She couldn’t remember the last time she’d hung out at the kitchen table with a friend to do homework. She’d missed this normal feeling. Even the homework was fun, finding out weird details about a bunch of poets and artists who’d lived over a hundred years ago but didn’t seem all that different from today’s artists. There would always be people who mourned the death of beauty at the hands of technology.
She blinked and rubbed her eyes when the print started to blur a little. She was thinking too hard, trying to absorb too much.
Luna smothered a yawn and smiled sheepishly. “Let’s take a break,” she suggested, standing up and stretching. “I could use a dance party. Crank up the stereo again.”
Beauty ignored the dry scratchy voice of the desert inside and the shy girl who wanted to hide in the attic and decided to just let herself go. It seemed easy when she was with Luna. They listened to song after song, shouted out the lyrics and danced wildly, like dandelions in a strong wind. The roses pressed against the glass. Beauty twirled and twirled until she grew dizzy and collapsed on the couch.
Luna stretched out on the carpet, panting for breath. “Whew,” she said. “I needed that.”
Beauty lifted handfuls of heavy hair off her sweaty neck and laughed. Luna turned her head, saw the sunlight glinting off glass bottles on a locked cabinet. She frowned curiously.
“How come the liquor cabinet is locked if all of the liquor is out on top? My mother would never trust me like that. No fair.”
Beauty’s smile faltered. She swallowed. “Dad keeps other stuff in there,” she said.
Luna waggled her eyebrows. “Old high school pictures of him with bad hair, or top-secret FBI documents?”
Beauty shook her head, momentarily distracted. “Why is everyone a spy in your world?”
Luna shrugged. “It’s more fun that way. So what’s in there?” She held up a hand. “You already know I’m rudely nosy, so you don’t have to answer.”
Beauty took a deep breath, considered what to say. Should she pretend she didn’t know? She was pretty sure Luna would then convince her to pick the cabinet’s lock. Was this something she was ready to share?
She thought of the way they had turned in circles until the room was a blur of colors and made her decision. “Dad keeps the knives in there,” she explained quietly.
Luna turned her head slightly to look at her. “Like hunting gear? Ew.”
Beauty shook her head. “Kitchen knives, scissors, needles, anything sharp.”
Luna pushed up onto her elbows. “Oh. Why?”
Beauty took a deep breath. “Because of my mother.” Luna watched her curiously but didn’t say anything. She waited for Beauty to continue. “She didn’t just die, she killed herself.”
Luna blinked. “Oh, Beauty.”
Beauty shrugged, willed her eyes not to water. “Just before summer. She cut her wrists.”
Luna got to her feet and sat on the edge of the couch. She looked like she wanted to hug Beauty but wasn’t sure if she should. “What’s your favorite memory of her?”
Beauty stopped, confused. No one had ever asked her that before. She tilted her head. “I guess being in the garden with her. The way she picked all the roses and put them all over the house.” She shrugged. “That sounds dumb.”
“No, it doesn’t. I don’t remember my dad at all. He left before my mom even went into labor.”
“Do you hate him?”
“Sometimes.”
“What about your mom?”
Luna shrugged. “Star says he was beautiful but they just weren’t meant to be together. She says they had one night together and it was special and that’s all they needed.” She leaned back against the cushions. “That doesn’t really help,” she admitted. She hesitated. “Why’d your mom do it?”
“She was sick, a chemical imbalance of some kind,”Beauty answered, fiddling with the ring on her thumb. “Dad won’t really say. But now it’s like he’s terrified I’m going to do the same thing or something.”
“I’m sorry.”
Beauty’s smile wobbled. “Thanks.”
“Is that why you asked me if I’d heard the rumors about you?”
Beauty nodded. “Yeah. It made everyone really uncomfortable for a while. They’d whisper when I came into a room, or everyone would just fall silent and stare at me. I hated it. I still do. Sometimes I wish I was invisible.”
Luna squeezed her hand. “Well, if I’m a slut and you’re a freak, I guess we’re perfect for each other.”
Beauty giggled. “I guess so.”
7
I guess it’s winter,
but I don’t feel the cold at all, even though I’m wearing a thin white gown edged with silver ribbons and crystals, and there’s snow everywhere, covering the old garden and the stone wall that surrounds it. There are hazel bushes and yew under the snow, and roses everywhere. The roses are in full bloom, white and perfect and completely untouched by the cold.
The cobblestones leading around a marble fountain and toward a medieval-looking tower are slippery with ice. Everything sparkles like the glitter painted on my arms and shoulders. The moon is fat and high above my head, dressed in a gown of lacy clouds.
That’s when I notice a long table draped with white velvet and studded with lit candles, like stars. I see glass jugs filled with white wine and apple juice, bowls full of pears and peeled lychee nuts, and cakes sprinkled with icing sugar. There are cups of custard and vanilla ice cream and warm milk.
The table has three place settings, each one marked with a rose: one red, one white and one black. I look around, but I can’t see anyone else. The tower is slim and pale, the windows glow with candlelight. On the other side of the wall the forest is thick and shadowy.
I’m mildly surprised when I suddenly see a woman sitting across the table from where I stand in a white throne-like chair. She has pearls around her throat and in her hair, and she’s wearing a veil. Her wedding dress is as white as the snow around us.
“Welcome to the feast,” she says. Her voice is quiet and soft. Familiar.
When she stands up, her veil blows back and her face is bathed in moonlight.
Rose Dubois. My mother.
I know I’m staring, and I don’t care. I don’t know what to say. This isn’t like the other dreams, not even the one with the cottage. This feels too real, and I want to cry but it’s been too long. I’m not sure I remember how.
And in the vast white winter of sorrow I discover a red burning ember of anger.
“Mom?” I say to break the awful silence. I sound annoyed, bratty. I can’t help it.
She nods. “It’s me, honey.”
I’ve been feeling so little in the last few months and all of a sudden I’m feeling too much at once. I don’t know what to do. I sit down heavily in an intricately carved chair.
I realize she’s wearing her own wedding dress. I remember it from all the pictures Dad used to have around the house. Now there’s just the one, on his dresser, surrounded by vases of roses from the garden.
“Why am I dreaming this?” I ask. “I don’t want to be here. I want to wake up.”
“Not yet, Beauty. Not yet.”
I cross my arms and scowl. “What happened, Mom?” I whisper. It’s the one thing I never got to ask her. “Why? Was it something we did? Or didn’t do?”
“I fell asleep, Beauty,” she tells me sadly. “It seemed like the easiest thing to do.”
“You left us.”
She nods. Her eyes are watery and a tear falls down her cheek. It makes me mad. She can cry and I still can’t. And even though I’m furious and hurt and confused, I still miss her.
“I’m sorry, Beauty. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Was it me?” I think about the dream I had, the one where she’s lying in a bathtub of roses. I didn’t know then that it was a premonition. I didn’t know.
“It was me,” she answers. “Just me. You aren’t to blame.”
“I don’t bel
ieve you.”
She tries to smile. “Stay. Eat with me.”
I shake my head. Ice cream isn’t going to make everything better. At this point I don’t know if anything can. My mother left me and then I left myself.
“I have to get out of here,” I say.
“Beauty, I love you.”
I don’t look at her. Instead I stare at the glass plate in front of me, a white rose in its center. I’m not mad anymore. I feel deflated, sad. I wonder for the hundredth time if I could have stopped her. If I’d told her about my dream, would things have been different?
I can see my reflection in the plate. My face is as pale as the moon over me and the white dress billowing around my ankles. I hate it. I don’t want to look at myself for a second longer.
I pick up the plate and hurl it to the ground where it shatters, glittering in the snow like ice. My mother sighs, reaches out a hand toward me.
“Oh, Beauty,” she says. “Be careful.”
I turn away from her and start to run down the path. I don’t know where I’m going. The shattered fragments of the plate have cut into my feet and blood seeps into the snow. I barely notice. My mother’s screams follow me.
“Beauty, there will be another dream. The third one is always the most dangerous.”
I shake my head and keep running.
“Remember your name,” she says, but her voice is fading. “You’re beautiful, don’t ever forget that.”
When I wake up I’m outside in the garden, standing in the middle of the white roses and shivering in the cold night air.
8
Beauty knocked on luna’s
front door and waited, feeling as if she was about to step into an adventure. It always felt like that in Luna’s house. Every corner held some impossible curiosity or a muse waiting for you to join her for tea. The wind picked up in the street behind her and Beauty shivered. Autumn was developing teeth early this year.
The door creaked open and Luna’s mother poked her head out. The sunlight caught the purple in her hair and the silver hoop in her right nostril.
“You must be Beauty,” she said, motioning her inside. She hugged Beauty, enveloping her in cinnamon and vanilla and the lingering traces of incense. “Luna’s told me all about you. I’m Star.”
Beauty smiled, wondering how she should act. Her regular parents-of-friends manner seemed too stiff for Star. She certainly didn’t look like a typical mother. She was wearing a paint-splattered kimono and a multitude of silver bangles.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Bird,” Beauty said. “Thanks for letting me stay over tonight.”
Star waved her hand, laughing. “Honey, call me Star or I’ll feel positively ancient.” She closed the door. “Luna’s in her room. Can you find it?”
Beauty nodded shyly. “I think so.”
“Good, go on up. And don’t mind Trumayne if you see him. He’s in one of his infamous moods.” She winked. “It just means he’ll do some brilliant work tonight. I hear you’re an artist too.”
Beauty felt herself blushing. “Not really. I’m just learning.”
“Nonsense,” Star scoffed. “An artist is born, not made, and I can see you’ve got the spirit of an artist. You just let her out and shame the devil.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m in lecture mode. You’d better escape while you still can.”
Beauty went up the stairs, dragging her sleeping bag and her knapsack. She felt a little like she’d just been swept down a tumbling river. She could definitely see where Luna got it from. She smiled to herself as she headed down the hallway toward the second set of stairs. The carpet was wearing thin in spots, and she heard a crash and a curse when she passed a closed door painted an eye-scorching shade of magenta.
Farther along, she glimpsed Simone through a half-open door. Her long blond hair settled around her shoulders, and her feet were bare again. She looked like she belonged in one of the Pre-Raphaelite paintings Beauty was falling in love with. She decided she would use Simone as a model for Keats’ “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” or maybe for Shakespeare’s Titania, Queen of the Faeries. The thought made her smile. Maybe Star was right; there was an artist inside her who just needed to be set free.
She took a deep breath. Even the air tasted different here. She could almost feel all of her worries and doubts fading away like a tapestry left too long in the sun. This was the one place where she could truly feel like an artist, like someone with a voice.
She knocked softly on Luna’s door. It whipped open and Luna blinked at her.
“Hi!” Luna said. “About time you got here!”
Beauty blinked back. “What’s up?”
“Should I call Kennedy?” Luna twisted her hands together. Her collarbones were dusted with glitter.
Beauty dropped her stuff and tilted her head. “You’re acting like a girl,” she said, a little awestruck.
Luna frowned. “I am a girl.” She plucked at her T-shirt. “Mind you, I think my boobs got lost in the mail.”
Beauty made a sound that was half-snort, half-laugh. “I know the feeling. I just meant, you never seem to get worked up over guys and stuff. And you’re not exactly shy.”
Luna sighed and flopped onto the beanbag chair. Incense burned on the windowsill next to thick white candles. “I know.” She pushed to her feet again and started to pace. “I don’t know, it’s different with Kennedy. I get all nervous.” She winced. “I’m afraid he’ll laugh at me,” she admitted.
Beauty rolled her eyes. “Welcome to my world,” she said dryly. “Kennedy will love you. You’re totally his type.”
Luna stopped, grinned wickedly. “I am, aren’t I?” She twirled once, hands outstretched. Her glance was full of mischief. “You’re Poe’s type too, you know.”
Beauty shook her head. “I’m not anyone’s type,” she replied wistfully. “I’m not even sure I am a type. I look in the mirror and I don’t see anything. I’m boring.”
Luna crossed her arms. “You are not,” she declared. “I don’t hang out with boring people.”
“You do now. I mean, look at me. Boring hair, boring clothes, boring little nothing.”
Luna shook her head. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. Besides, you can look any way you want to. I’ll help.”
“I don’t have your kind of courage.” But a small flower poked its nervous head above ground. Beauty’s fingers began to tingle. “I don’t think.”
“Ha!” Luna pounced on her, grabbed her hands. “Come on, let’s go.”
Beauty dug in her heels.“Where?”
Luna pulled on her hand. “We’re going to have a makeover. We’ll work from the outside in. I’ll even teach you how to scream.”
Her enthusiasm was contagious. Beauty laughed. “My dad’ll kill me.”
She let herself be dragged downstairs, through Star’s bedroom, which was surprisingly sparse, and into the adjoining bathroom. Jewelry boxes lined the shelves, stuffed to overflowing. Perfumes and candles and scented body soaps were jumbled into baskets along the side of the white claw-foot bathtub. Luna pulled another basket out from under the sink. It held more hair dyes than the average drugstore.
Beauty watched Luna carefully. “What did you have in mind?”
Luna held up a large tube of dye triumphantly. “We’re going to make your hair the same color as those roses you love so much.”
Beauty’s eyes widened. “We are?”
“Definitely.”
“That’s awfully red.”
“That’s the point.”
Beauty swallowed. “I don’t know if I can pull that off.”
Luna rolled her eyes. “Of course you can. Don’t think so much.”
Beauty looked at her reflection. Her long hair was simple and brown, the same as it had been for years now. She looked at herself and didn’t feel anything, didn’t see anything that made her real. She wanted the beauty of Guinevere, the glitter of Ophelia, the danger of Nimue. But she wouldn’t get any of that by hiding.
“Okay,” she found herself saying. “Let’s do it.”
Luna all but squealed with excitement. "This is going to be so cool," she said. "Come on, let's get you set up."
“Won’t your mom mind?”
Luna shook her head. “No, in fact, I’ll go get her. She can Luna shook her head. “No, in fact, I’ll help us out. She’s great with hair stuff.”
It was decidedly surreal to be sitting on the floor of her friend’s mom’s bathroom, drinking cinnamon coffee, while said friend’s mom worked dye through her hair.
“This will be a great color on you,” Star said, stripping off her rubber gloves and tossing them in the sink. There was a tattoo on the inside of her elbow. Beauty wondered briefly if Luna had ever brought her mom to kindergarten for show-and-tell.
“This needs to set for a bit so I’ll let you and Luna chat. Help yourself to anything in the studio for your project,” she said. “But don’t touch the oil paints.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And don’t pierce anything,” she ordered.
Beauty shook her head, careful not to splatter. “This is so weird,” she said. “But thanks. And thanks for letting me sleep over. Dad was freaking out about having to work so late tonight.”
Luna leaned back against the cupboards and stretched her legs out in front of her.
“It’s totally cool. Besides, we still have to finish up the journal for class tomorrow so it’s perfect.” She crossed her ankles. “We should make our own artistic society, like the prb did.”
Beauty thought about having hair like rose petals and painting all day. “Yeah,” she said, surprising herself again. “We should.”
They decided on the layout for their journal, spreading out all their notes on the cold tiles. They punched holes into the pages and bound them together with blue ribbons. They decided it gave the journal a more old-fashioned, cozy feel.
The egg timer by the sink rang. It was time to rinse out Beauty’s hair. She knelt on a folded towel and hung her head into the tub. White porcelain filled her vision. Luna extended the showerhead and fiddled with the taps until the water was warm. It was awkward, but she managed to hang over the side enough to aim the water through all of Beauty’s long hair.