The Darkness Dwellers

by Kirsten Miller

  “My allegiance?”

  “Are you one of us or one of them?” Taylor pointed to the women who had gathered across the street. None of them appeared to pose much of a threat. Most seemed terrified to have finally encountered a problem that their money couldn’t solve.

  “Taylor!” one of the women cried out. “Sweetie? It’s me, it’s Mama! Please come home!”

  The stony-faced girl ignored the plea.

  “I’m just looking for Molly Donovan,” I said.

  “Yeah, you and everyone else,” the girl responded. “Give me the password or get lost.”

  “Kiss my butt,” I said, ready to push past her.

  “Close enough.” Taylor grinned. “Molly’s not here. Her classes don’t start until five.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I was standing in front of Molly Donovan’s house. A hand-stenciled sign on the door screamed, RECLAIM YOUR BRAIN! My finger was poised to press the bell when I realized I had no idea what I should say. Principal Wickham didn’t want me to tell Molly the unpleasant truth. But I couldn’t think of anything else that might convince the girl to surrender when she seemed so close to winning her war. I started pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the Donovans’ door, mumbling to myself as I composed arguments inside my head. A kid on a scooter paused to gape until his nanny wheeled him away. The doorman from a neighboring building stepped outside to keep a close eye on me. A cop car slowed as it passed.

  My brain was about to explode, when I heard my phone ring.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!” Betty exclaimed.

  “Sorry,” I groaned. “It’s been a bit nuts here. So, you’re really okay? How’s Kiki?”

  “We’re both fine. Kiki leaves for Pokrovia tomorrow. We’re all having dinner at a friend’s house right now. Madame Beauregard made me leave the table to call you, so I only have a few seconds to talk.”

  “Madame Beauregard?” I could hardly believe my ears. “You’re having dinner with that old bat after everything she’s done to you?”

  “Please don’t call her an old bat.”

  “Oh my God—she’s gotten to you!” I gasped. “She’s turned your brain to mush! You’ve got to come home right now! That’s an order!”

  Betty’s giggle made it clear that I’d overreacted. “My brain isn’t mush, Ananka. Paris has been a pretty amazing adventure. I’ll tell you everything later. But there’s a reason I’ve been trying to call you all day. There’s something you need to know. Molly Donovan is Madame Beauregard’s great-granddaughter.”

  A trio of tourists nearly ran me over when I came to a dead halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “How do you know?”

  “Madame Beauregard told me. It’s a really sad story, and I don’t have the time to do it any justice. But I just want you to promise me that you won’t say anything more to turn Molly against her.”

  “What? Why?” I asked.

  “Just trust me, Ananka. Please.”

  I looked at the sign hanging on the Donovans’ door. “I’m standing outside Molly’s house right now. She’s been leading a revolt at the institute, and my principal thinks Amelia Beauregard is going to have her for breakfast when she comes back from Paris!”

  “She won’t,” Betty insisted.

  “Betty,” I said, trying to talk some sense into her. “I think it’s great that you’re so much nicer than the rest of us. I respect you, I really do! But believe me when I tell you that Amelia Beauregard doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”

  “You’ve misjudged her, Ananka. We all have. Like I said, I wish I could explain, but we’re in the middle of making plans. Four of us are going back to the catacombs tomorrow to find Gordon Grant’s body.”

  “Okay, that’s it,” I huffed. “Now I know you’ve lost your mind. He’s not down there!”

  “Yes, he is,” Betty said. “Kiki and Etienne think they may know where to find him.”

  “Kiki thinks Gordon Grant is in the catacombs?”

  “Look, just wait a little while before you talk to Molly. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “I can’t. Luz is going to get arrested because we won’t give the baldness cure to a crazy lady from a pharmaceutical company! And my principal will only help us get a good lawyer for Luz if I convince Molly to stay away from Amelia Beauregard!”

  “Go ahead and give the pharmaceutical lady the cure,” Betty advised. “That way you won’t need a lawyer and you won’t need to talk to Molly.”

  “What? You don’t even know …”

  “I know a lot more than you think,” Betty said. “It doesn’t matter if the pharmaceutical lady gets the cure. She’s not going to want anything to do with it in a couple of days. Trust me.”

  For a moment, I wondered if I was really speaking to Betty Bent. The girl on the other end of the phone sounded remarkably cool and confident.

  “Really?” I asked. “You really think we should give her the cure?”

  “Yep. Then go find Kaspar. Tell him we’re going to have a new graffiti project for him before he goes back to school.”

  What she’d asked was too dangerous. I couldn’t allow myself to be tempted again. The last time I’d seen Kaspar my willpower had failed me, and Oona had almost died. “I don’t know about that, Betty. Maybe you should call him and tell him yourself.”

  “When? I’m going to be too busy looking for Gordon Grant. Besides, I thought you liked hanging around with Kaspar.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s something you should know, too,” I confessed.

  “That you have a crush on Kaspar?”

  “Did Iris tell you?”

  “Iris? Of course not. I’m not dumb, Ananka.”

  “And you don’t mind?”

  “Why should I? I trust you. Now I gotta get off the phone. Like I said, we’re making plans for tomorrow.”

  “Good luck,” I mumbled, feeling like a criminal who’d been captured, then released on her own recognizance.

  “You, too!” Betty chirped.

  As I dropped my phone into my pocket, I heard a voice behind me.

  “Ananka?”

  “Yeah,” I said, spinning to face Molly. Now that I knew Amelia Beauregard’s secret, I could see it. Molly was the spitting image of her great-grandmother.

  “I thought it was you! Some guy down the street just called to say there was a weird kid lurking outside my door. He thought it was one of Mommy Dearest’s stalkers. So are you here to try to shut down my academy? Or do you just enjoy creeping out my neighbors?”

  “Neither,” I said.

  “Then what do you want?”

  I thought for a moment, took a deep breath, and said, “Nothing.”

  “Oh,” Molly replied. “Well, I know you didn’t ask, but it’s all going really well. About half the girls from the institute joined my academy last night. But we decided to postpone classes until we liberate the rest of our comrades.”

  “I saw a bunch of your troops outside the institute,” I told her. “Cute uniforms.”

  “I know, right? I never thought I’d turn out to be such a trendsetter.”

  “I’m happy for you, Molly,” I said. “I should go.”

  I’d started walking away when Molly called out again. “By the way, I talked to my mom.”

  I stopped.

  “She said my grandmother, Thyrza, was born in 1945. She couldn’t have been the floozy who stole Amelia Beauregard’s boyfriend. Unless the dude was a serious cradle robber.”

  And that’s when I remembered Gordon Grant’s coded message. I never believed I could love anyone but you. Thyrza has proven me wrong. I no longer needed an explanation from Betty. I knew exactly what had happened. Amelia’s fiancé wasn’t a traitor. He’d figured out that he was going to die. The note he sent was a good-bye letter to the love of his life and the child he would never have a chance to know. And the Beauregard Method wasn’t responsible for turning the wildest girl in Manhattan into a proper young lady. Amelia Beauregard had died inside the da
y she’d lost everything that she loved.

  I glanced back at the redheaded delinquent who’d never felt at home in her family, and I realized Betty Bent was right. No two people on earth needed each other more than Molly Donovan and her grandmother.

  While I was taking a painful stroll in Amelia Beauregard’s shoes, Betty was rushing back to join the dinner party in Detective Fitzroy’s dining room. Gathered around a small table were Kiki, Verushka, Etienne, Marcel, Amelia Beauregard, and their host. Everyone looked on as Madame Beauregard instructed Verushka on the proper use of escargot tongs.

  “You worked for a royal family, but you’ve never eaten escargot?” Amelia Beauregard inquired skeptically.

  “No,” Verushka replied, picking up a knife by the side of her plate. “But I could spear a snail with a dagger from the other side of the room.”

  “That sounds like a much more practical skill,” Amelia Beauregard admitted. “Perhaps you’ll teach me someday?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” said Verushka. “But now I must learn how to capture this mollusk.” She set down the knife, opened the escargot tongs, and tried to clamp down on a shell. The butter-covered sphere shot straight across the table at Kiki, who caught it with a lightening-fast flick of her wrist.

  “Fantastic!” Betty’s employer exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight. And for the most fleeting of moments, Betty caught a glimpse of the girl Amelia Beauregard had once been.

  THE FISHBEIN GUIDE TO … PERSONAL STYLE

  It wasn’t all that long ago that a young lady was expected to wear a dress, hat, gloves, and pantyhose whenever she appeared in public. (Gloves can be quite useful, of course. But pantyhose? Can you imagine!) Those were dark days, indeed. Fortunately, twenty-first-century ladies may wear whatever they like. Which means you have the opportunity to develop what’s known as personal style.

  Being stylish isn’t the same thing as being fashionable. True trendsetters don’t follow fashion. They do their own thing—and let other people follow them.

  Refuse to Be a Follower

  If you want to have personal style, you first need to know who you are. Are you the kind of person who craves attention? Or would you rather fly under the radar? Do you prefer loose-fitting clothing that will let you deliver a good kick when necessary? Or do you think a three-inch stiletto heel is the best defense a girl can have? Let your personality and your lifestyle determine your fashion choices. What’s right for your best friend (or the ladies at Vogue) may not be right for you.

  Say the Right Thing

  As we’ve discussed in previous books, your clothing can communicate a great deal. Make sure it’s saying what you want it to say. If your grandmother is a biker chick, wearing your favorite leather pants to her latest wedding could say, “You’re my hero.” If she’s a member of PETA, those same pants might say, “I can’t stand the sight of you.”

  Forget the Rules and Trust the Mirror

  Any follower of fashion knows there are lots of “rules.” Redheads shouldn’t wear red. Curvy girls shouldn’t wear stripes. Older ladies should burn their bikinis. More often than not, these “rules” were developed to grab your attention and sell magazines. Forget them. Try on anything and everything that catches your eye. Then take a good look in the mirror. Do you like what you see? Does it make you feel good? Can you sit down in it? Will the color make you look like a corpse? Is that what you’re going for? Trust your own eyes.

  Learn How to Sew

  I envy anyone who’s handy with a needle and thread. It’s a very useful skill. If you know how to sew, you can create the perfect wardrobe from scratch—or alter store-bought clothes to fit perfectly. You can also stitch up wounds in emergencies, add a few secret pockets to your clothing, make your own mummies, or whip up a disguise at a moment’s notice.

  You Don’t Have to Play the Game

  If you would rather hang out in an orangutan habitat than a shoe store, go for it. The fact is, some people would rather not waste their time thinking about clothes. I always try to be nice to these people. One day they’ll be running the world.

  The Secret Ingredient

  Whatever you wear, wear it with confidence.

  Chapter 38

  The Original Darkness Dwellers

  PARIS: SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 22

  The next morning, Betty wolfed down a croissant and scrambled to meet her French friends at the abandoned Metro station on the Boulevard St. Martin. They walked along train tracks and then through the tunnels for what felt like miles and miles. When at last Etienne pointed his finger at a pile of rubble, Betty’s spirits sank. The rock heap didn’t look particularly promising. They had seen several just like it on their way to the site. The catacombs were ancient, and their walls were prone to crumbling. Even the most seasoned cataphile wouldn’t have paused to investigate.

  “I’ve passed by this spot a hundred times. Are you certain this is the right place?” Detective Fitzroy asked.

  “I can’t say for sure that we’ll find anything,” Etienne replied. “But this is definitely where Phlegyas told me he first discovered the name.”

  “It’s going to take a lot of work to clear this rubble,” Betty noted.

  “Yes, we’ll be lucky if we finish by midnight,” Etienne grumbled.

  “Then we should get started right away!” Marcel sounded relentlessly chipper. But his high spirits were no match for Etienne’s bleak mood. The dark-haired boy had been unusually quiet at dinner the previous evening. At first Betty wondered if he might still be smarting from Phlegyas’s scolding. Then she observed the first of many hushed and heated exchanges between Etienne and the pale little princess seated beside him. Betty’s fellow guests must have noticed them too. Everyone knows it’s terribly rude to whisper when other people are around. It must have taken tremendous restraint, but even Madame Beauregard managed to hold her tongue.

  One by one, the four underground laborers hoisted the stones, then placed them in a neat pile along the tunnel’s wall. Every rock they removed seemed to have a hundred more behind it. As Betty worked, she inched her way over toward Etienne until they were working side by side. He was far too preoccupied to notice her presence.

  “You’re worried about Kiki, aren’t you?” she asked.

  The boy fumbled a heavy rock and quickly hopped back before it crushed his toe. “Excuse me?”

  “That’s why you’re in such a terrible mood, isn’t it?”

  “I offered to fly to Pokrovia with her, but she didn’t want me along.”

  “It’s going to be a very dangerous trip,” Betty said. “Livia and Sidonia are out of the way, but Sergei Molotov will still be searching for Kiki.”

  “All the more reason that she shouldn’t have gone alone!”

  “Kiki doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt. She didn’t even let Verushka travel with her this time.”

  “But I’m not a sixty-year-old with a bad leg!”

  “Don’t be fooled by appearances,” Betty advised. “Bad leg or not, that sixty-year-old could kick all of our butts.”

  “Still …” Etienne shook his head and said nothing more.

  Betty refused to let the conversation conclude. “Did Kiki tell you why she went to Pokrovia?”

  “There’s something hidden inside the royal palace. Kiki’s mother had evidence that Livia Galatzina was trying to kill her. If Kiki can find whatever it was that her mother hid, she might have enough proof to put her aunt in jail.”

  Betty laughed. “You should feel flattered. There aren’t many people Kiki would trust with that much information. But she still didn’t tell you the whole story.”

  “What do you mean?” Etienne demanded.

  “Can you imagine what it’s like to lose someone you love?” Betty asked. “It must be terrible. I mean, just look what it did to Madame Beauregard. Both of Kiki’s parents were murdered. And she’s almost lost Verushka—twice. Her friends have been drugged, kidnapped, wrapped up like mummies and left for dead. So let’s face
it … The throne of Pokrovia has almost claimed the life of every person Kiki’s cared about. That’s what the trip to Pokrovia is about. It’s not really about revenge anymore. Kiki’s is trying to protect the people she loves. And that’s why she made you stay here in Paris. She couldn’t risk losing you, too.”

  “You think Kiki cares about me?” Etienne asked.

  “She’d be crazy if she didn’t. Where else is she going to find a boy who’s just like her?”

  Etienne’s grin lasted all of two seconds. “I’ll feel better when she’s back.”

  “So will the rest of us,” Betty told him.

  Once again, Betty’s words had worked magic. The atmosphere brightened a bit, and Etienne attacked the rubble with renewed energy. As the hours passed, there was little talking—just grunting and panting as thousands of stones were removed from the pile. The workers were hungry, exhausted, and covered head to toe in dirt. But it was hard to tell if any real progress had been made.

  “May I ask what you’re doing?” Phlegyas was perched on a pile of rocks behind them. Betty wondered how long the man had been watching.

  “Phlegyas!” Etienne looked embarrassed. “You remember Marcel and Betty. And this is Detective Louis Fitzroy.”

  “Ah, yes!” Phlegyas held out a hand to the detective. “I enjoyed reading about your adventure in the catacombs. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for years now.”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” Fitzroy told him. “Had I known more about the Darkness Dwellers in those days, I never would have reported your secret cinema to the authorities.”

  “No need to apologize,” Phlegyas assured Fitzroy. “There are many secrets still left in the catacombs. In fact, it looks as though you may be attempting to uncover one right now.”

  “Yes, but I’m beginning to think there’s nothing here to be found,” Etienne admitted. “We’ve been slaving away all morning, and we haven’t made a dent in the rubble.”