Marionette (The Dollhouse Books)

by Anya Allyn

  Parker shrugged. “Who’s joking? You said that just having a poker game was boring. I’m just trying to help.”

  “But we’re not allowed to go anywhere near there.” Viola looked like someone who wasn’t sure how to back out or retreat. She said her words casually, but there was a sudden rigidness to her posture.

  “That old rule was from back when we were kids,” said Parker. “And we didn’t obey it even back then.”

  Molly pressed her lips together. “Is anyone going to tell us what the trou fantôme is?”

  “It means ghost hole.” Zach crossed his arms. “It’s a prison cell down in the castle dungeons. The only door in it is set into the ceiling. In French, that type of prison is called an oubliette. Parker and Emerson used to make a game of it when we were little kids—they’d open the hatch just long enough to see the fantôme. It used to scare me silly. But none of us have gone down inside there.”

  Parker laughed. “Au contraire. I’ve been in there. They don’t hurt you. They’ve been dead so long they’re just the dry old remnants that have been there for centuries. They’re like the dust on top of old furniture that no one has bothered to clean off.”

  Aisha’s red-lipsticked lips parted a little. “You don’t mean there’s really ghosts in there?”

  Emerson’s arms reached around Aisha and did a short drum roll on her knees. “Boom, you got it! But like Parker said, they’re just dust and cobwebs. Zach and Viola were little fraidy-cats when they were kids—too scared that the dust monsters might get them. Once, I hung a rope down there and went down there for a sleep, just to get away from my annoying little brother and sister.”

  “You did no such thing,” said Viola.

  Emerson raised a nonchalant eyebrow at her.

  “Don’t worry sweetheart,” Clarkson drawled to Viola. “I’ll play with you.” He pulled Viola onto his lap.

  “Hey, don’t talk about playing with my sister, okay?” Emerson shot a warning look at Clarkson.

  “Let’s just start," Clarkson sighed. "Or I’ll leave you teenyboppers and go in search of intelligent conversation.”

  Viola pulled a face at Emerson, wriggling to get a better position on Clarkson’s lap. “You may be twenty-six but you act like you’re six most of the time.”

  “You’re all talk until I kiss you,” Clarkson shot back.

  “Like I said, shut up with that kind of talk around me,” said Emerson. “I don’t know why our parents even allow you around my sister.”

  I stared over at the opposite end of the room. Mr. Batiste was smoking cigars and talking with a bunch of men. Mrs. Batiste seemed to be drinking and flirting with some other man.

  “What-evah!” Viola wrinkled her nose.

  “Anyway,” said Clarkson. “Me and Vee are going to play as a team. Anyone else teaming up?”

  “Yeah, me and Aisha,” said Emerson.

  Zach nodded. “Yep, Cassie, Molly and me.”

  “No,” said Molly, surprising me. “I’ll play just with Cassie as the one player.”

  “Look,” said Zach, “I don’t want you girls to lose.”

  “I’m fine,” Molly told him. “My uncle taught me to play when I was ten.” She paused. “That’s the only thing he taught me.”

  Clarkson snickered. “Well, that was sweet of your uncle, but we’re not playing kiddie poker here.”

  Molly’s gaze grew cold. “There was nothing sweet about my uncle Devlin, and I assure you we didn’t play kiddie poker. We played for shots of bourbon.”

  “Hoo!” He made a mock scared face. “Well you were a late drinker. I started when I was eight.”

  “If we’re all finished with the small talk, I’m going to deal.” Emerson shuffled expertly and dealt the cards.

  I noticed Lacey curled up on a chair by herself. The others hadn’t even bothered asking her if she wanted to play.

  The first game ended and Viola and Clarkson lost. Clarkson kicked a shoe off. Viola flung off her top, spinning it around on her finger before tossing it to the floor. One of Parker’s uncles looked her way from across the hall and clapped. The rest of the adults seemed too wrapped up in their conversation and wine to even notice Viola.

  Molly played steadily, winning most hands. Everyone lost clothing except for Molly and me.

  “Okay… something’s wrong here.” Clarkson tossed his cards down. ”The redhead has x-ray vision or something. She can see everyone else’s cards.” He put his hand over his crotch. “I hope she can’t see my family jewels.”

  Molly gave him a saccharine-sweet smile. “I forgot to tell you the rest of my poker-playing education. You see, five years trapped in an underground space, with nothing better to do all day than play cards, makes you a pretty good player.”

  “Hey, I call unfair advantage,” cried Clarkson, completely missing the bitterness in her words. “She’s a master. Also, I didn’t get to see her in her underwear.”

  Viola jumped from Clarkson’s lap, crossing her arms.

  “Oh hey baby,” Clarkson crooned at Viola. “I was just kidding.”

  Molly laid her last hand down. “Sorry. Winner takes all.”

  Parker shook his head in wonder. “What a woman. A stunning, red-headed card shark.” He turned to Emerson. “Hey Emerson, you lost, my man. Down the ghost hole with you!”

  “And I won,” Molly said. “So I get to choose something that I want, at a time of my choosing, and no one can refuse me, right?”

  Emerson sucked in cheeks of air and then let the air out slowly. “Yeah, that was the plan. So... what is it that you want?”

  They stared expectantly at her.

  “I want a map,” she told them. “A map of where we are.”

  Viola slapped her hand over her mouth to cover up a giggle. Zach’s face tightened.

  “Fair’s fair,” conceded Emerson. “I’ll draw you a map.” He stepped over to a side table and pulled out some paper and a quill and ink bottle. Moving the quill over the page quickly, he drew the castle walls and the castle as though looking down from above. Then he drew the forests that surrounded the castle on three sides. Around the perimeter, he drew fog. Satisfied with his drawing, he raised his eyes to Molly. “There’s your map.”

  Molly stared back at him with ice in her eyes. “You drew me an illustration for a children’s fantasy book. You didn’t honor the bet.”

  “I gave you what you asked for. This is all there is. The kingdom of Balthazar. There’s nothing beyond this.”

  Molly and I exchanged wide-eyed glances.

  “That can’t possibly be true.” She shook her head stiffly.

  He shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

  Molly screwed the piece of paper into a ball, and tossed it into the fire.

  “And now for the fate of the loser.” Parker grinned. “That’s you, Emerson.”

  “Just make him do a stupid dance in his underwear,” yawned Viola. “That’ll do it, plus entertain us.”

  “I say we stick to the original plan,” Clarkson said. “This is only my fifth time at the castle. The old girl has lots of tricks I haven’t seen. This castle is like a hooker who keeps her best stuff only for very special customers.”

  Viola shot him a disgusted glare.

  Emerson stood, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. “I don’t back down on a bet.”

  Aisha brought her arms in close around her body. “Well I’m staying here. I don’t want to see the inside of a cell. I’ve seen enough of that kind of thing to never want to see one again.”

  Clarkson shook his head. “Nuh uh, no party poopers. We were all in this. We all go.”

  Aisha stood reluctantly. We all followed Parker and the others down flight after flight of cold stone stairs. We walked out onto a landing. A hundred or more steps led directly downward into a massive, bowel-like space. The dungeons. A feeling of empty desolation washed over me as we made our way downward. Musty air rose to meet us.

  “We should go,” said Molly to me in a low voi
ce. “It’s my fault we’re here.” Holding my arm, she took a step toward the stairs.

  “Oh no you don’t,” called Clarkson. “Winner has to watch the loser get what's coming to him.”

  Parker walked to a trapdoor that was set into the stone floor.

  Emerson’s face was expressionless but I could see his body shaking slightly beneath his clothing.

  “Some things shouldn’t be disturbed.” Lacey stood near the wall, next to an old pipe organ. I hadn’t even noticed her coming down here with us.

  “Yeah?” Emerson cocked an eyebrow. “Well, all your piano-playing down here probably gives the old ghosts a headache.”

  “They like my music. It soothes them.” Lacey drew her mouth in.

  “Okay,” said Aisha, “we all came down here, now it’s time to head back.”

  “I agree.” The muscles in Zach’s throat tensed. “Emerson, you don’t have to do this.”

  “But the loser didn’t get to say hello to the fantôme.” Parker smiled widely.

  “Why are there spirits down there anyway?” Aisha drew her arms in close around herself.

  Shrugging, Parker eyed the cobwebbed hatch. “They’re Balthazar’s spirits—after he was done playing with people in his torture chambers, he’d toss them down there to die. I guess he keeps them there like some kind of trophy.”

  The skin on Aisha’s face grew chalky. A shiver ran the length of my spine.

  “What are we all waiting for? Open up the hatch!” Clarkson strode over to the door.

  Parker stepped over and helped Clarkson heave the hatch up. Dirt plumed from the crevices around the edges of the hatch and trailed downwards.

  Despite myself, I peered over the edge. The room inside was empty and barren—odd scratchings and scrapings on the walls, and dark stains in jagged lines. A thick rope hung from the underside of the hatch.

  My breath caught in my chest, revulsion creeping through me with icy fingers. A choking, overwhelming evil choked every one of my senses.

  Emerson visibly shook—all pretense of bravado gone. The expressions on the faces of Parker and Clarkson were stony, as though frozen to the spot.

  The muscles in Emerson’s jaw tensed as he crouched down to the rope. Shivering in his underwear, he swung himself over and began the descent.

  I could hear Molly’s rapid breaths next to me. “I don’t like this,” she whispered.

  Grayish beings drifted from the prison walls, indistinct and wavering. They had been all there all the time, but impossible to see until they moved. The dusty figures made a vague crackling sound as their bodies waxed and waned—like electricity. I felt a current race through me, making it impossible to move.

  The hatch crashed down, snapping shut.

  A curdling scream came from the oubliette—Emerson’s scream.

  Everyone stood frozen and white-faced for a moment. The screams came again and again.

  “Get him out of there!” Viola cried.

  Parker and Zach dropped to their knees, their back and shoulder muscles straining their shirts as they attempted to raise the hatch. The hatch refused to budge. Clarkson backed up into a wall, looking like he was about to run.

  The screaming ceased.

  The hatch released and sprang open on its own.

  Emerson’s limp body swung on the rope—the rope twisted grotesquely around his torso, his eyes open but unseeing. Gray dust swirled around him.

  Parker and Zach hastened to pull the rope up. They laid Emerson out on the ground. His almost naked body resembled stone. Viola rushed to slam the hatch shut.

  A deep rumbling noise sounded beneath us.

  “What the hell is that?” Clarkson's head snapped from side to side, looking for the source of the noise.

  Zach stood, open-mouthed. “We have to get out of here.”

  The castle was angry, its walls shaking. A far dungeon wall of the room shifted with a deafening grind—it careened toward us, its blocks of stone beginning to crumble. Clarkson bolted up the stairs. Zach and Parker attempted to pick up Emerson. Viola knelt by her brother, brushing hair back from his perspiring face.

  Henry walked in, brandishing his cape behind him, his expression seething. “What’s happening here?”

  The wall stilled and the rumbling ceased.

  Viola stood contritely. “We played a game, where the loser had to go into the oubliette.”

  Henry glared. “None of you had any right to mess with that. That belongs to Balthazar. You’re fortunate he didn’t crush you all like ants.” He stared at the ruined wall. “We, the descendants of the château have worked hard to gain the Monseigneur’s trust. And you have all but destroyed it. Foolish children.”

  His gaze fell on Emerson. “Get up. It’s over. All of you get out of here before Monseigneur Balthazar changes his mind and decides you’re the worthless rabble that you are.”

  Parker heaved Emerson up underneath his arms and tried to get him to his feet.

  “What’s up with him?”

  “He was the one who went into the oubliette.”

  Henry gave Emerson a sharp slap to the face. Emerson’s head slumped but he didn’t react.

  “Don’t hurt him,” cried Viola.

  Henry turned and glared at her. “Well you can’t expect to venture into the realm of centuries-old ghosts and come out unscathed. Just take him up to his room and hope that he’s recovered somewhat by morning.”

  Aisha trembled. “I hate this place. Why do you have things like that here? Things that can hurt us like that? If Emerson doesn’t come out of this….”

  “You’ll be marrying a vegetable,” Henry snapped. ”For better and for worse my dear.”

  13. MARIONETTES

  The sky overhead was a faded watercolor painting—pale and transparent, barely concealing the darkness of space that lay beyond it. Molly and I were allowed to take our first walk outside.

  The grounds inside the castle walls were enormous. We wandered through orchards and gardens of fruit and vegetables, fields where cattle and pigs were kept, chicken coops, a small winery and sheds full of all types of cheeses. Elaborate gardens decorated the grounds in front of the castle, complete with a long tunnel of climbing roses in the shape of a pointed arch—which they called the rose galerie. An ugly fountain stood in the midst of a large cobblestone square—four stone gargoyles looking outwards from each corner.

  Kitchen servants called the castle families to breakfast by ringing bells.

  Like the castle, the gardens were a labyrinth. Lush and overgrown, they held lots of secret places. Almost concealed behind ivy and bushes was a massive chair constructed of stone, moss growing over the armrests. Molly and I ate a basket of fresh fruit on the chair, away from everyone else.

  Emerson sat with the sun streaming across him, like a statue unmoving and expressionless. Aisha sat by his side, almost staring with distaste at Emerson’s limp hand as she held it in her lap. The families of the castle sat in the same bleak sunshine, playing chess and finishing up breakfast at the stone tables. In the first days after the ghost hole incident, Emerson’s parents had been furious. Now they seemed to have accepted his fate.

  Emerson shifted stiffly on his chair, his head lolling sideward. Aisha stood and walked away quickly, her arms bundled against herself as though warding off a chill wind. But there was no wind today, no breeze. Everything was stilled, stuck firmly in time.

  It was the first time I’d ever seen Aisha go off on her own since we’d been at the castle. She was always in the midst of everyone, as though using them as a wall to protect herself.

  Viola headed Aisha off. Maypole hung onto Viola’s neck—with the dog Lucy jumping up near her, trying to reach the monkey. Together, they walked toward us, into the garden, Viola linking her arm around Aisha’s.

  Lucy crawled under the ivy where Molly and I sat and sniffed excitedly at our feet. Taking Lucy with us, Molly and I stepped onto the garden path behind Viola and Aisha.

  Viola glanced back. “O
h there you two are. You’re always skulking about in the shadows somewhere.”

  “Shouldn’t you be back at school, or something?” said Molly.

  “School’s a bore.” Viola yawned. “And the boys there are so pedestrian. Why should I ever go back there? Man, I hated those months in Miami when my family had to keep tabs on you two.”

  High in the tower, the dark figure appeared at the window. I shivered, uncomfortable that whoever it was, they could see Molly and me no matter where we went out here in the castle grounds.

  Viola caught my gaze and followed it up to the tower. “Just an old ghost.” She shrugged. “They should have purged this place of those horrible things years ago.” She turned in Emerson’s direction. “Then my brother wouldn’t be sitting there like a store dummy.”

  Aisha’s back stiffened at the mention of Emerson.

  “The ghost of whom?” I asked her. “I mean, who is the ghost in the tower?”

  She looked at me strangely. “Just a prisoner. Who cares? You can’t even get to the tower anymore—the way in was sealed up with stonework when I was a kid.”

  The figure drifted inward from the window—not like a human, but like Viola said—a ghost.

  Aisha lifted her gaze to the tower, her expression numb. “Maybe that’s Balthazar himself. Watching us. Always watching us.” She blanched, as though she’d just spoken words she’d never meant to.

  Viola cast her a sharp look. “He doesn’t need to watch us. He sees us anyway. And he protects us."

  “The one who almost caused a wall to crash on us in the dungeons?” Molly raised her eyebrows.

  “Monseigneur Balthazar Batiste is our ancestor and the builder of this castle,” said Viola stiffly. “We did the wrong thing and we paid for it. He deserves our respect.”

  “I have respect only for those who’ve earned it.” Molly crossed her arms.

  Aisha shook her head. “You mustn’t say that. If the ghosts in Balthazar’s prison can do what they did to Emerson, I don’t want to know what Balthazar himself can do.”

  Viola’s face paled a little under the heavy makeup. “Just be grateful that he is on your side and not against you.” She walked away quickly, the turn of conversation apparently not being to her taste.