The Life and Death Parade Page 3

  “Katherine?” Macklin stood in the doorway.

  “I’m not here. I’m having an out-of-body experience.”

  He fussed with the automatons, like he had been assigned to general a toy army. Macklin was interesting to watch, if one were objective about it. While all of us were suffering, he had become exquisitely beautiful. His black hair, which he hadn’t cut all year, curled around his snow-white neck. His eyes were vivid green. He looked like Dorian Gray, and his portrait was just as well hidden.

  “What are you doing here?” I’d thought the automaton room was outside his limits.

  “This is the quickest way to the garage.” Of course it was. Macklin’s obsession with his car bordered on pathological. When he wasn’t driving it, he was repairing it; when he wasn’t repairing it, he was cleaning it. He spoke about it so much—and he was often the only one who spoke at all—that I sometimes suspected it was more alive than we were.

  He talked about it for a while then, crossing his arms like we had met in a racing pit. I had no idea what he said, but I considered hiring him the next time I couldn’t sleep.

  I shut my eyes, testing. It took him approximately ten hours to notice. “You know, it’s unhealthy to mope around all day.”

  “It’s unhealthy to die.” I hadn’t meant to say that. Macklin tended to bring out the worst in me.

  His eyes flicked over me. “You should get out more.”

  “What? So I can be more like you?”

  “Kitty, stop.” I was breathing hard. I didn’t know when that happened. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “I know you are. That’s the sad thing.” He opened his mouth again, but I put my hand up. “You know, I need you to stop saying things to me, because I can’t help saying horrible things back. Sorry.”

  He struggled to find a way around me, like he couldn’t manage all the empty space. I felt close to him then, in a brief, fragile moment that ran featherlike between us before it vanished altogether.

  Then I stood and forced my way around him, through all the empty space.

  The cleaners would be working their way through the library now, so I wasn’t safe there. I had two choices: I could leave the castle or I could go to a place even the cleaners rarely ventured. And I didn’t want to leave, so I went up the stairs slowly, with my head held high. I followed the path to Nikki’s room.

  I pushed the door open and the past pushed back—still living there, crawling like worms through his shoes, like ashes to dust along his dresser. When I was in Nikki’s room and I shut the door behind me, I felt him, not in one single place like he was before, but everywhere. Everywhere at once and like a veil I saw through.

  If anyone found me in his room alone, I didn’t know what they’d do. This wasn’t my home anymore; I knew that. Not the way it was before. But I couldn’t leave, couldn’t dream of leaving. As if Nikki, being somehow elemental when contained inside his bedroom walls, could return there actually—not as a complex of the spirit but in a single, definable place we called a body, with a mouth and lips and the things necessary to hold.

  I moved slowly past his dresser, where everything was arranged exactly as he’d left it—gold chains of jewelry in rows, leather-bound journals of all sizes and colors piled up beside an inkwell pen and a vial of dove’s-blood ink, feathers and crystals set in a circle around an antique pillbox holding a pound coin and two heart-shaped stones. I let my fingers hover over his things, as if sifting through their auras. With my other hand, I took out the rabbit’s foot and squeezed it in a pulse.

  I didn’t believe in magic, so why couldn’t I touch his things? Why couldn’t anyone? Why had we left them there, waiting for him to come back?

  I didn’t believe in magic. But that didn’t mean I didn’t need it.

  I squeezed Nikki’s rabbit foot so hard it shot from my fingers and hopped—still rabbit—beneath the bed. I got down on my stomach. The rug was divided into a sea of dust. I saw the rabbit’s foot and beyond it, winking like a last magic trick, was the silver handle of Nikki’s cane.

  I stretched beyond the rabbit’s foot and rescued the cane, pulled it onto my lap, and wiped away the dust. What was it doing under Nikki’s bed? Had Nikki been mistaken when he said he forgot it? But it hadn’t been in the car with us.

  I slid backward until I was propped against the wall, rolled the cane back and forth between my fingers. Nikki had left the cane on the boat. Macklin said he wouldn’t go back. And then we separated.

  I traced a jagged scratch along the body. When did I see Nikki again? Not until three o’clock that morning, when he was still awake, even more unsettled than he’d been when I left him on the drive. Had they gone back to get it? Why had they never mentioned it? I wanted to ask Nikki, but I couldn’t. I would have to ask Macklin—which might make my telling him not to speak to me look slightly insincere.

  I inhaled, filling my lungs with Nikki. Then I scooped the rabbit’s foot off the floor and used the cane to lift myself to my feet.

  We were all sitting down to supper, all except Nikki. There were three dining rooms in the castle, but we used the smallest one, near the center, surrounded on all sides by doors, thirteen doors in all, looking out into the dark.

  No one knew where Nikki was, but we all knew he was in trouble. We could read it on Lord Bramley’s face. The room was quiet, except for the occasional scratch of a knife on a plate, usually mine.

  The front door crashed open. It was far away so it sounded like an egg cracking.

  “That’ll be Nikki.” Macklin made to stand, but Lord Bramley motioned him down. We heard Nikki’s footsteps circle around us, heard the scrape of the antique sword he’d taken to strapping around his waist, ever since the psychic made her non-prediction. Other sounds came in behind, clomping in a familiar four-step pattern.

  Macklin recognized them first. “Oh my God.”

  Lord Bramley threw down his napkin. “Oh, if this doesn’t take it all.” He stormed out. Our eyes crossed across the table: Macklin’s, Lady Bramley’s, Holly’s. We stood as one to follow.

  We found Nikki marching, face bewitched, along the perimeter of the castle leading two white and two black horses.

  “Oh for God’s sake!” Lord Bramley said.

  The horse nearest Nikki threw his head in the air, then bolted. Nikki released him without a struggle, and the others followed. The four horses galloped into the library, each ducking his head one after the other. The smell of dirt and warm manure filled the room in their wake. Edgar, the groundsman, and his wife, Aislyn, appeared and scrambled toward the library after the horses.

  “We had better get you to bed.” Lady Bramley dropped her hand on Holiday’s shoulder, but Holly twisted away.

  Nikki stood with a hypnotized expression, holding the hilt of the sword like he intended to use it, should anyone approach. Lord Bramley must have noticed because he didn’t rage immediately.

  “Olivia,” he said. “Get Holiday to bed.”

  “Come along now.” Lady Bramley directed Holiday’s shoulders.

  “You’re all going to die,” Nikki intoned.

  “Nikki!” I scolded. He scowled at me. My stomach turned to dust.

  Lady Bramley groped for Holiday, who ducked and raced to Nikki’s feet. “Nikki? What are you doing with the horses?”

  Edgar returned leading two. Aislyn led two more behind. It was like a funeral procession, those horses crossing Nikki’s path.

  Nikki trembled, then got down on one knee. He reached up with his hand and brushed Holly’s hair back. “This is a way to fight a powerful curse, you see? The white to purify and the black to send it back. Have you ever heard of blood magic?” A metallic ripple as he unsheathed the sword.

  “This. Stops. Now.” Lord Bramley pounced, ripped the sword away, and threw it across the room. He grabbed Nikki by the scruff of his military coat, shaking him until it tore.

  “Father, stop!” Macklin said.

  “Get Holiday out of here,” Lord Bramley said
. This time Lady Bramley scooped her up in her arms and ran. Holiday’s screams echoed through the hall.

  “Father, please,” Macklin said. “He’s just having a laugh.”

  Lord Bramley released Nikki with a jerk. Nikki smiled his extra-sharp smile. “Apologies, old man. Just thought we’d get cracking on the apocalypse.”

  Lord Bramley slapped Nikki across the face. “This stops now, understood? All this silliness stops now. Take off the coat, the boots, the whole mad lot, and I don’t want to see that sword again, or by God I will stick it up your backside.” His chest heaved. “What do you think it does for your sister to see you like this? She’s eight bloody years old!”

  “I’m only trying to help,” Nikki said. “You’ll see, or perhaps you won’t. It happens that fast.” He stalked off, feinting toward the sword so Lord Bramley stiffened, then headed down the hallway, humming that obscure funeral march.

  FOUR

  “I found this mechanic who’s an expert in Rollers,” Macklin told an apathetic audience over supper that night. “I’m going to take him down over the weekend.”

  “Take who down?” Lord Bramley said.

  “The car.”

  “Humph. I thought you said ‘him,’” Lord Bramley said. “Where is Holiday?” We still clung to supper, that one tradition, from Before. Lady Bramley poked the edges of her salad, and Macklin and even Holiday showed up every night. It was our single concession to each other, the slight nod of recognition that kept us anchored to one thing at least.

  “I’ll go get her.” I was sometimes too eager to appear helpful; it was a consequence of feeling like I didn’t belong.

  Janelle stood in the hallway, playing on her phone.

  “Aren’t you even trying?” I said. Janelle raised her eyebrows and I blanched. “Sorry, it’s just Lord Bramley, he’s insistent we all eat together, like proper prisoners.”

  “She’s gone into one of her little things, you know.” Janelle knitted her fingers.

  “One of her little things,” while sounding cute so packaged in words, was Holiday’s attempt to channel Nikki. She took on his posture, worked her squeak of a voice around his poetic boom, and generally terrorized everyone.

  I sighed. “Wait here, and I’ll drag her out.”

  I paused inside the door, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Holiday’s room stank of sweat and rubbing alcohol. It was only when I came all the way in, when the door shut behind me, that I noticed the metallic undercurrent, the bad penny smell.

  Holiday’s room was a shrine to Nikki, but rather than focus on the sweeter things—his boundless charity or the way he could always laugh at himself—Holiday’s shrine worshipped the darker parts. The military coat was there, stiff and blackish. The sword was there, too, bloodied to the hilt. I tripped over Nikki’s boots.

  Holiday sat with her feet crossed. A black hat was pulled down over her face so she looked like a statue, a shrunken tribute to her brother.

  “Hello, Holly,” I said.

  “I’m not Holly.” Her voice had a low twang, but she sounded nothing like Nikki. It irritated me. If you’re going to do it, at least do it right.

  “If you think I’m going to call you Nikki, you’ve got another think coming.” My voice broke on his name. I hated to say it out loud; it was like a spell that no longer worked. “Your presence has been requested at supper.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to fight them off.” The coat crackled as she shifted. She held the sword so it dangled over the edge of the chair. I almost wished someone had thrown those things away. It was terrible to see them, but no one could get rid of anything that belonged to Nikki, even—or especially—the dark things.

  “You can fight them off after you’ve had something to eat, and if I were you, I’d probably change first.”

  The sword rose. I sat on the floor. My head spun. There was something sick in everything. I put my face in my hands and tried to remember numbers so I could count them.

  A clock ticked somewhere.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m counting to ten. What comes after four?”

  “Five.” Holiday perched forward. “Are you crying?”

  “No, I’m taking a nap.”

  “On the floor?” She had Nikki’s true love of chaos. It wasn’t part of her act.

  I put my hands down. “I can’t take it anymore. I actually can’t.” My vision crossed and double-crossed. “This is it.”

  “My doctor would say you’re depressed.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you’re not your doctor.”

  “You’ve got depression,” she determined, toying with the hilt of the bloodstained sword. “And you’ve got anxiety, and you’ve got manic and you have PTSD—that’s post traumatic stress disorder.”

  “God, I’ve been busy.”

  “Janelle gave me essential oils.” She clambered up, abandoning the sword and rifling through her bedside table. She held the vial out. “Here. It’s supposed to make you calm.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  She shook it entrancingly. “It will make you better.”

  “Perhaps I don’t want to be better.”

  “Oh.”

  I remembered why I was there. “Do you know what would make me feel better? If you came to supper.”

  She cocked her head, considering. “Perhaps I will come to supper. But I’ll have to wear my coat.” She clamped it tight around her.

  “Do you want to upset everyone?”

  “I want to stay here.”

  I knew I should debate, but my brain had no solid footing. What did it matter anyway? Lord Bramley wanted her at supper, so she would come to supper.

  Perhaps a small, naughty part of me wanted to shake him up, and Macklin, too. Macklin never mentioned Nikki at all, even though he had once been the closest thing to him. Lord Bramley was the same, only ever making opaque allusions to “those problems last year.” Once at supper a few months ago, I brought Nikki up by accident, recounting a funny story he’d told, and Lord Bramley interrupted me, saying, “We don’t talk about those things,” like I’d said something vulgar.

  He and Macklin had bewitched themselves, with their stiff upper lips and their keep calm and carry ons. Something had to snap. Something had to change.

  “All right, but if you bring that sword, you’re a monster.”

  She lifted her chin, to show me she was that brave but could be magnanimous. “Come on, then,” she said. “Let’s join the parade.” I joined quicker than she did.

  “She’s coming.” I hopped onto my chair and grabbed my fork as an alibi.

  I heard the weighted dragging sound of that demented coat. Everyone’s eyes lifted at once. For a moment Nikki was back, we were all back, back to that night with the horses, running around the same track, powered by regret.

  Holiday paused inside the door. I dropped my alibi. Deoxygenated blood looked nothing like normal blood—it was black and solid and sticky—and it stuck to the coat in chunks. My jaw dropped. What was I thinking, letting her come to supper dressed like that?

  Lord Bramley must have been the most English person on the planet, because he regarded her calmly. She crossed the room. The coat crunched and dragged sickly. Janelle pulled out her chair. Holiday moved to sit.

  “Take that thing off and put it away, or I will burn it,” Lord Bramley said.

  “I’m not taking it off,” Holiday said. “It’s protecting me.”

  “Take it off.” Lord Bramley’s fist hit the table. We all bolted up in our seats.

  Lady Bramley sobbed. “Let her wear it! Let her wear it if she wants to; what does it matter?”

  “I’m not having this.” He folded his arms and set his jaw. “I’m not having this madness again. Take it off or get out.”

  “I never wanted to come in the first place!” Holiday screamed, slamming the chair against the table so the partridges trembled on their dishes. “I hate you! I hate all of you! So leave me alone!”
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br />   She rushed out, tripping when the coat twisted, then splayed out like a flag behind her. Janelle followed at a safe distance.

  Lady Bramley tried to swallow her sobs. “Why do you have to…be so…Why do you have to…” And then she raced out the other way.

  Macklin manfully picked up his silver. Lord Bramley forced down two forkfuls before he gave in, shoved himself back from the table, and announced, “Oh, hang supper!”

  I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  I caught Macklin on the stairs leading up to his room. He folded his arms, tossed his hair out of his eyes. “What do you want?”

  I moved my hand off his shoulder, shook it out like he might be contagious. “Charming.”

  “You did ask me not to speak to you.” He leaned against the banister with that stiff quality he had, like he’d been asked to pose for a painting before he was crowned prince.

  “I was in Nikki’s room today—” He flinched like Nikki’s name was a weapon. “And I found his cane. The one he left on the psychic’s boat.”

  “Well, obviously he didn’t leave it,” Macklin snapped.

  “But it wasn’t in the car with us,” I snapped back. “Don’t you remember? He asked you to go back and get it.”

  “We didn’t…or did we?” He cocked his head.

  “Well, which was it?”

  “I don’t remember. You know, I can’t really be bothered to remember every single thing Nikki ever did.” A hush fell between us, because the truth was he couldn’t be bothered to remember a single thing Nikki ever did. “Thinking about it now,” he rushed in, like he could make up for it. “Perhaps we did go back.” He scratched his nose. “Yes, I think we did.” His stance was relaxed, but there was a desperate quality to his eyes—or did I imagine it? The trouble was, I didn’t really know Macklin anymore (if I ever had). We had hardly spoken in a year, and we had both moved in opposite directions. He became prettier, more comported and conservative. He always behaved with a seeming faux concern, like a shopkeeper unauthorized to give refunds. Meanwhile I became uglier, more uncomfortable, possibly slightly twisted. We were like fun-house versions of our past selves. And I had no idea how to get back to who I was before. I didn’t know if I even wanted to.