by E. E. Holmes
The dining room had the same cathedral-like ceilings and dark wood paneling as the entrance hall, and a stone fireplace, big enough for Hannah and me to both stand in, dominated the far wall. On either side of the fireplace, a series of doors stood open, through which we could see a bustling kitchen staff clattering away at their work through clouds of steam. Women and men in crisp white uniforms darted in and out of these doors, carrying beautiful antique silver trays laden with sandwiches, pies, pastries, and salads, which they placed upon four long buffet tables. The rest of the room was set with about twenty-five smaller round tables, each set for eight diners. Groups of women were milling around them, flitting from table to table, some holding plates, others dainty teacups on saucers. From what I could tell, there was no rhyme or reason to who sat where; the room had been arranged, it seemed, to encourage socializing and mingling. Since Hannah and I decidedly sucked at both socializing and mingling, we made a beeline for the buffet and loaded up our plates. I didn’t know a lot about English food, but everything looked pretty familiar. I snagged a ham and cheese sandwich, a small garden salad, and a pastry-type thing that looked like it might have been filled with meat and vegetables. I reached for an apple just as a girl beside me did the same.
“Please pardon…” she began, but her voice trailed away as our eyes met. She was tall and willowy, with sleek black hair and a swanlike neck. She would have been stunning if a sour look hadn’t twisted her mouth into a severe little knot.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, as she released the apple. I offered it back out to her. “Here, you can have it.”
“No, please. You have it. I really don’t want it. It looks like it might be … rotten,” she said with a haughty toss of her head. Then she turned on her heel and walked away without putting a single piece of food on her plate. I watched her flounce purposefully over to one of the other tables and settle like a frost over the other girls congregated there. Within moments, all of their eyes were flickering in our direction like little forked tongues.
Hannah, who had been ladling soup from a large tureen, had not noticed the exchange. Conscious now of the hostile looks on the back of my neck, I picked my way over to a deserted table tucked in the corner by the windows. The place settings looked so delicate that I was almost afraid to touch anything on the table. By the time I’d convinced myself I couldn’t eat without touching my silverware, Hannah had already begun tearing her roll into tiny pieces and floating them in her soup like little starchy icebergs.
I kept my eyes on my food, but the atmosphere in the room was perceptibly changing. I could feel it, circulating like a cruel breeze from one end of the hall to the other. Keeping my head bent and my mouth busy chewing, I chanced a glance up through the curtain of my hair. At every table, whispering voices, pointing fingers, and staring faces.
My memory spiraled back to a dozen different school cafeterias in which I sat, a lone figure at a corner table which may as well have been placed center stage in the auditorium under a blinding spotlight. And it was dispiriting to see how little people changed from six years old to sixty, a span of time that could have revealed to them the mysteries of the universe, but still hadn’t taught them that openly pointing and staring at the new kid was rude and sophomoric.
Just as I was deciding whether to point this out at the top of my voice or just flip everyone a general but sincere middle finger, Karen walked in. She scanned the room for us and, I could tell at once from the stony look on her face, immediately processed the atmosphere. She barely lost a step though, and with a magnificent impression of indifference, she strolled casually over to our table and slid into the chair beside Hannah.
“Here you are,” she said, stealing a cherry tomato off of my plate and popping it into her mouth. “All unpacked, finding your way around by yourselves —I’m starting to think you girls don’t even need me here! Maybe I should just head back to Boston and stop cramping your style.”
I tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Sorry we didn’t wait for you. We were really hungry.”
“Don’t be silly, I’m only kidding. I’m glad you’re starting to feel at home.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I muttered.
Karen shot me a quizzical look and I gestured to the room at large. “Have you noticed they’ve set up a perimeter? We appear to be in quarantine.”
Karen closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath. Then she opened them again and gave us a rueful smile. “I was afraid that it might be like this, but I was hoping… ”
“Karen?”
We all turned. It was as though the girl I’d just met at the buffet table had instantly aged thirty years. Even her expression of thinly-veiled disdain was identical.
“Hello, Marion,” Karen greeted her in a diplomatic voice. “It’s been so long. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m well, thank you, though I must admit I’m a bit surprised to see you here,” Marion said in honeyed tones. “We weren’t sure after…recent events, if you’d be coming. This must be the new generation, then?” She inclined her head toward Hannah and me, looking us over for the first time. It could not have been more obvious that she was rather unimpressed with what she saw.
“Yes, these are Elizabeth’s girls, Hannah and Jessica,” Karen said, pointing us out. I nodded curtly to Marion. Hannah didn’t even look up from her soup, keeping her eyes firmly on the bits of roll swimming in the broth.
“Welcome to you both. I hope you enjoy your time here,” Marion said, without a trace of sincerity. “My daughter Peyton is right over there,” she added, waving toward the girl from the buffet table, who merely glared. “Her cousin Olivia is here too, my sister Claudia’s daughter.”
“She’s…very like you,” Karen said carefully. “So how have you been?”
“Busy as usual,” Marion replied, running a manicured finger lovingly over a large golden locket resting in the hollow of her throat. It was engraved with a triskele, the symbol of the Durupinen. “I’ve been traveling almost nonstop in preparation for tonight’s welcoming festivities; there’s just so much to organize, so many little details to oversee. The Council keeps my nose to the grindstone, dealing with all manner of things. Of course, now that one of our most pressing matters is resolved, perhaps things will lighten up.”
She looked pointedly at Hannah and me again. With a derisive laugh, Karen dropped her tactful air and crossed her arms.
“You know what, Marion? I’m actually not in the mood to play this particular game of social graces,” she said. “You and the other Council members can blame me all you want for the last eighteen years. I’ve explained everything to Finvarra, been as helpful and cooperative in every way I could from the moment that Elizabeth disappeared. She is satisfied that I have done my best to preserve our family’s legacy, and if my actions are good enough for her, they should certainly be good enough for you.”
A hush fell over the room as the surrounding women dropped the pretense that they weren’t paying attention to Karen and Marion’s conversation. Even Hannah looked up warily, her hands tensed against the table top as though readying herself to flee.
“Finvarra isn’t the only one who has opinions about your family,” Marion hissed. “You’ve disgraced your clan and neglected your sacred duties!”
“I’ve neglected nothing,” Karen said. “I care as much about our family’s duties as you do about yours.”
Marion let loose a laugh that was nearly a cackle. “Don’t you dare compare my family to yours! No member of my clan would dream of abandoning the Durupinen! We have upheld our laws for centuries!”
“Despite what you may think,” Karen interrupted, thrusting her chair away from the table and getting to her feet, “being a member of the Council does not give you the right to pass judgment on all those you deem beneath you. Nor does one scared girl’s mistake wipe out centuries of a clan’s devoted history.”
“Maybe it should!” Marion said.
“Well, then why
don’t you and your precious Council cronies have a vote on it!” Karen laughed.
Marion bristled as though Karen had just cursed at her. “I would think you would show a little more respect for the Council given the amount of hardship your family has put us through.”
“Oh, yes,” Karen scoffed, “Yes, all those extra meetings and votes, I’m sure it was just torture for you, Marion, I don’t know how you survived. I’d love to hear all about it, truly. But in the meantime, know this. These two girls,” and she pointed at us, “have been through hell and back because of Elizabeth’s decision. If anyone has reason to be angry, it’s them. But here they are, ready and willing to take up a burden they understand very little about. And I will not stand by and watch you, or anyone else here, punish them for their mother’s mistake. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
Marion swallowed whatever diatribe she was longing to hurl at Karen and instead, nodded imperiously. “Oh, yes. I think we know where you stand, Karen.”
“Lovely,” Karen said, settling back into her chair with every appearance of being completely at her ease. “Please feel free to report all the details of this little chat to the appropriate committees.”
Marion turned and marched away without another word.
“Friend of yours?” I said to break the loaded silence that followed.
Karen ground her teeth. “That woman,” she said, “has driven me to the brink of violence since I was eighteen years old. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever come closer to hitting someone in my life.”
“Not even Lucida?” I asked.
Karen poured herself some tea. She looked down into the cup as though wishing it were something a bit stronger, and then drained it. She looked around to make sure no one was in earshot before continuing. “It seems you’re going to learn this the hard way, so I might as well explain it so you know what you’re up against. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you earlier, but I hoped, foolishly, I suppose, that the Council would be a little more forgiving.”
“I think we got the gist of it,” I said, pushing my plate away, no longer remotely hungry. “Mom screwed up and everyone is pissed about it. They can’t take it out on her because she’s gone, so they’re taking it out on us instead.”
Hannah nodded in agreement, shredding another roll into a little heap of bread dust on the table top. She hadn’t touched her food either, except to destroy it.
“Yes, that is, as you say, the gist of it,” Karen said, “But it’s more complicated than that. There’s a hierarchy here, just like in any society. The Council members are elected to run things, and despite how I may have sounded to Marion just now, I don’t deny that their jobs are very important. There are twelve representatives, one from each of twelve different clans. Of course, there are more than twelve clans —there are dozens at Fairhaven Hall —but only twelve are honored with Council seats. Council members wear gold lockets to identify themselves; you probably saw the one that Marion was wearing. Celeste has one too, although she doesn’t feel the need to have it on constant and prominent display, like some members do.”
I looked around the room and spotted Marion at a table with six other women. All of them were wearing lockets and looking thick as thieves.
“Technically,” Karen continued, “any clan can be elected to the Council. Elections are held every five years, but it’s really all for show. The same twelve clans have held Council seats for the last four hundred years, simply passing the lockets from mother to daughter, from aunt to niece. The only change in all that time came eighteen years ago, when our family was thrown off the Council and a new clan took our place.”
“Our family was one of the twelve?” I asked, surprised.
“Oh, yes. Your grandmother was very proud of our position. She, like many still on the Council, felt that to be a member family made you practically royal. I’m sorry to say that she and many of the other families have abused their status over the years, seeking special consideration and offering political clout in return for favors and payment.”
Hannah frowned. “She took bribes from people?”
Karen nodded with a grimace. “It’s standard practice, I’m afraid. Politics are politics, no matter where you go, and there is always corruption to be found. But all the status and favors in the world couldn’t save our family from disgrace when Lizzie left. There were many who took great pleasure in seeing your grandmother dethroned, and I can tell you, she did not go quietly. She’d already been devastated by the loss of her husband, and then her daughter’s betrayal; losing the Council seat was the final blow. Her heart gave out only a few weeks later. And of course no one was happier to see her go than Marion’s clan, as they were the ones who finally clawed their way to the top to take our place.”
I couldn’t even begin to formulate a response. It was too much unpleasant information to process. I tried to swallow it down, chasing it with the ham and cheese sandwich, which I only ate because I knew that if I didn’t, I’d be ravenous later. No one else came over to talk to us, although Karen did exchange waves with a few people and excused herself a short time later to talk with Celeste and another older woman with short, spiky grey hair.
“You really should eat something,” I said to Hannah, who was now drawing shapes in the powdered remains of her bread.
“My soup is cold,” she replied, as though this ended all possibility of consuming food ever again. Her eyes looked glassy and her bottom lip trembled.
“I can get you some more.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want any.”
“Look, Hannah, it’s going to be okay,” I said, reaching out to touch her arm. She jerked it violently out of my reach. “They’ll get over it.”
“I never even knew her,” she whispered fiercely. “I never even knew her and she’s still ruining everything.” She stood abruptly. “I’m going to find Milo. I’ll see you back in the room.”
I watched her scurry away, my mouth open as though to call after her with the words that could make her stay, but they wouldn’t come. I had none.
I’d always known my mom was haunted. No matter how angry I was with her, no matter how tired I was of packing up the car or cleaning her up when she’d passed out on the floor, I always knew that there was something there, something I didn’t understand, that drove her to do the things she did. I was watching her every day, battling against it, fending it off for all she was worth. And so even on the days when she lost, I still gave her credit for fighting. Because on the days that she won, she was my whole world. She braided my hair and drew murals on the bedroom walls with me. When our car radio finally stopped working, she sang made-up songs to me, which she changed every time I pushed a defunct button. She poured salt into the sugar shakers at greasy all-night diners and we shook with silent giggles as the man behind us coughed and sputtered over his coffee. And late at night, in the middle of nowhere, she’d pull the Green Monster to the side of the road and shake me awake so that we could lie on the roof together and look at the stars. I had all of these wonderful memories to soften the bad ones, to heap like precious jewels onto the scales to balance out the mistakes and the weaknesses and the lies.
Hannah had a stranger’s name, typed onto a birth certificate, a gaping hole in her life where her mother ought to have been, and a legacy of terror, confusion, and abandonment.
And there wasn’t a damn thing I could say or do to change that.
Karen arrived beside me, interrupting my thoughts. “Where did Hannah go?”
“Back to the room.”
“How is she?”
“I don’t really know. She didn’t really want to talk about it. But I think we can both guess.”
Karen sighed. “I wish I could head back up with you. We had a lot of paperwork and details to get through this morning, and it took much longer than I expected. I have to go back for the removal of the Binding. I’ll see you shortly.”
“Good luck.”
I watched her go and then, tired of being
stared at like a sideshow oddity, I abandoned my half-eaten lunch and went after Hannah. By the time I’d caught up with her, she’d found Milo and was sitting with him on a stone landing, telling him all about Karen’s confrontation with Marion in the dining room.
“Glad to hear Karen has some claws tucked away for special occasions,” Milo said with approval. “Do you want me to go down and give ‘em hell for you, sweetness?”
Hannah shook her head.
“Pretty please? It’ll brighten my day to darken theirs, I promise you.”
“Probably not the best idea,” I said.
“I wasn’t asking you!” Milo shot at me.
“Yeah, but you heard Karen when we pulled up. They use wards to keep out hostile spirits. The last thing Hannah needs is you getting yourself labeled hostile and kicked out because you started harassing people.”
Milo considered this. “I hate to admit it, but you have a point there.”
“It happens occasionally,” I said.
We made the long trek back to our room in silence. As we turned the last corner to our hallway, I spotted the ghost of the little girl who had attacked me earlier, peeking around a pillar. I opened my mouth to call to her, but she shook her head and pointed to our door. Celeste was standing in front of it. Then the little ghost vanished around the corner.
“Hi, Celeste,” I called as we approached.
Celeste spun around, startled, her back pressed to our door, and quickly concealed her hands behind her. “Hello, girls. That was a quick lunch!”
“Yeah, well, the company left something to be desired,” I said darkly. “What are you doing up here? Were you looking for us?”
“I … uh, yes,” Celeste said. “I thought you might like a tour of the grounds. Are you up for a little field trip?”
I’d just noticed a bucket of soapy water on the floor by her feet. “What are you doing?” I asked her again, pointing to it.