“Honey, it had nothing to do with that. It had to do with me following my heart over tradition. He felt like I was abandoning my responsibilities here.”
“But you came back,” I say. “You left Mom and me and returned here.”
“But I did that in order to protect you, not because I was choosing andaba over my family. My father knew that and resented it.”
“Have you tried talking to him?” I ask. “Before he disappeared, I mean?”
My father sighs. “It’s more complicated than that, unfortunately. My father’s very obstinate once he makes up his mind.”
I pause as it sinks in just how much my father gave up. I take a deep breath. “I’m lucky to have you back in my life. I don’t think I’ve been giving you enough credit for that. You know, in zandara, queens don’t usually know their fathers.” Peregrine and Chloe had filled me in a couple of months ago about the strange tradition in Carrefour of zandara queens having one-night stands with men for the sole purpose of getting pregnant, and then casting charms to erase the men’s memories.
My father makes a face. “I never did understand that part of zandara. I’ve always thought it’s important to know where you come from. Then again, I’m not sure the system on Caouanne Island is a great idea either.”
“Why? What do they do here?”
He hesitates. “When a future king is a child, the current kings get together and choose a future wife for him.”
“Like an arranged marriage?” I ask.
“Sort of,” he says. “They base the decision on a few things: compatibility, friendships between the parents, and of course, power.”
I think about this for a moment before what he’s saying really hits me. “So you had someone you were supposed to marry?”
“That’s in the past,” he says quickly.
I study his face before realization dawns. “Diane,” I say. “Diane was who you were paired with, wasn’t she? That’s why she’s been so cold to me.”
“It doesn’t matter, Eveny. I fell in love with your mother.” He pauses. “I remember my father in a rage, telling me that I was shaking the very balance of andaba with my decision, undermining decades of alliances between families.”
“But you chose love,” I say.
My father nods. “I chose love.”
“Wait,” I say after a pause. “Do I have someone I’m supposed to marry? Since I’m an andaba queen?”
My father hesitates. “It’s different with you. We’ve never had a queen before. But I promise, I have no intention of trying to force anyone on you. You should be able to choose for yourself.”
“Good morning.” A deep, sleepy voice from the doorway cuts our conversation short, and we look up to see Caleb standing there in sweatpants and a Ron Jon T-shirt. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
My father and I exchange looks, and I wonder if he’s thinking, as I am, about the timing of Caleb’s arrival. If I truly have a choice about who to love, I wouldn’t think twice.
“No, Caleb,” I say. “You’re not interrupting at all.”
The mothers sleep in while the rest of us grab pancakes and orange juice. By eleven, everyone’s up and ready for the day.
“We don’t have to leave for the airport until four,” my dad says. “Does anyone feel like a tour of the town?”
The mothers and their protectors decline, but Peregrine and Chloe say they’ll come. Simon arrives a few minutes later, and we pile with our protectors into his car and my dad’s for the short ride into town. They parallel park on Rue Vert, the main road through Caouanne Island, and we step out onto a brick street. American flags snap in the breeze, and wind chimes sound from many of the doorways.
“Caouanne Island was built around the same time as Carrefour,” my father explains as we walk. “There’s a canal over to the left that cuts the island in half. It’s spanned by a bunch of little bridges—which we’ll see in a bit—so some of the townspeople joke that we’re the secret Venice of the South.”
Simon chuckles and adds, “Our ancestors came from New Orleans, just like yours did. The difference is that when they moved here, they cut ties almost completely with that part of their history. That’s why Caouanne Island doesn’t feel as reminiscent of New Orleans as Carrefour does.”
We take a left off Rue Vert. Ahead of us, I can see a small arched bridge spanning a twinkling canal. “Because everyone in town knows about andaba,” Simon continues, “it’s been much easier for us to keep up the town than I imagine it is for you. Unlike you, we don’t have to hide our powers. The residents here have everything they want and need.”
“But who works for you?” Peregrine asks. “In Carrefour, we have the Périphérie. You know, the poor people who aren’t in on the Secret of Carrefour. That’s who works in our stores and restaurants.”
I give her a look.
“Here on Caouanne Island, we don’t see a reason to divide the haves and the have-nots.” Simon looks straight ahead as he speaks, and I have the distinct feeling he’s judging us. “Everyone in town has a job. Everyone benefits equally.”
“Like communism?” Peregrine asks.
Simon looks at her like she’s crazy. “Of course not. Simply like a utopian society.”
She shrugs. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“Hard work is the backbone of every successful society,” Simon says. “For example, take me: I’m a king, but I act as a boat captain when I’m needed, and I use my carpentry skills to beautify the town and keep up everyone’s homes. In fact, I built this bridge.” He gestures ahead of us to the wooden footbridge that arches over the canal. “It took me two years,” he adds, “but it’s my masterpiece.”
“It’s nice and all,” Peregrine says, “but I thought you said you could use your magic out in the open here. Why would you do things by hand?”
“Because,” my father answers, “we believe that magic should be used in moderation and that we should never take the spirits’ generosity for granted, because it always comes at a price.”
Peregrine makes a harrumphing noise, but she drops the subject. “So anyway, when’s lunch?” she asks. “I want to have some time to go shopping before we go home.”
Caleb and I stay behind with Simon to admire the bridge he built while my dad takes the others back toward Rue Vert to grab a table at the diner. Simon beams as he explains how he constructed an arch over the water tall enough to let canoes and kayaks through but with a low enough incline that it’s easy for pedestrians to cross.
“It’s modeled after the Kapellbrücke bridge in Lucerne, Switzerland,” he says as he leads us onto the bridge. I notice that the wooden trusses all feature paintings, and I lean closer to see them as Simon continues. “The Kapellbrücke is full of landscapes and portraits, but I’m a lousy artist, so I was never able to do that here. But as it turned out, my son is a very talented painter. When he was fourteen, he started working on this bridge. So now, it’s not only my masterpiece, but his too.”
“Your son’s really talented,” I say as I stare at the images of shipwrecks, dark storms, and the early days of the town.
Simon smiles. “I’m very glad you think so.”
“Eveny?” Caleb asks. He’s farther down the bridge, almost at the other side of the canal, studying a painting closely. “This one looks just like you.”
I walk over to see what he’s looking at, and I’m surprised to see my own eyes looking back at me from a painted image. The girl’s red hair flows in the breeze, and the white dress she’s wearing billows out behind her. She’s standing on a beach somewhere, and above her head, in the clouds, hovers a crown.
“It is Eveny,” Simon says, coming up behind us.
“Your son painted this?” I ask. “How did he know what I look like?”
“He said the image came to him in a dream.”
I blink a few times. “Your son dreamed about me?”
“Not only did he dream of you,” Simon says, “but he dreamed of your coronation as
queen. He knew you’d be back here someday.”
I bend down to look at the painting again. It’s beyond strange to see such an accurate depiction of me in a place I’ve never been, painted by an artist I’ve never met. As we walk back across the bridge and toward Rue Vert, I can’t shake the strange feeling that the residents of Caouanne Island seem to have laid out the pieces of my life long before I got here.
“It’s like they’re already expecting you to return,” Caleb says softly as Simon strides ahead of us.
“It’s more than that,” I reply. “I’m already part of their story, whether I like it or not.”
After a huge lunch of fried green tomatoes, corn bread, and Brunswick stew—a thick, sweet, and smoky regional specialty with tomatoes, lima beans, okra, corn, onions, beef, and chicken—we finish up with piping-hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream at the diner. Peregrine and Chloe head off to shop, with their protectors in tow and Simon escorting them, while Caleb and I return with my dad to his house.
“Caleb, do you think you could give me a hand with something in the garden?” my father asks when we pull into the driveway. I notice that there’s another car in front of the house, a beige Lexus with tinted windows.
Caleb glances at the car, then at me. “Sure, Mr. Desjardins. Eveny, you okay?”
“She’ll be fine,” my father says before I can answer. He avoids meeting my eye as he adds, “There’s someone here to see you, Eveny. Why don’t you head in?”
Caleb and I exchange looks. I shrug, and he follows my father around the side of the house while I head inside.
As I round the corner into the living room, I see a guy my age with slightly overgrown blondish hair, long eyelashes, deep dimples, and broad shoulders. “Hi there.” His voice is deep, warm, and tinged with a Georgia accent. I feel vaguely disloyal to Caleb for the unexpected surge of attraction that shoots through me.
“Hey,” I say, staring at him.
“You’re Eveny,” he says with a smile as he steps forward. He takes my hand gently, and the second we make contact, all the hair on my arm stands on end. “I’m Bram, your brother king.”
“Bram,” I repeat in a whisper, and as he continues to smile warmly at me, I suddenly feel safe. I wonder if it’s because of the magical connection between us, the fact that we’re two leaders in the same sosyete. “It’s, um, nice to meet you.”
“And you.” He’s still shaking my hand, and when he finally stops, it takes him a moment to actually let go.
“So,” I say.
“So.” He waits for me to speak.
“You’re Simon’s son?”
“Yes.”
“You painted me. On the bridge.” I feel foolish the moment the words are out of my mouth, but Bram looks amused.
“You spotted that,” he says, smiling at me. “I’m relieved to see I captured you accurately.”
“Your dad said you dreamed of me?” I can feel my cheeks heating up; it’s weird to imagine this hot guy lying in bed at night thinking about me. “How?”
“Andaba connects us. Maybe you’ve dreamed of me too and didn’t even realize it. Do I seem familiar to you?”
I nod slowly. The way he’s looking at me—warmly, like we’re already old friends—is both comforting and disconcerting at the same time. “You’re a king?”
He chuckles, the sound rising up from somewhere deep in his chest. “Since November, when I turned seventeen. It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?”
“Understatement of the year.”
“I’d imagine it’s even more unsettling for you. After all, I grew up with this. To you, it’s all new.” His expression is pleasant, his eyes full of compassion.
“Yeah. You’re right.” I finally relax a little. “It’s nice to meet someone who finally understands that.”
His brow creases. “Your sister queens in Carrefour don’t?”
“I think they’re too busy worrying about their hair.” I half intend it as a joke, so I feel a bit guilty when he frowns.
“That’s got to be really frustrating,” he says.
“They mean well,” I hurry to add. “Honestly. They’re not so bad.”
“Well,” he says after a pause. “I suppose I’ll find out for myself soon enough. They’re here with you, aren’t they?”
I nod just as my father and Caleb come in through the back door. I suddenly feel as if I’m betraying Caleb in some way and take a big step back from Bram. As Caleb stares Bram down, the air between them seems to crackle with tension.
“Well,” my father says after a moment, clearing his throat and glancing at me. “Caleb, allow me to introduce Eveny’s brother king, Bram Saxon.”
He reluctantly reaches out to shake hands with Bram. “So you painted that bridge?” Caleb asks.
“Sure did.”
“Weird that you’re dreaming of Eveny,” Caleb says. He walks away before Bram can reply.
Bram turns to me. “Is he always so polite?”
“That’s just Caleb. Don’t worry. He’s . . . protective.”
Bram’s eyes bore into mine until I can feel my cheeks flaming. “Yeah, well, so am I.”
“Eveny,” my father says, interrupting the sizzling silence between us. “I have some news for you. Bram here,” he says, then pauses. “Well, he’ll be moving to Carrefour immediately.”
“Wait, what?” I stare at him, then at Bram.
“Simon, George, and I believe it’s for the best, and Peregrine’s and Chloe’s mothers have agreed to open the gate to allow Bram and his uncle Bill into town.”
“But . . . why?” I ask, baffled.
My father sighs. “Caleb’s judgment is compromised,” he says, glancing toward the stairway. “Because Bram has andaba powers too, you and he can be very powerful together. Simon is needed here, so Bram will come with his uncle as his guardian instead. It will be helpful to have him with you to protect you.”
“But I don’t need protecting,” I say. “And Caleb is doing just fine. I don’t need Bram.” I glance up at Bram, who’s staring at me now. “No offense or anything.”
“None taken.” He gives me another small smile, and I’m startled to feel my pulse quicken immediately in response.
“The decision has already been made,” my father says. “He’ll relocate this weekend and will start school with you on Monday.”
“But—” I begin.
“Eveny, you need to trust that this is for the best,” my father says, cutting me off. He turns to Bram and says, “Your father asked me to tell you he’s expecting you at home.”
Bram nods and turns to me. His eyes hold mine for what seems like a full minute. I feel pinned by his gaze, and I wonder fleetingly if he’s using some sort of magic on me. “Eveny,” he says finally, his voice smooth and deep, like dark molasses. “I look forward to getting to know you better.”
He nods at my father, and I stare after him, perplexed and shaken, as he disappears out the front door.
8
I head to Pointe Laveau Academy on Monday with my heart racing. I barely spoke to Caleb on the return trip from Caouanne Island, and I have the feeling that like me, he’s wondering how Bram’s arrival will change the dynamic here in Carrefour.
My father assured me Bram would be in school today, so I’m surprised when I don’t see him all morning and when he doesn’t join us in the Hickories for lunch, despite Peregrine’s grudging invitation before we left the island. Caleb doesn’t say a word to me at lunch, and Peregrine and Chloe are uncharacteristically quiet as Arelia and Margaux hurriedly arrange a platter of crudités in the center of our cashmere picnic blanket.
“Gin and tonic?” Margaux asks, glancing nervously at Peregrine and then at Chloe. I can almost see her wheels turning as she tries to figure out where everyone vanished to all weekend without her. We promised our parents that we would keep our visit to Caouanne Island a secret for now. You never know who you can trust, my father had reminded us.
“Obviously,�
� Peregrine says, rolling her eyes. But even her derision feels halfhearted today.
“Have you seen him yet?” Chloe whispers as she sits down beside me. “Bram, I mean?”
I shake my head.
“He’s cute, don’t you think?” she asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know.” The truth is, I feel like I’m being disloyal to Caleb if I say it out loud.
I finally encounter Bram in fifth period American history, the one class I share with Caleb. In fact, I’m so distracted with acting like Caleb’s silent treatment isn’t bothering me that I don’t even notice Bram come into the room until Ms. Sargent asks for our attention. When I look up, he’s standing there beside her, looking perfect in his standard-issue Pointe Laveau khakis and oxford, which he’s wearing with boat shoes. His eyes fall on me, and he holds my gaze for a long moment before smiling slowly and looking away.
“Quiet down, folks,” Ms. Sargent says, peering over the rims of her glasses, “and please help me welcome Pointe Laveau’s newest student, Bram Saxon, who will be joining us for the remainder of the school year.”
Bram half raises his hand in greeting. “Hey, y’all,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly. I can feel Caleb’s eyes on me, but I resist the urge to turn around.
“Bram, there’s an empty seat beside Eveny Cheval there,” Ms. Sargent says, gesturing to me. “Eveny, can you raise your hand so that Bram knows where to go?”
“Oh, I know who Eveny is,” Bram says. As his eyes lock with mine again, he smiles steadily. He doesn’t break eye contact until he sits down beside me.
“Hey, you,” he says in a low voice a moment later, once Ms. Sargent has started lecturing on the Great Depression.
I give him a smile. “Hey. And, um, welcome.”
“Thanks, Eveny.” His eyes, I realize a bit distractedly as he blinks at me, are the exact color of New York’s Hudson River during a storm: deep gray with tiny flecks of blue. “That school uniform suits you, you know. You look really pretty.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Listen,” he says a moment later as Ms. Sargent drones on in the front of the room. “Are you and I cool?”
Midnight Dolls Page 6
