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FELICITÉ

LAS ANCLAS – WOLFE HOUSE

Felicité hefted a hammer, then yanked down the towel covering her mirror. One good blow, and she’d never again have to see her hideous mutant face.

“Wu Zetian, go to your house,” Felicité ordered.

Her golden rat gazed at her with shining black eyes. Felicité stroked the only creature in the world who had seen her repulsive monster face and loved her anyway.

“Darling, I’ll be fine. I’ll feel much better once this is done. But you need to stay safe.” Felicité gently tapped the rat under her chin. “Go.”

Wu Zetian scurried into her house, and Felicité covered it with the towel. Then she turned back to the disgusting, ugly mirror framing her disgusting, ugly face.

She hit the mirror with all her strength.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the mirror. She struck it again. A few shards fell to the floor, but most stayed in place.

“Felicité!” It was Grandmère’s voice! She sounded like she was right outside the bedroom door.

Felicité had thought it would only take one blow, and that no one would hear her if she shut her door and waited till everyone was asleep. She couldn’t even do this right. And there was still the long mirror in her bathroom. She swung the hammer again and again, until there was nothing left but shards. Felicité stood in a sea of shattered glass, each fragment reflecting her hideousness.

“Felicité! Open this door immediately!” The door rattled, but the lock held.

She bolted for the bathroom. She had to destroy the last mirror before her grandmother fetched the key. She swung the hammer feverishly, glass tinkling down, until someone grabbed her arm. Felicité jumped. She hadn’t heard anyone come in.

“Felicité, what are you doing?” Grandmère was in her nightgown, her usually neat hair rumpled. Mother was at her shoulder with a robe over her gown. Her hair was tied back, and she looked very tired.

Felicité’s angry triumph faded, leaving her numb and empty. The mirrors were gone, but she was still a monster. She was thousands of monsters scattered across the floor.

“Felicité,” Grandmère said gently. “Why don’t you put down the hammer, and come talk to us?”

“I’m done talking!” Felicité screamed. Oh, it felt good to scream! For years, she’d been so careful to modulate her voice properly, like a future mayor, and for what? She’d never be a mayor. Everyone hated her—but no one more than she hated herself.

She looked around for something else to destroy. The bathtub! The place where the monster came out. Felicité hadn’t dared to get into it for months. She threw the hammer as hard as she could. A huge crack appeared in the porcelain. Felicité smiled. Now they’d have to get rid of the tub.

Mother went out, and Grandmère spread out the bath towels to cover the broken glass. Felicité turned her hot, angry gaze to her, then saw a vein flicker in the delicate hollow in her grandmother’s temple. A wave of guilt washed away the anger. She’d never seen her grandmother so upset. Not even when Grandmère’s own Change had emerged at menopause and she’d nearly burned down the schoolhouse, or the night she’d left Las Anclas to live in a fireproof house outside its walls, not knowing if she’d ever be able to control her Change and come back.

“I just…” Felicité’s voice trailed off. There was no way she could explain what she’d done. Her mother and Grandmère must think she’d lost her mind.

Maybe she had.

“Darling, let us tend to your feet.” Grandmère took a bottle of disinfectant alcohol from the cupboard as Mother reappeared with bandages. They returned to the bedroom, where Mother pulled off the bedding and dropped it over the broken glass. Felicité’s feet made red prints on the coverlet. They sat on the bed with Felicité in the middle, and Mother pulled Felicité’s feet into her lap. They left red smears on her grass-green silk nightdress embroidered with spring wildflowers.

Felicité ruined everything.

“Would you like your rat with you, dear?” Grandmère asked.

Of course she wanted her rat. Wu Zetian was the only friend she had left. Felicité whistled. Wu Zetian poked her pink nose out, then leaped into her lap. Felicité held her close as Grandmère disinfected the cuts and Mother wrapped them.

“Darling,” Grandmère said as she eased on a pair of clean stockings. “Everyone understands that you couldn’t possibly have known that Henry Callahan was using a secret Change power to set fires. Even I thought he had grown out of his mischievous stage. When he came over for dinner, he seemed quite a charming young man.”

Felicité snapped, “That’s not what Daddy said. Daddy said I should have known better. Daddy said he’d never liked Henry in the first place.”

A flicker of irritation tightened Grandmère’s mouth. “Tom doesn’t know what it’s like to be a young woman. But I know, and your mother knows, and neither of us blame you.”

Mother said with her usual composure, “You don’t have to punish yourself for something you had nothing to do with. Love is a wonderful thing, but it can blind you—”

“Daddy said I didn’t even love him!” Felicité shouted. “Daddy said he was one of my ‘little flirts.’” Mother’s brows drew together and Grandmère opened her mouth, but Felicité didn’t stop. “Daddy said if Henry really loved me, he wouldn’t have put me in that position. Daddy —”

Grandmère interrupted her. “Your father isn’t here. When he returns, he can speak for himself. I understand how much it hurts. But Felicité, you are no longer a child.”

Gently but firmly, Mother said, “You’ve graduated from school. You are the mayor’s assistant, an adult.”

Grandmère added, in a similar tone, “One of the things—one of the hardest things—that adulthood means is this: you need to carry on with your responsibilities even if your heart is breaking inside.”

“What do you know about that?” Felicité demanded. “Either of you?”

Felicité’s parents hated Changed people. Grandmère didn’t, but when she’d Changed, she hadn’t had a choice over whether to hide it or not. And Grandmère had never cared a whit for Daddy’s opinion, so she wouldn’t have hidden it anyway. Most importantly, her Change wasn’t monstrous. It was a power, not a hideous deformity. She had never had to keep a secret or lose the love of the person who’d admired her for her brains, her inner strength, and her normality.

Unable to say any of that, Felicité muttered, “You were never publicly humiliated when the entire town found out that you’d been duped by a Changed criminal. People stare at me like I’m the biggest fool they’ve ever seen. And I’m stuck here for my entire life. I made one mistake, and it’ll follow me forever.”

“It seems like forever,” said Grandmère. “But that’s because you haven’t been alive for very long. I am old enough to assure you that these moments are universal, and that they pass. Every adult in town once believed they’d be humiliated for the rest of their lives.” When Felicité shook her head in disbelief, Grandmère said, “Name any adult, and I’ll tell you a low point in their lives.”

“Oh, really? How about those Rileys, who everyone thinks so perfect?”

Grandmère smiled. “Certainly. Let’s begin with Jennie’s father, Sam. He was so popular that the entire town celebrated his wedding—his first wedding—which was the most elaborate many of us had ever seen. Do you know how long that marriage lasted?”

Felicité shrugged. She knew Mr. Riley was divorced from one of the Lee women, but she couldn’t remember which. Jennie and Mia used to bore everyone to death at school about how they could have been sisters.

“Two months,” Mother said, holding up two fingers. “Sam Riley and Olivia Lee were about your age. Both their families thought they were too young, but they insisted. By the week before the wedding, they knew it was a mistake.”

Grandmère added crisply, “They went through with it because they were too embarrassed to admit it. And when they broke up two months later, some people laughed when they went around giving back their gifts.”

“Really?” Felicité asked, interested despite herself.

“Really,” said Grandmère. “You see, you didn’t even know about that. That’s because time passed, and people forgot. They both made happy second marriages.”

Mother stroked Felicité’s bandaged foot. “I promise, darling, in a few months, the only looks anyone will give you will be of respect and admiration.”

Because they don’t know I’m a monster, Felicité thought. And you’d drop my foot in a hurry if you found out.

Grandmère went on, “By this time next year, most people won’t think about it. In time, they won’t even remember.”

“But I will,” Felicité said.

Grandmère patted her back. “Of course you will. But adults have to go on with hurt inside. When your grandfather—my husband—died of a heart attack, I had a schoolhouse of children waiting for me. School was dismissed for a few days, but the children couldn’t go untaught forever. That entire year, I felt as shocked and hurt as if he’d died an hour ago. But I still had to teach science and math and reading. And I had to care for the children. Can you imagine how trivial the problems of a seven-year-old felt to me that year? But they were serious to that child, and we both felt our hurts would last forever.”

Felicité vaguely remembered her grandfather as an old man who let her hunt for the candy hidden in his coat pockets. She’d been sad when he died, but she’d also wondered if she was supposed to feel something different, something more. Now she understood what it must have been like for Grandmère. For Mother, who had lost her daddy.

People said no one can walk in someone else’s shoes. Yet she’d briefly felt like she was walking in Grandmère’s. If she told her grandmother her secret, might she understand? After all, she was Changed herself. Felicité imagined saying, “Grandmère, there’s something I haven’t told you…”

Yes, Grandmère would sympathize—with the Change. She’d tell Felicité to stand up with pride and announce it to the entire world. But Grandmère didn’t care what Daddy thought. Daddy didn’t love her, nor did she love him. Grandmère had seen his disgust and horror when she lit candles with her power, and it didn’t bother her at all.

And Mother? She’d probably give Felicité the look of controlled distaste she turned on flying roaches, too dignified to recoil in the horror she felt in her heart—

The familiar creak of the front door opening broke into her thoughts.

“Oh! Tom must be back!” Mother hurried out of the room, smiling. Grandmère followed her, not looking half so pleased.

Felicité froze. She’d looked forward to Daddy’s return from his trip, but she didn’t want him to know about her breaking the mirror and bath. At best, he’d be disappointed in her loss of control. At worst, he might start to wonder…

Wu Zetian clawed at Felicité’s ankle, tail lashing, teeth bared. Felicité looked down at her golden rat, alarmed. Wu Zetian never scratched her. And she knew Daddy’s scent. Felicité got up, then winced as she put weight on her bandaged feet.

She stepped onto the landing and peered down the staircase. All the lights were out. As her eyes adjusted to the moonlight coming in through the windows, she made out black-clad, masked figures hurrying quietly toward the doorways—and up the stairs!

Felicité dashed toward her room. Just as her fingers touched the doorknob, she was yanked backward. As she started to scream for help, a gloved hand clamped around her mouth. She smelled the sharp sweat of a man. Struggling, Felicité was dragged back to the landing.

Mother stood before her room, the moonlight pale on her blood-smudged nightrobe, her long black hair streaming down. She brandished a heavy vase. A black-clad figure knocked the vase out of her hand with a shattering crash, then shoved past her into her bedroom. Cold light glinted on drawn steel. Mother stared up at Felicité, her eyes round with shock.

“Let go of my daughter!” Mother snatched up another vase. An invader knocked it out of her hand with a sword, and it, too, smashed on the floor. Two more invaders grabbed her.

Felicité had never seen her mother fight, not even in training. But with wild fury in her eyes, Mother clawed at a masked face, screaming, “Let my daughter go!”

The invader caught her wrist before she could hurt him. Mother kicked out, but the enemy swept her feet out from under her. Horrified, Felicité saw Mother fall to the floor. Two enemies pinned her down, one clamping a hand over her mouth. More enemies emerged from the bedroom and thundered up the stairs, drawn steel gripped in gloved hands. Felicité struggled uselessly as they streamed past her.

Golden light flared with shocking brightness from Grandmère’s door downstairs. Two figures were silhouetted in the doorway—on fire! One let out a strangled scream.

A man yelled, “Drop and roll!”

Grandmère bounded into the living room, a small figure with hands upraised. As a fireball blossomed in her hand, an enemy punched her in the jaw. The fireball went out as Grandmère crumpled to the floor. The enemy drew back a boot to kick her.

Felicité had been frozen in shock, but now hot anger surged in her. She struggled hard, trying to bite the hand over her mouth like she’d once bitten Jennie. But her captor had her lips pressed hard against her teeth, preventing her from biting.

“Remember our orders,” a woman said in a low voice. “The prisoners aren’t to be harmed.”

Prisoners. Terror pooled in Felicité’s stomach.

She’d seen those black-clad figures before. In the battle of Las Anclas, when she’d thought she and Daddy would die together in a last stand, they’d instead witnessed Ross’s singing tree kill a team of elite soldiers. Their black uniforms became the obsidian of a new grove of crystal trees outside the town walls.

These were Voske’s soldiers.

She heard shouts from outside, but no alarm bells. Felicité couldn’t understand how so many soldiers could have gotten into Las Anclas with no alarm being raised. The Rangers patrolled outside every night, and sentries manned the walls.

Voske’s soldiers came downstairs. One carried her little brother Will tucked under his arm, limp. Fresh terror chilled her at the thought that they’d killed him. But she didn’t see any blood. He was probably still asleep. It took Mother ten minutes of shaking to get him up in the morning. As Mother struggled uselessly on the living room floor, Will was set down on his feet with a pair of enemies holding him up by the arms.

“Wake up, William,” the enemy woman spoke again. “William! Wake up.”

As Voske’s soldiers shook her little brother, Felicité tried to think of something she could do. She couldn’t fight. Could she send Wu Zetian with a message? She didn’t see her rat anywhere. With a lurch in her belly, Felicité hoped her pet was safe.

Where was Sheriff Crow? Where were the Rangers? What had happened to the sentries who were supposed to watch for invaders? Felicité looked around frantically for the help that ought to be coming. But all she saw were enemy soldiers calmly putting out the fire Grandmère had set and carrying the badly burned soldier to the couch. One lit a candle in the stairway lamp.

“Wha—?” Will mumbled.

“William.” The enemy woman spoke in a sweet, low tone that reminded Felicité of her own voice when she needed people to do what she said. “Where is your father?”

Clearly not really awake, Will mumbled, “Daddy took the Rangers on a scouting trip. Wouldn’t let me come. I’m old enough.”

“What a shame,” the woman said, oh so very sweetly. “I’m sure you’d have been such a help. Where did they go?”

“Gold Point.” Will yawned, blinking. “Dunno if they got there yet. Daddy said there might be mudslides.”

The woman nodded at a man, who went out. Felicité tried to stamp on the feet of the soldier holding her. But all she did was hurt her cut soles on his boots.

Daddy will kill you all when he finds out about this, Felicité thought fiercely.

What would Daddy do if he were here? She made herself calmly evaluate the situation, putting together everything she knew. The alarm bell had never rung, so it couldn’t be a big attack. There were only a few enemies, like the team that Voske sent to try to break Kerry out of jail. Once Sheriff Crow found out where they were, she’d come and kill them all, like she’d killed Kerry’s would-be rescuers. Everything would be all right. They simply had to wait for the sheriff to arrive.

“Where is Kerry Voske?” the woman went on.

“Kerry Cho,” Will muttered sleepily. “She’s gone. Went to see the Catalina Players with Jennie and Ross and Mia. And that stupid Summer. She broke my arm. I hope she falls in a pit mouth. Hey,” Will yelped, now thoroughly awake. He tried to pull away from the people holding him. “Who are you? Let me go!”

A soldier put a hand over his mouth, stifling his cries. Others carried Grandmère from the hall and laid her on the living room carpet. Though she was still unconscious, her hands had been tied with her palms together, preventing her from using her powers. Kerry had been bound like that when she had been a prisoner in Las Anclas.

This is Kerry’s fault, Felicité thought furiously. Voske must have sent a team after her again, only this time to kill her rather than rescue her. But why would they look here?

The woman’s head turned from Mother to Felicité to the servants, who had been herded out from the back rooms, and spoke to them all. “We can do this two ways. You can agree not to yell or fight—which as you see, won’t do any good—or we can do whatever we need to do to keep you quiet.”

She nodded at the soldiers holding Mother. The tall one lifted his hand from her mouth. Mother said, “Leave my children alone, and we’ll cooperate.” She turned to Felicité, then to Will. “Don’t fight.”

Will exclaimed indignantly, “But these are bad guys! Daddy said—”

“William, we shall wait.” The steel in Mother’s voice silenced him immediately.

An enemy laughed, then stopped abruptly when the woman in charge turned her masked face to him. “Very good.” The enemy commander pulled off her mask. She looked about Daddy’s age, with her tight black curls clipped short. “Everybody, sit down.”

Felicité was freed at last. Her knees wobbled as she walked downstairs and joined Mother and Will on a couch. The burned soldier lay on another. The servants silently sat on the third, which they had never been permitted to use before. Mother’s fingers slid over Felicité’s and gripped tightly. The only human sounds were the hissing breaths of the badly burned soldier. The one with the lesser burn sat on a chair getting his wound tended. As time passed, ticked off by the clock on the mantelpiece, and no rescue came, dread curdled inside Felicité. What was going on? Could the sheriff still be asleep? The bell had never rung…

The front door opened, bringing a surge of cool air. The candle in the stairwell lamp guttered, throwing wild shadows. The soldiers all saluted. In the flickering light, a tall black-clad man walked in, his boots treading on the ancient carpet that no shoes had ever walked on. Candlelight glinted on metallic silver hair.

Felicité’s heart thundered in shock and recognition. She’d glimpsed him at a distance, near the end of the battle for Las Anclas. He’d tried to kill Daddy with a rifle, but Mia Lee had distracted him. He’d been too far away for her to see his face, but she would never forget the glitter of silver hair in the moonlight.

Voske himself was inside her house.

Felicité stared, numb, at his face. He looked like Paco. He looked like Kerry. There were those sharp cheekbones, the pointed chin and nose, the upward slanting eyebrows. And Kerry’s eerie smile.

He stepped aside, beckoning.

Felicité had thought she couldn’t be more shocked and horrified, but when she saw the person who walked in behind King Voske, dressed in the same black as his soldiers, she knew that until now, she hadn’t even known what shock and horror were.

Looking right at her, his familiar grin wide, was Henry Callahan.

Shock jolted through her. Her stomach churned with sickening realization. Now she knew why the alarm bells hadn’t rung. She knew why rescue hadn’t come—why rescue would never come.

Las Anclas had been conquered from within.

The enemy had come in through the secret tunnel that ran from the mill outside the town walls to the town hall. It had been created as a last resort, so the children could escape if Las Anclas was taken. That tunnel had been the town’s biggest secret, and Felicité had revealed it to Henry…and let him walk into exile without telling anyone what she’d done.

Las Anclas had fallen to Voske. And Kerry had nothing to do with it.

It was all Felicité’s fault.