The garden was too full for a large cluster of furniture, even with Eustace’s recent attempts at pruning, so Cordelia worked each table and set of chairs into a nearby bed, stringing them along to draw the guests around every bend. The overall effect was pure enchantment—a banquet fit for a fairy procession, a magical winding landscape of secret niches and undiscovered beauty, every corner presenting another treasure. In the fading light, the rich colors seemed to luminesce, alive with their own luster, and everything twinkled under a canopy of newly installed garden lights. Cordelia had even sprung for a stone statue to be shipped overnight. TheQueen of Seasons,she was called, and she was displayed where she could be seen from the solarium, by the small camera Gordon had hidden there.
The house took on aCome hitherquality, its angles softening and its colors brightening. A splendid palace carved out of time, an American fairy tale. The tower loomed over all, its windows shining like a lighthouse in a dark harbor.
Cordelia stood back and looked up. She couldn’t have achieved this with just simple pruning and good lighting. It was as if they were infecting Bone Hill, she and Eustace, their vision creeping into its crannies, making it their own. And something about that delighted her. She suddenly couldn’t imagine ever leaving this behind.
Her sister burst through the door of the solarium, a rich green dress wrapped around her body. Her elaborate curls spiraled in dazzling silver and ebony rings. Even little Marvel had a lavender bow around her neck.
“You’ve outdone yourself!” Eustace exclaimed. “I don’t recognize the place.”
Cordelia clapped her hands together. “It’s pretty good, isn’t it?”
“It’s magnificent,” Eustace raved. “If this doesn’t win Bellwick over, nothing will.”
Cordelia swelled with pride. She couldn’t help noticing how radiant Eustace was. This place had given her back her health, and Cordelia loved it for that alone. “You look divine.”
Eustace gave a little twirl. All around her the shrubs erupted with additional blooms. “Did I do that?” she asked with a look of surprise.
“I think we’re only just discovering what you can do,” Cordelia said with awe. Her own party dress was printed with bright poppies and tied behind the neck, leaving her shoulders bare. A long ruffle at the hem gave it bucolic flair.
“You make this place look good,” Eustace told her.
She started to smile, but it faltered on her lips. She choked on a sob and turned her face away.
“Honey, what is it?” her sister asked, concerned.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, pushing the emotion back down. “It’s stupid.”
“Why don’t you just text him?”
“I can’t,” Cordelia said for the fiftieth time, though she’d never been able to adequately explain why. A tiny flare of pain beat behind her right temple, but she chose to ignore it.
Her sister inhaled deeply and pinched her lips. “Stubborn as the day is long. Such a shame. He’s the first good apple you’ve ever picked.”
“Whatever he was, he’s gone now,” she said with finality. “And whatever it looks like, tonight is not about a party.” She turned to Eustace. “Are you ready for this?”
“Almost,” her sister answered. “Come with me. We have just enough time before the guests arrive.”
“For what?” Cordelia paused when they reached the bookshelf door, already waiting open. “We’ll get all dirty,” she stalled.
“Where else are we going to cast the spell?” her sister said with an eye roll.
She followed Eustace onto the stairs. “Spell?What spell?”
“Follow me and I’ll show you,” her sister called up to her, rounding the corner toward the little room.
With a huff of exasperation, Cordelia did as she was told. As she neared the room, she heard the dull clank of wood against iron and felt a wave of dry heat. She stepped inside. Eustace had a lantern burning in the corner. She loaded more wood into the stove under a stainless-steel tray of something black and misshapen. She closed the oven door and moved a circular range on top to squirt in a stream of lighter fluid. Flames leapt through the hole, licking high into the air, and Eustace stepped back until they settled again.
“I’ve been cooking these for a while already. They’re nearly ready.” On the table beside her, the therimoire lay open.
“Cooking what?” Cordelia asked, noting a scent like burnt corn.
“Bone,” she said matter-of-factly. “We can’t do the spell without it.”
Cordelia cringed. “We couldn’t have been chocolate witches?”
Her sister laughed, but Cordelia noticed the slight tremble in her hands, the way her lips had gone pale. She regretted more than ever her decision to send Gordon away, if only for Eustace’s peace of mind.
“There’s a spell,” Eustace told her, pointing to the book, “for added protection. It’s like a blessing or an anointing. I’ve spent the last few days translating it.”
