstep will seal your fate. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” Irréelle said. With her uneven bones, missteps were the only kind she could make.

  25

  A Good Cup of Tea

  The idea would not settle in her head, that Irréelle had spoken her mind, that she had convinced Miss Vesper to spare her, and Guy as well. She very much felt like smiling, but schooled her features as best she could.

  “I am parched. Fetch me some tea.” Miss Vesper touched her ring as she strode into the study.

  Irréelle and Guy exchanged a look.

  “Get it yourself,” he muttered.

  She hushed him, not wanting to give Miss Vesper a reason to change her mind. Irréelle grabbed hold of Guy’s arm and dragged him down the hall.

  In the kitchen doorway, they stopped short. Somehow, Lass was already there, still wrapped in her coat and pacing on silent feet.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Tea,” Irréelle said. “And quickly.”

  Lass filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove. “Next time I’m eavesdropping, please speak up. I could barely hear a thing.”

  “How did you get downstairs without us seeing you?” Guy found a mug in the cupboard and placed it on the counter.

  “How did you not see me?” Lass smiled.

  “Not that one.” Irréelle pushed aside the mug Guy had chosen, then reached past him and selected the delicate bone china teacup and saucer. “This one is Miss Vesper’s favorite.”

  Guy shook his head as if he could not tell one from the other.

  Irréelle traced the pattern along the edge of the saucer. “Were you in the attic? I thought I saw a shadow pass the window.”

  Lass nodded. “Miss Vesper must have left in such a hurry she forgot to lock the door.”

  Miss Vesper had never before been so careless. The attic was always kept tight as a vault when she was not in it. She must have been in such a rush to reach the graveyard.

  “Oh my.” Irréelle would have run up the stairs and sneaked through the door if she did not already know Miss Vesper would catch her.

  Irréelle longed to pore over the journals that filled the bookcases. She had only ever glimpsed their pages when Miss Vesper cracked them open on the table. The handwriting looped across the paper, a much finer script than Miss Vesper’s own tightly crunched letters. And Miss Vesper referred to them so frequently and guarded them so fiercely, Irréelle knew they must hold secrets. Within them, she might find magical words or a bone dust spell that would make her real. “What did you find?”

  “Not what I was looking for.” Lass squeezed past them.

  Irréelle wondered what, exactly, Lass had hoped to find, but did not pry.

  “Nothing about N.M.H.?” Guy bent to tie his bootlace.

  “There wasn’t enough time.” Lass lifted the kettle, shook it, and then returned it to the stove. The water sloshed side to side.

  “I learned something,” Irréelle said, before disappointment could sink in. They all turned their heads toward the empty doorway as if Miss Vesper might have been hovering there, listening, and then they huddled closer. “Miss Vesper’s ring fell off,” she explained to Lass. “And I retrieved it for her.”

  “Yes, yes. That is when I slipped downstairs.” She grinned at Guy. “And when I slipped the notebook from the pocket of Miss Vesper’s dress.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Guy said, but he too was smiling, as impressed as Irréelle.

  “We can look through it later. Tell us what you’ve found,” Lass said.

  Irréelle wanted to pore over the notebook right then, but they did not have enough time, so she continued. “The ring was engraved. It said something like, fair blooms my love. The words were all wound up with hearts and leafy branches.” Like the design on Miss Vesper’s headstone.

  “Oh!” Lass exclaimed, and then slapped the ends of her too-long sleeves over her mouth.
r />   “Miss Vesper and N.M.H. must not only be in love…” Irréelle clasped her hands and held them in front of her chest, directly over her heart. “They must also be engaged. And he leaves hearts for her everywhere. Maybe one will also lead us to his grave.”

  A sharp, high-pitched whistle issued from the kettle, and Irréelle jumped. Lass snatched it from the stove with the cuff of her coat, and the hissing trailed off.

  Irréelle straightened the hem of her dress. “First…” She sprinkled tea leaves into the cup and held it out, nudging Lass to pour. “I will bring Miss Vesper her tea. You two stay here.” They had already made her wait too long.

  With that, she spun on her heel and returned to the study. When she entered the room, Miss Vesper sat at her desk before the open window. Darkness leaked in, lengthening the lines on her pale face. The Hand perched on the desktop in front of her, raised up on its five fingers.

  “Be still,” Miss Vesper said. The Hand went rigid, knuckles straining. “Be still.” It swayed on its fingertips and then collapsed in a heap. Miss Vesper lifted its limp form and tossed it into a drawer.

  Irréelle averted her eyes so Miss Vesper did not see the flint sharpening her gaze. “Here is your tea.” She set the cup down on the desk and scooped in an overflowing spoonful of bone dust. When Miss Vesper did not immediately reach for it, Irréelle added another dash.

  “I’d almost forgotten how accommodating you could be.” Miss Vesper lifted the teacup with both hands and drank down the scalding liquid. Breath steamed from her mouth when she spoke. “Delicious.”

  As a smile slid across Miss Vesper’s face, color bloomed in her cheeks, and shiny streaks of gold slipped from the roots to the tips of her hair. The flesh on her bones plumped up, and she sat straighter in the chair.

  Irréelle felt the strangest tug in her bones, as if she were no more than a speck of dust Miss Vesper could call forth or send away. Without intending to, she found herself leaning forward.

  Miss Vesper looked at her with wild eyes, quite in contrast to the words she spoke next. “You do make a good cup of tea. In fact, you should try it.”

  Irréelle shook her head, unsure what trick Miss Vesper might be playing. “No, thank you.”

  “Oh, perhaps you would prefer it sweeter. I have just the thing.” Miss Vesper reached into the pocket of her skirt and extracted a small vial, swirling with a dark liquid. She uncapped the cork and poured three drops into the teacup, and then three more.

  Still, Irréelle hesitated.

  “I insist.” Miss Vesper offered a smile that softened the look of her hollow-cheeked face. “Would you pass up an opportunity for longevity? For life?” She shrugged one narrow shoulder, dangling the possibility but making no promises.

  Irréelle clasped on to Miss Vesper’s words, bright with hope. She accepted the cup, the tea shades darker now. It smelled of mint, just as it always did. Although she had stolen a taste once before, perhaps she had not had enough.

  She took a sip, careful not to burn her tongue. Vanilla mingled with peppermint, but it could not mask the bitter taste of bone dust.

  And disappointment.

  There was no spark of magic. Nothing to liven her like a true flesh-and-bone girl. She wanted no more of the tea and false hopes.

  Before Irréelle could lower it, Miss Vesper placed one finger on the bottom of the cup and forced the rest of the contents down her throat. Irréelle sputtered and coughed.

  “Best I have some insurance,” Miss Vesper said, retrieving the cup from Irréelle’s shaking hands.

  “What do you mean?” Irréelle took a step back, mistrustful of the way Miss Vesper’s eyes darkened.

  “Have patience.”

  Only Irréelle did not have to wait long. A prickling sensation coursed through her body. A gentle nudging, a blurring and slowing of her thoughts.

  “No,” she said, her voice as thin as a thread. Too late, she realized what Miss Vesper had done.

  Six drops, not of vanilla, but of Miss Vesper’s serum for insomnia. Much too much for someone as small as Irréelle.

  Fatigue weighted her limbs. Though she struggled to keep them open, her eyelids slipped closed.

  She fell to the floor, lost to darkness.

  26

  The Source of Magic

  Irréelle tossed and turned, caught in a fitful slumber. Her mind stirred up dreams of darkness and emptiness, a vast expanse of nothing from which she might never escape. When at last she clawed her way to wakefulness, the sun sat at the horizon. It glowed orange through the bedroom window.

  Disoriented, she put a hand to her head. And then it all flooded back, how Miss Vesper had laced the tea with sleeping serum and forced it down Irréelle’s throat.

  A bitter taste sat on her tongue, as distasteful as Miss Vesper’s deceit. Maybe Irréelle should have been used to it, but it ached like a fresh wound. Miss Vesper would always do what she wanted.

  And it was time for Irréelle to do the same.

  She sprang out of bed, staggering across her room on sleep-heavy legs, and caught herself against the door. The wood groaned and she waited a beat, listening to the quiet before twisting the knob. Only it would not open.

  She pulled and yanked, but it refused to turn no matter how much she rattled it.

  Irréelle should have expected this too. The locked door seemed as impenetrable as Miss Vesper’s heart. She could not force her way through either barrier no matter how desperately she wished it.

  All the hope she held inside crimped at the edges. Her friends had believed her idea would work, that all might be well. And she had failed them.

  Holding back tears, she shook the doorknob again.

  From the hallway came the patter of footsteps. Her hand dropped to her side.

  She lifted her chin, preparing herself for another confrontation with Miss Vesper.

  “Shh,” a voice hissed, one that nearly made her collapse in relief.

  Irréelle bent her face to the keyhole. Lass’s dark eye stared back at her.

  “You’ve been asleep for ages,” Lass said. “I’ve been worried and wondering if you’d ever wake.”

  “And Guy?”

  “Oh, he’s all right. But mad as can be at Miss Vesper.”

  “The door is locked,” Irréelle said, as if there must be some mistake.

  “Of course it is,” Lass whispered. “Miss Vesper won’t let you out except to do her bidding. And with you locked up, she knows Guy won’t dash either. She’s told us we’re to continue searching for the grave and collecting bone dust.”

  Miss Vesper will always do what she wants. And it was something Irréelle would never again forget.

  “She won’t honor our agreement. Not if she’s having you collect bone dust.” Irréelle thought saying it aloud would frighten her, but instead, knowing Miss Vesper intended to replace them bolstered Irréelle. “She will break every promise she’s made.”

  Lass’s eye squinted as if she was thinking over the lies Miss Vesper had told her. “What should we do?”

  “It’s up to us now.” Irréelle held the thought close. Us. She was not alone. “We have to find the source of Miss Vesper’s magic.”

  Light glinted in Lass’s dark eye. “That sounds like more fun anyway.”

  “In the meantime, we must do as she tells us. We don’t want her to suspect anything.”

  “Guy and I can’t do everything,” Lass said, a smile in her voice. “You have to keep yourself good and busy too.”

  A moment later, something slid under the door, nudging up against the tips of Irréelle’s boots.

  Miss Vesper’s notebook.

  Irréelle did not have a key to the door, but perhaps this book held the key to accessing magic. She lifted it carefully, wanting to be respectful of Miss Vesper’s privacy as much as she wanted to tear back the pages and read it all at once. “Have you read it?”

  “I couldn’t make sense of it, not her ramblings about bone dust and the unmarked grave. And definitel
y not the mushy poem.”

  “A poem?” It did not seem like something Miss Vesper would write. Irréelle looked down at the notebook. It was plain and black on each side, giving no hint as to which was the front and which was the back.

  “Maybe you will have better luck with it.” Lass’s voice came muffled, as if she had angled away from the door. Irréelle snugged her eye to the keyhole again. A flash of Lass’s hair swept past as she turned away. When her eye reappeared, it was rounded in alarm. “I’ve got to run.”

  The clicking of Miss Vesper’s heels on the metal staircase shook the door in its frame.

  “Wait.” Irréelle pressed her face to the wood, but Lass was already gone, ducking fast into the shadows.

  Irréelle leaned back against the door, clutching the notebook until Miss Vesper passed by. And then she opened it.

  (She was only a little disappointed when magic did not immediately snap at her fingertips or ripple on the page.)

  She sat there for many hours, reading each and every line and finding that all Lass had said was true. Few of Miss Vesper’s jottings and notations about magic made sense. And the comments Irréelle could understand, she found quite troubling.

  Their bodies take shape, but they are mindless things, filled only with my imaginings. A drop of my blood. They are no more than bony puppets.

  Irréelle’s hand clenched when she read these lines, crinkling the corner of the page. Miss Vesper’s blood ran in her veins. Such a small amount, but enough to tether them. Enough to give Miss Vesper control of Irréelle’s movements when they were near each other.