Feather Bound

by Sarah Raughley

  But Hyde was suffering. He was dealing with things, handling them all on his own. Like me. He’d glimpsed the bars caging him in hell and simply shrugged, defeated. Like me. And now he was asking me to forget him.

  Forget him? Can I?

  I fell onto my side, smothering my face in the arm of the couch.

  “Deanna?”

  I lifted myself up and peered over the couch to see Ericka coming down the stairs – she’d been so quiet, I hadn’t even noticed, but she was already halfway down. I turned back around.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you…” A long yawn broke her sentence. “Why are you sitting here in the dark? It’s one in the morning.”

  “It’s three in the morning.”

  “Is it? That’s even worse!” I heard the fridge doors being pried apart. “On the upside, François hasn’t woken up once tonight. I think he likes it here.”

  Twisting around, I watched her as she rummaged through the fridge contents, passing over leftovers to pluck out a can of cheap condensed milk. “Ericka, exactly how long are you going to be staying chez Davis?”

  Her head shifted in my direction before she straightened back up, and then she was off to the cupboards. “I’m going back tomorrow. As much as I love being home, we really should be returning to Manhattan. I already told Charles.”

  “I’m surprised he let you stay here for so long.” I threw my arm over the back of the couch and leaned in.

  “Oh…” Ericka pulled out a case of chocolate from the cupboards and shrugged. “No, he didn’t mind… I don’t think. What with all the insanity surrounding the Edmund Rey embezzlement case, he’s probably been too busy to miss us.”

  And too busy to call. Granted, it wasn’t like I’d been locked inside the house, but since the time Ericka had arrived I hadn’t heard them talk once. From what I could tell, Ericka hadn’t exactly been taking it upon herself to fix that.

  “You… really love it here?”

  Ericka smiled at me as she heated the water. “Yeah... I guess I do. Leaky faucet and all.”

  “Funny. When you were living here, you couldn’t wait to get the hell out.” Harsh, I know. It just came out.

  Ericka stayed silent for a little while, but once she finished mixing her hot chocolate, she walked over and sat next to me. “You’re not wrong,” she said. “I did want to get out. And then I found this cute rich boy who kept showering me with pretty things.” She laughed and sipped her chocolate.

  I pulled my legs up onto the couch, holding my ankles with frigid hands. “The grass is always greener, I guess.”

  “I’ve been talking to Dad a lot.”

  I’d noticed. “About what?”

  “Hmm.” Ericka peered into her ceramic mug, its horrid fluorescent pink blinding in the dark. And yet that was the mug she’d been using, consistently, since she got here. “My life. His life. Past mistakes. Sometimes it feels like everything went wrong when Mom died. Like we were…” She lowered the mug onto her lap. “All looking for a way out. Freedom.”

  “You got yours, though. You got the whole Cinderella treatment.”

  At this, Ericka gave me a wry smile. “I wonder about that.”

  “Then why not just leave?”

  Ericka brought her mug up to her lips, letting the ridge sit there. “There’s François to consider, after all, but… I don’t know. I guess in the end, I depend on Charles for a lot of things.”

  Actually, as a child, I’d always thought that there was something grotesque about Cinderella. The reason was there in script, written in the deep, dark lines shadowing Ericka’s eyes. From one cage into another.

  “Things started out well enough, though.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell us anything?” Better yet, why didn’t I ever tell them anything? About Mom, about Anton, about anything?

  Ericka twisted around, letting her side sink into the couch cushion. “Well, I guess I’m telling you now.” She swirled her mug around, staring off to the side with a thoughtful smile. “Feels good, actually.”

  I stared at my toes. It would feel good, wouldn’t it? Yeah. It probably did. It was the freedom more than anything else. I was sure of it. I was tired of cages, tired of lies. Tired of peering through the bars, desperate and lonely, while pretending I could handle it all. And Hyde. I was sure he was too. I knew his secret wasn’t mine to tell, but I couldn’t just sit by and let someone take advantage of it. I had to help him. He deserved freedom. But first I had to find mine.

  “Ericka… go get Ade.”

  “What?”

  I took the mug from her hands and placed it on the table. “There’s… something I need to tell you.”

  21

  INFILTRATE

  “I will kill him.”

  “I just can’t...”

  “His life must end.”

  “We should call the police.”

  “I’ll gut him myself!”

  “I’m calling the police.”

  “Guys!” I stomped on the ground to get Ade and Ericka’s attention. None of this was unexpected, of course. After the initial period of silence had come the babbling, pacing and uttering of death threats, and while I especially appreciated Adrianna’s bloodlust, I really didn’t want to wake Dad. Telling him... still didn’t feel quite right. I guess I wasn’t quite ready for that. “No police.”

  Ericka’s hand was already on the home phone’s receiver. “What? Why not? That’s the first thing you should have done!”

  I looked down, shifting on my feet. “I didn’t have any proof. I still don’t. And if Anton finds out, I don’t know what he’ll do. He threatened me, remember?”

  “So what?” Ade snarled. “We just sit on our asses? Forgive and forget? This bastard’s head should be slowly decaying on a pike!”

  I sighed. “No argument there.”

  Dropping the phone back onto its base, Ericka sat down, staring through the black expanse of the television screen. “You’re a swan. You’re… Deanna… how could you not tell me? Either of you?” She rubbed her face, which droplets of tears had already begun to stain. “Do you really think that little of me?”

  “I’m sorry,” was all I could say.

  “Look, I know some guys.” Ade folded her arms over her chest. “Over in Hell’s Kitchen. If we do it right we can make it look like an accident.”

  Tempting. “Look, I’ll figure out what to do with Anton later. Right now, I need your help.”

  “Ah. Hyde,” said Ade. “That poor bastard.”

  I hadn’t told them everything. It wouldn’t have been right. But if I was going to save Hyde from Beatrice, I would need help.

  Ericka tapped her chin with a finger. “What are you going to do? If it’s true that Beatrice has Hyde’s feathers, then he shouldn’t be able tell anyone about it. And you don’t have any proof of that either so involving the police–”

  “I don’t need to involve the police. Besides, Hyde doesn’t want this getting out. All I have to do is get his feathers back.”

  “Get them back?” Ericka narrowed her eyes, incredulous. “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “Easy,” Ade answered instead. “Beatrice probably has his feathers stashed somewhere in her house. I mean, that’s how it works, right? That’s how swans know where to go every night. Oh,” she added quickly, because she must have noticed the look on my face. “Uh, not that we want to think about what he does with Beatrice every night–”

  “Yes, let’s not,” I snapped.

  “But still,” Ade continued quickly, “the point is that if we want to get Hyde’s feathers back, we need to walk straight into the cougar’s den.”

  “Adrianna!” Ericka clutched her nightgown collar nervously – a poor substitute for pearls. “That’s trespassing. If Beatrice catches you, she could press charges. And how would you even manage to get in? The whole idea’s insane.”

  I thought about it.

  Not long.

  “What the hell,” I said. “I think I’ve g
ot a cat-suit lying around somewhere.”

  “Hey, the guy gave me a year’s worth of DVDs. It’s the least I can do.” Adrianna’s smile turned wicked. “All right, then. Suit up, bitches.”

  Hey it’s the grl from ur Uncle’s funeral. Ur so h0t. Wanna meet up tmrw? Fun Timez XOXO ADE

  “I can’t even believe this,” I said, shaking my head as Ade sent her text. “Didn’t you kick him the last time you saw him?”

  All the fretting had made Ericka tired, so she’d already gone to bed promising to talk some sense into us in the morning. But the operation had already begun.

  “Maybe he forgot?”

  “Probably didn’t.”

  Ade thought for a second, before shrugging. “Maybe it doesn’t matter to him anymore.”

  “Probably does.”

  “Maybe ass matters more.”

  Bingo. We waited. We stayed awake for two hours, but Ade’s phone didn’t buzz.

  “He probably doesn’t even remember you.” I crossed my legs on her bed. “No offense.”

  Ade grimaced. “Ew, none taken.”

  We were about to move on to plan B when, at precisely half-past six, a text came in:

  Always room 4 more. Come on down.

  “Really now.” Ade shuddered. “Ew.”

  Indeed shuddering was an appropriate response. I followed suit. “You know, he still probably doesn’t even remember you.”

  “He will.” Ade got up and, grabbing her hair straightener, started over to the bathroom.

  “Wait!” I leapt up and followed her. “We’re going now?”

  “Not ‘we’,” Ade replied, straightening out a row of curls. “Me.”

  I watched as smoke curled off her hair, fogging up the bathroom windows. “What? No way, we’re doing this together. We have to!”

  With a sigh, Ade placed the straightener on the sink and turned to me. “Dee, there’s no way I’m letting you go anywhere near the psychopath from this day forward.”

  “You think I want you going anywhere near him?”

  Ade laughed. “Please. I can handle myself. Besides, you’ve been the one doing the heavy lifting all this time. It’s my turn. I promise I won’t actually kill him.” She winked as she picked the straightener up again, raising it to the opposite side of her head. “Trust me, kay? Let me do this.”

  Trust Ade. It was about time I did.

  An hour and a half later, Ade left the house looking gorgeous in a mauve bandage dress with her rolling charcoal hair and perfect eye-shadow. Seduce and destroy. Anton was a pig, so why not use his own logic against him?

  Less than an hour later, I got the call. “Got it.”

  “Really?” I stood at the door, watching Ericka load her baby into her Lincoln Town Car. “That quick?”

  “It wasn’t too hard to manage. There were like four girls already there. Half-dressed.”

  The driver cursed when his finger caught in one of the suitcase’s handles.

  “Ew, really?”

  “And I think he was slightly high. Wasn’t difficult at all to get what I needed.”

  I heard muted traffic in the background and guessed that Ade was in a cab. “You remembered, right?” I said in a hushed voice, so Ericka wouldn’t hear. “The smallest key on his key chain? Bronze?”

  “Yes, yes.” Ade laughed. “Like I said, mission accomplished.”

  The only way to break into Beatrice’s house without getting caught was to have a key. But stealing Anton’s would be too risky.

  So we were going to replicate it instead.

  “I told you this clay stuff worked,” Ade said. She was probably referring to the fresh modeling clay she’d bought on the way to Anton’s. “It’s super easy to make an imprint. All you have to do is use your thumbs to keep the pressure even and presto, home invasion.”

  I probably should have been a little more worried about her knowing that. Oh well.

  “Thank God I barely had to touch that skeez. He was so busy with the other girls, he didn’t even notice when I left. It was a little pathetic, actually.”

  “So now what?” I said as the driver took his seat.

  I sort of loved how the mischief slipped into Ade’s voice when she answered. “Now for phase two.”

  Right, then. “Ericka, wait up,” I called, hopping down the steps. It was time to bring her in.

  “So I talked to Daisy Bennett,” Ericka said over the phone.

  “Who?”

  “Daisy Bennett: daughter of the cosmetics mogul… Her mother knows Beatrice.”

  All I needed to know. “And? What did she say?”

  I heard François cooing over the phone, happy, perhaps, to be back in Manhattan where the bathwater was properly prepared by maids who could probably stand to be paid a little better. “There’s some gala going tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Another party. God, don’t you people do anything else?”

  “What, you mean something potentially beneficial to society and the people who live in it?” It was rare, hearing that wry spark in her voice. It was a little amazing.

  “Ah to be rich and self-absorbed. So?”

  “Daisy said she’d be there for a while. It’ll give you some time.” Ericka sighed just as Ade bustled through the door, shutting it behind her with an excited click. “I hope you’re aware of how ludicrous this whole thing is.” Pearl-clutching Ericka was back, right on schedule. Ade winked at me and set her tote bag down on the table next to me. “I mean don’t you need a locksmith to make a new key from an imprint? But a locksmith wouldn’t do it unless he had the original key to make sure you’re not doing something–”

  Ade plucked it out of her purse: a shiny, brand new key courtesy of her shady friend who she didn’t see today, nor has she ever met, for that matter – if anyone asked. It was a perfect replica.

  “Illegal?” I finished for her, grinning from ear to ear.

  I could practically hear Ericka pursing her lips from here. “Promise me you guys will be careful.”

  “Right. And you keep an eye on Beatrice at the gala. She leaves, let us know.”

  The next day, I was a bundle of nerves. Excited. Anxious. A little nauseous.

  “I see her,” said Ericka over the phone. “B. She just walked in.”

  “OK.”

  “It’s ‘copy that’, damn it,” Ade hissed at me as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. “Look Dee, do it right or don’t do it at all.”

  I rolled my eyes. Ade and I stood in front of Beatrice’s million dollar townhouse. We’d gotten there late, but only because Ade couldn’t find her sunglasses. She finally did, along with those ridiculous half-gloves I’d worn at the masquerade. At the very least I’d convinced her not to wear a black jumpsuit – though the part about not leaving any prints was probably a good idea.

  Ericka was at the gala, our point man. Ade and I had worn our best outfits without being too dressy. It was the easiest way to blend in: if anyone saw us, they’d probably assume we belonged here. Besides, that girl in a cute gray corset dress couldn’t possibly be illegally breaking into someone’s townhouse, right?

  Ade shoved the key inside the lock and with a quick twist we broke into Beatrice’s townhouse.

  “Damn.” Ade shut the door behind her, her eyes tracing the gold rim on the French doors that separated the foyer from what I was assuming was the dining room – or living room? Dressing room? This place was definitely built to have rooms.

  “I know. OK, it’ll be best if we split up.” I lifted the phone back up to my ear. “Ericka, text me with updates on where B is. That way Ade and I can communicate over the phone while we’re searching the house.”

  “OK. Remember, the gala isn’t that far away from where you are now, so you’d better… Oh!” And then suddenly Ericka’s voice changed. The nervous tremor in her voice dissolved with a quick breathy laugh. “Frank, Nina, darling how are you?” The phone clicked off amidst the first round of cheek-kisses. It was like flicking a switch: the survival tactic a Br
ooklyn girl needed to learn before braving any socialite ball of the Upper East. Looked like Ericka had learned it well.

  “OK.” I looked from the staircase to the French doors. “If you were the Queen of Darkness and you were holding some poor boy’s feathers hostage, where you would keep them?”

  “God, this one banister probably costs more than our whole shitty house; there are like little designs in the wood... is that handcrafted?”

  “Ade!”

  “OK, OK!” Ade rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know. It’d have to be somewhere Hyde couldn’t find it easily.”

  Maybe. Though I wondered if the loyalty curse kept swans from even seeking them out.

  “Let’s just look everywhere. I’ll take upstairs you take… whatever’s here. Just make sure that you put everything back where you found it.”

  Ade nodded and we parted. I climbed the staircase. The living room looked somehow less vile without Beatrice and Hyde lying half-naked on the couch.

  Beatrice and Hyde.

  I shuddered at the thought, but shook it away. Hurling on the floor would leave DNA evidence. I slipped on the white tiles as I ran over to the couches; five of them, all white, of course. I checked underneath them. It was worth a shot: back home the world underneath the couch was a black hole that had sucked up every pencil I’d ever owned.

  “Damn it.” Nothing.

  My phone rumbled with a text from Ericka. B still in sight. Don’t take your time.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered, checking underneath the smooth ottoman by the low chestnut wood table. Posies soaked in a vase next to a bowl of fresh fruit that looked more for decoration than eating. Three magazines, all of them Bella, were stacked one on top of the other in order of their publication dates. None even a hair out of place. “Lord,” I breathed.

  “There’s, like, no food in this kitchen!” Ade hissed from the other end of the receiver. “I mean seriously. I see probiotic yogurt and celery sticks in the fridge and that’s it.”

  “I can see myself in the floor.” I peered down at my reflection before heading past one of the two fireplaces. “This place is more sterile than a surgical knife.”