Midnight Dolls (11 page)

She sighs. “Better. Physically, she's okay. But I think she's just really on edge.”

“That's why we need to do the ceremony,” Peregrine says. “Close the gate, help our protectors, get back to normal.” She looks so sure of herself.

“But what if it doesn't work?” I ask. “What if normal isn't going to exist for us again? What if we can't fix what's broken?” I hate to sound so pessimistic, but it feels like things are unraveling. There's no guarantee that a few charms or ceremonies will change that. I want to make sure we're considering all the alternatives. “Are we sure this is the right thing to do?”

Peregrine's expression hardens. “What, would you prefer to sit around and let your andaba brothers control things? Is your father telling you to turn your back on us?”

I clench my fists in frustration. “No! No one's telling me anything, and I'm not turning my back on you—or on them!”

She snorts. “You sure about that? Because you seem awfully interested in andaba lately.”

I feel like I want to scream. Nothing I do or say seems right. I grab her arms and force her to look at me. “Peregrine. You are my sister. Chloe is my sister. I care deeply about this town, and I'm not going anywhere. You can choose to believe me, or you can keep being a bitch, but honestly, that's just going to make you look like an idiot when it turns out I'm telling the truth.”

She studies me. “Did you just call me a bitch?”

I'm too tired to smooth it over. “You heard me. Deal with it.”

To my surprise, a genuine smile crosses her face. “Good. That's the fighting spirit I was looking for. I believe you.”

I stare after her, baffled, as she turns to go.

M
y father and Caleb join me for breakfast, and when I tell them I'm going to take the day off from school, neither of them argues.

“I'll stay home too, then,” Caleb says, glancing at me. I turn away from him.

“Go to school, Caleb,” my father says. “I know you want to look out for Eveny, but she'll be perfectly fine here with her grandfather and me.”

Caleb looks uncertain, but he nods and then heads upstairs to get his books. I follow him with my eyes, feeling sad. He's so close yet so obviously out of reach. A moment later, he comes back down the stairs, waves halfheartedly at us, and disappears out the front door, leaving my father and me alone.

“Since you're staying home today, would you be interested in learning a bit more about andaba?” my father asks after a
long silence. He looks nervous but hopeful, and I realize this is his version of extending an olive branch.

“Bram already taught me a little.” My lips tingle at the recollection.

“I see.” He pauses. “Would you like to know more?”

I look directly at him. “I'd like to learn how to protect myself and the people I love. Can you teach me that?”

“I can try.” He stands and beckons for me to follow him. “First of all, you need to know that andaba and zandara are very different, although they both rely strongly on calling on the spirits for help,” he says as he leads me out through the back door into the garden. “In many ways, they're opposites.”

“Opposites?”

“The biggest difference is that zandara deals in life—flowers, herbs, trees. Andaba deals in death. Graveyard dirt, for example, is used for protection and increased power.”

I shiver in the damp morning air. “Well, that's creepy.”

He smiles slightly and begins walking deeper into the garden. “I suppose zandara would seem creepy to someone unfamiliar with it too. The truth is, whenever you're trying to reach over to the other side, we have to use elements that would make the average person uneasy.” He nudges me. “But you're not an average person, are you?”

“Apparently not.”

“Muerte dust is another thing we use that you don't have in zandara,” my father continues. “I know you saw us use it in the ceremony we performed on Caouanne Island. All sorts of
magical sects have their own proprietary recipe for it, as do we. In andaba, it's a mixture of grave dirt, ashes, ground turtle shells, gold dust, and pulverized dirt dauber nests. They're little bugs.”

“Ew.”

My father smiles. “I know this must be weird for you. I can stop, if you want me to.”

“No. I need to hear this.”

“Very well. Muerte dust is made by one individual in each generation of andaba kings. It's one of the most sacred things in andaba, because its combination of elements is made to work with the charms we already have in place.” My father digs in his pocket and pulls out a small leather cuff with a tiny glass ball attached.

“I've filled this globe with muerte dust,” he says, handing it to me. “If you keep it with you at all times, you'll be more connected to your andaba powers—sort of like your Stone of Carrefour better connects you to your zandara powers. I'd suggest wearing it around your wrist, like I do.” He rolls up his sleeve to show me an identical tiny globe on his own arm. I'm surprised I've never noticed it before, but I realize as he pulls his sleeve halfway back down that he typically keeps his arms covered.

I take the cuff from him hesitantly. “What do I do with it?”

“Say someone tries to inflict pain on you, you can inflict identical pain on them with muerte dust and a charm. You just have to know who your enemy is; the charm must be
directed toward a specific person to be effective. And it can only be used when you're under direct attack.” He holds up his own wrist, smiles slightly, and says, “Hit me.”

I blink at him in confusion. “What?”

“Hit me,” he repeats. “Just lightly, on the shoulder. I want to show you how this works.”

“You want me to hit you?” I say. He nods, and I shrug. I reach forward to punch him lightly on the left arm, but before I can make contact, he touches the glass ball on his cuff and says quickly,
“Con mi sangre, regreso a su intención.”

Instantly, I feel a dull pain in my own left arm, and I recoil, more startled than hurt. “Ouch! What did you just do?”

He smiles. “I turned your intention around on you. The words mean literally,
With my blood, I return your intention.
The muerte dust itself is powerful enough to reverse something minor, like you just saw, but when you touch your blood to the globe of dust and say the words, you can ward off much more powerful advances. You want to try it on me?”

“What do I do?”

“I'm going to come at you, but you won't know where I'm planning to hit you. Just touch your cuff, say the words, and focus on returning the aggression to me.”

I nod, and he smiles at me, then lunges forward. Quickly, I hold up my wrist, place my finger on my cuff, and murmur,
“Con mi sangre, regreso a su intención.”

Instantly, my father recoils, grasping his forearm. “Very impressive,” he says. “I was going to pinch you, and instead, I
felt the pinch. You're a natural at this. But it's something you'll get better at the more you practice. So I'd suggest rehearsing the words in your mind all the time until they come naturally. Sometimes, you have just a split second to react before someone is able to hurt you. And if your thoughts are clouded at all, it gets in the way of your magic.”

I hold up my wrist and stare at the cuff. Already, I feel a little stronger, a little safer. “What else?” I ask. “What else can you tell me about andaba?”

“Well, you know that in zandara, you draw energy from love,” my father replies. “The more love you feel, the stronger your charms are.”

“Right.”

“In andaba, it's different. We draw energy from anger. It's not a bad thing,” he adds quickly. “It's just a different source of emotion. Anger and love aren't exactly opposites, but they're on different ends of the spectrum. Your mother and I always found that fascinating.”

I consider this, the idea that embracing the anger that sometimes courses through me could actually make me more powerful.

“You're good at this, you know,” my father says after a while. “All of it. I've seen you in action in zandara and now in andaba, but more than that, I've seen you beginning to believe in yourself a little more. That's wise; you
should
have faith in yourself. Sometimes, when we're in the most danger, our gut feelings are all we can rely on. And your instincts are solid,
Eveny. You have a good head on your shoulders.” He pauses. “Your aunt raised you well.”

I nod, accepting the compliment as the peace offering I know it is. “Thanks.”

“I'm proud of you,” he adds softly. “I know I wasn't always here, but I've always been proud to be your dad.”

I dodge two calls from Bram that afternoon and one from Liv. Bram's message tells me he missed me at school and adds that he hopes my absence didn't have anything to do with last night.

“Because last night, well, it meant a lot,” he says. “I hope you agree. Call me if you need anything.”

I can feel myself blushing and I hurry to erase the message. I don't call back because I don't know what to say. The truth is, it meant something to me too. But how can it, when I still have feelings for Caleb? Yes, I'm attracted to Bram; that much is obvious. But Caleb isn't pushing me away because he wants to. He's doing it because he thinks it's the right thing—because he thinks it's what magical forces beyond our control dictate. What if I can persuade him—and everyone else—that this isn't the case? I owe it to him to at least try, even if I keep getting hurt in the process.

I'm the first one to arrive at the cemetery that night, just before midnight. I hear twigs snapping nearby, and I whirl around to see Caleb approaching from the direction of my house.

“Hey,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he approaches. I can't help but notice how perfectly his black polo shirt stretches over his muscular chest. “You're here already.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, my throat suddenly dry.

“I would have walked here with you. I
should
have walked here with you.”

I tear my eyes away and pretend that I don't care, because it's easier that way. “I didn't need you to.”

Before he can reply, Peregrine and Chloe arrive in the clearing, trailed by Pascal, Margaux, and Arelia. Chloe's in a velvet romper and platform wedges, while Peregrine's wearing a sparkly silver minidress and bejeweled Christian Louboutin platform heels that should be sinking into the graveyard dirt but aren't. She has a designer bag slung over her shoulder, and I can see Audowido peeking out from inside, his tongue darting in and out.

“Hi, you two!” Peregrine chirps as she glides over to Caleb and me. “Don't you look cozy.”

“Yo,” comes a deep voice from behind us. I squint into the darkness and a moment later see Oscar and Patrick. “Are we late?”

“No, you're not late,” Peregrine says, looking Patrick up and down. “But you
do
smell like cigarette smoke. You realize that if you give yourself lung cancer and die, you won't be able to look after me, right?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Patrick says, giving her a dark look.

“Hi, Oscar,” Chloe says much more politely to her protector.

“Howdy,” he says, then spits.

“Charming,” Peregrine says. “Now shall we get started?”

Shooting an uneasy glance at me, Caleb moves into the center of the crossroads along with Oscar and Patrick.

“Where are your mothers?” I whisper to Chloe. “And Patrick's and Oscar's dads? Shouldn't they be here too?”

“They're doing a protection ceremony with their own sosyete,” she says. “Don't worry.” She raises her voice and turns to Margaux, Arelia, and Pascal. “Just hang out over there for a few minutes. This first ceremony is just the queens and their protectors. We'll need you for the second charm, though.”

“Whatever,” Margaux says with a sigh.

I glance back at them and see Pascal staring directly at my butt. I clear my throat, and he raises his eyes slowly to meet mine, then waggles his brows suggestively. I make a vomiting motion, and he laughs.

I watch as Peregrine sets her bag down in the clearing and lifts Audowido gently out. He slithers toward the three protectors and curls himself in the center of their little circle.

Next, Peregrine pulls out three zandara dolls and hands one to me and one to Chloe. I look down and realize that the one I'm holding looks like Caleb: brown fabric skin, short-cropped black yarn for hair, eyes sewn from brilliant blue thread. It's wearing a school uniform—khaki pants, a pale purple oxford—like the one Caleb wears every day. I squeeze
it a little tighter and for a second I wish I was the kind of girl who felt like it was okay to cast love charms using zandara dolls.

I swallow hard and look up to see Caleb watching me.

“Light the fire, would you, Chloe?” Peregrine says as she digs in her bag, and Chloe nods and moves toward the guys.

Five minutes later, Chloe has used a lighter to set a pile of twigs aflame, and Peregrine has pulled three long poles with hooked ends, a bottle of water, and a small, black cauldron out of her bag. She hands the poles to the three guys, and I watch as they expertly thread their hooks through the cauldron's handle and take a step back, so that the cauldron is suspended in the middle of their circle. Calmly, Peregrine pours the bottle of water into the cauldron and moves away. “To the fire, boys,” she says.

Caleb, Oscar, and Patrick move together over to the small fire Chloe has built, positioning the cauldron directly over it. It only takes a minute for steam to begin to rise.

“Shall we, ladies?” Peregrine asks brightly. She places Audowido on the ground, where he immediately curls into a coil. He watches as she pulls a sachet from her bag. With the other hand holding her zandara doll of Patrick, she goes to stand behind her protector. She nods at Chloe and me to do the same. As Chloe lines up behind Oscar and I line up behind Caleb, Peregrine begins to chant, and Chloe and I automatically join in.

“Come to us now, Eloi Oke, and open the gate,” we say in
unison. “Come to us now, Eloi Oke, and open the gate. Come to us now, Eloi Oke, and open the gate.”

There's a whoosh through the trees and a familiar change in air pressure. Peregrine roots around in her bag briefly before pulling out a small handful of pink flowers and stepping up to the cauldron, which is now bubbling and hissing. She throws the flowers in and says, “Antennaria blooms for invincibility.”

Next, she withdraws a handful of tiny white flowers and pale green leaves, murmuring, “Rattlesnake weed for protection and luck.” She also throws in lemon balm to ward off curses and blackberry to enable the three protectors to harm their enemies if necessary. Then she gestures for me and Chloe to hold our dolls up in the moonlight. All three of us do so as the fire dies out. The guys continue to hold the cauldron as it stops steaming, while Peregrine, Chloe, and I begin to dance in the moonlight.

“Spirits, we ask you to grant our protectors strength,” Peregrine says in a low voice, holding her Patrick doll up to the sky.

“Spirits, we ask you to grant our protectors intuition and foresight,” Chloe says, holding her Oscar doll up.

They both look at me expectantly. “Just wish for something to help the guys,” Chloe whispers.

I clear my throat and hold my Caleb doll up. “Spirits,” I say, “please watch over our protectors and keep them safe. This fight isn't theirs, and they are risking their lives for us.”

“Let's chant together, ladies,” Peregrine says. “For each ray of light, there's a stroke of dark,” she begins. My heart thuds a little faster; it's the beginning of the verse that's etched on a plaque in my front hallway, the verse I first heard my sister queens chanting the night I learned that zandara existed.