by Emily Asad
“Nobody can,” she boasts. “I’m special. An an-om-aly. That means I’m more powerful than any of the Aunts. Even Callista, and she’s the best of them all.”
I don’t like her attitude, so I decide to level with her. “Nobody likes you, Phoebe. You’re very rude and you frighten people. Do you enjoy being alone all the time?”
Her chin hardens in stubbornness, and then begins to tremble. “Not really. But I can’t help myself. I’m contagious.”
“Whatever. It seems to me you need a good spanking for all your bad behavior! If you were my little sister, I’d wallop you for all the trouble you’ve caused.”
Her lips part in utter surprise. “I can’t help it,” she repeats, a little less certain.
“Yes, you can,” I bark. “You don’t try hard enough.”
She doesn’t blink. Her round blue eyes grow even rounder. “Do you think… do you think I could learn to be like other Artemics?” Her shoulders sag as she answers her own question. “It can’t be possible. Daddy thinks I’m best locked away forever.”
“It doesn’t matter what they think.” I kneel down to her level. “The important thing is what you think. Don’t you want out of here? Don’t you want to grow up someday and do something important with your life?”
“Grow up?” She utters a short, cynical laugh that seems out of place with her six-year-old appearance. “I was never supposed to be born!”
“Me, neither. My mother made a mistake when she was around my age. But that doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for my own actions. Everyone is, even you.”
“I wish you were my sister! You’re strong enough to break through the seal. I wish you could help me learn to make better choices.”
If her own family can’t control her, what can a mere human do? “I don’t know…”
“Please? Father’s given up on me, and I’m all alone except for Cynthia. I want to change. Really I do, but nobody will help me anymore.” She squeezes my fingers in tight desperation.
I’m so far out of my realm of experience here, I don’t even know where to start. So I say, “Help yourself, then. Maybe you just need practice.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Face temptation and conquer it? Maybe if you build your own houses instead of shrinking other people’s…”
She pouts. “I hate plastic building blocks. And model houses. They’re not real.”
“Dollhouses can be real enough, for someone who’s small enough to use them. I can teach you to design your own.”
“Oh, me! Pick me! I can be any size I want. Want to see?”
The clock on her wall says it’s almost noon. “No, I have to go. Tonight, maybe. But if you so much as shrink a useless stone, Phoebe Akakios, I swear I’ll never come back. I can’t be friends with someone I can’t trust.”
“You can trust me! I promise.”
“We’ll see. Anyway, I have to go now. I’m meeting some friends today.”
She begins to sniffle as she locks her arms around my waist. “I don’t want you to go. Promise to come back tonight? You can stand in the closet and I’ll knock on the door and say ‘Trick or Treat’ and then it’s your turn.”
I pat her little back. “Sounds like fun. I’ll try.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:
TREATS AND TRICKS
Although Eleanor has my costume ready for tonight’s party, I can’t wear it when Amelia sends me down to the gate at the entrance of the mansion’s quarter-mile-long driveway. It’s so beautiful and so expensive, she’ll wonder where I got it from, and I don’t want to give away careless clues like that.
So I stand there in jeans, a scarf, and a heavy jacket. My “costume” is a set of kitty ears Michael brought in. I drew on some whiskers and a black nose with an eye pencil. It’s too cold to wear a real costume, anyway. Snow and ice already cover the ground.
Treat bags rest in neat rows on the table behind me, part of the goodwill project here at the mansion. Kids honestly believe it’s haunted, so the Ambassador works hard to prove himself a generous citizen. Even so, we aren’t getting many brave visitors. By nine o’clock, only half the bags are gone. Michael helps me pack up the table, lanterns, and fake cobweb decorations.
“Great work tonight,” he tells me. “Keep the ears; they’re not my color. And go ahead and take the rest of the bags to your friends at school tomorrow.”
Friends? Half the kids in my AP classes still don’t talk to me. I have no intention of buying popularity with treat bags. Michael wouldn’t understand that, though. He loves people.
“Thanks,” I say anyway. I’ll give one to Diana on Monday and take the rest for the Whitmans and Phoebe.
It’s impossible to get into the dollhouse without someone knowing I’ve arrived. No matter how quiet my footsteps, they always hear me coming. Nathaniel flings open the door before I get a chance to knock. “I’ve been waiting all day!” he cries, already dressed in his blue-and-silver prince costume. “What’s that? Surprises? Want me to carry it for you?”
I clutch my backpack, not wanting him to see what’s inside. “No, thanks. I want to pass these out to everyone myself.”
“Wait for the right time. We have traditions around here. By the way, how do I look?” He grips the pommel of his sword and strikes a daring pose.
Gorgeous. Easily the most handsome thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t tell him that, of course, because then his ego will swell and he’ll be impossible to deal with. So I just shrug.
“Mother’s upstairs with your costume. Go change.” He pauses in front of the hallway mirror to straighten the cape around his shoulders.
As I pass the parlor on my way to the staircase, candles flicker everywhere. But no creepy decorations like spiders or cobwebs or any of the horror elements I’ve come to know. Instead, it seems more like a sacred atmosphere. There’s even a shrine on the coffee table.
As soon as Eleanor hears me, she swooshes down to greet me in an elaborate recreation of Queen Elizabeth’s red satin gown, complete with pearls and jewels from the strong room behind the kitchen pantry.
“You look… Wow! You sewed that?”
“Wait ‘til you see George. He’s Sir Francis Drake. Ruffles and everything! Come on, let’s get you dressed.”
I shake my head. I’ve seen her extensive closet, but I always thought Phoebe forced the “dolls” to play dress-up. It never occurred to me Eleanor enjoyed it.
She fusses with my lace and makeup until I feel like a living dolly myself. It doesn’t take long to slip into one of the gowns she’s been hemming for me, a lady’s hunting costume of soft hazel velvet with brown leather trim. I head into the hallway at the same time David’s coming out of his room – dressed in the lord’s costume that matches mine.
The fitted doublet accentuates his broad shoulders and narrow waist, bringing to mind all the old swashbuckling movies I love. For a split second, I wonder how handsome he’d be if his face weren’t so covered in scars.
We’re still staring at each other. Is he going to ignore me again? Walk away, like he always does?
“My lord.” I drop a curtsey, hoping to keep him a moment longer.
“My lady.” He doesn’t retreat back to his bedroom. Instead, he escorts me downstairs, not looking at me, not talking to me. But I savor each minute. We go slowly, my hand curled around his steel bicep.
Halfway there, Nathaniel dashes up and stops at the landing. “Oh, that’s the wrong one. You were supposed to use the princess outfit.”
“I like this color better,” I say. The princess costume doesn’t fit nearly as well, and its silver border is stiff and scratchy. Silver is great for Nathaniel’s blue eyes. I do better in earthy colors.
“No, go change so we can match. You’re mine tonight, remember?”
I roll my eyes. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when he’s being serious and when he’s playing the Musketeer. “I said I’d dance with you. Not exclusively, though.”
David tenses up, too. “Let th
e lady choose for herself.”
“Fine.” Nathaniel stands on the other side of me and holds out his arm in a silent offer to escort me downstairs.
Caught between the two brothers, I’m unsure what to do. I’ve spent the last four weeks trying to make myself return Nathaniel’s affection, but he’s so much work. David, on the other hand, is low-key and calm. Exactly my speed.
Nathaniel forces the decision by tucking my arm around his and pulling me downstairs. I have to release David or else he’ll get thrown off balance.
“Hey! There’s no hurry,” I protest, glancing back at David.
“If you let him take you in, the night’ll be half-gone before we get a chance to dance. Besides, it’s our one-month anniversary tonight. You promised.”
Unaware of our little struggle, Henry and George applaud when they see me. Their enthusiasm wipes away the retort I’m about to give Nathaniel.
“We should try the King and Queen costumes next time,” Nathaniel says as we parade in a large circle around the living room rug.
“No rivalries, now. I forbid it,” says Eleanor. “Queen Elizabeth outranked them all.”
“Then I shall remain at your service, your Majesty.” I play along, letting the fun of the evening erase my frustration.
“Very well, my subjects. Be seated. Let us begin the ceremonies.”
I can’t wait to see what they have planned. Just as I’m about to sit on an ottoman, Nathaniel guides me to a sofa. “No, sit here instead. It makes a better picture.”
“Who’s going to paint it?” I mutter. Still, it would be nice to have a picture of this evening. I wish I could introduce the family to modern electronics, like cell phones, cameras, and computers. The Internet would change their world! A plan starts to grow in my head. I’ve been wondering what to do with my fifty dollars all week. Now I know.
“We look well together, don’t we?” Nathaniel murmurs into my hair.
Is this how dating is supposed to go? I’m willing to work out differences. It just seems so lopsided and shallow. Why am I with him? Whatever imaginary world he’s building for us needs a good dose of reality.
But he’s my first real boyfriend, aside from Olaf Jacobsen back in sixth grade, who held my hand on a Thursday and then dumped me the next day after I told him I was moving to a new school. I don’t know if I could stand the Whitmans’ disappointment if I dumped Nathaniel. Olaf promised to write. He never did. Would the Whitmans close off forever, too?
Am I only with Nathaniel for his family? No, that’s not it. He’s fun and sweet. Mostly considerate. Great smile. Great cologne…
I wince. I’m the one who’s shallow. I’m with him because he makes me feel special. That’s what I keep telling myself because it sounds better than the truth: he keeps my mind off David. To be fair, Nathaniel’s only with me because he’s trapped and bored.
Not good reasons for two people to stay together.
I have to end this before either of us gets hurt.
My anger disappears when David starts a polka on the gramophone. Nathaniel guides me around the floor with ease, his warm hand in the middle of my back and a grin of pure fun on his lips. It’s hard to stay upset with him when I’m enjoying myself so much. We spin and twirl until I’m short on breath from all the laughing.
And then he dips me.
Suspended in mid-air on his strong arm, I can only stare up into those hypnotic blue eyes. He’s leaning in for a kiss, but it’s more like he’s playing a part than being authentic.
Once again, I turn my cheek.
“What’s wrong?” he says.
I awkwardly disengage myself from his arm. “Thank you for the dance. I believe your brother deserves a real partner, at least once?” I nod toward Henry, who has his arms outstretched around an imaginary Alexis.
Then I catch a glimpse of David, who’s sitting at his post so he can tend the gramophone when he’s not playing piano. He seems to be smirking in triumph. What’s he celebrating? I consider inviting him to dance, but he rubs his thigh at that moment. No, he’s probably in too much pain. So I continue toward Henry.
Henry only lasts a few rounds, though, and then he retires to the kitchen to fetch me something to drink. I’m alone on the couch. Nathaniel promptly sits beside me. “He couldn’t take any more shin-kicking, huh?”
“I didn’t step on him once.”
“Our lessons are paying off, then. Ready to dance again?”
“Not with you, thank you.”
He looks hurt. “Did I do something?”
His ignorance burns more than anything. I don’t know how to confront him. What I want is conversation. I want him to ask me about my day, to listen while I talk about my troubles. To ask questions about my hobbies. He doesn’t even know my favorite color, for crying out loud! David does. We talk all the time, and we’re just friends. Sorry. Make that business partners.
David must sense my distress, because he hobbles over to the couch. “It’s my turn for a dance, I believe. I haven’t had a partner yet.”
Nathaniel glares up at his brother. “She doesn’t want to dance anymore.”
“I was talking about you. You can be the girl, like when we were kids.”
“What?”
“I taught him to dance, you know,” David tells me.
Nathaniel grits his teeth. “Go ask Mother to be your partner.”
“Father will never give her up. Come on. It’s just one little waltz. And we’ve already missed the introduction.”
I chuckle. “That’s okay, Nathaniel. I’ll save you from dancing with your brother.” I hold out my hand to David, who tugs me off the couch with gentle strength.
Nathaniel has no comeback.
David is awkward and slow as we move around the room, so we keep ourselves to simple steps in the center of the floor.
“I can’t believe I’m dancing with a college graduate,” he says, pressing his hand against the small of my back.
“Not yet. My AP courses won’t finish until May. And I still have to pass my Spanish exams and give a concert.”
“Well, it’s more schooling than I’ve had. Henry’s the college man.”
“You’ll get your chance.”
“Not until someone breaks Phoebe’s spell.”
“What? No, I was talking about the Internet, taking courses online. It’s hard to explain, something I’ll have to show you. But about Phoebe… I’ve been thinking about that, too. I think she needs a new hobby, other than stealing people’s homes and lives. She doesn’t want dollhouses. She wants real. Tiny but real. Maybe she needs to learn about Tiny Houses.”
He considers that for a while. “Perhaps she’s the lumberjack and a Tiny House is the boat,” he murmurs.
Shivers scratch my scalp. I hadn’t thought of that. “It’s progress, at least.”
He won’t say anything else. He just presses his cheek to my hair and we finish the dance in silence. I can tell he’s too tired for a second dance, so I don’t make him admit it. Instead, I say I’m tired. It’s true enough. I’ve never spent an entire evening dancing before.
Eleanor’s been floating on George’s arm like a royal butterfly, tinkling out laughter and whirling as if tonight could be their last dance together. “I don’t want this evening to end,” she tells me. “It’s the most fun I’ve had in eighty years!”
But she knows I can’t stay all night, so we move on to playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey and bobbing for apples.
Trick-or-treating with the Whitmans takes Halloween to a whole new level. Each of them goes to their bedroom, and the rest of us visit their rooms – but not to ask for tricks or treats.
Rather, we pray.
They all ask for the same thing, in one way or another: to be free of the dollhouse. Henry asks for us to pray to Artemis, the goddess. It’s blasphemy to me, but the others are sincere in their pleas for escape. Eleanor lights a candle for her former friends, the ones she knew back in 1890. In exchange for goodwill and prayer, each pe
rson gives the others a little trinket. That’s what Halloween means to them. A hallowed evening for remembering their departed loved ones.
I feel kind of silly when they station me in Phoebe’s old room. They all pray for my mother’s safe return. I’m touched, but it puts me in a sad mood. So to end our evening on a more lighthearted manner, I tell them about modern trick-or-treating and hope they don’t think it’s too fluffy or disrespectful. They’re delighted with my treat bags: cheap little plastic mazes, cup and ball games, and all kinds of wrapped candies and chocolates.
“I can’t wait to see what else has changed out there,” Eleanor says, savoring one of her chocolates.
“Wait ’til you see Christmas,” I say. “You won’t recognize that, either.”
By then, I’m yawning so much George finally sends me home.
Nathaniel escorts me to the doorway, as always. “I know I made you angry earlier,” he says. “I’m sorry for whatever I did. Do you forgive me?”
He pins me against the wall and kisses me, telling me in actions what he never puts into words. But the message frightens me. I’ll never be able to match his passion. He loves me far, far more than I’ll ever love him, no matter how hard I try.
My heart goes to war against my head. Logic shouts that I should go along with the kiss because I promised to try to love Nathaniel. My heart, however, feels totally betrayed. While I’m kissing Nathaniel, I’m wishing it were David. But my body’s the surprise third party, a traitor who’s thoroughly enjoying the new sensations pulsing through me.
I push him back, afraid of how I’m enjoying his closeness. How I want more.
If it were up to my lips, I’d keep kissing him forever. Instead, my guilty heart wins. Furious with myself for betraying David, I find myself snapping at Nathaniel. “That was my first kiss, you thief! Now I’m going to hate kissing for the rest of my life.”
He blinks at me, hurt. “Didn’t I do it right?”
“Nothing about this is right. Don’t you understand? I told you I loved David. That hasn’t changed.” My cheeks burn hot. “I’m… using you, Nate, to get over him. It’s not fair to you. This has to end. If you won’t acknowledge our trouble, I will.”