Marionette (The Dollhouse Books)

by Anya Allyn

  He arched an eyebrow. "Anything that seeks life must be alive."

  "Like a parasite…."

  With a low chuckle, Henry sat on the chair near me. "You are so different from the frightened child that you used to be."

  "I've had to grow up fast." I gazed into the fire. "Molly isn't well. She needs a doctor." I paused. "Just as she did in the dollhouse."

  "We have doctors at our call if she doesn't improve. Perhaps that little dip in the water of the bay gave her a chill. Now, we have a matter to attend to."

  I eyed him coldly.

  "Just relax," he told me. "This won't take long. Just look into the fire and allow your gaze to grow unfocused."

  In spite of myself, I stared at the fire.

  Words streamed from his mouth, words that began sweeping me away. "Horror unique animos, simul ipsa silentia terrent."

  Images flashed in my mind. Sounds. Shouts. The bright, wavering light of the fire wavered and was replaced by the glow of flashlights. The world around me darkened and the musty damp smell of earth entered my nostrils. It was hot—not the welcoming heat of a fire on a cold day but the humid, airless heat of an enclosed space. Dust hung in the air.

  Men ran toward me, dirt smeared on their faces.

  And then I knew where I was. The silver mine at Batopilas.

  My muscles clenched.

  The cave-in had just happened. And the little Indian girl—she lay somewhere under that. I wanted to scream at the people to stop fleeing the mine, to stop and look for Philomena. But they couldn't see me or hear me. And they didn't stop.

  The dust began to settle in the empty mine.

  "What do you see?" Henry's voice cut through my head.

  "Just… dust."

  "Where are you?"

  "I don't know."

  "I'm sure you do. Why are you trembling, Cassandra?"

  "I want to leave here."

  "Of course you do. Tell me why, and then you can leave."

  With stiff steps, I walked through the tunnel to where I'd last seen the girl. And I saw her face in the midst of the rubble. Her eyes were closed and I knew with all certainty she had not survived.

  "Tell me what you see."

  I tried to lie, but I couldn't. Anger heated my temples. "There's a little girl lying dead on the ground. How many people are going to die in the search for the books?"

  "Whoever she is, we are not responsible. We have never been to the world where you are now. Not physically. Our doubles yes, but we can no more control what our mirror images on other earths do any more than you can. We cannot reach most of these worlds. We can only watch, we can only see into them."

  "I don't want to see it, anymore."

  "It can all be over… as soon as we have the books."

  His words drifted through me. I felt myself move further into the hypnotic state he'd put me under. I was losing control of my mind, of rational thought.

  "Cassandra, where are you?"

  "A silver mine."

  "At Batopilas in Copper Canyon?"

  "Yes…."

  "Why are you there?"

  "The little girl. I followed her."

  "Why did you follow her?" A note of irritation entered his voice.

  "I wanted to make sure she would be all right."

  "Why were you so concerned about a kid you didn't know?"

  "Because Tobias gave her something that was dangerous for her to have."

  I sensed Henry sitting forward in his chair. "What did he give her?"

  "The book…."

  He cursed. "So that was where the damned book was. Where did she hide it?"

  In my mind, I saw the religious statues in a small grotto near the entrance to the mine. I saw men and women kneeling before it and praying before they entered to start work in the mine. I'd seen Philomena hide the book there. I had to resist telling Henry anything. But my mind was gray and scattered.

  "Where did she put the book?" His voice grew loud, commanding.

  "I… can't see it."

  "I know you can."

  I shook my head.

  "Then tell me what you see."

  "Statues," I said in a dead voice. "Just statues."

  "Statues?" he hissed, and then paused. "That's where she hid the book, isn't it? Yes, that's exactly what a little girl would do. She'd hide something that an adult told her was important behind whatever deities her people prayed to." He sighed breathily. "So that's where Tobias went to after he left the Australian house. We tried to track him, but the cunning old devil was always too quick for us. We knew he must have it and was looking for a translator."

  He touched my shoulder. "Go forward in time. I know now that you've seen the book. That will help you to trace it. Follow Tobias and the book. See where he goes."

  Scenes whipped past me. Scenes of Tobias boarding ships and wooden, double-winged airplanes. I could see his face—his expression growing hunted, haunted. He entered the house in Miami in the dark of night—the house where I'd been at the Batistes' ball. He passed by the wall with the massive wooden carving of a mirrored tree. Sitting alone at his desk, under the light of a single, dim lamp, he studied a set of papers. The book—the second book of the Speculum Nemus sat on the desk beside him, its leather-bound cover cracked and barely still showing the sketch of a mirrored tree. I could see the struggle within him, his veined hands clasping his head, his white hair hanging over tortured eyes. He turned a framed, sepia photograph of a small Jessamine and a man around to better see it. The man held Jessamine on his knee, his pale eyes and determined thrust of his chin just like Jessamine's—he had to be her father.

  He took out some sheets of paper from a drawer in his desk and began composing a letter that began, My little Sparrow….

  "What is Tobias doing? Where is he?"

  "He's writing," I said, answering only the first of Henry's questions.

  "What is he writing?"

  "A letter."

  "Are you sure? Are you sure it's not translations of some kind?"

  "He's writing it to someone called Sparrow."

  Henry muttered something under his breath. "That's Jessamine. That's no good to me. Keep watching him. What is he doing now?"

  Tobias finished the letter. Sweat beaded his lined forehead as he wrote the last lines, which seemed to be some kind of poem:

  A puzzle for a penny

  A room without any

  And mermaids pray

  The burning orb away

  "Well?" Henry demanded.

  "He's putting the letter into an envelope." I didn't want to tell Henry about the poem. It seemed private, a poem from a grandfather to a granddaughter—a poem only the granddaughter would understand. And if he didn't ask me directly, I wasn't compelled to tell him.

  "Tell me where he is?"

  "He's at his house in Miami," I said unwillingly.

  Slowly, Tobias took the book with both hands, feeling its weight as though it were as heavy as iron, then dropped it as though it were made of fire. Standing with a sharp, single motion, he pushed the book into his pocket. He walked into another room of the house—a room stacked high with circus paraphernalia. Cursing, he threw aside wooden posters and hoops and brightly-colored clown costumes as he searched for something. Bending, his fingers curled around an ornately-carved metal box a little smaller than a milk crate.

  "Speak! What do you see?"

  A figure appeared from nowhere. A woman. A woman with intense green eyes and a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She can see me. She knows I'm here. She pushed at me, sending me back into the gray nothingness between that world and this.

  Henry's office painted itself back into my vision.

  His eyes were wide and angered. "How did you return?"

  "It was a woman." I described her.

  He clutched the arms of his chair. "Madame Celia." Throwing his head back in despair, he stared at the ceiling. "She's found a way to block you, too." Moments passed, while the grandfather clock in the corner
of the room slowly marked time. Henry's eyes burned into me. "What was the last thing you saw, before Madame Celia?"

  I was no longer under the spell of Henry's hypnotism. I was not compelled to answer truthfully as I was before. "He made a phone call. I'm not sure what he said, but I think he was trying to book a flight. To England or something."

  Henry's forehead creased with a mocking expression. "The year was 1920. One did not just call and book a flight. Airport terminals were barely in existence. You're lying to me."

  He tugged at the collar of his jacket. "We know he didn't leave Miami, at least, not by any conventional means. He disappeared from the face of the earth. Before that cursed Madam blocked our visions, we found Tobias in another earth in the year 1912. Perhaps we wouldn't have located him, but for his blustering attempts to warn the White Star Line not to send the Titanic on its maiden voyage without its proper quota of lifeboats. You see, it isn't possible for people with such sappy morals to head into the past. They cannot bear it."

  "Perhaps he took the book there," I said tightly.

  "The books cannot be taken between worlds. We know that from our study of the first book." He blew out a long, irate breath. "If I can no longer send you looking into other earths, my only option is to return you to the frozen Miami. You will find where Tobias went and what he did. I'll have Francoeur fetch Molly."

  "Let her sleep," I said quickly. "Just send me."

  "I'll wait until the afternoon, but no longer."

  "Why must she come with me?"

  "When we had Lacey act as our veritable gopher during the years of the dollhouse, we didn't anticipate the effect upon her. She is quite batty. We witnessed the way Molly was able to keep all of you sane during far worse circumstances within the dollhouse, and we can see that she has an innate stabilizing effect on others. She is to remain with you at all times. We can't risk you dropping off the deep end. We need you to stay sane, at least until you have completed your task."

  "How noble of you." My words were more bitter than sarcastic. Molly had been dragged into all of this because of me. "Why was it even important for us to stay sane in the dollhouse? Wouldn't it have been kinder for us all to go crazy?"

  He shrugged. "You misunderstand me. It wasn't at all advantageous for you all to keep your sanity in the dollhouse. Prudence was our best success, as she did not possess the iron will that Molly has."

  Hatred brewed inside me. "Prudence died. She's with the serpent now."

  "It is not and never was my desire to take this path. But to achieve our aims, there was and is no other way. In life, there are sacrifices, regrettable as they may be."

  I stood. "I'll find a way to stop you, even if I die trying."

  He eyed me with an unreadable expression. "You must do as you will, as I must do as I will. Go now and spend your day in whatever way you wish. I will send you both into the frozen world later."

  * * * *

  Bitter wind whipped across our faces. Molly and I wound our scarves up all the way across our noses. Molly's fever had improved by midday, but she'd still been weak. In an hour, Henry had told us, the shadow that brought us here would wrap around us and bring us back. If we tried to evade it, the consequences to those we loved would be severe.

  Deep noises sounded beneath the frozen bay. Molly gazed at a circular patch of sea. A serpent hole. Everywhere, holes made by serpents made Swiss cheese of the icy bay. Molly clutched my hand and squeezed it.

  In the distance a black shape rolled into view.

  “A tank!” I breathed.

  Crouching to the ice, we kept still as the tank crossed the bay and disappeared between tall buildings on the other side.

  Molly stared after the tank with fierce blue eyes. “That must be where they hold the prisoners.” Her jaw clenched.

  I knew she was trying to contain herself from running across the bay and following the tank. My stomach rolled at the thought of Frances being held there.

  Tearing her gaze away, she looked behind us. Just like before, the enormous, diamond-patterned tunnels twisted and climbed everywhere. Frozen snake skins—the weak sun glinting off their silvery patina.

  Molly’s lips parted. “That is how big the serpents are?” Her hand reached to her mouth.

  We hastened into the tunnels of skin, where we wouldn’t be seen.

  “None of this makes sense,” said Molly. “Henry sends us here on what seems like a wild goose chase. He refuses to tell us what we’re meant to be doing. And somehow, you’re the key to all of this.” She searched my face, almost as if there might be some clue there.

  I dug my gloved hands deep into my pockets. “I wish I knew. He’s using me in some way and I have no idea how or what. Maybe, when we’re sent here, we should just do what Ethan told us to do. Stay away from everyone and everything and hide out in someone’s house.”

  She eyed me with worried eyes. “Did Ethan tell you to stay away from the museum basement—where we saw Sophronia?”

  “No, he just said to stay away from the museum itself. He said there are people there who will shoot us on sight.” I frowned. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Look, I know you trust him and everything... I just... I just don’t understand why he couldn’t tell you why Sophronia was guarding the door or what was behind it.”

  “Molly, he had to go rescue Frances. There wasn’t time.”

  She bit her lip. “Maybe it’s just because I can’t bear the thought of Frances being taken to the serpents, but do we know for sure that she was ever really here?” Her eyelashes brushed downward, a tear glistening on her face. “I mean, last time you saw everyone in the dollhouse, they were about to die.”

  I let my eyes close—a terrible thought burning in my mind. “Why don’t we find out for ourselves? Find a way into the museum and go down to the basement.”

  “Are you sure you’d want to do that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. I just know... that what Ethan told me is real. But if what they’re hiding down in the basement is the book, maybe they don’t know how dangerous it is. It should be destroyed, not guarded. I want to find out what’s in there.”

  Breathing deeply, Molly nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Taking a wide arc, we made our way through the tunnels. We stole around buildings to the side of the museum and began searching. It seemed that every possible entry point had been carefully secured. Armed guards patrolled sections of the exterior.

  “Look.” Molly pointed to a huge air conditioning unit. Ice had loosened a metal fitting and a bolt was missing. We ran from the edge of a building to the unit. I tugged at the metal, peeling back the entry into an air conditioning shaft. It was just big enough to wriggle through. Molly and I climbed inside and made our way in and crawled along the shaft—exiting when we found a vent.

  Hiding behind exhibits, we silently made our way through the museum. The exhibits of the modern era seemed prophetic—relics of an age that would never come again.

  Concealing ourselves behind a large plastic billboard, we stood near the stairs that led down to the basement.

  My breaths were short and shallow. “If we do find the book—and if we manage to destroy it—we may not get out of here. They’ll kill us.” I paused. “If we don’t find it, they might kill us anyway.”

  She nodded, her face numb. “I know....”

  “Let’s do this,” I said grimly. “We need to find where they keep the key.”

  She pulled a gun from her pocket. “I stole this from the castle when they had their hunt. Just in case. This is our key.”

  The gun was one of the few modern guns that had been on the castle's table earlier.

  We locked gazes for a moment, stilling ourselves. Then rushed down to the basement.

  “Stand back.” Molly took a clean shot. With the gun’s silencer making a sharp pinging sound, the lock fell away. I flung the door open and we ran inside. We were met with an ordinary storeroom. Dimly lit shelving held boxes and filing
cabinets and old signs.

  Molly began pushing a large metal cabinet against the door. I went to help her but she shook her head. “Go! Look! We don’t have time.”

  There were two rooms that led off the main space. I pushed open the first door—the room was small, filled with cleaning materials and a floor polisher.

  Letting the door click shut, I turned the handle on the room next to it. This room was much larger, with an almost clinical smell. An odd intermittent beeping noise punctuated the quiet. The door drifted shut behind me. I squinted in the dark light, trying to see.

  “Cassie?” Molly called. ”Did you find anything?”

  My eyes adjusted to the light in the room. I froze—my heart hammering in my chest.

  Two hospital beds stood at the far end of the room. Figures were lying in the beds—drips feeding into their arms, lights blinking on the consoles behind them. A makeshift hospital. I knew who the patients were before I could see their faces clearly. Both patients were girls—one dark-haired and one with long red hair spilling over the side of the bed.

  Molly. Aisha.

  The Molly and Aisha I had known.

  Here.

  This is what Sophronia had been protecting. Not a book. Not anything dark and mysterious.

  “Cassie?” Molly called again. ”Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  Terror pricked my scalp. Racing for the door, my feet stumbled over each other. When I’d met a double of me, I took her life. I couldn’t let that happen to Molly—either of them. I made it out the door just as she reached for the door handle. I slammed the door and pressed my back against it, my heart racing.

  Her expression crumbled in shock and confusion. “What is it? What did you see in there?”

  I shook my head, breath sucking from my chest, unable to form the words.

  Someone battered against the outside door. The filing cabinets smashed to the floor as Sophronia and three armed men rushed into the basement.

  Sophronia stopped still, turning rigidly from Molly to me. “Have you been in the room?”

  “Not Molly, just me.” My words tumbled out. “It’s okay—Molly doesn’t even know what’s in there.”

  Molly turned to stare at me.