Serafina and the Seven Stars

by Robert Beatty

  As Braeden reached out and held her arm, he said, “We need to find my aunt and uncle….”

  “And my pa…” she said, her voice trembling.

  As they went into the Library, they saw that it, too, had been severely damaged, but like the other rooms, it was empty of living souls.

  “Where is everyone?” Braeden asked. “Did they all get away?”

  “If they did, they should have been back by now.”

  “Let’s try the other end of the house,” he said unsteadily.

  Staying close to each other, they walked back toward the Main Hall. They checked the Winter Garden, the Billiard Room, the Banquet Hall, the Gun Room, the Salon, the Breakfast Room, the Butler’s Pantry, and all the other rooms on the first floor.

  Normally filled with bustling maids, hurrying footmen, relaxing guests, and countless other people going about their business, it was so eerily peculiar to find it so quiet.

  “In all the time I’ve been at Biltmore, I’ve never seen it empty before,” Braeden said in a daze.

  “Come on, let’s check upstairs,” she said. “There’s got to be someone.”

  They moved quickly now, checking room after room, and they started calling out. “Hello, is anyone here?”

  “Mr. Vanderbilt, are you here?” Serafina shouted, but her voice just echoed across the hard marble floors and limestone walls.

  “What about the dogs?” Braeden said. “Gidean!” he shouted. “Come on, boy! Gidean!”

  “Cedric!” Serafina shouted.

  But no dogs came to their call.

  “What about the stables?” Braeden asked.

  They ran upstairs, out through the Porte Cochere, through the stable courtyard, and into the stable itself. The normally perfectly pristine brick floors were cracked in multiple places and scattered with hay, horse dung, and hurriedly discarded equipment. The cream porcelain-tile walls were scuffed with marks.

  “It looks like there was a battle here, too,” Braeden said gravely.

  But what truly shocked her was that the sounds of their movement and their words echoed in the emptiness of the place.

  Every coach, carriage, and cart was gone, and all the horse stalls were empty. Every last harness horse, sport horse, trail horse, draft horse, and pony had been taken.

  Serafina heard a sound just ahead, a faint shuffling noise.

  “Wait,” Serafina said, touching Braeden’s arm to keep him still. “Listen….”

  When she heard the shuffling again, she moved toward it.

  “Be careful,” Braeden whispered.

  She stepped into the dark stall that it was coming from.

  But as she moved through the darkness, she heard a single plaintive, desperate meow.

  She found Smoke curled up in the hay in the back corner of the stall.

  “It’s all right, Smoke, I’ve got ya now,” she said as she lifted the frightened gray cat into her arms.

  “At least somebody’s here,” Braeden said in relief, and then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he said, “I’m going to check out back.”

  Serafina set Smoke down and followed Braeden to the rear of the stable, and then into the dry lot behind it.

  There was a paddock there, with a single powerful black thoroughbred inside it.

  The horse neighed when it saw them.

  “It’s good to see you, my friend,” Braeden said happily as he walked toward his old companion.

  Someone had left them a horse.

  Braeden walked toward the horse and, in one quick, graceful motion, swung up onto its back.

  “Come on,” he said, extending his hand to her.

  Serafina’s eyes widened in surprise. Braeden knew full well that she had never ridden one of the great hoof-stompers, and he knew full well that she had always been frightened of them, but here he was offering his hand to her.

  She hesitated a little, but then, feeling a rush of excitement, she grasped his hand and leapt up behind him. As she wrapped her arms around his torso, the horse lunged forward with startling speed.

  “My uncle would never leave us behind, and neither would your pa,” he shouted over the clattering of the horse’s hooves as they crossed through the courtyard. “Now hang on!”

  With the slightest nudge of Braeden’s legs, the horse seemed to know exactly what he wanted and burst into a gallop. Serafina felt the push of the movement against her body, and the undulation of the horse’s gait as it ran. She clung to Braeden, her hair whipping behind her, the wind brushing her cheeks as they sped across the fields.

  The clear Southern sky glowed blue over the mountains as they rode, and the orange blaze of the rising sun began to come into view. More and more, she could feel the warmth of its rays on her cheeks.

  She remembered the previous year, before she had become known to the Vanderbilts, watching the young master running across these fields on his horse. She remembered longing for a friend, someone to talk to, someone she could count on. And here she was, running across the very same fields with him.

  “There!” Braeden shouted and pointed.

  Way across the open land, on a distant hilltop, Serafina saw a mounted search party. It was a group of men on horseback, with the lean black shape of Gidean and the brown-and-white Cedric running with them. She could make out Mr. Vanderbilt and several other men. She even spotted Nolan, the young stable boy. And there, in the brightness of the sun, was Jess Braddick on a new horse, with her rifle in her hand. It brought Serafina such relief to see them all, to see them safe and fighting strong.

  Then she spotted the figure of one more man, riding one of the estate’s large, sorrel-coated Belgian draft horses. He was a stout and heavy man, more used to stomping through the machine rooms of the basement in his thick boots than sitting in a saddle atop a horse in the sunlight, but there he was.

  Tears welled up in her eyes. After all that had happened, after all she had done, and after all he had seen, she was still his daughter. And he had come out in search of her.

  In the days that followed, there were solemn funerals for Mr. Pratt, who had been killed by the doppelgänger, Mr. Doddman, who had been struck by one of Diana’s deadly arrows, and for all the others who had passed away.

  She had heard that Lieutenant Kinsley was recovering well at the hospital in Asheville, and she was looking forward to his return to Biltmore.

  I’ll see you at dinner, he had said, and she was going to make sure he kept that promise.

  Over time, most of the servants who had escaped the attack returned to Biltmore, and the effort to clean up and restore the estate began, everyone working in their own way to bring life back to normal again.

  Mrs. Vanderbilt returned with Baby Nell, and several additional members of her and her husband’s family came down from New York for an extended visit. The autumn shooting had passed, but a few new guests began to arrive—a famous painter who hoped to capture the beauty of the Southern mountains, a naturalist who was studying species of trees, and a writer who needed a quiet place to work on his novel.

  Colonel Braddick, Jess’s father and her last living relative, had been killed at the estate, so with Mr. Vanderbilt’s permission, Jess remained at Biltmore while the authorities determined what should become of her. There was talk of sending her to the orphanage in Asheville, or to an institution in the North. There was even talk that she might return to Africa, where she had spent much of her life. No one was quite sure where she should go. Serafina, for her part, just wanted her new friend to find a home.

  Almost immediately after the patterns of life began to return to normal, Mr. Vanderbilt organized the destruction of the statues littering the Esplanade, and commissioned new sculptors, stonemasons, and craftsmen to come to Biltmore and restore the estate to its previous artistic glory. He replaced the Joan of Arc statue, the Saint Louis statue, the lions near the front doors, and many of his other favorites. But he did not replace the wyvern, the winged lion, the bronze statue of himself, or the nastiest of
the gargoyles, saying, “I’m drawn to a friendlier sort of company these days.”

  But now, for reasons that Mr. Vanderbilt never spoke of, he had the new Diana statue made with a trusty dog at her side instead of a white deer. And although the new Diana did have a quiver of arrows on her back, she no longer held a bow in her hand with which to shoot them.

  Serafina, for her part, began to settle in to her new life at Biltmore, enjoying the gentle routine of both the day and the night. She often ran through the forest with her brother and sister like she had before, leaping mountain streams and racing through the meadows. And she enjoyed her time in the house as well.

  She had always loved her pa, and her pa had always loved her, but her pa knew her now in ways that he had never known her before—in all her forms—and it brought a great joy to her heart.

  Jess, her comrade-in-arms during the battle against the Seven Stars, knew of her abilities as well. But Essie, Mr. and Mrs. Vanderbilt, and the other residents of the house thought of her as just a girl, and that was fine by her.

  Late at night, she would often lie in her panther form on the balcony outside the nursery, her black silhouette nearly invisible in the darkness and her yellow eyes watching over the grounds. Sometimes, when no one else was around, she would play with little Baby Nell. She never told anyone, but Serafina was pretty sure that Cornelia’s first word was kitty.

  One afternoon, Serafina began pacing in her bedroom on the second floor, jumpy as an anxious cat. Essie had helped her wash her hair and laced her into the new dress that Mrs. Vanderbilt had given her. But Serafina still didn’t feel ready.

  “Don’t fret, he’ll be here soon,” Essie said encouragingly, but Serafina wasn’t so sure. She just kept pacing. Even Smoke meowed to her from his spot on the windowsill, wondering what had gotten into her.

  Finally, there was a light rapping at the door.

  “I told you, didn’t I,” Essie said happily. “Now you stay right there like a proper lady, and I’ll get the door for you.”

  Essie opened the door, quickly bowed, and invited Braeden into the room. He was smartly dressed in one of his light brown jackets, with a high white collar and matching kerchief in his pocket.

  “I hope I’m not too early,” he said cheerfully.

  “You’re right on time, Master Braeden,” Essie said, leading him into the center of the room, where a number of soft, comfortable chairs encircled a low table. Essie had set up a formal English-style tea, complete with a white tablecloth, fine porcelain cups, white cloth napkins, silver spoons, and a pyramid of scones and tea cakes with clotted cream and an assortment of jams alongside.

  “This looks good,” Braeden said, and then, glancing at Essie playfully, he added, “Eh, the battle in the house was pretty frightening, wasn’t it?”

  Essie narrowed her eyes at him, as if she was pretty sure he was up to some kind of mischief.

  “Did you see that big black panther? Amazing, wasn’t it?”

  “Braeden Vanderbilt!” Essie scolded him, quite happily, using his name to his face for the first time in her life. “You stop that right now!”

  “Why, what are you talking about?” Braeden said with exaggerated innocence, but laughing all the while.

  “I’ve brushed that lovely black hair enough times that I would recognize it just about anywhere, so don’t think you’re foolin’ anyone with this silly talk, pretending that I don’t know! I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck!”

  When Essie glanced at Serafina, she winked and smiled, and Serafina smiled in return, happy that her friend had surmised the truth.

  “Believe me, Essie,” Braeden said, holding up his hands in a gesture of abject surrender. “I know I’m not fooling anyone.”

  Finally, Braeden turned to Serafina.

  “Hello, Braeden,” Serafina said quietly, stepping forward, and feeling oddly flushed at the sight of him. She’d seen this boy battling black cloaks and white deer, climbing into the attics of Biltmore’s highest towers, crawling through the mud of the vilest swamps, digging graves in the pouring rain, riding his horse through forest fires, dangling from the talons of wyverns, and all manner of other activities. But for some reason, this moment made her heart thump in her chest.

  She and Braeden slowly, almost awkwardly, took their seats at the table and tried not to look at each other for too long as Essie poured the tea into their cups, serving them in the manner of a proper English-style afternoon tea, just as she would for Biltmore’s finest of guests.

  As Serafina sipped her tea, she could feel Smoke lying on her feet beneath the table. And Gidean, Braeden’s dog, sat at his side.

  A boy and his dog, and a girl and her cat, she thought, and smiled a little.

  “What’s so funny?” Braeden asked as he slipped several of his tea cakes to Gidean, who gobbled them down appreciatively.

  Noticing this, Smoke gave a little chirp of a purr and gazed up at her, making it clear he wouldn’t mind a dab of the clotted cream.

  Slowly, as she and Braeden began to relax, she came to realize that they were actually enjoying a lovely and delightful afternoon—the so-called “peace and quiet” that she had once scorned. It was unlike any they had ever spent together.

  But near the end of it, when Essie stepped out of the room for a moment, Braeden brought up a subject that immediately darkened the mood.

  “My uncle said he wants to talk to me tonight about New York,” he said glumly.

  “He’s going to send you back,” she said, feeling her heart sink as she said it.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I think you’re right.”

  She raised her eyes and looked at him across the tea table. “But if you have to go,” she said, trying to stay strong and positive for her own sake as much as his, “please know that I understand. I know it’s important. I know it more than ever now.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I am a fighter, a warrior, a catamount, a black panther…but the truth is, I didn’t defeat this enemy with my teeth and claws. And when I think about it, I didn’t defeat the Man in the Black Cloak that way, either.”

  “I don’t follow what you’re saying.”

  “Last year, we only figured out who the Man in the Black Cloak was because of the Russian words we learned in the Library, do you remember? We only managed to survive against the sorcerer Uriah because of what we learned of Biltmore’s past. And we only figured out how to defeat the magic of the Seven Stars by what we read in your uncle’s books. It took knowledge to solve these mysteries and defeat these enemies. Not just bravery and determination, not just sharp claws and muscled limbs, but knowledge. That’s what made the difference. If we’re going to succeed in whatever we set out to do with our lives, we need to learn, Braeden, we need to learn everything we can. For me, as the Guardian of Biltmore, it will literally be the difference between life and death. And the same is true for you. You’ve got to learn all you can.”

  Braeden nodded solemnly, as if he knew what she was saying was right, but he didn’t like what it meant for the two of them. And then he looked up at her. “Do you remember that story from the Bible where God asks Job if he can bind the chains of Pleiades or loose the cords of Orion?”

  “I guess it means that sometimes there are just things outside our control,” Serafina said.

  “Right,” he said, “sometimes there are. But in this case, I keep thinking that maybe we can bind the chains of Pleiades and loose the cords of Orion.”

  Serafina smiled, not sure what he was talking about, but liking the sound of it.

  “I think I might have an idea,” he said.

  The following morning, Mr. Vanderbilt asked Serafina and Braeden to join him in the Observatory at the top of the house’s front tower, which he sometimes used as his private office.

  “Have a seat,” he said in a serious tone to Braeden, gesturing toward the leather chairs in front of his desk. “We need to talk about your schooling.”

  Serafina gl
anced at Braeden, encouraging him to say what he had come to say.

  “I don’t wish to be disrespectful, Uncle,” Braeden said, “but I would like to present an idea to you.”

  “And what is it about?” Mr. Vanderbilt said, clearly unwilling to be derailed from the matter at hand.

  “Three years ago, when my family passed away in the fire…I became my father’s only living descendant.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “So that means that I may have certain resources….”

  “You have significant resources,” Mr. Vanderbilt said. “I am the executor of your father’s estate, and you are its sole living beneficiary. It’s being held in a trust for you until you reach the age of majority.”

  “Until I’m eighteen.”

  “That’s right. It’s my job as executor to make sure that you are safe and taken care of until that time. And I have been doing my best to do that. Although, sometimes, it feels suspiciously like you and your young companion here are taking care of me rather than the other way around.”

  “When I was on the train going up to New York, I had an idea.”

  “From what I’ve heard, it was to leap off the train and buy a horse with the money I gave you for school,” Mr. Vanderbilt said, rather sternly.

  “Yes, that’s true,” Braeden admitted, stuttering a little. “But first, I was thinking about Baby Nell.”

  “What about her?” Mr. Vanderbilt said.

  “I was wondering where she will go to school.”

  “She’s six months old,” Mr. Vanderbilt said bluntly, as if he sensed that a challenge was being laid out before him.

  “I mean when she’s six or seven years old, and it’s time for her to go to school,” Braeden said. “Are you going to send her to New York?”

  Serafina felt her throat go dry. She could only imagine how Braeden must feel at this moment, confronting his uncle in this way.

  “Aunt Edith started a school here in Asheville for the local girls to learn weaving and sewing skills so that they can get jobs and earn their own money,” Braeden said. “And at the church you built in Biltmore Village, you started a school for all of the local children to attend.”