Part 7 (1/2)
”Do you promise me that if we do this, you won't touch anything? That you will follow my lead at all times?” I would salute but he's pinning my arms to my side, so I settle for nodding again. But Gabriel looks unconvinced, so finally I say, ”Yes, I promise.”
”Okay” He releases me and steps back to study the painting again.
Surrept.i.tiously, I rub my arms. I can't help but stare at him. He looks so intense, so determined and otherworldly, that I'm having a hard time rememberingthat this is the person who used to play sock puppets with me when he was six and I was four. Then he turns, holds out his hand. I give him mine, feeling the strong close of his fingers.
”You ready?” No! I want to say suddenly. And by the way, will it hurt? I want to ask. As if I've spoken out loud, Gabriel gives my hand a little shake.
”We don't have to do this, you know.”
”I want to,” I answer.
”I really want to.” He nods, looking back at the painting. He closes his eyes, so I close mine, too. All of a sudden I have that feeling you get on a roller coaster, just at the moment when the car has inched all the way up to the highest peak of the track and is poised, waiting to plummet and hurl down, down, down.
Then everything s.h.i.+fts and swirls past me and I feel as if I'm standing in the ocean, the sand beneath my feet disappearing under my heels, leaving me balanced on air. My eyes snap open. Focus, I think desperately, clinging to Gabriel, the bones of his hand solid and real. I concentrate on watching the shadows skim across the hardwood floors to pool in the corners of the foyer. A breeze is coming in from somewhere. There must be a window open and now it's making the candlelight flicker and sway. Candlelight?I turn my head.
Branches and branches of candles line the wainscoted walls, their lights dancing and bobbing. Somewhere above our heads music is playing, violins andmaybe a piano.
”You did it!” I say, and Gabriel grins.
”Is it always like that?” Gabriel raises one eyebrow at me.
”Did the earth move for you, too?”
”Oh, shut up!” I snap. Then I take a second look around.
”Gabriel, this is Aunt Rennie and Uncle Chester's house” I gaze up at the familiar ceiling covered in polished tin that rains pieces of light all along the white walls.
The windows are large and arched with wooden shutters pressed closed across the bottom halves, and the floors, polished to a gleaming mahogany, are interrupted here and there with the same Persian rugs that look decidedly newer in this century than in ours. And the life-size metal knight that's usually on the second floor now stands like a sentinel at the foot of the stairs.
”Alistair said his family lost the clock in a card game to another family. It must have been ours and-”
”Really, Miranda,” comes a voice from somewhere to our left.
”I think you're being quite ridiculous. He's only the most eligible bachelor in town.
It's natural that I danced with him.”
”Yes, but you danced three times with him and you know that's not allowed by Mama's dance rules and-”
”Quick,” Gabriel hisses in my ear, and we dart toward a closet. Just in time we press together into the small dark s.p.a.ce that smells overwhelmingly of mothb.a.l.l.s.
Leaving the door slightly open, I try not to breathe in too much. Two girls sweep into view and I can't help but wishthat Agatha could be here to see their dresses-she would die. I feel a quick pinch of sadness that I'll never be able to tell her about this. They're both wearing long white trailing gowns made of some silky material. One has her dark hair sculpted in elaborate swirls, and a large white feather curls over the left side of her face. She is the taller of the two, definitely more beautiful, and from the look of things the other girl seems to know this. Her gown is just as elaborate, but it doesn't seem to fit her body, which is shorter and stubbier. In a wheedling tone, the shorter girl says, ”Yes, but I wanted to dance the waltz with him. You know the waltz shows me off perfectly, and you deliberately took that dance.” The first girl gives a light laugh that snaps off abruptly, like breaking icicles.
”I did nothing of the sort. Did I fling my dance card at him? No, he approached and asked for that dance. What would you have me do? Tell him”- and here she puts on a sweet falsetto-” *No, my little sister would care to have that dance with you, and I must condemn you to that experience of missed steps, bruised toes, and insipid conversation'?”
”Oh!” The younger girl b.a.l.l.s her hands into fists, and then quick as a flash she reaches up, s.n.a.t.c.hes the feather from her sister's hair, and shreds it.
”You little wretch,” the older girl exclaims. Suddenly, the pieces of feather in the younger girl's hand burst into flame and she drops them with a little cry. She sucks onher fingers, regarding her sister through narrow eyes. But before she can retaliate, an older woman enters the foyer. I can see her a.s.sessing the scene rapidly before the feather sc.r.a.ps disappear in a puff of smoke. She advances slowly on the two girls, the skirts of her blue taffeta dress rustling with every step.
”Mama,” the younger girl wails, ”Lavina did it again.”
”She started it,” the older girl murmurs. She pa.s.ses one long hand over her hair as if to make sure it's all still there.
”Girls, what have I said about using Talents against each other?” Their mother's voice is low but forceful, and even I feel like taking a step back in the closet.
”There's been enough division and strife as it is between us all and you have to turn against each other like that? Has our history taught you nothing?” The two girls look down at the mahogany floor, the picture of guilt, and eventually their mother's face softens.
”Now, they're about to serve dinner. Lavina, Mr. Collins is waiting to escort you in” A blaze of triumph spasms across the older girl's face before she quickly composes her features into a bland mask. Her sister is not so skilled, because she looks up, her mouth open in a mute wail.
”Come along, Miranda,” her mother says hurriedly.
”Your brother will escort you” Miranda shuts her mouth, but she reaches over and gives her sister's waist a pinch as her mother turns to lead them out of the hall. Finally, they're gone and the hall is empty once more. ”Wow,” I whisper as we step out of the closet.
”And you thought Rowena was bad,” Gabriel murmurs. He rubs his hip.
”Something was poking me in that closet.”
”Gabriel,” I say.
”What did their mother mean about the strife *between us all?” Gabriel shrugs.
”I don't know.”
”They were witches, weren't they?” I frown, trying to consider the implications as I think back over our history. I mean, I know the Puritans weren't the only ones who came over with the Mayflower. Uncle Morris has traced our family roots to the 1600s, but records are sketchy. But Gabriel is already on to something else.
”Okay, it seems everyone's going to be at dinner, so we've got a little time to check this out.” Suddenly, I look around.
”Why didn't we land in the drawing room of the painting?” Gabriel looks slightly abashed.
”Um, sometimes I can get close, but it's not an exact science.
”I nod, then say sweetly encouraging, ”Don't worry. It happens to a lot of guys.” Grinning, he takes a step closer to me.
”When we get out of here-” But I'm already moving ahead of him.
”Upstairs.” We cross the hall, duck past several open doorways, and steal up the stairs after I rub the knight's helmet for good luck.
”Here,” I whisper, and Gabriel, who is a fewsteps ahead of me, turns and comes back. We enter the room I'm pointing out. Thankfully it's empty of people. We navigate among the velvet couches and the settees, all the little k.n.o.bs on the ornate furniture.
”Wow, we could make a killing in the antiques market if we could carry this back. Can you-”
”Don't touch anything,” Gabriel warns.
”Just this end table. We could sell it at the Chelsea Fair and-”Gabriel gives me a warning look.