by Emily Asad
Although his face remains blank, relief radiates from him.
“I’ll let Henry know where you are in case anyone thinks you’ve gone missing.” I stand him on the graveyard shelf and then return to the dollhouse to find Henry.
That done, there’s no reason to stick around the dollhouse. “Want to go see the snow?” I ask David even though he can’t answer. Unlike my Paraguayan mother who prefers tropical climates and balmy weather, I’m a true Frozen Chosen. Snow invigorates me, especially when it’s fresh and the world is quiet under a blanket of white.
Although I know he won’t feel the cold, I zip him up inside my coat anyway. His little face peeps over the zipper under my chin. I tie him in place with my scarf and then we head downstairs.
Kynthia meets us at the back entrance. “Hello, little one. You brought a friend?”
“He’s a Whitman.”
“I know who he is. You should take him shopping. Hurry, now. Stores close soon.” She presses a miniature outfit into my mitten – brown corduroy pants, an olive green cashmere sweater, and tiny leather work boots. She winks at me. “It’s for after.”
“After the shopping?”
“Go on, now. Gary doesn’t know why he’s sitting in the garage, but he’s waiting. For you.” With a knowing smile, she floats toward the maze.
“I hate shopping,” I mutter. But I report to the garage. Who am I to argue with imaginary friends?
“At least you’ll get to see how much Otter Paw has grown,” I tell David, my voice echoing off the garage walls.
“You talking to yourself now?” Gary asks. He’s sitting in the limo, bored. With Mr. Akakios gone, he hasn’t done a lot of driving lately.
“Something like that,” I reply. “You busy?”
He breaks into a huge smile. “At your service. Where to?”
“I don’t really know. Shopping.”
“I know some good places.” He leads me to the Benz. “Mind if we use this one tonight? I just finished fitting it with snow tires, and there’s a blizzard coming.”
“Now you want to use the Benz?” I roll my eyes and get into the passenger seat. It’s a treat to drive up front with him like a friend instead of just a passenger.
We drive around town for a while, mostly past all the places Gary suggests. Still, I keep my nose pressed to the window.
Then I see it, a tiny shop on the corner of Fergus and Grover. A sign with bold letters screams “ANTIQUE TOYS” from the window.
“Stop, Gary, stop!” I dash out of the car, leaving Gary to find suitable parking.
Even though it’s Black Friday, the little man behind the register seems surprised to receive a customer so close to closing time. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“Dolls.”
“Selling or buying?”
I withdraw David from my coat. “He got chewed up by a dog. Can you can fix him?”
The little man begins a thorough inspection, pulling off David’s clothes right there in front of me. I look away from his wooden body, embarrassed. Although David’s in doll mode, it doesn’t feel right to be staring down at his little naked body. After a series of clucks, tsk’s and “oh, dear’s,” the man finally nods. “Take me about half an hour, though. Do you want to wait or come back tomorrow?”
“I’ll wait.”
He trudges to the back of his shop and sets David on the table. “Want to watch?” He raises a piece of sandpaper and a tiny set of pliers.
I’ve just delivered my best friend into major surgery! Morbid fascination forces me to the table, but when I see all the tools – including razor blades, scissors, and a saw – I grow queasy. “I’ll wait up front.”
I nibble my fingernails down to the quick during the procedure. I didn’t even ask David if he wanted it. What if something goes wrong? What if the man sands away too much? What if one leg ends up shorter than the other?
The surgery takes longer than he said. His sign says he should be closing the store at 9:00, but it’s 9:17 before he leaves his bench. “Anything else?”
I open my eyes, just a crack, enough to inspect his work. David’s dressed in his new outfit. The leg works just fine now, bending without any resistance. Even the scars have been sanded away, leaving his face and hands smooth.
“I had to replace the old leg.” He holds it up. “Do you want to keep it?”
A hysterical laugh escaped my lips. “Gross. How much do I owe you?”
“Actually, I’d like to buy him from you. Dolls of this caliber don’t come along every decade. Unless he’s special to you.”
“He is.”
“Well, then, twenty bucks.” With a shake of his head, he returns David to me.
I pay the man and tuck David into my pocket, nervous but eager to get back to the dollhouse to see if the surgery worked – or if I’ve made things even worse.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN:
TORMENT
It’s only been two hours that I’ve been gone with David, but it may as well be a week with all the changes Mrs. Akakios has made to the study. She hasn’t just dusted, swept, and mopped. She has also moved chairs, a table, and a rug from Phoebe’s room into the study to form a little sitting area in front of the dollhouse. Phoebe’s imitation Lilypad now sits just outside the green perimeter, along with a semi-circle of the other eight dollhouses she built this month. Best of all, Christmas decorations hang everywhere – all over the graveyard shelves, around the hidden doors that now look like normal doors, and all over the Lilypad.
With every wall lamp turned on and candles flickering on the table, the atmosphere in the study should be cheery. Yet the sound of tiny sobs draws my attention to the dollhouse. All three Artemics are weeping. Under the dome, tiny Nathaniel is jerking his arm away from tiny Alexis, who crumples to the floor. He tramps back to the porch, where Eleanor stands in the doorframe like she’s spying. She shepherds him back inside the dollhouse.
Phoebe bursts into tears and exits the perimeter, where she grows large and falls into her mother’s embrace. “Tell George I’m sorry,” Phoebe wails.
I clear my throat, keeping my hand on the pocket David’s resting in. “What happened?”
Phoebe catches her breath so she can answer. “I still can’t get them free.”
“Did you try bringing him through the perimeter, small, and then resizing him out here?”
“Yes.”
“What about unraveling the spell itself? You found that release thread for your containment seal. Surely all three of you…”
“We tried everything,” she says in a tired voice.
“What about-”
“No more questions,” Mrs. Akakios replies, rubbing Phoebe’s back.
“It’s my job to ask questions. Their escape was entrusted to me, not Phoebe. I’m the one who’s failed.”
Phoebe explains the Lumberjack’s Dilemma to her mother. While it doesn’t spark any new ideas, the annoyed look on Mrs. Akakios’ face disappears. She takes time to explain what they tried and why it didn’t work.
“The problem is that it’s not a standard Artemic weave,” she finishes. “Phoebe got… infected… by a Nephilim when she was just a child. That’s why this spell isn’t pure. See these rusty purple specks? Phoebe’s magic is green. None of the Aunts know how to separate the Nephilim’s kill effect from the Artemic resizing effect.”
“Kill effect?” Phoebe’s head jerks toward the weave. “You never told me about that. Wait a minute. Did that happen in a museum?”
Mrs. Akakios nods. “Your magic seems to have softened the kill, turning your captives into wooden dolls that can be revived. We’re fortunate. There’s still hope.”
I peer more closely at the green barrier, but I have to strain and squeeze my eyes before the sharp, jagged purple flecks show themselves to me. When I finally see them, I shudder. “I gather Nephilim are your opposite? You’re goodness and light, and they’re…”
“Not,” she says. She won’t say more, as if she’s protec
ting Phoebe. I don’t press.
Phoebe pokes at the weave. “I don’t understand how a human’s going to save them.”
“Logic over magic,” I mutter. But despair stabs me whenever I ponder the riddle now. It’s been months. Months! I’ve considered a thousand different ways to free the Whitmans. Nothing works. Maybe my unworthy brain is too stupid to figure it out, after all.
Phoebe nudges me. “Don’t give up. You wouldn’t let me fail, even when I didn’t believe in myself. You’re the best human I know. I believe in you.”
From my pocket, David sends encouragement, too.
“Henry’s waiting for me,” I tell them. “See you later, okay?” I sidestep her and duck into the dome. When I get to the back yard, I kneel down beside my shoe-box-sized Tiny House and pretend to work. After a few moments, I peek around the corner. Nobody followed me. I don’t hear anyone coming close, either, so I stand up eye-level with David’s window. Henry’s still there, pacing.
He helps me maneuver David through the window back onto the bed. Then I pop into the bedroom.
David sits up. He flexes his knee. Both knees. With a whoop, he leaps up and begins jumping on his bed. He bounces to the floor, giddy, and catches me by the waist. “I’m cured! There’s no pain!”
I hug his neck, hugely relieved. But when I look up into his face, I let go of him in a hurry. He’s the most handsome of the brothers now that his injuries have been sanded away. The scar that pulled his left eyebrow down in a scowl is gone, leaving his face with an expression of pure joy. My fingers reach out to test the exquisite smoothness of his high cheekbones.
He stares down at me, puffs of his clove-breath tempting me to kiss him. Neither of us can look away. “Cured,” he whispers.
I push up on my tiptoes, but right before I can press my lips to his, he pushes me away. “Don’t,” he growls.
I can only take a few steps back and whisper, “Sorry.”
He pushes past Henry out to the hallway, slamming the door.
I’m left in the middle of the room, staring after him with shame written hot all over my cheeks and forehead.
Henry won’t look at me. A century ago, girls didn’t fling themselves at boys. He must think I’m a total hussy.
Maybe I am. I’m as bad as Nathaniel, pushing myself at someone who doesn’t return my affection. Who has a crush on two brothers, anyway? It’s indecent. “Sorry.”
“Don’t you see? He loves you too much to trap you here the way I did with Alexis.”
I bark a bitter laugh. “Love? He won’t even let us be friends! Business partners, he says. But I’m so stupid, I can’t stay away from him. I’ve tried everything to stop feeling this way…” My throat tightens. I press my lips together to keep the sobs inside.
“That proves it, then. Be patient, little sister. I’ll talk to him.”
The sob comes out anyway, all desperate and choked. “Would you?” Then logic kicks in. “Never mind. What’s the point? You can’t force someone to feel something. I already tried that with Nathaniel. But thank you, Henry. I’m going to go work on my Suitcase now.”
“Want some help?”
“I’d rather be alone.”
As I reach the door where he’s standing, he touches my arm. “Have you checked Mother’s sewing basket lately?” He ducks his head in a brief nod and then leaves me in the bedroom to consider his words.
Nathaniel mentioned the sewing basket, too. It’s where he keeps his heart, he said.
Shouts of surprise float up from downstairs, followed by sobs and congratulations. David must have shown himself to his family. Good – it’s the distraction I needed to sneak into Eleanor’s room to dig around in her sewing basket.
Ribbons and lace cover a large, hard rectangle at the bottom of her basket. A sketchbook. Filled with faces. My faces.
I’m on every single page – laughing, melancholy, concentrating, depressed. There’s the time I sat in Eleanor’s sewing room learning to hem. Flip the page – the day I wore the lady costume to match David’s lord costume. Flip, flip, flip. The last sketch comes from yesterday – me nailing the last shingle onto my Suitcase, triumph all over my face. I didn’t even know someone was watching, but the angle tells me he was sitting nearby. Spying.
It’s too real to be Nathaniel’s sketchbook. If it were, I’d be some medieval damsel, drawn in vivid Pre-Raphaelite style. These are more like photographs. Tired eyes, frizzy hair. No makeup.
I clutch the sketchbook to my chest. Could it be? All the distance David keeps between us – is it to keep his emotions from spilling over? No, he’s made it pretty clear that he won’t stand any romance between us. Confused, hopeful, in total despair, I tuck the sketchbook back into its hiding place before popping down to my Tiny House.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT:
UNSPOKEN
Another row of shingles is missing. Why? Why does he do this?
I nab them out of their pile and line them up again, pounding so hard I split one in half.
Diana sticks her head out a window. “Calm down,” she says. “You’ll waste resources.”
The hammer slips out of my hand, clattering to the wooden floor below. “You… what are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“I’ve got hot cocoa for you,” she says.
“How did you get in here?” A thousand thoughts zip through my brain. She must have come for a visit, and I bet Amelia brought her up to the Alexis Suite to wait for me. She’s trapped. I don’t know how to tell her. Why is she so calm?
“Can’t a friend come to visit?”
I hesitate in the doorway of my Tiny House. She’s sitting in my booth. It still needs to be sanded and stained, and then I’ll add cushions. A shallow drinking bowl sits in the middle of the table, much like the one Kynthia served out in the evergreen maze.
Diana begins to shimmer. The electric blue streaks in her hair dissolve into blue sparkles. Her auburn hair grows longer and longer until it reaches her waist in thick waves.
“Kynthia?”
“Almost. Go ahead. Say my real name.” She continues transforming past the woman in the blue gown until she’s radiant in a pure white dress, her silver eyes brighter than sunshine.
Dizziness threatens to overwhelm me. I collapse into my booth, staring at her in disbelief. “Artemis,” I whisper.
“I knew you were clever. Have some cocoa.” She shoves the bowl toward me as if it’s perfectly normal for a goddess to be doing teatime with a human.
I tear my eyes away from her beauty. The cocoa steams in its bowl, perfuming the air with cinnamon and ambrosia. I shove it back toward her, sloshing cocoa all over my new tabletop. “I don’t want cocoa. I want answers! You’re not Diana?”
“I am whatever history calls me. My sister Athena uses disguises all the time. Why shouldn’t I?” She dissolves back into Diana, complete with the impish grin.
“Take that off.” Tears of shame and fury start to leak from the corners of my eyes. “Am I such a lost cause, that you had to come pretend to be my friend because nobody else would?”
Diana shakes her head, sympathy shining in her silver eyes. “You want me to tell you that you’d have been fine without me. But let’s be honest, because real friends tell the truth even when it’s not wanted. How has your high school career gone so far? I’m not talking about grades. I mean about the things that matter. Going to hockey games to cheer on your team. Celebrating birthdays and watching movies together.”
“I have the Whitmans.”
“Because I gave them to you. But you also needed someone to teach you how to reach outside yourself and connect with people your age. So I gave you lessons. Admit it – you’d still be sitting in your own corner during AP Chemistry if I hadn’t introduced you to Sarah, Elysia, and Anna.”
I shrug. “I might have.”
“You wouldn’t even know their names.”
“Okay. That’s true. What of it?”
“It means you’re still a work in progress when it
comes to social skills. You can still develop those. We’re running out of time for your mother, though, so I need you to hurry and solve the Lumberjack’s Dilemma.”
I gasp as if I’ve been punched in the ribs. “My mother’s still alive?”
She morphs into Kynthia, who has to brush her long hair off the table so it doesn’t drop into the cocoa bowl. “Let’s be rational about this, Zenia. Hear what I have to say before you get angry.”
I fold my hands together and grit my teeth. “Proceed.”
“Do you know how hard it is to arrange a kidnapping? Or, in your mother’s case, I think of it as a scholarship. A vacation, almost.”
“She’s kidnapped by pirates and you call it a vacation?”
“Apprenticeship. That’s the word I wanted.” She leans forward. “I’ve been searching for a soul like yours for decades, Zenia. Someone with just the right personality and skill set to deal with Phoebe. Give me some credit. It took a lot of manipulation to match your mother with Jean Baptiste Passard.”
My skin breaks out in goosebumps at the mention of that name. He’s my mother’s favorite chef in the whole world. She’s got all his recipe books memorized, even the early ones, and she owns every single one of his DVD seminars.
“So far, my plan has been flawless. I botched the transfer boat so your mother would ‘accidentally’ fall overboard. It’s been tricky to keep the Navy from finding them. But humans are resourceful. I can’t hold off the discovery forever.”
“Is she okay?”
Kynthia chuckles. “More than okay. Enjoying herself thoroughly.”
“Sure, missing me every day is such a pleasant experience. She must be worried to pieces.”
“Not at all. She doesn’t remember you. Little case of amnesia. Keeps her focused, even if she does wonder from time to time where she’s supposed to be. If you’re not going to drink that…” She takes an elegant sip from the bowl and wipes her lips with a napkin that appears out of the air. “She’ll remember everything when she sees you. Don’t worry. And after this apprenticeship, she’ll be able to set up her own bakery wherever you end up.” Her silky voice grows hard. “I’ve done my fair share to free the Whitmans now. When will you solve yours?”