by Sarah Zettel
It came over me like a burst of light. I could make a place too. We could even do it together: me, Mama, and Papa. It’d be a supper club, one of the fancy places where all the ladies wore their best gowns and the gentlemen dressed in black tie. We’d call it LeRoux’s, or better yet, the Midnight Club. Papa would play the piano and lead the band. Mama would run the kitchen, turning out the best food for miles around. I could help her, and hostess, and maybe sing with the band on Friday nights. Nobody would have to hide who they were or who they were with when they came to the Midnight Club. Everybody could eat and drink and enjoy the music right out in the open.
The force of that sudden dream rooted me to the spot. It was too strong. It was like starvation. Once it was inside, there wasn’t room for anything else.
“Miss? Miss LeRoux?”
I shook myself and turned back to the clerk. He didn’t frown, exactly, but he pretty much had me pegged for the hayseed I was. “I’m sorry, Mr. Robeson isn’t in. Would you care to leave a message?”
“Um … yes. Say Callie LeRoux is sorry she missed her appointment this morning but she would like to speak with him as soon as he’s available.” I told the clerk where I was staying. He didn’t even bat an eye at the studio address, just took it all down and tucked the note into one of the pigeonholes behind the desk.
I thanked him and walked out of there, still dazed from the dream of a future that had washed through me.
Dear Mama, I thought, in the way that was fast becoming a habit. Dear Mama …
But I couldn’t get any further. I didn’t know how to compress my dream into words. It was all too big and too new. I drifted back out to the waiting car, not seeing what was in front of me. I barely heard my own answer when Sumner asked where I wanted to go. It was like being betwixt and between all over again. Nothing was solid except this new idea of the Midnight Club.
Sumner drove me to the grocer’s, the baker’s, and the butcher’s to pick up what I needed to stock Ivy’s pantry. I’d hardly ever seen so much food in my life, at least not food I could afford to buy. A day before, I would have been paralyzed by my choices. Now, though, I walked between the bins and past the counters, and thought about whether what I saw would fit on the menu for the Midnight Club. I even peeked in at the fishmonger’s. I’d only ever eaten catfish, and only knew one way to cook that. But Mama would know how to use all these other kinds they had laid out on beds of crushed ice. One of our games at the Imperial was to get down her cookbooks and make up menus for the day the dust storms eased and the guests came back. Memory of that game got tied up in the daydream, and I was able to start my new letter, writing in my imagination as though I really was setting up the club.
Mama, do you think we should have filet of sole or turbot? And what about oysters on the half shell? Do you think the china should be plain white with the club’s name on it, or should we use the white-on-black motif? I wasn’t entirely sure what a motif was, but I liked the way it sounded.
By the time Sumner pulled into the bungalow’s driveway, I was too busy setting up the tables in the Midnight Club and writing notes to Mama to care that Mrs. Tully was there at the door, ready to watch my every move while I unloaded my groceries into that brand-new kitchen. Or that it was getting on toward dinnertime and Mr. Robeson hadn’t called yet. I wasn’t worried about how I still needed to find a way to explain to Jack about everything that had happened at Mrs. Constantine’s, or even that I still had no idea what I was going to do with Shake when I woke him up. My idea of the Midnight Club swallowed up everything else. It was like I’d discovered a whole new country, one where I could finally be happy.
I did not quite forget I had work to do. If anything, all my dreaming and letter writing made it easier. After all, at the Midnight Club, we’d have to be ready to cater to movie people, so I’d better practice while I could. Fortunately, that brand-new kitchen came with cookbooks. I decided that for the sake of Miss Bright’s health and complexion, we should have a light supper—Waldorf salad, chicken almondine, and creamed spinach, with poached pears in crème anglaise for dessert.
The clock in the dining room chimed six. Mrs. Tully sailed through the door just as I was tucking the serving spoon into the bowl of creamed spinach and laying the tongs on the dish with the chicken.
“Well.” She looked over the rims of her glasses at my spread and sniffed. “That might just do.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Tully.” I figured she wasn’t used to paying compliments and was starting small.
“Miss Bright and Mrs. Brownlow are in the dining room. Let’s get this out.” She picked up two of the chilled plates heaped with the Waldorf salad: apples and walnuts in mayonnaise set out on a lettuce leaf. I grabbed the other plate and followed her into the dining room.
Mrs. Brownlow sat at the head of the table, wearing the same vague smile she’d had on when she left that morning. Next to her sat Ivy, and next to Ivy sat Jack. My heart lurched hard. He’d been in the house this whole time and hadn’t bothered to come around to even say hello to me. He’d stayed out here with Ivy. At the moment, Ivy was leaning so close her head was almost on his shoulder, and he was giving her his biggest grin as she looked up at him and giggled. And here I was bringing in their dinner like a maid.
“Oh, Callie!” Ivy covered her mouth. “There you are!”
As if I could be anywhere else. I was her cook, wasn’t I? That’s what she’d asked me to be. Jack turned his head, still grinning, but that grin was for Ivy, not for me.
“Hey, that looks terrific!”
It was everything I could do not to slam the plate down in front of him.
“Waldorf salad! Callie, you’re so clever!” cried Ivy, like I was some kind of trained poodle. “Look, Mama, Callie’s made us Waldorf salad! Your favorite!”
Mrs. Brownlow blinked down at her plate. “Why, yes. I was just saying so, wasn’t I? It looks delicious.” She groped for her fork and began to eat.
“I told you Callie could cook anything, didn’t I?” Jack reminded the room at large. He gave me a wink, but I could barely stand to look at him.
“Mmm.” Ivy smiled back around her bite. “Aren’t you going to sit down, Callie? You’ve been working so hard, you must be tired.”
“I … no … I’ve got something on the stove.” I ran back into the kitchen.
I got there and just stood. Anger flooded all the places where I’d been happy a minute earlier. I didn’t even know why I was angry. There wasn’t any reason to be. So Jack hadn’t come in to talk to me. So what? Maybe there hadn’t been time. Maybe they’d just walked into the house and sat down at the table. Nothing real had happened. Jack had been laughing with Ivy. That was all. What was there to be angry about?
The door swung open and Mrs. Tully came in. She took one look at me and shook her head. “You’re going to have to get over that if you intend to stay on.”
“What?” I said, as though I’d lost my ability to understand English. I realized I’d been expecting it to be Jack who walked through that door. But Jack hadn’t shown. Again.
“If you start being jealous of Miss Bright, you’re not going to last a week.”
“I … but … I’m not jealous.”
Mrs. Tully didn’t even start to answer that. She just helped herself from the bowl of leftover salad and dug in the silverware drawer until she found a fork. “You’d better eat while you can.” She pulled a stool up to the counter. “I’m sure if she’s allowed, Miss Bright will keep you and Mr. Jack busy tonight playing best friends.”
“I’m not hungry.” I also couldn’t take my eyes off the door.
“No more than you’re jealous.” Mrs. Tully sniffed again. “Our place is in here, Miss Callie. We take care of them, and we do not start thinking of them like friends, ever. That’s the only way we survive.” She chewed for a moment. “You’re lucky, as it happens. Your friend out there is going to learn that the hard way.”
You don’t know the first thing about me, or Jack. It’s
all for show. Jack’s just charming Ivy because we need her. That’s all. I just forgot for a second. He’s going to come in any minute now to check on me, and he’ll give me one of those big winks.
But Jack didn’t come in. He stayed right at the table with Ivy and Mrs. Brownlow, while Mrs. Tully and I carried the food in and took away the empty plates. Oh, they exclaimed over it all and said thank you and please, just like they should. Mrs. Brownlow remarked that each dish was her favorite, or she did as soon as Ivy reminded her, but there was a distance between them and me, because I was working and they weren’t. Not that it was any too comfortable in the kitchen either, with Mrs. Tully eating the leftovers and not saying anything.
I tried to think about the Midnight Club again. I tried to start another page of the letter to Mama in my mind. But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t even go out there again. I told myself I wasn’t hiding. I was letting Jack know that if he wanted to talk, he’d have to get back here. I wasn’t going out there to watch how well he was making moon eyes over Miss Bright, even if it was just for show. I had important things to tell him, but if he wanted to hear any of them, he had to come to me.
So Mrs. Tully carried out the dessert plates and I stayed in the kitchen, cleaning until there was nothing left to clean and flipping through cookbooks without reading anything. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to keep from crying. I couldn’t even get my feelings to make sense to me. I wasn’t in love. It wasn’t like I wanted to kiss anybody or anything, and it was a sure bet nobody wanted to kiss me. Jack couldn’t be part of any dream of mine. I’d known the whole time he had only come with me because he wanted the adventure, and to write a story about it. Jack wanted to be a writer. That was his big dream. Sure, we’d helped each other out when we’d gotten into trouble, but that’s what you do when you’re in trouble. So what if I’d imagined a room for him over the Midnight Club, where he could have a desk and a typewriter? That was just a stupid, babyish daydream, same as the rest of it. I had no business thinking about a normal life. I wasn’t normal, and all the wishing in the world wasn’t going to change that.
None of this scolding made me feel better. It just started me wondering about what I’d done, and how, and what else I could do. I’d used my magic to get my own way before. Not that I’d ever try to wish Jack into looking at me the way he looked at Ivy. That wouldn’t be right. I wouldn’t even think of doing it, even if I knew for sure I could. Which I didn’t. So there wasn’t any point in starting to think about it.
The sun had gone down outside and the windows over the sink were blank, black mirrors. My reflection looked sad and sullen. I didn’t like the way it kept catching my eye, or the way my eyes looked a little too shiny for their own good. I went to twitch the curtains shut.
And froze. I wasn’t alone in that reflection. A grand woman with dark skin dressed in a shimmering gold dress and wearing a diamond tiara in her hair stood beside me.
Hello, Callie, my dear.
12
Come Callin’
I whirled around. No one was there. I looked back at the window reflection. There she was.
The queen of the Midnight Throne waited in the darkness of the windowpane. I’d only seen her once, but I’d never mistake her for anyone else. She was my father’s mother, and Shake’s mother. My grandmother.
“What … what are you doing here?” I croaked. How’d you get here without me feeling it? How’d you even find me?
I am only here in spirit, my child. And I followed your wish.
It took a minute to realize she’d answered the questions I’d thought, not the one I’d asked out loud. It took a minute longer to realize what she was talking about. My daydream of the Midnight Club hadn’t been just a daydream. It had been a wish about my future, and I’d been wishing it for hours. My grandparents could feel wishes at least as well as Shake. Of course they’d been able to track it down.
Don’t berate yourself, my dear. You are not used to your own powers yet.
I opened my mouth, then closed it, and concentrated on thinking. Don’t call me dear!
Her sigh sent a long ripple of sorrow right down the center of my brain. I know you are angry with us, and perhaps you are right to be. We mistook the importance of young Jack to you. Because of your father’s obsessions, we feared … but never mind that. I need to give you a warning.
About what?
Lorcan has escaped us.
Escaped? I repeated stupidly. Confusion blotted out a hundred images that threatened to flash to the front of my mind, where my grandmother might be able to get a look at them. Instead, I made myself see Ivy sitting with Jack. Anger and worry rose up fast and strong enough to drive thoughts of Shake into the background.
I felt my grandmother frown, and I knew I’d been right. She was trying to see into my mind, and not just what I wanted her to see either.
When we realized Lorcan had tried to kill you, we imprisoned him, she told me. It was only his royal blood that spared him from a death sentence. But we should not have been so lenient. He tricked his guards and escaped. We know he intended to come for you, granddaughter. Has he been here?
The kitchen door swung open. I jumped and whirled around. It was Ivy. She twisted her hands together and blinked her big blue eyes.
“I just … I just wanted to say good night, Callie.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to get my breath back. Behind me, I felt my grandmother’s presence waver. “Okay. Good night.”
Ivy looked around. “Was Tully in here?”
“Um, no, just me. And Fannie Farmer.” I picked up the nearest cookbook and waved it toward her.
“Oh. Okay. Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
Ivy left slowly, like she wanted to say a lot more. I was torn between the urge to shove her out the door and the urge to run after her. I thought I heard Jack’s voice out front, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying, and I couldn’t exactly go out there while my grandmother was still haunting the window glass.
You must come home, granddaughter. Grandmother’s image grew more solid, strong and heavy as crystal, and just as hard. You are alone, unprotected and untrained. You do not have the strength to stand against a member of the royal house if he decides to work against you.
My head spun. I gritted my teeth and took a minute to list all the ingredients in the Waldorf salad, because I couldn’t have Grandmother getting in far enough to see what I had been doing and how much working Shake had already done.
I’m not going back there. I tried to shape each word clearly. I’ve got too much to do right here.
Then let us come to you. Open the way for us, Callie.
Can’t you just come through? They had before. They knew where the holes were. They’d even built up palaces around them.
You are in the Seelie territory, Callie. It is warded against us. But you could let us in.
So there it was. I should have known. She didn’t want me back. She didn’t want me safe. She wanted to use me.
Yes. Callie, you are the only one who can control the gates. That is why we need you, not just as heir to our throne, and that is why we will always work to keep you safe.
Yeah, yeah, I get it. They’d keep me safe all right, so they could keep me right under their Unseelie thumbs.
Let us through, granddaughter. I felt her pressing close to me, even though her reflection hadn’t moved at all. Let us help you.
Like you helped my papa? I snapped back.
We cannot reach him, Callie. But you can. Open the way for us, and we can lead our forces across. The Shining Court will not keep him from us any longer.
They had an army? Why hadn’t I thought about that before? They ruled a kingdom. Of course they must have an army. I didn’t need to play house with a giggling little girl and sneak into the Seelie country. I could meet the Seelie king as the princess I was, at the head of a whole fairy regiment. I could demand that the king give my parents back.
But then what
? If the Unseelies had an army, the Seelies would too.
You must not fear them, Callie. They are weak and without honor. My grandmother’s thoughts dug at mine, trying to get in and turn me around until I saw things her way.
They’re weak and without honor, except they’re strong enough that you wanted your son to marry one of them, and now that they’ve kidnapped him, you can’t get him back.
That was a mistake, and a trick. But her words came too late. I’d caught her off balance.
Must’ve been one whale of a good trick.
You do not have to decide this moment. She said it as though she was granting me a huge favor, but it wasn’t enough to cover the impatience trickling out of her. If you wish your father to remain in captivity while you attempt to make up your mind—
Oh, no you don’t, Grandmother. I cut her off. That one’s so old, it’s growing whiskers.
Her silence was cold and thick. Mrs. Tully could only dream of sending out silence like that. But there was something else too. Grandmother was sad. When we’d gone walking betwixt and between, I’d felt the reality of my uncle. I felt the reality of my grandmother now, no matter how much she tried to drive it down into the depths of her silence: she regretted what was happening.
Callie, I have lost both my sons. I don’t want to lose my granddaughter. Please. Let me help you.
I have to think about it.
Callie … There were tears behind my name, but I gritted myself tight against them. I reached into where my magic waited and thought about closing the window, about locking it. It wasn’t easy. I didn’t have any wish but my own to work with, and she wasn’t using a gate. She was using my own head and the blood connection between us. I’d never been taught how to work this kind of magic. There wasn’t a key I could turn or a gate I could get hold of. I had to find the thoughts and the strength to block her out. It gave Grandmother plenty of time to feel what I was trying to do, and all that gentle sadness was gone, as though it had never been.
