by Anya Allyn
A boy not much older than myself introduces himself as Emerson Batiste and welcomes us into the fold. “Tobias, finally we meet. One of my residences is the house you built in Miami. The wall carving of the mirrored tree was quite spectacular.”
Grandfather bends his head slightly as he turns to stare at Emerson. “I knew not what I was doing when I had that made. I thought the mirrored tree held the answer to everything, all life’s woes. Now I know better.”
“Bit late for that, Uncle,” Henry interjects. “You let the cat out of the bag. Can’t stitch that bag up and suffocate the cat now.”
Audette meows, her eyebrow arched and mocking.
A girl with bright eyes and red hair surveys me with interest, a tiny monkey perched on her shoulder. “I’m Emerson’s sister, Viola. And that’s my other bro’ over there—Zachary. Oh, but don’t expect to get much sense out of Zach—he’s still mooning over that girl. Hmmm, what was her name? I think you called her Calliope.”
I nod in her direction but hardly think I need respond, and I do not show my distress at the mention of Calliope’s name. I don’t know how Calliope became mixed up with my relatives of the castle but I fear for her. She was always going to seek out the darkness.
The girl named Viola saunters across the room with her gaze fixed on me. “So it was you in that photograph with Great Uncle Tobias. You looked so strange and serious, like your favorite pet had just died. Shame you didn’t live longer than fourteen. You’re the one who kept those girls cooped up in that weird underground place.” She hoots loudly. “I love this family. We have more skeletons in the closet than a serial killer.”
When a group of people move aside to replenish their wine glasses, I see a man sitting in a high-backed armchair, drinking from a metal chalice. His eyes are cold, like an empty night. It is rude to stare, but I cannot focus elsewhere. He is flesh and blood, but the human essence of him is missing. I cannot understand him, cannot figure if he is human or spirit. He is perhaps only as old as Emerson or Zach, with dark hair and aristocratic features—but the others gaze at him in reverence.
I turn to Grandfather, but his eyes give no clue. It is as though he is looking at this man through a dark window, unsure of whom he is.
“Vous avez retourné, Tobias Tibault Batiste.” His words are slow and deliberate, iced with amusement.
A stone mask pulls down over Grandfather’s face. “Non, Balthazar,” he says, with a hint of French accent I have never heard in his voice before. “I have not returned. I am here simply as a messenger.”
Balthazar raises his eyebrows in a lazy fashion. “Ye bring forth a message to the castle?”
A smattering of nervous laughter erupts around the hall.
Grandfather takes a long, measured breath. “Yes. And my message to you all is that we are wrong. Anything that destroys our humanity cannot be the best course, for it only destroys us, in the end.”
Henry bristles. “Uncle, you should remember that you are in the presence of Monseigneur Balthazar Batiste. Everything around you was built by him and has endured in our family throughout the centuries. Yet you come here and try to tell him you know better?”
This man before me built the castle centuries ago? I try to peer into the depths of him, but am afraid. This man has power beyond any spirit I have known.
A man—no, a spirit—strides forward, a heavy black beard obscuring most of his face. “Tobias, you’re one of us. You sought the book, when any other miserable creature would have left such books well alone.”
“Armand Baldcott,” says Grandfather, “perhaps your words are true. I was blinded by grief, and at that time, I allowed my grief to lead me back to my heritage.”
A grim smile indents itself in Balthazar’s stone-like visage. He holds out his arms to Grandfather. “But of course thou grieved. Thy son, Simon, was the blood of thy loins. Thou wanted him back. And just as thee art my descendant, I did grieve for thee when thou took leave of the chateau. Thou hadst the spark to do great things, even as a boy.” He spits, his mouth curling. “The rest of them just clung to the protection and past glories of my name like filles in a thunderstorm.” He glances at Henry. “Seigneur Henry Batiste was the only one amongst ye to attempt to restore the might of my name and restore my vision. Thou art all of my loins and destined to rule.”
Henry bows, while the others look on with a mixture of anxiety and wrath—shielded behind tightly-held expressions.
A butler enters the room, his ancient eyes filled with a cold satisfaction. “Monseigneur Batiste, we have the boy.”
A struggling male is brought into the room. Six others flank him. He catches my eye and then twists his head away. At first I am surprised to see him, but I should not be. In the spirit realm, we see connections that we did not in our human lives. Evander has a tie to the castle. I can at last see the good in Evander.
Balthazar’s lip sneers when he sees him. The men shove Evander to Balthazar’s feet, and Grandfather and I are told we must wait until Balthazar has dealt with the boy before we can have an audience.
24. Black Curtain
CASSIE
The second I woke, I knew Jessamine was gone. The dollhouse was her—every corridor and room, every toy and puzzle. But now, the dollhouse was a mere skeleton. Rising, I walked the still, eerie corridors. The years of anguish, of desperate prayers hung in the air like a shroud. I could almost hear whispers and hushed voices—and nursery rhymes sung in a dull monotone.
The kitchen, the ballroom... everything had that hush. One of Molly’s drawings lay on the floor in the ballroom. I scooped it up. It was the picture that she’d drawn for Frances—an image of Frances’ whole family. In the other world, Frances was back with her family, readjusting to life after the dollhouse and the strangeness of a family she hadn’t seen for three of her six years. In this world, none of us knew whether her family were dead or alive, and she faced the daily horror of the serpents. She still hadn’t returned to the life Molly had always wanted her to return to. I let the drawing drift from my fingers and settle back to the floor.
I searched the ballroom for any clue that Jessamine might have left behind—any clue to the answer of Tobias’s riddle. There was nothing. But the letter—the letter was gone. Frowning, I stepped over to the library shelf where the letter had been. In the letter’s place was an old drawing of mine—from the day when Jessamine had asked me to tell her about my home town, and I’d made up a story about a girl who rode a dolphin in the warm waters of Florida. My picture, in my childish drawing style, was of the girl turning into a mermaid as she dove beneath the water with her beloved dolphin.
What did Jessamine mean by leaving me this?
I wheeled around at hearing a sound behind me. Molly, Sophronia, Aisha, Lacey and Frances stood in the ballroom doorway with serious expressions. Still dressed in their gowns and with faded makeup staining their faces, they resembled ghostly apparitions.
“She’s left us, hasn’t she?” Frances sounded lost.
“Yes.” I tried to smile reassuringly.
Ben and Raif stepped up behind the girls, roughly rubbing sleep from their faces.
The whispering vibrations of the shadow rushed through the Dark Way and into the corridor that led to the ballroom.
“We have to get out of here,” I told them.
Racing to the bed and dressing chambers, we collected our clothing and backpacks. As we jumped onto the platform of the exit carousel, the red and green lights blinked on.
Molly reached out and touched the glowing lights, wonder on her face. She must have dreamed of such a moment in the five long years she’d spent in the underground—but that moment had never come. Until now.
~.~
The body of Devlin Parkes lay beneath the snow drifts. You could barely see the hump in the ground. We kept running, still dressed in the clothing of the dollhouse. We needed to get well away. I’d seen what the serpent could do in the other world—she could send the earth plummeting into a deep hole.<
br />
We saw no one in the hours it took to reach Ethan’s granddad’s cottage. It was as if we were the only ones left alive in the whole world. Soon, that would become reality.
The cottage, at the bottom of the mountains, was almost buried in snow. Snow had stacked up against the door. No one had been either in or out of here in weeks.
Cautiously, Raif stepped forward and knocked.
My heart jumped as the door cracked open, snow cascading down. A thin, weathered man peered out, looking as ancient as the forests. His watery eyes registered shock. He stared at each of us in turn, his chest heaving sadly. “In these days, it’s only right I’d start hallucinating.”
Icy snowflakes stung my cheeks. We had to be a strange sight, standing here together like this—we’d put on our jackets and scarves, but we were still dressed in the dresses and clothing of the dollhouse. “You’re not hallucinating, Mr. McAllister. We’re Ethan’s friends. We’re really here, and we’ve come to see you.”
His eyes were still glazed but he waved us inside. “Well then, get in here—miserable cold out there.”
We bustled into the tiny cottage. There were just two chairs. With all of us in the cottage, the room was crammed to capacity—there was just a single living space, with two bedrooms leading from it. We knelt on the rug by the fire. Mr. McAllister put a pot of water on two sticks that he had suspended above the fire.
We drew our hoods back.
He froze. “Your faces—I know who you are. But you... you were gone. Vanished.” His gaze settled on Frances. “Even the little one’s here.”
“It’s really us,” said Aisha. “Yes, we were gone. But now we’re back. This is Molly Parkes, Sophronia, Frances Allanzi—and you know Cassie, Lacey, Ben, Raif and me.”
His eyes grew wet and his lined face opened up. “I searched for you kids until my old legs and body gave out. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for all of you to just disappear like that. What happened to you?”
“That’s a very long story,” I told him in a gentle voice. “But we’re safe now. And Ethan’s safe too. He just... couldn’t be here with us right now.”
His breaths quickened. “My grandson’s alive?”
“Yes,” I answered. “He’s been back here many times looking for you on the mountains, but didn’t find you.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, relief and anguish in every line of his face. “I’d given up on ever seeing him again. But still, I’ve spent my time roaming up and down the river, and around the forest, always looking for him.”
“Ethan had to go away for the past three months,” I said. “That might be how you’ve missed seeing him. But you will, soon.”
I knew that nothing in this world could be promised, but I also knew that Ethan would do everything in his power to get back to his grandfather.
He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, touching his hand to his forehead and nodding with relief. “I never thought I’d live to see a miracle. But you kids, here, today—that’s a damned-straight miracle.”
Taking up the gnarled branch that served as a walking stick, he walked over to the kitchen and set out cups. He glanced back at us over his shoulder. “I’m not so senile as to think this is just a friendly visit. How in the name of all that’s holy did you even get here?”
“I could lie and give a simple explanation,” I told him, “but something tells me that you’d see straight through that.”
He gave a single nod. “You remind me of my daughter, Alkira—Ethan’s mother. She was nothing if not direct. I like that.”
Aisha brought the boiling pot of water over to him.
Ben turned his head to stare at the jumping flames as Mr. McAllister began pouring out hot cups of tea. “Sir, having a fire in these parts is dangerous. There are... certain people who are attracted to the sight of smoke. They’re hunters... of a type.”
Deep crevices formed between Mr. McAllister’s eyebrows as he considered Ben’s words. “Well, they’re welcome to come and sit by my fire. This winter’s been a long one.”
Ben exhaled a tight breath. “Yes it has been. But you can’t let these hunters in. They’re not good people.”
The old man’s pale blue eyes focused sharply on Ben. “Well, all of us are just a step away from losing our humanity. I do my best not to judge.”
I shivered hearing Mr. McAllister speak of the Eaters. He knew exactly who Ben was talking about. Somehow, he’d been able to avoid not only death by starvation and exposure, but being taken by the Eaters.
Lacey tucked strands of white, snow-flecked hair back from her face. “They’re afraid of you, aren’t they? That’s why they don’t come near you.”
Mr. McAllister turned to Lacey. “Lacey Dougherty—the sergeant’s daughter....”
“That’s right,” she said softly.
“I’ve seen you out in the forest many times—before the long winter came—and after.” It was a statement, but he posed it in a questioning way.
She drew her top lip in. “Yes. Too many times.”
I wondered what he’d say if he knew the extent of her involvement in the disappearance of the girls in the forest and if he knew she was the one who had planted the ribbons under the floorboards of his cottage. But by the knowing, heavy-hearted look that had entered his eyes, I suspected that he guessed at least part of it.
Lacey wrapped her arms around her shoulders, half-burying her face in the crook of her elbows.
“And what makes you think people are afraid of me, Miss Dougherty?” he asked her.
She toyed with the ends of her scarf. “They’ve seen your shadow....”
“Have they?” He sipped his tea, seeming to be waiting for more.
Nodding, Lacey raised her eyes to him. “A few months ago, I was at the river camp. One night, I watched you face down a serpent and then wrestle with its shadow.”
“Did I?” he said, not giving anything away.
“Yes, you did.” Nervously, she rewrapped her scarf around her neck.
“Sir, I’ve seen the serpents sneak in at night for myself,” said Ben. “I know they’re real. Most people don’t live to tell the tale, but I did. And so did you. Except that you did something that no one else has done. You took on a serpent’s shadow... and you won. We want to know how you did that.”
Mr. McAllister’s shoulders hunched. “Oh... I didn’t win. No, no you mustn’t think I won.” He gazed at Lacey. “Look at this poor little one—does she look like she’s winning?”
Lacey winced. “You know, don’t you? You can tell I have the shadow too?”
“I can see it plain as day,” he replied. “I could see it when you stood outside.”
“I only have a small part of shadow in me. And I didn’t choose to have it enter my body, not really.” Lacey shook her head. “But you did—you stole the shadow from the serpent.”
A distant haze entered Mr. McAllister’s eyes. “I’ve faced down worse. I nursed my wife through a long illness before she died, and I lost my only child to a car accident. I’ve taken darkness into my soul... and so I knew darkness when I saw it. It knew I was old and ill and close to death. But I didn’t yield. It’s not my way.” He stared around at us. “So I took it in, I took it inside me. But it hangs like a black curtain over my soul. I can feel it clawing and kicking inside me as we speak.”
Ben gulped down the remainder of his tea. “Sir... I don’t know how to say this, but you’re different. I was Ethan’s best mate since he came to live with you, and I know how you were... before. I hope it’s not out of place to say that you—”
“Have my mind back?” Mr. McAllister broke in. “That’s what you meant, isn’t it?”
Casting his gaze down, Ben nodded.
“Well, that might well be true,” said Mr. McAllister. “I used to forget things, forget everything, even forget who I was some days—it must have been very hard on my grandson in those last years. My mind was slowly leaving me. But this thing inside me, this shadow—it’s changed me
. I forget nothing, these days.”
I remembered the confused old man who’d taken the stand at the court case. Mr. McAllister had been suffering from Alzheimer's back then. He was so much stronger and sharper now.
“Tell us how—tell us how you did it?” Molly’s voice was urgent—the voice of someone who’d spent years in the grip of the shadow.
Pain stole into his eyes. “You young kids don’t want to go messing with that.”
“Mr. McAllister, we couldn’t get in any deeper than we already are,” Molly told him.
“Then p’haps you kids better tell me what you’ve been up to.”
He made it sound like we were normal teenagers in a normal world, who’d been out causing a bit of mayhem. Something about that was comforting. We told him, as briefly as we could manage, about our lives over the past year. About the dollhouse and the castle and Prudence. When we were finished, he gazed around at us steadily—in a more direct way than he had since we’d been here in his cottage, almost as though something had woken inside of him.
Stiffly, he rose and went to poke at the fire. Raising his shoulders in a sigh, he gazed into the flames. “This is all I know. It’s painful for those creatures to send their shadows outside of themselves. When they strike, they must strike quickly, or risk having their shadow torn away from them. They use your own energy against you, as they seem to have none of their own. In those seconds, you have an advantage, see? You must empty your mind and take the shadow inside you. As soon as it realizes what’s happening, it will fight you. But you must stand firm. You must keep out your own thoughts and fears and open yourself completely.”
He shuffled slowly around to us. “You must have no fear. For me, it was not so hard. I’m an old man with nothing to lose, a man who has lost everyone—and I thought I’d lost Ethan too. But you’re just beginning your lives, and you’re full of restless dreams. To take on the shadows would be foolhardy.”
“Can you control it—the shadow inside you?” Molly asked him.
“To a degree, yes,” he replied, “but it is a wild, roaming thing that I must continually keep a rein on.” His eyes hooded over. “But I’m growing tired. It’s a constant battle.”
