“Lydie, no!” Mr. Quinn cried. He dashed to her side and seized her by the shoulders. “You can’t!”
She couldn’t bear to look at him, and instead seized the edge of the enchanter’s cloak. “Please,” she said again. “I beg you.”
The enchanter reached into his cloak and withdrew a small vial; he placed it into Lydia Quinn’s outstretched hands. Quickly, almost eagerly, she unstopped the vial and drank its liquid. She swallowed. The enchanter nodded once and stepped backward into the wood. Then he turned, and his hooded shape became a mere shadow among the trees. “How long?” Lydia called after him.
The spirit thew answered, and her voice had softened now to something more unguarded, something like pity. “Seven days.”
Lydia nodded. Her husband wrapped his arms around her and wept. “Come,” she said to him. “We must get Platt to a doctor. Let us get out of these woods.”
Slowly, Robert Quinn got to his feet. He bundled the bleeding Platt into the coach beside his sleeping children and drove with his wife beside him out of the woods and toward Gardner, where they arrived in time to save Platt’s life. It could not be so for Lydia, who fell ill the next morning. She did not fight the illness. Her husband and children, constantly at her bedside, watched her weaken by degrees. She died in her sleep seven days later, after a fever that came upon her like a sudden storm and sent her swiftly to the spirit realm.
PART IArmor Disguises
Clem: January 3, 1883
Dearest Mother,
Father says you are watching over us. He says you can see us from the spirit realm, and see everything that we are doing. If that’s true, then you must see me, writing this. You must have seen how much snow fell on New Year’s Eve, and you must have seen the dinner we had without you that night. You must have seen how I hid in the bedroom to cry. And all the times before then.
You’ve seen everything, I think, from the moment you left. I’m sure you have. But, as you always said, appearances are deceiving. So perhaps you don’t know that I hide in the bedroom not because I’m ashamed, but because I don’t want to make things harder for them. Rosetta has not been well. She is still too little to really understand what it means for you to be gone. She understands it for a time and is sad, but then she forgets and asks Father why he won’t read to us as usual, as if anything could continue as usual. Father is lost without you. When I see him looking out the window, staring as if waiting for something to happen, I feel so afraid. I feel that he is lost somewhere, and that he might not come back.
You would know what to do to help him.
I opened the long letter that you left for me, but as soon as I saw your handwriting I could readno further. I can’t yet—I just can’t. Soon I will. I wish I could feel your arms around me and know that everything will be well. I miss you so much, Mother.
All my love,
Clem
Sam: Cygnets
Only bone confers the ability to modify living creatures. Bone does much else besides, but it is most coveted for how it renders the body mutable, momentarily bestowing upon the enchanter the powers of a god. With the conclusion of the War of Spanish Succession, in 1714, the use of bone for anything other than medical practice became globally prohibited.
—Joaquín Rubio Villaseñor,Encanto avanzado
Thursday, August 30, 1888
It had been four months and eleven days since my death, and I was here to watch my murderer attend a party. Where was he?
I watched the arrivals at the Manse attentively. The estate lay deep in the Lynn Woods, surrounded by acres of forest, accessible only by a gravel path nearly a mile long—a forbidding distance, especially at night. But on this night the way was lit with enchanted globes that hung in the trees like glowing fruit. The coaches approached at a steady pace, bringing one man after another to the door of the Manse.
Three young men, laughing and eager, alighted from a carriage and paused; it was their first time, I could see that. The Manse towered above them, three floors of stone with turrets, its contours against the night sky appearing more like an ancient castle than a modern home. Here, torches lit the walkways of the house and gardens, the amber flames flickering against the stone walls. The muffled sound of laughter and conversation came from some distant part of the house. All the curtains were drawn, and pale light bled out from the edges as if seeking escape. The three young men gazed a moment longer, temporarily silenced by their awe, before ascending the steps.
I left them, for my point of interest lay elsewhere. I had still not found him.
I searched the large ballroom—already somewhat crowded—and the hallways lined with servants. Ah, there he was: approaching one of the front parlors, where more than a dozen young men waited for him, including the three who had just arrived. He opened the door calmly and stopped on the threshold, smiling at them, looking even more striking than usual. His blond curls shone in the candlelight, his blue eyes twinkled with mischief, and his smile radiated confidence. He wore a black suit, cut tight, with a distinctive decoration: the shoulders of the jacket were trimmed with black feathers. As the young men turned expectantly toward him, I’m sure every one of them felt at least a small twinge of envy. Everyone envied Simeon Trench.
The atmosphere in the room had been restive. The young men—most of them eighteen, some as young as seventeen—leaned against the marble mantel, stood awkwardly beside the burgundy velvet curtains, or perched on the brocade armchairs. All of them wore tokens to enhance their appearance, and as a result they had a disarming sameness about them—broad of shoulder, slim of waist, pale of cheek, strong of jaw and chin. And yet, despite their good looks and the sumptuous surroundings, none seemed at ease. For while every young man who applied to Massachusetts Commonwealth University had heard rumors of the powerful Cisneros Society, none knew its purpose or its members, both of which were strictly secret. These young men, a select few from Commonwealth’s entering class, had received anonymous invitations to the event, and the invitation had contained only a date, a time, and the mysterious instruction to bring a live moth. Now they were here, and the principal party was clearly elsewhere, the sound of it trickling in through the open windows.The room had no host, no food, no drinks. Why were they being made to wait? Those who had been waiting longer were beginning to look a little affronted.
Now, as Simeon lavished them with his welcoming smile, their apprehension visibly eased. “Gentlemen!” he said. “Welcome! And my apologies for the wait.” He made a point of walking through the room and shaking hands with everyone, and when he had finished, he spoke to the group.
“Thank you for attending this year’s meeting to welcome all of you, the Cygnets. It’s a very special occasion. I’m not your host—you’ll meet him soon—but think of me as your sponsor. I’m a third-year at Commonwealth, and I sent your invitations. You have questions, no doubt. First and foremost, you want to know where the party is.” He grinned.
There were chuckles from around the room. “Quite right!” someone called out.
“You’ll join everyone momentarily,” Simeon said, gesturing toward a pair of double doors. “But you’re gathered here beforehand so that I can explain to you the rules of the game. For Cygnets this isn’t just an evening of enjoyment—it’s a contest, and it lasts all year. Tonight is when the contest begins. If you succeed in our little game, you’ll be celebrating again with us next September. But I’m afraid to say”—he gave a little bow of regret—“not all of you will succeed. You’re here because you’ve been invited to try. Please, gentlemen,” he said, holding his arms out in invitation, “be so kind as to check the pockets of your jackets.” He waited as the men around him opened jackets, reached into pockets. There were exclamations of surprise as they withdrew slim, black cards.
“A little smoke and mirrors,” Simeon said with evident delight, enjoying their astonishment. “No enchantment, just a deft touch. What you’ll find on this card is a challenge, designedfor you and you alone. The challenges are not interchangeable, and they’re secret; you must—I can’t stress this enough—mustkeep the challenge secret from your competitors. You may, however, consult sparingly with other men in the Society, whom you’ll meet in just a moment. You’ll find that these challenges can’t be completed without the use of enchantment, and your studies at Commonwealth…” He laughed lightly. “Well, they won’t be enough. The challenge isn’t just to complete the task; the challenge is to learn the enchantment that the task requires. At the bottom of your card is a name—the name of the Society member who is your designated mentor.”