Sleeping Helena (17 page)

The tunnel found its end in a small room, the same size as the bedroom normally situated in this part of the house. Instead of a bed, a long marble table sat at its center with a candle burning at each end. Their light was reflected by the armor that lay in quiet repose between them. Inside of it, she knew, was Louis.

Helena took a deep breath. Nausea swept over her; she staggered and reached for his arm. The metal was cold beneath her palms. If she dared to look, she would see her own face reflected in its polished plates. She closed her eyes and felt her way to his shoulder, leaned her hip against the table for balance and threaded her fingers under his helm. His hair was damp and it wrapped around her hand as she searched for a grip. Heat coursed through her body as she rested her head on his chest.

She heaved herself up, grabbed the helmet, and slowly eased it off. His head nearly cracked against the table, but she caught it in the crook of her arm just before it hit. With him cradled so close, she cautiously opened her eyes. She felt a sudden, sharp pain that stung long after the initial shock passed.

He was dead, there was no mistaking it, but it seemed she could again hear him calling. She leaned over his face, put her ear to his mouth and then listened at his throat. The sound was not coming from him. Life sprang up and out of her pores; its arms wove into hers and held Louis to her, eager to be fed. Here, at last, was what she’d been longing for. She was a god, made to take life and now finally able to give it, but that was not why Helena bent her mouth to his. She didn’t
need
to kiss him. It was only that he called to her so, and made her ache for him. She put all of her godlike power into a petal-soft kiss.

Louis lay, head drooping, as before.

She was stunned. All of the will she’d put into that kiss had done nothing but embarrass and confuse her. She was a god and yet she’d failed to restore him. The two did not agree. If she was one, the other must follow. For the first time in Helena’s life, tears flooded her eyes. She needed him. He was right there and she could not revive him.

Time is a funny thing. It seems simple, as long as one follows its usual footpath through the ages. Look closely and see how the past loops around to become the future, spiraling out and in, ever away and toward the present. Hope sat back to inspect her handiwork as somewhere in the house a grandfather clock chimed crookedly, out of tune. The room reattached to the stairs and the guests in the ballroom waited for time to turn. The mirror was two thirds completed, but that was the easy part. Hope had left the smallest pieces for last.

The endless repetition of gluing together the bits of broken glass had roused Hope from her trance. Each movement the same, every pinch of tired muscle, as though she’d done this a hundred times over. Hope rubbed her knees and stretched.

There was dust in her hair; she unpinned her bun and let the coil fall over her shoulder. She scratched her temple and pulled a grey hair out with two of her pointed fingers. I must look a fright, she thought, and then laughed. Her appearance had never mattered. She’d not seen an accurate reflection of herself since Thekla had removed all the mirrors. Except this one, of course, and hadn’t that been altogether convenient.

Hope grimaced at the shards still scattered over the floor. They waited patiently for her hand to put them into place. Hope moved one with her toe instead. Kitty had laid her plans well. Her magic must have required a glance in a mirror, but why? The soul has its own transport; it only requires a guide.

Hope shook her head. I must be getting old, she thought. What better way to reach into the past than eye to eye? Kitty, unable herself to look into the mirror at the necessary moment, had Helena do it instead.

Mirrors lead to places. Kitty had chosen a mirror through which to use her gift. Don’t stand between two mirrors, Hope’s mother used to say. Your spirit will be trapped between them forever. Hope glanced at Helena, caught in the glass. If the moment between past and present stood between two mirrors…
good heavens
. Where did that leave Helena, who had walked straight into the void? More importantly, who would feed her?

Kitty’s gift was a complicated one. Helena could be anywhere, or nowhere, but if Hope was right and there were two mirrors, they were all very likely trapped somehow in time. They would bounce back and forth between the mirrors unless someone broke them both.

Hope moved another stray shard with her foot. Helena had destroyed this one, by accident or design. There must be another mirror out there, back in the past, most likely the very same one. Hope sighed and reached for her glue. One puzzle was plenty for her and she’d best get to it. The riddle of Kitty’s gift belonged to Helena, where or whenever she was.

Helena went back through the cold stone tunnel until it ended where it began. It would have been a perilous maze, but the roses had vanished and she easily made her way back to the hall. Sorrow fled in the face of her hunger. She tried to feed it with reason.

Surely I didn’t dance my way out of the womb, Helena lectured herself. I had to develop my muscles and learn how to crawl before I could even stand.

It had been the same with all of her gifts; she’d had to grow into them. What muscles did Kitty’s require? The power to give life—it was so tantalizing, so delicious. She had to know how to taste it.

She did not stop in any other room, no matter how enticing its contents. The house was degrading before her eyes; carpets moved and doorways shifted and the windows were full of night. The attic was her goal and she would not let herself be distracted. She hoped it was the same room she remembered.

It was not.

Helena marveled at what spread out on either side of her in the long room. Gone were the open timbers and rafters, the birds, the boxes, the dust. The ceiling was clean and white and the walls were paneled with mirrors. They hung between strips of gold-painted molding and in them the light of a thousand candles endlessly repeated. The room itself was empty; a wide and inviting space reminded her that dance was starving, too.

She loped toward the center of the room and felt it begin to feast. Arms outstretched, she performed a perfect grand jeté, but as her feet hit the floor, the mirrors began to frost over. The room became cold and the flesh on her arms pimpled. She rubbed them and wished for the sweater Hope had made for her birthday. Hope would know what to do, she thought as her teeth began to chatter. Hope always knew what to do.

Slowly the chill passed and the mirrors regained their clarity. Helena’s skin returned to its normal temperature, but her reflection did not reappear in any of the glass. Instead, she saw Kitty’s face in each mirror. Kitty was a different age in each one.

The images of Kitty carried on with their business in front of the mirrors while Helena spied from behind them. Here was the information she craved. She forgot about the cold and the guests waiting downstairs, her aunts and their unreal predicament—all of it. She was lost in the private life of the woman whose gift meant everything.

There was no order to the images. Kitty was a child in one, being carried on the shoulders of a sturdy, laughing man. She was ancient in another; Helena moved closer and watched her gnarled fingers struggle to button a dress. Helena knew that dress. It was the one Kitty had worn to her party. Helena peered into the room in which Kitty stood, gazing into the mirror now that she’d managed the last button. Kitty smoothed her hair and frowned at herself, and then walked out of the mirror’s range. It went blank. In another, Kitty was a young woman who sat in a darkened room crying. A young girl came in and spoke to her, then left her alone again.

The next mirror was far more interesting. Kitty was old, but not ancient. She sat in a comfortable room at a dressing table and pawed through a box until she pulled out a slender chain. Helena watched her slip a tiny key onto it and clasp it around her neck. Helena knew that key, too. It hung around her neck now. Kitty must have been planning for this for years.

In the following mirror Kitty was younger still, though she sat at the very same table. Nothing, it seemed, had ever changed much in Kitty’s long life. Here she was reading a blue leather-bound book. The lines were faded, the script from another age. Helena put her face as close as she could to it and tried to make out the words.

It was some sort of list—wait, that was her name there, and the names of all of her aunts were written above it. She scanned through them quickly. It was a record of the gifts each one had been given; her eyes went immediately to Kitty’s name just as she closed the book.
Time.
Kitty’s gift was time. What an odd gift, Helena thought. How would you use it? The possibilities were endless, she mused. Kitty had obviously squandered her gift. Helena shook her head. She would not share her aunt’s fate.

Helena moved aside. In the next mirror she saw Louis just as he leaned out of its range. She would have swooned with the usual vertigo, but the look on Kitty’s face restored her balance. She recognized her aunt’s expression. It was hunger, raw and hurting, and it was turned away from Louis, as though Kitty did not want him to see it. In her aunt’s face Helena saw her own need mirrored. It disturbed her more than any other mad thing that was happening.

Helena backed away and took a deep breath. She was weak and felt faint, and none of what she saw was helping. There were secrets here, she knew that much, but she was no longer certain she wanted to share them. Kitty became an immediate adversary. Helena found it did little good to remind herself that she was the only one of them who would have Louis. Helena was no better off than Kitty, not until she could use the gift Kitty had given to her.

Her eyes searched out one more mirror, the least revealing of all. In the others, there was movement, as though Helena were watching the scene as it unfolded. This mirror was more of a still life. Kitty was young, close to her own age, Helena guessed. Her back was to the mirror, but her face was turned toward it. Behind her a crowd blurred, but Kitty’s shape was clear. She looked straight into Helena’s eyes, but said nothing.

“How strange it must be to be caught like that, with nothing to see but yourself until someone frees you.”

Helena didn’t realize she was speaking out loud, but her voice jarred her back to her senses. She remembered her own face in the mirror and felt greed course through her blood. She had learned nothing new about Louis or of how to use her gift. It was time to get out of this room and go back downstairs.

It was a setback, but somewhere she’d find an answer. She wished she knew where Kitty lived; she’d like to read that book from cover to cover and find out who had what. Her aunts could do more with their gifts, she thought, if only Thekla would let them. Thekla clung to power like a fragile caterpillar does to a shaking leaf. She probably knew something, too.

Helena left the attic. On the third floor, the roses were still gone, replaced by a door with nothing unusual about it except that it was closed. They were all closed now, but Helena paid no attention.

All the doors on the second floor were still open. She ignored all but the entrance to Thekla’s room, walking directly to it. Inside, she let her eyes roam over Thekla’s sparse belongings. Tension she did not know she was holding evaporated. The room was unchanged, a relief after everything she’d seen so far this evening.

She would have to admit it sooner or later. She was not going to find what she needed on her own. Her aunts had to be woken and made to share the wealth.

It was instinct that led Helena to Thekla’s bedside table, an innocent piece of darkly carved wood with a doily placed neatly on top of it. Helena yanked its single drawer open. The usual pencils and paper, envelopes and lipsticks were all neatly ordered in front. Behind them was a flat silver box she’d never seen. Helena nudged it out of the drawer and flipped up the delicate latch.

Several items lay on a velvet cloth: a gold locket, a creased letter, and a flake of ivory from the top of a piano key. Helena set the box down and pulled out the locket. Its chain was thin and fragile and its clasp was tarnished, but it opened easily when she put her nail in the seam and wedged the two halves apart. On one side was a tiny portrait of Louis, on the other, a curl of dark hair. Helena paled at the sight and quickly closed it. She draped the chain around her neck, so the locket hung next to the key.

The letter was crumbling; pieces of brittle, yellowed paper fell away from the edges as Helena took it out of the box. The writing was almost illegible. She carefully smoothed out the creases and squinted her eyes at the words. It was addressed to Thekla and was only a few lines long.

“Do not cry, dear sister, for I have found a way to bring our brother back. Perhaps you will forgive my departure when I’ve reunited us all. Your sorrowful life will vanish, we shall be a family once more, and I promise, when all is done, not to leave you again. With love, Katza.”

Katza
. It had to be Kitty, but what did she mean, found a way? Maybe she hadn’t squandered her gift after all. With a gift such as time, Kitty could erase the future.
But if she’d done it already, I would not be here,
Helena thought. Kitty was clearly lying to Thekla. They must have been playing games with each other for ages. Helena’s thoughts were spinning; she tried to imagine a lifetime of this and failed. These women were utter strangers to her, every last one of them. Helena wanted her old aunts back, even Thekla, most secretive of all.

Thekla forgot all about her nightmare. In dreams the dragon slumbered on, leaving small girls undisturbed. Thekla held the rose Louis gave her, put it to her face and inhaled its scent. Her brother had been acting strangely for the last few months and she hadn’t been sure what to make of it. Louis had drawn himself in, away from them all, as though he knew things but was unable to share them with those he loved. Today he was his usual self and her spirits were lifted because of it. There was also Katza’s party to come, and Thekla was very excited about that.