The Dolls(98)

Peregrine finally makes a right turn on a side street and pulls the car into a disabled parking spot along the curb. As we get out and head toward the back door of a big mansion, Chloe explains, “We were here last year to take part in the ceremony with our mothers’ sosyete—that always happens when a sosyete is a year away from inheriting its power—but this year, we’re the ones with the control.” The words make me shudder. Control seems like the wrong way to put it when we’re really just players in a game set up long before we were born.

Peregrine unlocks the mansion’s back door and flips on the lights inside. A huge, opulent parlor, all done in black and white marble, is illuminated before us.

“Beautiful place,” I say.

“It’s ours, you know,” Chloe says, turning to me. “This mansion.”

“Ours?” I ask.

“Yours, mine, and Peregrine’s,” she responds. “The greatgreat-great-grandmothers willed it to us. It’s our haven for practicing magic in New Orleans.”

“And,” Peregrine says, “our occasional place to get hammered and hook up.”

Chloe nudges me. “You and Caleb should come here some weekend. It’s really romantic.”

I swallow hard. “I’m pretty sure Caleb and I are done.”

Chloe pats my back. “Don’t give up on him yet. What you two have . . .” She doesn’t finish her sentence.

“We don’t have anything,” I say after a pause.

“You’re wrong,” she says. “And now that it’s not his responsibility to protect you anymore. . . .”

Peregrine gives me a sour look over her shoulder as she leads us into the kitchen, which has beige marble countertops and state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances. In the corner sits a teak bar with several bottles of liquor on top. “Chloe,” she says, “I think it’s pretty clear Eveny has ended things forever with Caleb.” My heart lurches, and I feel ill as she turns and says sweetly, “Champagne, guys? We’re fully stocked, and hello, we’ve just escaped a murderer! Shouldn’t we be celebrating?”

I look into the fridge, where the top shelf is lined with at least a dozen bottles of champagne with bright yellow foil wrappers.

“I’ll have a glass,” Patrick says.

“Me too,” Oscar adds.

“Me three,” Chloe says quickly. “Eveny’ll have one too. Right?”

“Um,” I say weakly. I should be feeling relieved, but instead, I just feel oddly unsettled. Knowing that Arelia was acting like our friend while she planned our murders unsettles me. It also reminds me that the deepest threats can come from the people you trust the most. I wonder if the person who betrayed my mom was someone she trusted too.

Peregrine plugs her iPhone into a pair of silver speakers and pulls up a playlist. A moment later, there’s music blasting, and Chloe, Patrick, and Oscar head into the kitchen to do shots.

“For one night, Eveny, do you think you could stop being so lame?” Peregrine asks, handing me a flute of champagne. “Let loose. Have fun. We deserve this.”


Margaux, Pascal, and Justin arrive ten minutes later, just as Peregrine is joining Chloe, Oscar, and Patrick for another round of tequila shots in the kitchen.

“The traffic was killer,” Pascal reports as he strolls in and tosses his keys on a coffee table.

“Maybe if you hadn’t stopped and leered at every topless girl we passed, we would have gotten here faster,” Margaux says. She pauses and looks around. “Hey, where’s Arelia? I thought she was with you guys.”

Chloe and Peregrine emerge from the kitchen, looking uneasy. I turn the music down, and for a moment, we just stand in uncomfortable silence.

“What?” Margaux demands. “What happened? Is she okay?”

“Margaux,” Chloe says gently. “Arelia’s the one who killed Glory.”

“That’s impossible,” Margaux says instantly. “This is some kind of a joke, right?”

“I’m afraid not,” Peregrine says. She quickly recaps the story about the lip gloss and the crimson stain on Arelia’s cheek. Before she finishes speaking, Margaux is already shaking her head vigorously.

“No, no, no, no,” she says. “This is all wrong.” She turns to me, her eyes blazing. “What did you say in your charm? Tell me the exact words!”

Startled, I explain that I asked that the gloss turn blood red on the face of the person who was lying about the night Glory died.

Margaux puts her hand over her mouth, and for a moment, she’s silent. “She was lying about that night,” she says finally. “But it’s not what you think. She didn’t kill Glory. She loved Glory.” When we all stare at her blankly, she exclaims, “She and Glory were dating, you morons! They thought you guys would ban them from the sosyete if you found out.” She turns to Peregrine and adds, “You’re not exactly the most tolerant people in the world.”