The Dollhouse Romance

by Emily Asad

  “I’m sorry, George. Really, I am.”

  He pats my back as if I were a baby. “I’m sorry if I scared you, too. Well, maybe not. I think you need to understand fear in order to understand Phoebe.”

  David opens the front door a crack. “Mother says the pie’s ready.”

  “She’ll want to hear what happened,” George says.

  I glance up at David to gauge how much trouble waits for me inside. His teeth clench around a clove stem. He exhales so hard, it sound like a snarl.

  Great.

  The fragrance of warm nutmeg and cinnamon guide me to dining room, where Eleanor waits at the dining room table. The chandelier lights are dimmed a little, giving the room a cozy feeling of anticipation like telling stories around a campfire.

  “We were all worried,” David tells me as he pulls out my chair at the table. “If I hadn’t been writing down my latest composition, I wouldn’t have seen you heading to Phoebe’s nursery.”

  “You tattled? I thought my footsteps on those creaky floorboards woke George up.”

  “Nope. That was me all the way. You won’t listen to my lectures, so I arranged for you to hear it from a professional.”

  “Gee, thanks, partner.”

  Eleanor cuts the warm pie into eighths. “You were gone for half an hour. We were so, so worried. Oh, forks. Be right back.”

  “I have them, Mother,” says Henry, rubbing his eyes as he lays them on the table.

  “Is the whole family awake?” I ask, guilty again.

  “Nathaniel will sleep through anything.” Henry shrugs. “So what did you do, to warrant a late-night pie lecture?”

  I explain how the mirror’s been waking me up at night and why I stormed into Phoebe’ bedroom. When I tell them how Phoebe used “please” and “I’m sorry,” there’s a general rustle around the table.

  “Maybe the child is learning manners, after all,” says Eleanor.

  “Doubtful,” says George. “Just found another way to make people do what she says. Manipulative creature.”

  “She could have turned you into a doll,” David adds.

  “Stop saying that.”

  Henry yelps. “You’re protected!”

  We all turn to look at him. He points to my ring. “Alexis made that as a shield against the effects of Phoebe’s magic, remember? It can’t undo the spell. It just prevents further damage.”

  “She’s still not safe,” David spits. “It took all the Aunts to seal Phoebe in. Not a single one of them could undo this spell. One little girl, more powerful than all the Artemics combined? Zenia can’t go back there. It would be suicide.”

  I stare at them. “You keep mentioning Artemics and the Aunts. Who are they?”

  George sighs. “You’re part of it now.” He directs his gaze to Henry, who drops a slow nod of agreement.

  “Believe what you want, but here’s what we know.” Henry stabs at the pie with his fork. “Long ago, just after the Creator made the Earth, he sent his angels to keep watch over it. But some of his angels didn’t keep themselves separate from the humans. In fact, they married some of the women and had children by them, of mixed blood. Those were the Nephilim, and they were a really evil bunch. They had power just like their angelic fathers, plus the weakness of human nature from their mothers. They used their power to gain wealth and to twist men’s minds to their bidding. Eventually the Creator saw they must be destroyed. Some of them used their magic to hide, but of course, the Creator found them anyway.”

  Eleanor passes him two cubes of sugar for his tea. He takes a sip before continuing.

  “One Nephilim named Suriel did everything he could to hide, though. He offered his entire hoard of treasure to his fellow Nephilim if they would give him some of their powers. Greedy, they traded power for jewels, so Suriel managed to escape with his baby daughter to what we know today as Greece, where he found the goddess Artemis.”

  I think hard. “Hunter goddess, right?”

  “Yes. She’s the goddess of childbirth and a protector of young women. In other words, she believed in family.”

  “Wait a minute. Greek mythology and the Bible? Aren’t you mixing up your stories?”

  Henry shrugs. “I’m Lutheran. I only believe in one God. But I also know what happens in this household. Anyway, Suriel tracked her down and pleaded with her to take his daughter, who would surely be killed with the rest of the Nephilim. Artemis was about to refuse his request when the baby woke up and grabbed one of the goddess’s arrows to use as a teething stick. So Suriel pointed out if he raised the child, his inherent evil nature would cause her to become evil, too. But if Artemis, known for her chastity and fair deeds, raised her, then the baby had a chance to conquer her evil nature and live in righteousness.” He takes a bite of pie. “So Artemis adopted the baby. Of course, the Creator found out and destroyed Suriel for all his evil deeds, but he did promise Artemis to give the baby girl a fair chance. To help her rule her magic and her passions, he also blessed her with limitations in age. You know how babies are so cute, even when they smack you, you think they’re adorable? Well, as long as Artemic children are young, the same grace is extended to them. But there comes a time when they face an age of reckoning, kind of like our puberty. When they have enough wisdom to make good choices and to calculate the consequences of their actions, then they become adults. Now here’s the interesting part.”

  “None of this has been interesting?” I quip.

  “Cute. Artemics are immortal, but each of them has their own age of perfection. Some of them are perfect as grandmothers. Others are perfect as young or middle-aged women. It’s up to them to decide where they want to stop aging and spend the rest of eternity. But, if they make too many bad decisions, or if they can’t control their evil Nephilim nature, then they grow too old and die. So it’s in their best interest to keep themselves pure and good.”

  “So Phoebe hasn’t reached her age of reckoning?”

  “Nope. Still can’t gauge consequences.”

  “How long has it been?”

  Eleanor leans in. “She was born in 1821.”

  “No way!”

  “Here’s something else,” says David. “Artemics can only bear one child, theoretically. Alexis was born in the 1700’s, so Phoebe was a complete surprise. She’s the only second child in the entire line of Artemics. In fact, from what we gather, she’s considered to be developmentally delayed. The others spent about twenty or thirty years as children. One of the aunts was fifty before she decided to enter her teen years. Phoebe’s been six-ish for almost two hundred years. Nobody knows if she can grow up all the way or not.”

  “You mean she’ll always be a spoiled little brat?”

  “That’s the consensus.”

  “What about the sons?”

  “Nope. Artemics only have daughters. Remember, it was the male angels who sinned in the first place with the daughters of men. The Creator must have thought women would be tempted less.”

  I still haven’t touched my pie. “Wait a minute. How old is the Ambassador?”

  “You’re sharp.” Henry nods his approval. “He’s over three hundred. How, you’re going to ask? Artemics take mates for life. Their fates become entwined. Once they marry, their men share their immortality and perfect health. When, or if, the wives die, so do the husbands.”

  “But the Ambassador isn’t dead, even if his wife got murdered. And another thing - what if the husbands become evil? They’re just human, after all. Would it rub off on their wives?”

  “We haven’t figured that out, yet,” Henry said, “and now my pie is cold.”

  I chew on my lip. “I think all this information is enough to keep me awake for the rest of the night.”

  George wags his finger at me. “Now you see why you can’t go back to Phoebe’s room.”

  “I told her I would, though. And I got her to say please, which is more than anyone else has done in two centuries.”

  “It’s too big a risk, even with that ring,�
�� David says. “Look what happened to Alexis.”

  “Alexis was fine until…” Henry stops himself. It looks like he’s changing his mind about what he wanted to say. “Until she took the ring off. Zenia will be protected.”

  The family seems divided about the safety issue. Their debate grows louder. Just when it seems David and Henry will start shouting at each other, I stand. “Thank you for your concerns, but this is something I have to do. If you’re ever going to get big again, somebody has to break the spell.” I hold up my hand as David opens his mouth. “I know the danger. Can anyone propose another way?”

  Silence.

  “Thought so,” I say softly. “Well, Michael needs extra help for his Halloween bags tomorrow, and we’re still decorating, right?”

  Eleanor nods.

  “Then I really need some sleep. Good night, everyone.”

  David hauls himself to a standing position and then limps over to offer his arm. Being near him hurts on so many levels, yet I can’t stay away. Although I could just think myself big now and leave the dollhouse, I rest my fingers lightly on his arm and allow him to walk me to the front door.

  “Wait for me.” Henry catches up to us in the entryway. “Be careful, little sister. Phoebe may look sweet, but she’s no angel.”

  “I thought you’d be pleased I was going,” I say, confused. “I might be able to find Alexis and your brother.”

  “I’d give anything to know what happened to them, even if it’s bad,” Henry says. “You understand.”

  I do, perfectly. It’s the exact way I feel about Mamá. “I’ll be careful. I’ll find them.”

  “I won’t hold you to that promise.” Henry’s face turns gloomy again. He walks away muttering to himself.

  “Any progress with the riddle?” David asks.

  “Just a new idea. If Phoebe did this to you, she should be able to undo it, right?”

  David shakes his head. “Her own mother and sister couldn’t reverse the curse, and they were fully grown into their powers.”

  “She’s not fully grown, yet. Maybe that’s the trick. So maybe she’s the boat.”

  “Or the timber wolf that eats everyone else.”

  “Just the loon. Not the rice.”

  His rumbly voice turns wry. “Maybe she’s a vegetarian timber wolf, biding her time.”

  Out on the porch, the green sparkles light up the dome’s sky. I sit on the swing, not ready to go back to my bedroom. “David, you have to tell me what happened on the day everything changed.”

  He stands behind me and gives the swing a soft push. “You know how Alexis works with metal, right? Back when they first realized what Phoebe had done to the dollhouse, she made herself that ring to let her come in and out of here without getting stuck. And she always wore it, until the last time. Nobody knows why she took it off. When my little brother crawled past the perimeter and turned to wood, she went out to bring him back like she always did. But she turned to wood, too.

  “Mr. Akakios went crazy. You should have heard him yelling. Keep in mind that Phoebe had already turned Mrs. Akakios into a statue. He had no magic to protect himself against his own daughter. So he scooped up Alexis and Baby John and put them in his pocket. Then he closed up the dollhouse. We were fine for a few minutes. But when he took Phoebe away, kicking and screaming, we turned into wood. Only this time, it was different. Usually when we went into doll mode, everything went blank and we’d wake up in our new positions. Or in the same old positions. But we stayed awake that time.

  “It must have been a good month before he ordered the study to be sealed. He wheeled the dollhouse in here, to this room, and stuffed us in the drawer. I suspect Phoebe never stopped thinking about us, which would explain why we stayed conscious and able to sense each other. Anyway, nobody knows what happened to Alexis or Baby John. So don’t mind Henry; he just misses her, that’s all.”

  After all this time, Henry’s grief is still fresh and raw. “What if they never find out what happened to my mom? What if I still feel that way in sixty years? I can’t live like this.”

  He doesn’t give me platitudes like everyone else does. Instead, he pulls me in for the most comforting hug I’ve had since Mamá disappeared.

  Listening to his heartbeat seems to calm mine.

  “I’m so lucky to have a friend like you,” I murmur into his shirt.

  He stiffens and steps back. “Good night, Miss Zenia.”

  Okay, then. “Good night, Master David,” I repeat in the same formal tone he’s using. Apparently I’ve just insulted him even more, because he closes the door behind me without another word.

  I don’t understand boys.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:

  FOUNDATIONS

  Sunbeams in my face wake me around ten in the morning. It’s so nice to not have to use an alarm clock for school anymore. I still have to put together a portfolio for my performing arts credit, but I can do that through virtual school. The AP courses are super easy, now that they’re the only classes I have to study for. Mostly I sleep late, work a few hours at the bakery, handle dessert prep with Michael, and finish my days with evening visits to the Whitmans. I don’t even need Gary anymore, now that the Ambassador got Mamá’s car fixed.

  Today Michael doesn’t expect me to start helping make the treat bags until noon, so I head back to Phoebe’s room for a couple of hours to fulfill my promise. I have more questions than I did last night, though. If the Ambassador was supposed to die when his Artemic wife died, why is he still alive? Is he aging, or has he always looked like he was seventy years old? If Artemic and human fates entwine upon marriage, does the human gain any powers? Could the Ambassador be the key to unshrinking the Whitmans, but he doesn’t know it yet?

  What does any of it have to do with timber wolves and loons?

  Time to ask Phoebe.

  I cross through the study from my hidden door straight to Phoebe’s, only pausing to glance at the dollhouse once. David’s on the porch, all tiny and glowering, his arms folded across his chest in a silent protest. I bet he’s been there all morning to make sure he didn’t miss me. I get the hint. But I’m still going.

  Afraid Amelia will discover me, I press my ear against Phoebe’s door. All I hear is a child’s voice, saying, “We’ll have another tea party tomorrow. See you then.”

  I can’t imagine Amelia would be the kind to play tea party, so Phoebe’s probably just talking to her dolls. I open the door.

  The beautiful woman with the silver eyes is there! She flashes me a knowing smile – and fades into perfumed blue smoke.

  I stare at the empty space, my eyes bulging. “Was that a ghost?”

  “No, that’s my imaginary friend. Cynthia.”

  “She seems awfully real.”

  “She is.”

  I’m not sure what’s real and imaginary anymore.

  “She must like you if she let you see her,” she says, leading the way to the empty tea table. “She always hides from Amelia. Oh, I’m so glad you came back! We can play tea party, or we can watch a movie. Or you can read to me again. I mean, please can we play something?”

  Cynthia doesn’t seem to be coming back.

  Phoebe continues to tug on my shirt until I turn my attention over to her. “This is my room. Want to see?”

  “Okay.”

  Her room is huge, more like its own apartment than a bedroom. Aside from a luxurious bathroom and a closet big enough for four moose, there’s a study nook with a whiteboard and dry erase markers. Textbooks neatly line one shelf. Stuffed animals, musical instruments, and crafts fill the nursery corner. The media nook holds gadgets of all sorts, from antique 3-D Viewmasters to a slender wide-screen television mounted on the wall.

  “Here’s my display shelf.” Phoebe opens a gigantic curtain that covers rows and rows of perfectly scaled houses. “I’m a collector.”

  I recognize George’s meticulous workmanship. Awe and revulsion creep into my bones as I study the houses – some of them real, like t
he ones in the empty room. It’s like standing next to an open tomb. I shiver. “I prefer dolls.”

  For a few seconds, Phoebe looks like she’ll throw a tantrum. Then she takes a deep breath. “Well, maybe you’ll like these better.” She leads the way to her dolly corner.

  Seventeen is way too old to still love dolls. But I can’t stop grinning from sheer pleasure as I wade through Phoebe’s collection. Some are the size of my thumb. Others are as large as Phoebe herself. What an assortment! Lumberjacks, nurses, pilots, princesses, flappers, and witches, to name a few. Some are pristine as if they had never been played with. Some have been loved to pieces.

  Maybe this is where Alexis is! I can’t ask, so I pay special attention to the wooden dolls. None look alive. Nobody’s sending emotions or impressions. I keep looking.

  “I’m grounded, you know. I’ve been locked in this room since 1945. Want to know why?”

  I know the answer, but I might learn more if I feign ignorance. “Tell me.”

  “I turned my sister into a doll. You scared?”

  “Not really,” I bluff.

  She nods. “You must be very powerful, to be able to get into my room. It took six Aunts to seal me in.”

  I’m glad I’m wearing a bandage over my ring. “Is that a lot?”

  Phoebe shrugs and sinks into a teddy bear beanbag. “It’s half of them. They’re really more like my grandmothers than my aunts, though. Do you want a piece of candy?”

  “No. Tell me more about your sister.”

  “Okay. After what happened, my father decided it was too dangerous for me to be around real people anymore. So he called them and they came.”

  “You’ve lived in this bedroom since then?”

  “Longer. I got grounded the first time when I turned my mother into a statue. I used to be able to get through the nursery to my sister’s room, but when she turned wooden, they shrank my space to just this suite. I can’t even have friends over anymore now.”

  It’s nothing the Whitmans haven’t already told me. “What about the people you hurt? Did you fix any of your spells?”