These were words Mayhap usually used to comfort Winnow when she was sad. Together, they would imagine the type of shoes the day would wear next: boots fashioned out of carmine suede, or Grecian sandals braided with ivy, or amaranth ballet slippers covered in little beaded periwinkles.
Perhaps Winnow meant them as a bridge between silence and lies. But Mayhap — full and exhausted and still shaky from her interaction with the grass — could only press her lips into a forced smile and nod.
Tomorrow, she feared, the day would be barefoot.
Dressed in lace nightgowns, the girls settled down on chaise longues in their bedroom.
Pavonine groaned. “I’m tired now,” she whinged. “Why must we brush the droomhunds every night?” She made every sound like the longest word in a long history of long-haired girls.
“You know why,” said Mayhap, handing Pavonine a mother-of-pearl brush with horsehair bristles.
Pavonine took the brush out of Mayhap’s hand begrudgingly. “So they don’t traipse the dirt of the weary world into our dreams,” she grumbled.
Peffiandra seemed to consider this a summons. She jumped onto Pavonine’s lap.
“Exactly,” said Mayhap.
The house was spotlessly clean, but one couldn’t ever be too careful with a creature one allowed to sleep in one’s head.
A droomhund could press itself into the tight space of a person’s mind, much like a mouse squeezing under the lip of a locked door. With the droomhunds in their minds, the blaring light that lit up behind the Ballastian sisters’ eyes whenever they tried to sleep — a sensation Winnow had described to Mayhap and Pavonine in great detail after conducting what she called “an experiment” — could be muffled with the dogs’ black fur. But if the droomhunds weren’t brushed, the fur would prickle the insides of the girls’ heads, turning their dreams sharp as hat pins and making their thoughts scatter like dropped marbles. The softer the droomhunds’ fur was, the more restful the girls’ sleep would be.
“But it’s such a pain,” moaned Pavonine. “The house does everything for us. Why can’t it take care of the droomhunds, too?” She ran one hand over Peffiandra’s back, the brush poised in the other.
“Because the cost of light is darkness,” said Winnow. She sat opposite Pavonine, Evenflee lying beside her.
“You’re always saying that,” said Pavonine, her shoulders drooping. “And I don’t even know what it means.” She stabbed at the chaise with the handle of her brush, and Peffiandra looked up, alarmed.
“It’s something Mamma used to say,” said Winnow, sounding unbearably sad. “For every good thing in the world, there is a little bad to go with it. The cost of having a droomhund is brushing her each night.”
Mayhap tried to meet Winnow’s eyes to say a silent thank you, but Winnow looked away.
“Why doesn’t the house do it for us, though?” said Pavonine. “It does everything else.”
“It doesn’t sleep for us,” said Winnow. “The dogs do that.”
“I suppose,” said Pavonine.
Mayhap said, “It’s the way it is, Pav. Some things simply — are. And you can’t change them.” Like the way Winnow has been acting, she thought. She blinked back tears as Seekatrix turned a few anxious circles on her lap. Once he was lying down, she began to run the bristles of her brush through his fur.
Winnow began to brush Evenflee, too, and Pavonine — who had somehow managed to stop complaining — followed suit.
Usually, the Ballastian sisters would talk while they groomed their dogs, but tonight there were too many secrets in the air, and too many lies. The only sounds were the hush of the brushes through thick fur and the rattle of the grass against the windows.
Hush. Rattle. Hush. Rattle.
Pavonine made a quick job of brushing Peffiandra, who endured the treatment like a rag doll. When Pavonine was done, the little dog leaped to the floor, shook as though she was wet, and scratched at the plush carpet.
“Did you do her legs?” said Winnow.
“Yes,” moaned Pavonine. She rolled her eyes.
Winnow rolled hers back.
Then Pavonine began chasing Peffiandra around, squealing as the droomhund growled playfully, her fur fluffed and standing on end.
“Pav,” said Mayhap. “Don’t get her all excited before bed.”
“Why not?” asked Pavonine, stalking behind Peffiandra, about to give her a fright. “She’ll sleep when she needs to sleep.”
“But you had those nightmares the last time, remember? If she can’t settle down, then you won’t, either. It’s not just the texture of their fur that matters.”
Pavonine didn’t listen.
“Pavonine Ballastian,” said Mayhap, “take your droomhund into the hallway right this minute. Ask the house to keep the lights off, and walk up and down slowly. She needs to be in the right state for sleeping.”
Pavonine frowned, scooping Peffiandra into her arms. “Next time you want to talk to Winnow alone,” she said bitterly, “just say so.” She marched out of the room.
When Pavonine closed the door behind her, Mayhap looked at Winnow, who was focusing intently on brushing Evenflee’s curly tail. “Winnow,” Mayhap said, “why did you go walking in the grass?”
Winnow’s brushing hand stopped moving. For a moment, Mayhap thought her sister was going to tell her the truth. But instead she said, “I’m tired, Mayhap.”
Mayhap found a tangle in one of Seekatrix’s ears and began to go over it gently with her brush, pulling it apart with her fingers. Seekatrix shook his head. “Why won’t you tell me?” she whispered urgently, keeping her eyes on Seekatrix’s ear. “I saw you, Winnow.”
Winnow threw down her brush and it hit the carpet with a dull thud. Evenflee looked up, curious. “I can’t sit in this house all day,” she snapped. “Waiting for them. It’s agonizing, not knowing anything.”
Mayhap picked up the brush, which had rolled toward her. She stood, her droomhund tucked under one arm. “I can’t believe you left the house, Winn. You know how dangerous it is. Mamma and Pappa —”
“Don’t talk about Mamma and Pappa!” said Winnow, snatching the brush out of Mayhap’s hand. Then she added, whispering, “Mamma and Pappa aren’t here.” She began to brush Evenflee again, this time more forcefully. He cringed, flinching when the bristles met his fur.
Mayhap kneeled beside Winnow’s chaise, cradling Seekatrix. “Winnow, I had to lie to Pavonine. She would’ve been terrified if she’d known.”
Winnow only scowled.
“It’s a miracle you came back alive,” said Mayhap, her voice louder now. She glanced at the windows, shuttered with silver grass.
“But I did come back,” said Winnow. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Mayhap looked at the carpet. She looked at Seekatrix in her arms. She looked at the door. She looked at Winnow’s flushed face. “Fine,” she said. It was all she could think to say.
“I just —” Winnow said. “I can’t —”
Evenflee struggled, wanting to get away from her harsh brushing.
Around them, the house was quietly tidying little objects away: perfume bottles, books and pencils, stray gloves and wilted flowers. It was folding down the quilts on their bed and drawing the thick curtains so the grass couldn’t watch them sleeping. The room darkened, but a fire lit itself in the grate and began to crackle, emitting a warm glow.
“You can’t what?” said Mayhap.
Evenflee finally wriggled out of Winnow’s arms and jumped to the floor, giving himself a good shake.
“Nothing,” said Winnow. “I told you, Mayhap — I’m tired. We can talk about this in the morning.” Without another word, she got into bed and climbed under the covers.
Mayhap watched, her mouth open in disbelief. The walls seemed to press nearer to her, as though they were trying to hear her breathing.
“That’s enough brushing for tonight, Seeka,” she said, burying her face in his sweet-smelling fur.
“Sounds about right,�
�� said Pavonine, arriving through the door with a drowsy Peffiandra in her arms.
“All right, you two,” said Mayhap.
Her words echoed as though she had two mouths instead of one, and she tried not to think about the grass and the way it spoke with a hundred separate voices.
Mayhap, Winnow, and Pavonine lay in their crescent-shaped bed of creamy onyx, their hair spread out on embroidered pillows.
The letter their parents had left hung on the wall above their heads, framed in curlicued silver. In the black-and-white photograph that hung beside the letter, Cygnet and Bellwether Ballastian were sitting on a sofa, staring ahead seriously, their droomhunds perched on their laps.
All three girls blew a kiss to their lost parents. “Sleep darkly, Mamma and Pappa,” they said in unison.
“Sleep darkly, Winnow,” said Mayhap, determined not to meet her older sister’s eyes. “Sleep darkly, Pavonine.”
The grass made a keening sound against the windows.
The coverlet tucked itself around the girls.
“Sleep darkly, Mayhap,” said Winnow, lying back and letting out a long breath. “Sleep darkly, Pavonina Carina.”
“Sleep darkly, sisters,” whispered Pavonine.
And then Winnow whistled for the dogs.
The three droomhunds leaped at once onto the enormous bed.
Peffiandra trotted toward Pavonine’s cheek. Evenflee pawed at Winnow’s collarbone. And Seekatrix bounded onto Mayhap’s stomach. Mayhap rubbed his ears. He smelled of brown sugar and orange zest. He yawned, showing his black tongue and gums, the inky cave of his mouth.
Peffiandra nuzzled Pavonine’s ear, then burrowed inside it like a rabbit slipping into its warren. Pavonine’s breathing slowed and steadied. Her eyes fluttered closed, her eyelids like two pink petals.
Then Winnow said, “You next, Mayhap.”
Seekatrix was on his back now, gnawing at Mayhap’s fingers. She wished she could fall asleep with him beside her — tucked against her body or held in her arms. But that was impossible. She was a Ballastian. If she closed her eyes for too long without a droomhund inside her mind, her head would fill with a buzzing whiteness, a searing heat, like lightning burning inside her. Those were the words Winnow had used after her experiment. It made Mayhap nauseous to think of it. She rubbed Seekatrix’s belly and whispered, “Come on, Seeka. Time to sleep darkly.”
He sat up, tilting his head, then squeezed his way into Mayhap’s mind.
The room went ashy at the edges, as though it were a singed letter, and Mayhap’s thoughts turned to gauze and gossamer. Pressure sat behind her watering eyes and pinched the top of her nose as Seekatrix fussed, trying to get comfortable.
Winnow’s face hovered over her, a fuzzy oval, and then Seekatrix curled up tightly and went to sleep, and everything went dark. Mayhap shut her eyes.
It was time to rest.
Seekatrix scrambled painfully out of Mayhap’s mind, and she knew he was petrified.
Sometimes a noise would wake him, and he would flee from her head, leaving her ears ringing. But this was different. Her whole head ached and the bridge of her nose burned. Waking up had never hurt this much.
When she opened her eyes, rubbing her temples to stop the clangor in her brain, the silver ceiling came into focus above her, its ridges as defined as scars in the light of the fire.
Pavonine was still asleep. Seekatrix was sitting beside Mayhap on the bed, facing her. His growl was high-pitched, like a hummed question.
And Winnow was gone.
Mayhap clambered out of bed, and Seekatrix followed her. She asked the house for a dressing gown, and a garment as fragile as moths’ wings was draped over her shoulders, pink ribbons tightening the organza around her wrists. Velvet slippers covered her feet.
When she opened the heavy damask drapes and peered through one of the thousand bedroom windows — each the size of a teacup and shaped like a nine-pointed star — she found that it was the middle of the night.
The silver grass parted its strands and swayed, revealing a navy sky dabbed with white stars. The wander-root trees hung in the air like ornate chandeliers.
As Mayhap pressed her face to the glass, the silver shrieked and scratched against the windows. She stumbled back, legs numb.
She turned to Seekatrix, her heart pounding. He was standing just behind her, still growling, and her thundering heart made her want to growl right back. “Seeka,” she whispered, folding her arms. “What’s going on? Why did you wake me?”
He pitched his ears forward, his growl only loudening.
Mayhap patted her thigh for him to follow her. She knocked on the intricately carved ebony screen that separated the bedroom from the bathroom. “Winnow,” she said, “are you in there?”
Silence.
Mayhap asked the house to move the screen aside. The electric lamp on the wall glowed. The bathroom — a square of seamless green marble with a claw-footed tub in the middle of it — was empty.
“Winnow?” said Mayhap again. Her sister’s name was peculiarly shaped in her mouth, as though it were a shard of broken china.
And Seekatrix was still growling.
Mayhap peered at the open bedroom door. She couldn’t remember if it had been closed when they’d gone to sleep. She felt it call to her — pulling her as though there were an invisible wire connecting it to her heart.
“Come along,” she said to Seekatrix, marching through the door. The droomhund walked at her side with his tail held halfway down, sloped like a lowered flag.
Lustring-shaded lamps lit Mayhap’s way as she followed the carpet that traced the hallway’s length like a gift’s ribbon. The walls were dotted with mirrors of every shape and size, framed in burnished silver. As she walked, she could see other Mayhaps walking alongside her. Her dressing gown billowed like a cloak.
Four rooms down, there was another open door. Mayhap pushed past it.
And there was Winnow.
Winnow was lying in a bed shaped like a hand and carved out of oxblood marble. The curtains on the far side of the bedroom were open. The moonlight, filtered through the grass and through a thousand rose-shaped windows, brightened her face as though it had been dusted with chalk. She stirred, waking. She sat up. But Evenflee did not wriggle or slink or jump out of her mind. In fact, Evenflee was nowhere to be seen.
Mayhap stepped into the room tentatively.
“Winnow,” she whispered. “Why are you in here?”
Winnow didn’t answer, only rocked her head from side to side, clenching her eyes closed. Mayhap approached the bed and placed a palm against Winnow’s cheek. Winnow blinked rapidly, as though she were trying to see something clearer.
Seekatrix yelped.
And Mayhap fell back from the bed with shock.
Winnow’s eyes were silver, their irises eaten up by the color.
“Winnow,” said Mayhap, louder now. “Winnow, what’s happened? Where’s Evenflee? Why were you closing your eyes without him? Were you experimenting again?”
It seemed to take a few moments for Winnow to register who Mayhap was. When she did, she recoiled, her face twisted. She lay down again, turning onto her side. The sound she made could only have been described as howling.
Which was probably what woke Peffiandra and Pavonine and brought them running.
“May?” Pavonine said. She stood in the doorway in her dressing gown of petaled lace. Peffiandra sat beside her, a full stop at the end of her sentence. “May, what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” said Mayhap. “Go back to sleep, Pav. Everything’s fine.” She held a hand up to Pavonine to indicate that she should stay where she was.
But Winnow was still crying — sobbing. It was clear that Mayhap’s words were untrue. Perhaps the grass had been right to call her a liar.
Little liar. Little liar.
Pavonine marched over to stand beside Mayhap, and Peffiandra trotted after her, darting about the room playfully.
Pavonine reached for Winnow a
nd rubbed her arm. “Winn,” she said. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”
Winnow did not flinch at Pavonine’s touch. When she opened her eyes again, Pavonine drew in a breath, but she didn’t look away. Mayhap turned her face to stare at the wallpaper. On it, droomhunds flew through forests of earth-rooted trees.
“What happened to her, May?” asked Pavonine, her hand still on Winnow’s arm.
“I don’t know,” said Mayhap. “Seekatrix woke me up, and Winnow was gone, and I found her here, and — she doesn’t want me to touch her.”
“I think she’s hurting,” said Pavonine.
Mayhap could only nod.
“Where’s Evenflee?” said Pavonine.
“I don’t know,” said Mayhap. “I asked her, but she won’t talk to me. I’m not sure she can.”
As if in response to this, Winnow cried out.
“Shhh,” said Pavonine, stroking Winnow’s hair. “Shhh, Winn. We’re going to find out what happened. I promise.” She looked at Mayhap as if to say, We promise, right?
Mayhap frowned. Winnow was awake, which meant Evenflee had to be somewhere. If he’d left her mind after sleeping, he would normally be right next to her. “Where’s Evenflee, Seeka?” she asked. But Seekatrix only stared at her.
Mayhap checked the wardrobe for Evenflee, then kneeled to peer under the bed. There was no sign of him.
“Maybe he got scared and ran away,” said Pavonine. “Maybe he’s hiding somewhere.”
Mayhap thought about this. The droomhunds were sensitive creatures, prone to frights and shakes and shivers. Seekatrix, the most nervous of all, trembled every time he heard a door rattle.
Evenflee could have been spooked by Winnow’s cries. He could have slipped under a sofa or behind a cabinet. He could be waiting for someone to find him. But when Mayhap had come into the room, Winnow looked like she was sleeping. Now she was awake, and Evenflee wasn’t around. It didn’t make any sense. Even if she’d been experimenting by closing her eyes without him, he would have been around. The droomhunds were always around.
“Do you think that’s what’s making her unwell, May?” piped up Pavonine. “The droomhunds are always with us . . .”
The Sisters of Straygarden Place Page 2