THE 33 KEYS: Key 2 - ANSWER THE CALL "Listen for that Perfect Beat"

CHAPTER 71: THE SWORN ENEMIES

As I approach the Bunny House, I'm wondering if Tessa told Matron Malika Caine.

Really, Mary? At this point in the game you really think you should still be calling her that?

Good point, I think to myself. By now Malika absolutely must know about me quitting.

Of course she does, Mary. It's been two whole days.

Exactly! And she's probably waiting for me to get back from this spa to give me the perfect birthday present. Her and an army of minions marching me to the front gate, that is.

No, she isn't. That's just silly. Because you're never getting out of here, and you know it.

I can see it now. Those girls, Their parents too. All their friends at school. And Tessa. Leading the battalion to unseat me. Then they'll throw a purple robe on my replacement. Oh, the new girl will be the striking image of elitism. She won't walk or talk like me. And she'll never know how it feels to pass through the ground floor to get to my level. Her hair will be a bag of wool, freshly shorn to keep them warm.

Never will she have to see her tattered sheet torn to shreds by brutal winds. Her breath will reek of honey so that they'll hang on to her every word. And her form will be draped in all the lilies of the valley. Oh, just you wait and see. Yes, they'll get to savour every moment in her presence. But then she'll cast them all out when her eyes penetrate their hearts, sees the rusty wheels that turn their minds, when she realizes that they're all imposters. And when she's done sifting them through, she'll send soldiers to seek out my resting place. To bring me back home and adorn me with precious jewels. Then I'll be restored; no, elevated.

That all sounds very nice, Mary. But you're just a dying beggar maid, aren't you? And we never allow your kind to get that close to the queen.

I ignore the voice in my head and sail away with the nylon. She's a better friend. Never treats me like I'm a breathless hurricane. Always encourages me to be my best. Who the hell is this uninvited guest anyway? Running through my kitchen? Shattering my good dishes? The ones I might need for Hazel-the-Angel's party? Ah, the audacity of the infidels!

You know what? A change in rooms is always a good thing. So say the ladies that watch over the Bunny House. Their faces haunt the oval room each night. Like a leaking faucet, they go drip; drip; drip. The alarm that tells the ghosts when to awaken and invade their old stomping ground.

That judgmental caretaker always keeps to himself. Does he know something we don't? That those Matrons too had a Tessa? I wonder if they ever tolerated delinquents like me. And Hazel? And all the others that Malika forgot to hand an eviction notice to. And, if so, do they also go drip; drip; drip into the night? Am I surrounded by them now as I make my lonely midnight rounds? Come ladies. Jump down off those walls and have a seat. We have plenty of benches to accommodate the lot of you. Come talk to me, if you will.

But you – yes, the one with the most intimidating stare. You sit right here beside me. I've watched you judge me for four long years. First, when Lily was around. Then after Hazel showed up. Thankfully, I've got time on my hands now. So tell me. What do you see when you look down your nose at me?

"We see nothing, Mary," the intimidating one says.

I draw back. They're not supposed to respond. That's not how the game works. I get to taunt them while they cower in a corner. Oh, no! Perhaps I should've never invited them down.

"And everything," she continues. "We see the two greys in you. They're sworn enemies, the both of them. That's why you haven't transformed as yet."

I decide to play along to see where this melodrama leads.

"Enemies? How?"

"The dark grey will never be ash grey. Neither will the ash grey conform."

"Is that what's keeping my skin rough?"

"Yes," the old Matron says simply.

"So how do we get them to become friends?"

"They'll never be friends."

"Then my skin will stay like this forever?"

"Well, not forever," she says matter-of-factly. "You won't be around for much longer."

"But what if I could, Matron? What if I do live? How do I fix this?"

"You can't."

"Come on; there's got to be a way."

"It's up to them. They're the only ones who can fix it. They have to agree to disagree."

"But you just said they'll never be friends. Only friends can agree."

"Enemies do it from time to time too, you know. But not when there are barriers."

"Where's the barrier? Show me. I'll tear it down."

"You're the barrier, Mary. You keep choosing sides."

"That's ridiculous. I love my two greys."

"Look into the mirror of my eyes. Ash grey or dark grey. Which one makes you turn away?"

She gets her answer when I catch sight of my naked body in the mirror of truth. I love my beautiful long hair and ash grey eyes. But what surrounds my eyes and dominates my body, I've been enemies with since forever. And with that she disappears. Then I sail on to another room and await whatever comes my way next. Inhale. Exhale.

The hopefuls do a one-eighty as I step through Stocatta Embassy's sacred doors. I'm not surprised they can see me at all. Nothing gets past them. I only have to make sure not to enter the ambassador's office and I'll be just fine. Now, that Miss Nosy I'd love to scare out of her wits. I look around the room for her. But it seems to be just the hopefuls and me. Good. This will give me a chance to examine them.

I zoom in on the one with the most exposed skin. Its chessboard design makes me think of what the old Matron said. Those patches of rough sit right next to the ones that are smooth. Yet they never get in each other's way. Neither are there barriers. They seem to be their own mediator. Bringing a harmony to their body. Thus lending the hopefuls the determination to survive the bitter cold that always hunts them down.

That's why they keep coming back for more. Keep crawling out of Florence Street Extension and trying again. Going at it yet another round with the destructive forces that are us. The perfect ones. The ones faking it so we can stand on their throats and sink our heels in. So how do I get to be such a stone wall? Do I bravely dive into the ocean to find my strength? The nylon offers no answers.

In fact, it decides that this is the best moment to bow before me then journey to where the intruder is. And when I exit the room, a stick awaits. It's nothing spectacular. Just something broken off a bay leaf tree. I lean forward and save it from the cold floor. It quickly imprints itself on to the M of my palm and whispers to my mind, revealing where the next door is.