Golden Girl

by Sarah Zettel

  “You said you wanted to help me.” I followed him, and Jack followed me. He left the chair, though.

  “I did.” Shake picked up his battered hat off the dresser and settled it on his head. “Before. Now things have changed.”

  What things? I bit my lip. I did not like this. Something had changed with Shake, and it was something important. Was it possible he hadn’t been as sound asleep as he was letting on? That he’d done something or seen somebody that had changed his ideas about what was going on?

  “I’ve got a summons from the Seelie king,” I said out loud.

  “I’d be surprised if you didn’t, considering you broke into his castle with the intent of stealing his property. In fact, I’m surprised it’s just a summons.”

  I almost asked how he knew that, but then I remembered I’d slept since I got back. Of course he knew what I’d done. He’d seen it in my head.

  “Had you been willing to trust me for two seconds, I could have explained. There are laws, Callie, and when you break them, you pay. It’s an eye for an eye with us, Callie.” He touched his scar. “You went into their territory without an invitation. You, or your stand-in, has to pay the forfeit. Or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “War.” He drew the word out long and slow, but not as if he was afraid. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue. “War between the courts, in which you will be the first casualty, because that summons will kill you if you don’t offer a life in answer for what you’ve done.” He smiled at me, ice cold and far too happy. “You can feel it already, can’t you?”

  I could. The itch had gone down beneath my blood now. It was gnawing at my fairy magic.

  Shake faced the mirror again, straightening his lapels and adjusting the angle of his broken hat. “Of course, since you won’t let them keep either your mama or your papa, it’s going to be war anyway, because your grandparents will not let the Seelies have your special power for themselves.” He nodded at his reflection as if satisfied. “The only thing for a smart fellow to do is get out of the way and wait for it all to blow over.”

  And wait for it all to blow over. The words echoed around my aching head. He meant to let the Seelies and the Unseelies fight it out over me and what I’d done, so he could be the last man standing. I gaped at him. I’d made a mistake. A big one. Another one.

  Shake tipped his hat at me. “Good-bye, Callie. Mr. Holland.”

  “No, wait. You said you wanted to see me on the Midnight Throne.”

  “That was before. Now I don’t need your help, which is just as well for me, because you’re going to be killed.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure,” said Jack. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded and eyes narrowed. “We could pull out of this,” he went on. “We’ve done it before. Callie’s still got her power and that prophecy. She could make a deal with the king and queen.” Jack waited until Shake had turned all the way toward him. “Or she could make a deal with you.”

  Shake hesitated. He’d thought he was facing just a couple of scared human kids, but now he wasn’t so sure. “What kind of deal?”

  I hesitated. If I did this now, I did it for good. “My father, he abdicated, right? That left me as heir to the throne.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Here’s the deal. You help me find my parents and bring them out safe from wherever they’re at, and I’ll abdicate as heir of the Midnight Throne.”

  Shake’s smile drew out long, slow, and dangerous, like a snake coming out of its hole. His good eye sparkled bright in the dim light of that bare room, and I shivered. I felt him turning the idea over in his mind, felt the stumps and scars of the magic they’d cut out of him trying to stretch toward the idea.

  “Almost, little niece. Almost. If you’d made this offer earlier, it might have worked. But I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

  “What do you mean? It’s what you want. I can feel it.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s what I want, but why should I bind myself to you with a promise when I can rally my friends and just wait you out? Once you’re dead, I’m the heir, free and clear. And if by some stroke of your bad luck you live …” He leaned close. “I should thank you, Callie. You gave me a chance to watch you up close and see all the weaknesses your mother bred into you. You’re no match for me, little niece, and you never will be.” He pinched my cheek, but snatched his hand back before Jack could swing at him. “I’ll be waiting for you as well, young Mr. Holland.”

  He stepped backward, into the gate I’d left open. And he was gone.

  22

  Climbin’ Up the Mountain

  I collapsed onto the bed. Jack was cussing and pounding his fist into his palm, pacing around the little space between the door and the dresser. I couldn’t move. Perspiration poured down my face. With each drop, the itch settled deeper. It liked being inside me and intended to make itself at home, from the soles of my feet straight through to the crown of my head. It twitched and circled like a dog finding a comfy spot to lie down. I was bleeding through my skin from my scratching. I was bleeding through my spirit from the relentless, deepening itch, and it was only going to get worse.

  “I can’t stand it, Jack,” I whispered. “I have to go.”

  Jack stopped in mid-cuss and drew himself up. He took in a deep breath and let it out.

  “Then we go,” he said. “You can take us there, right?”

  I could, easily. That was not going to be the problem. “I don’t know what’ll happen, Jack. I have no idea what they can do to us.”

  “So what else is new?” He pulled his old newsboy cap out of his back pocket, slapped it against his leg a couple of times to knock out the creases, and settled it on his head. “Make sure it’s through the front door, though. I’m sick and tired of sneaking around.”

  And that was that. I got to my feet and walked us back into my old room. There I gripped Jack’s hand and took my own deep breath. Together we stepped sideways, turned in place, rounded a corner, and stepped down.

  Daylight blossomed around us, but no warmth. A cool wind blew slow but steady, carrying off the sun’s heat. Jack and I staggered and caught each other. We’d come to rest in front of a white stone wall, set with lampposts and miniature towers and planted all around with roses. A pair of high, arched gates had been set in its center. They reminded me of the ones in front of MGM, except these were gold instead of iron, and they were shut tight. On the other side, the hill had been planted thick with flowers and trees, and set with marble stairs and gravel paths. We weren’t quite at the peak. There was still a long slope up, and it was topped by somebody’s fantasy of a Spanish castle. It had a pair of bell towers, arched windows like you’d see in a cathedral, and more frills and trimmings on its white walls than Ivy’s bedroom had ruffles. Behind us, a white road wound from the gates down the hill, but we couldn’t see very far, because a fog was rising off the mountainside, blotting out all the world below.

  The wind blew again, curdling that pure white fog and bringing it closer.

  “Well, there you are!” called a voice from the other side of the gates.

  The trim, smiling woman from the picture on Ivy’s mantel trotted down one of the marble staircases. She wore a red-and-white striped top and a long red skirt that wrapped around her hips and tied at the waist. A floppy white hat covered her blond hair, and white sandals decorated her dainty feet. She looked cool, poised, and sophisticated as she sashayed down that path toward the golden gates. There must have been a switch on the other side, because when she laid her hand on the white wall, the gates swung slowly open.

  I steeled myself and walked forward. Jack came up right behind me until we both stood under the archway.

  “I’m—” I started.

  “Callie LeRoux.” The woman took both my hands and gave me a peck on the cheek before I could stop her. “Of course you are. And this must be Jack Holland. Marion Davies.” Jack shook her hand, but he was looking sideways at me as he did. “Ivy sa
id you’d gotten our invitation. Please, do come in.” She swept her hand back.

  “Thank you.”

  The second I stepped into that garden, the itching stopped. I just about fell over. The burn and the bleeding vanished and my skin was my own again. Miss Davies smiled brightly, and another gust of cool wind curled around our ankles.

  “Where’s Ivy?” asked Jack.

  “She’s with Mr. Hearst and the others,” said Miss Davies. “Come along. Everybody’s just dying to meet you both.” She flashed us a final bright smile and trotted back up the stairs, as though gravity didn’t matter to her. Jack and I had no choice but to follow.

  If anybody’d tried to tell me about the garden she led us into, I wouldn’t have believed them. I didn’t even know so many kinds of flowers existed in the world, let alone that somebody could think to plant them on a mountainside, or create all the different grottoes and alcoves and arbors to hold them.

  “This is real, right?” whispered Jack. “This isn’t the fairy country?”

  I nodded. This was real. And it wasn’t just a space of flowers and twisting paths. It seemed like under every bush there was a different statue. There were Greek gods, lambs and fawns, and old Romans. But mostly there were women. Naked women carved in marble. The lampposts were shaped like golden women, also naked. Women’s faces decorated the walls around the beds of greenery. Tiny women lifted up their hands to hold up benches where people could make themselves comfortable.

  Somebody had bought and built every square inch of this, all these statues and gold-trimmed marble buildings and acres of gardens. They’d created a paradise, walled it round, and locked it behind golden gates, way up here in the hills, where they never heard about the Depression or the Dust Bowl or anything else bad in the world. Where they didn’t have to care about anything they didn’t want to.

  “Something’s going on, though,” I whispered back. It brushed at me like the cool wind and curdled like the fog. The feeling didn’t seem to be coming from any one direction. It was all around, and the inside of my mind—still rubbed raw from the summons—prickled and shifted, trying to get away from it.

  Jack nodded and set his sights right between Miss Davies’s shoulder blades. He lengthened his stride so he could get right up next to her, but he also shoved his hands in his pockets, making himself look nonchalant.

  “So,” he said, looking up at the gardens rising around us, “this is all Mr. Hearst’s property, right?”

  “Of course, dear,” she said. “But he frequently allows his special friends the use of the house and grounds.”

  “I’ll bet he’s met all kinds of people,” Jack went on in his best gosh-wow voice. “Presidents, maybe kings, even.”

  “Oh, everyone who’s anyone comes to San Simeon. Kings, even.” She said it with a big wink. “Many of them come to regard this as their second home.”

  It made plenty of sense. This place was beyond beautiful. It was perfect. It would attract the Seelies the way jam did yellow jackets. Only they weren’t sneaking any more than we were. They’d moved right in.

  Miss Davies kept on talking to Jack about the size of the grounds, all the trees and plants carted in specially for the gardens, and how Mr. Hearst had searched the world for the most beautiful art and antiques to bring back and lock up here—not that she put it that way, of course. But the farther in I went, the more sour I felt. I didn’t like this place. It was so elaborate, so perfect and lush, it didn’t feel like there was any room for me here. I wasn’t pretty enough. I wasn’t famous enough or rich enough. Any one of these marble statues was worth twenty times as much as me.

  It hit me Miss Davies was doing this on purpose. She was leading Jack and me up these garden paths with the idea of making us feel small and poor. My temper started to smolder, and for the first time since we’d come through the front gate, I felt warm.

  Just for spite, I kicked at the pedestal of the next naked statue we passed.

  Help me, sobbed a lady’s voice.

  I jerked back and whirled around.

  I want to go home, she pleaded.

  My magic opened. I couldn’t help it. Now I heard all the voices. They were everywhere, crowding in on me, clamoring for attention. Dozens of whispers. Hundreds.

  I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.

  I just wanted …

  I wanted …

  I just wished … Please …

  Help me. Somebody help me.

  I slammed myself shut. Jack was staring at me. Miss Davies was smiling brightly, patiently.

  “They’re people.” I turned in a tight circle, staring at the beautiful garden with its grottoes and arbors and statues. Hundreds and hundreds of statues, faces, mosaics, and murals tucked cunningly among the vines and trees. “They’re all people.”

  Miss Davies shrugged. “They made bargains they couldn’t follow through on. It was their own fault.” She waved dismissively at the garden.

  My hands began to shake. Jack’s face flushed scarlet as the reality sank in. They were people, people who’d wished and wanted. They’d wanted fame and luxury and beauty, and they’d gotten it, imprisoned in these gardens. But why? I turned around again. What was it all for? I didn’t dare open my magic again to try to find out. The voices and their sorrow would drown me.

  “What kind of bargain did you make?” I croaked at the pretty, smiling woman who led us through this beautiful prison.

  “You wouldn’t understand, dear.” She shook her head and tucked one curl back behind her ear. “You’re still young. But one day you’ll get tired of being poor and dirty. You’ll remember that every woman can be a queen if she really wants to, and you’ll make your own bargain.” She looked up at the statue reclining beside us, and the sneer on her lips was the nastiest thing I’d seen yet. But it was gone with the next breath, and she turned up that path like nothing was wrong. I didn’t move.

  “Where’s my mother?”

  Miss Davies sighed. “She’s with Mr. Hearst, as is your father. I told you, Callie. Everyone is waiting for you.”

  There were more staircases after that, and more beautiful arbors and flowerbeds, but I couldn’t tell one from another anymore. Miss Davies hurried us along. Jack had come back to my side, his face still flushed. I could feel him turning plans over in his head, wondering which he could make work. But he couldn’t settle on anything any more than I could. The scale of the wrong done here, the number of prisoners trapped by twisted promises and betrayed wishes—it was too huge for either of us to wrap our brains around.

  At last we reached the top of the hill and crossed into the shadow of the Spanish-style castle with its pure white walls, its towers, and its terra-cotta roofs. I thought we’d be going inside, but Miss Davies took us in the other direction, toward a kind of broad hollow. The view would have been breathtaking if it hadn’t been blotted out by the fog that churned and crawled beyond the terrace. The hollow itself was an expanse of pure white marble decorated by yet more sculptures.

  A pool of turquoise water spread in the center of the marble deck. If Roman emperors had had swimming pools, this was what they would’ve looked like. It was even bigger than the pool where we’d almost gotten killed by the lifeguard. Marble columns and temples surrounded it, and a waterfall poured down into it. A crowd of men and women were milling around the deck, and they all turned toward us as we approached. But we didn’t see a single face. The whole crowd was dressed for a masquerade, with blank-eyed masks made of feathers and sequins and dangling beads. They looked like birds. They looked like demons and insects and angels. A pair in the corner wore glittering emerald crocodile masks. I didn’t even need to open my magic to know we weren’t seeing the human guests this time. These were all fairies, come to court to watch my punishment.

  When we reached the deck, the crowd parted to make an aisle for us and Miss Davies. She walked through the fairy crowd calm, smiling and nodding as she passed—like the perfect party hostess. I found myself wondering if she co
uld really understand what she was seeing, or the kind of place she was in. Except she knew about the prisoners. She understood, all right. She just didn’t care.

  Curving staircases rose on either side of the waterfall, leading to a raised terrace. On a wide marble bench sat Mr. Hearst.

  I recognized him from Ivy’s photo, and from the nightmare my uncle had showed me. In real life, he was big and bluff and perfectly at ease. He had pockmarks on his face, a fleshy neck, and a potbelly under his spotless white trousers and white shirt. Which meant he had to be human. No Seelie would look like that.

  So where was the Seelie king?

  Ivy Bright stood beside Mr. Hearst and grinned. She looked perfect, of course, dressed in a pink version of Miss Davies’s outfit. As we walked across the pool deck down below her, she giggled.

  My parents were there too, as Miss Davies had promised. They’d been posed on the far side of the marble bench from Ivy, done up as Rags and Patches once again. My father was down on one knee holding out both hands. My mother was leaning over, ready to slap his face. Enchantment anchored them so tightly they couldn’t even draw breath.

  Miss Davies skipped up the stairs, as if she hadn’t just walked through about a half mile of garden. She leaned down and kissed Mr. Hearst and patted Ivy on the head. Ivy beamed like she was seeing an angel, and Miss Davies took her seat on the bench. None of them even looked at my parents.

  It was the last straw.

  Jack’s anger burned under his skin, and he wished with all his might there was something he could do. I took hold of the wish and the anger behind it and aimed my magic toward my parents.

  Nothing happened. My parents stayed where they were. I tried again and again, and still nothing. I didn’t feel blinded or smothered this time. It was simply that my wish had no more effect on the world around me than a normal girl’s would have.