“A normal life?” Peregrine repeats. “I can’t think of anything more pointless. Not when you have powers like ours.”
She grabs her bag from the ground, stomping off before Chloe can respond.
I stand still for a good five minutes to make absolutely sure Peregrine, Chloe, and Pascal are gone. Then I give in to the weakness in my knees and slowly slide down the tomb until I’m sitting in the dirt. I can’t understand why they’d mention Aunt Bea and me.
I knew the Dolls were odd, but is it possible they actually believe they have some sort of magical powers? Though as much as I want to dismiss what I just saw as some sort of sorority ritual, I can’t deny the way the air got deathly still the instant they began their ceremony, or how a breeze picked up as soon as they began to dance.
I struggle to my feet and creep into the clearing, which is bathed in lemon meringue moonlight. It appears to be a well-defined crossroads. Three of the four corners seem to be grave plots, filled with shadowy, aboveground tombs and mausoleums of all shapes and sizes. The fourth corner, where I saw them bury the dolls, sits entirely empty, except for the handful of herbs Peregrine threw to the ground. I bend to look at them and am startled to realize they’re an ashy, burned black. I could have sworn they were alive when she let them go.
I take a deep breath and begin digging with my left hand; my right is still throbbing from grabbing the parlor door. Side by side in the hole lie two dolls, each with a name written across it, a lock of hair glued to it, and a feather pinned to it. The one that says Justin Cooper has a pale pink feather, and the one that says Beau Fontenot sports a bright red feather. The dolls have crudely sewn x’s where their mouths and eyes should be. Like the real-life Justin, the miniature version has brown hair and is wearing pants and a shirt that vaguely resemble the Pointe Laveau uniform.
I can’t possibly piece together everything I just saw while squatting in the middle of a cemetery, so I shove the Justin doll in my pocket and push the dirt back over the other doll. I stand up, my legs shaking, and make a run for it toward my house, no longer caring if I make noise.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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11
A few minutes before seven the next morning, I sit down across from Aunt Bea, who looks wideawake and cheerful after her successful opening. “Morning, hon,” she says through a mouthful of Cheerios. She’s reading the New York Times on her iPad, just like she does every day at the breakfast table. She looks up at me and the smile falls from her face. “What’s wrong?”
I take a deep breath. “Aunt Bea, there’s some seriously strange shit going on in this town, and I want to know what it is.”
She sets her iPad down. I can tell she’s trying to appear casual as she says, “What would make you say that, Eveny?”
“Drew said something about satanic rituals in town, and I thought he was just being dramatic until I saw Peregrine, Chloe, and Pascal perform a ceremony in the cemetery last night.”
“What were you doing in the cemetery?” she asks.
“You’re missing the point.”
“Okay.” She looks at the table. “Well, first of all, I can assure you that nothing like satanism is going on here. That’s just idle gossip.”
“Oh come on. This town is cut off from the outside world by a big, creepy gate! Everything’s in bloom, even though it’s January! But you drive a half mile away across the bayou, and it’s winter again.” I’m ticking things off on my fingers as I go. “I’ve been having bad dreams about the parlor, and last night I burned my hand trying to open the door. And now, the daughters of Mom’s best friends, who look and dress like supermodel gabillionaires, are sneaking around in cemeteries at night, casting spells on people! You’re going to tell me nothing’s going on?”
“Charms,” my aunt murmurs. “Not spells.” As she takes a bite of her Cheerios, her hand is shaking so hard I can hear her spoon clattering against her teeth. “Why are you so sure I’ll know the answers, anyhow?”
“Because I heard them mention you—and me. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been walking around since we got here saying cryptic things about how I have so much more in common with these girls than I realize. Am I supposed to be out there with them, dancing around with snakes and burying voodoo dolls?”
“They’re not voodoo dolls,” she says right away. When I continue to look at her, she sighs and says, “Look, before we get into an explanation, I need you to tell me that you won’t get sucked into all of this before you’ve had a chance to understand what it’s all about.”