The Dolls (18 page)

This time, I’m intending to think of Aunt Bea and everything she’s given up for me, but when I close my eyes what I see is Caleb leaning across me to open the passenger door of his Jeep last night, during the split second in which I thought he was going to kiss me.

When I open my eyes, not only has the bush I was touching grown and sprouted dozens of new blood-red roses, but every bush
it
was touching is flourishing too. I pull my hand away.

“Who were you thinking of?” Boniface asks.

“Um, Aunt Bea,” I lie.

“Hmm. Well, she clearly loves you very much.” He checks his watch. “In any case, I must get inside. I have a few things to do tonight. Besides, I’m guessing you’re tired; working zandara can be exhausting.”

I yawn and thank him. As much as I want to keep going, to keep learning, I have the feeling he’s right. And even though it’s only a few minutes after eight, I feel like I could crawl under my covers and sleep for the next sixteen hours. As I head off to bed, all I’m thinking about is Caleb and the power that surged through me as he flashed through my mind.

It feels like I’ve barely drifted off when my phone begins ringing. I swat at it to silence it and snuggle deeper into my covers, but it rings again. I reach for it on the third cycle and, still half asleep, mumble into the receiver, “Hello?”

“Eveny? It’s Peregrine. Where on earth are you?”

I yawn. “Sleeping,” I mumble. “Good night.”

I start to hang up, but I can hear her yelling something, so I reluctantly hold the phone back up to my ear. “Are you there?” she’s asking angrily.

“Hmm mmm.”

“Are you seriously in bed? It’s eleven p.m. on a Saturday, you lame-o!”

“I’m tired,” I tell her. I don’t really care if she’s judging me or not.

“Boy, you must have been the life of the party back in Brooklyn,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nevertheless, I need you here, pronto. Frankly, I’m rather disappointed in you for not making this a priority.”

Now I’m confused. “You need me
where
pronto?” I ask.

She lets out a frustrated huff. “Our
party
, Eveny! You know? Frat guys in togas? Hunch punch? All sorts of secluded corners to make out in?”

I sit up in bed. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Seriously, Eveny? This is your first party as a Queen of Carrefour. Your sosyete needs you.”

“But—” I start to protest.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” she says. “Be here in twenty. Your toga is hanging by my front door.”

“I don’t even know where you live.”

“Geez, Eveny, do you need me to spell everything out for you?” When I don’t reply, she sighs heavily and says, “Walk out your front door and turn right. We’re the mansion next door, just down the hill and up the next one. Obviously.”

She clicks off and I’m left holding a dead phone. A moment later, against my better judgment, I haul myself out of bed, slouch into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and head back to my vanity mirror to add a bit of mascara and lipstick. Thanks to the facial mask from Cristof’s, my face and hair are otherwise perfect, so I’m ready to go in under five minutes.

Aunt Bea is snoring in her room at the end of the hall, so I don’t bother disturbing her. Instead, I leave a note on the table in case she wakes up before I’m back.

As soon as I’m outside, I can hear the party. Loud music and muffled laughter float through the trees, and as I begin to walk down the driveway on the back side of the hill, I can see Peregrine’s house glowing. As I get closer, I realize there are blazing torches all over her property, casting shadows and light everywhere.

There’s music blasting from the speakers on the grand, columned front porch when I arrive, and since the door is open, I don’t bother ringing the bell. I squeeze inside past a big group of hot, toga-clad guys.

“Eveny!” Peregrine exclaims, emerging from a hallway off to the right. “It’s about time!” She’s wearing sky-high chocolate leather stilettos and a white toga so short that I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be a top, not a dress. “Come in, come in! Here’s your toga!” She grabs a slip of white, drapey fabric from the coat hook beside the door and thrusts it at me. “I’ll show you where to change. Follow me!”

As she leads me down the front hall, through a throng of muscular, square-jawed guys whose eyes follow her, I look around in awe. The Marceaus’ mansion is a little smaller than ours, but it’s a thousand times fancier. The front hallway is all ivory marble with gold leafing and gold trim. An enormous crystal chandelier hangs over the entryway, sending little rays of light cascading everywhere.

As we emerge into a larger room, which Peregrine calls the ballroom, I suck in a deep breath. The chandelier here is even larger than the one in the entryway, the floor is all done in black and white marble, sleek white furniture hugs the walls, and the ceiling soars several stories high. There are torches blazing everywhere, and the place is teeming with guys and a handful of girls, all of whom are wearing togas too. I recognize Arelia and Margaux gyrating on the dance floor, but the rest of them are strangers.

“Pascal appreciates the sorority girls we added to our guest list,” Peregrine says as we whisk past the dance floor. “It’s nice to be able to appease your friends.”

Indeed, I spot him grinding on a leggy blonde whose toga has ridden up almost to her crotch. A tall black girl with perfect features and close-cropped hair is pressed up against his back. “Well, he definitely looks appeased,” I say, and Peregrine laughs.

She leads me into a huge, sprawling bathroom. “Change in there,” she orders.

I slip inside and quickly shrug into the tiny swatch of fabric Peregrine has shoved into my hands. I’m unsurprised to see that it hits above mid-thigh, but at least I’m not flashing anyone. I tug it down uncomfortably and, clutching my own clothes in my hands, open the door.

“You look hot,” Peregrine says. She snatches my clothes and adds, “I’ll put these away. On second thought, perhaps I should burn them, since bootcut jeans are totally passé.”

“They’re comfortable,” I protest, but she just snorts. “Why are we wearing togas, anyhow?”

“Parties are so much more fun when they’re themed,” she says. “And since Chloe and I went through the whole Greek system at LSU and chose only the hottest people, we figured Hot Greek would be a great theme for our little soiree. Try to keep up.”

Back in the ballroom, Peregrine drifts away and I stand against the wall awkwardly until Chloe walks up wearing a toga even shorter than mine.

“Have you seen Justin?” she asks over the music. The dance floor is full of hot guys ogling Arelia and Margaux and casting looks at Chloe and me in the corner. I feel conspicuous, and I tug on the too-short hem of my toga again.

“No,” I say. “Isn’t he with you?”

She shakes her head. “He keeps disappearing with this group of frat guys,” she says miserably. “Do you think he’s doing drugs?”

“Doesn’t seem like the type,” I tell her.

“At least he’s not trying to get with the sorority girls,” she says.

“Yeah, I think Pascal seems to have the monopoly on that.” We look back to the dance floor, where Pascal’s gyrating sandwich seems to have grown. There’s a girl with long brown hair giving him a come-hither look and a girl with the biggest fake breasts I’ve ever seen jiggling pointedly in his direction. He looks delighted. “Is Caleb here?” I ask uneasily.

“Maybe he’s with Peregrine,” she suggests. My stomach swims.

Chloe snaps to attention as soon as Justin strolls in from the direction of the front hallway. “I have to go,” she says quickly. “Have fun.”

She’s already making a beeline across the dance floor before I can reply. I’m about to turn and go look for Caleb when I feel a hand brush against my arm. “What are you doing standing over here all alone?” says a male voice in my ear.

I turn to see a blond guy with brown eyes and glasses smiling at me.

“Just hanging out,” I tell him.

“Well, you want to just hang out with me?” he asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before introducing himself. “Blake Montoire, Lambda Delta Epsilon.”

“I’m Eveny,” I reply.

“Which sorority are you in?”

“I’m not. I live here in Carrefour.”

“Wow, cool,” he says. “Pretty amazing town you’ve got. I’ve never seen houses this gorgeous. Built around the turn of the last century, right? Maybe 1904 or so?”

“How’d you know that?”

“I’m majoring in architecture. Although I have no desire to talk about school tonight. I’d rather talk about you.”

He looks down at me flirtatiously, and I can feel my cheeks heating up. I’m flattered by the attention, but there are fifty guys here and only a dozen girls; maybe he’s just run out of other options.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” I tell him.

His expression falters. “I’ll come with you. Protect you from all those other guys who’ll want to hit on you.”

“Thanks, but I’m good,” I tell him, already inching away. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

Instead of returning, I circulate around the party for the next hour, feeling a bit like a character from
The Great Gatsby
. Champagne’s flowing from a big fountain out back, people are getting drunker and wilder, and the dance floor heaves with more frat boys every few minutes. I would have thought that a bunch of partygoers in togas would look sort of dorky, but because Peregrine and Chloe only invited the hottest people, the backyard is filled with Adonis look-alikes. I’m scanning the party for a glimpse of Caleb when I spot Arelia and Blake disappearing upstairs together. So much for his interest in me.

By one in the morning, I’m ready to go. I find Peregrine to thank her for the party and ask where my clothes are, but she’s too busy making out with a tall, muscular guy with a tattoo of a tiger on his arm to say anything other than, “Just wear the toga home, for goodness’ sake, Eveny.”

Arelia, Margaux, and Chloe are in the corner of the ballroom whispering to one another, so I say a quick good-bye to them before heading out the front door.

Blake is sitting on the step and jumps up as I walk by. “Hey, Eveny, where are you off to?”

“Heading home,” I say without stopping.

He hurries to catch up with me. “I’ll walk you. You never know what might be lurking out there this time of night.”

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. I can’t resist adding, “Maybe Arelia could use an escort back to her place, though.”

He looks surprised. “She was just showing me around the house. Nothing happened.” He grasps my forearm as he adds earnestly, “You’re the girl I’ve been thinking about all night.”

“Eveny?” comes a voice from the darkness behind me. I turn to see Caleb striding out of the house. Somehow, the toga looks better on him than it does on anyone else at the party. “What are you doing?”

I open my mouth to answer, but Blake beats me to it. “Hey, man, I was just about to walk her home.”

“I’ll do it,” Caleb says instantly. He walks right past Blake and offers his arm to me. “C’mon.”

“Look, man, I was talking to her—” Blake begins, but Caleb cuts him off.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he says, which makes my cheeks immediately heat up. “And I’m taking her home.”

He turns and begins striding down the driveway, pulling me with him, before Blake can respond.

“Hey,” I say, my heart fluttering madly as soon as the sounds of the party have faded behind us and we’re alone. “Where’d you come from? I haven’t seen you all night.”

“I was around.”

“You called me your girlfriend,” I say after a minute. I’m thankful for the darkness, because he can’t see me blushing.

“Oh,” he says. “I didn’t mean it, obviously.”

I shake my head. “Yes, because that would be horrible.”

“Sorry,” he says. “That came out wrong.”

I blink a few times. “Well, if I’m so repulsive to you, why did you drag me away from the perfectly nice, cute guy who was hitting on me?”

He stops walking and looks at me in surprise. “You were interested in that guy? I thought I was saving you from him.”

“I didn’t ask you to save me,” I snap.

“And you’re not repulsive,” he says after a pause. “At all.”

“Gee thanks,” I say. “I can’t think of the last time someone said something so flattering to me.”

“Eveny—” he begins, but he stops as I pull my arm away from his.

“I can take it from here,” I say, already quickening my pace toward my own front porch, which is visible on the hill up ahead. “Good night.”

“But—” he begins to protest.

“I said good night,” I say stiffly. I double my pace and continue ahead without looking back.

That night, the dream about the parlor returns, and it’s even more vivid than last week. I hear screaming and crying as the blood pours out, and I see someone creeping from the room, hugging the shadows. I can’t make out his face or any of his features in the darkness, so I follow him as he walks through the front door.

But the moment I leave the house, it begins to crumble. I run into the yard, but I lose the man in the darkness as I turn in horror. My beautiful mansion, the one my ancestors built, disintegrates, its bricks and stones crashing to the ground with a mighty roar. “No!” I cry.

But the tide of blood from the parlor is rising around me now, hot and sticky. I try to run from it, but as I get to the edge of the cemetery, it drags me down and pulls me under.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

O
n Monday morning, I wake up to a missed call from Meredith. When I play back her message, I grit my teeth as I listen to her chirp, “I hope you’re not still mad at me. What Trevor and I have is special, and I know you’ll be a good enough friend to understand.” What irks me about her behavior has little to do with the feelings I once had for Trevor. With the distance of a few weeks and a thousand miles, and with destiny and power swirling around me in ways I never could have imagined, Trevor feels irrelevant.

What bothers me more is how easily Meredith has rejected the idea that my feelings could be hurt. The reality is, she simply doesn’t care.