The Memory Keeper

Chapter 17

Peter released her so quickly, she felt as if she had fallen off a cliff with no rope to cling to. She could not tell what expression he wore. If it was that of curiosity or worry. "Natalie?" he said. "Natalie, why are you crying?"

The mind weaver did not realize it, and wiped at her face. Silence had fallen. The rain outside had quieted, falling into rhythm with the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. She started when something soft brushed her ankle and looked down to see a fluffy black cat. It scampered away as she moved to sit down on the armchair.

"What happened? Are you able to continue, or was it too much?"

Natalie shook her head, unable to get the woman's face out of her mind. She had thought perhaps she would recognize her, but was wrong. The woman had no memorable features, just rounded and plain, not unlike the statues on the fountain at Coldton Palace. Even her hair was plain, wrapped in a dull blonde braid, and she wore a simple black coat and wool scarf. She reminded Natalie of just another smudged face in the back-ground of a painting. A lot like herself.

She was not sure exactly what she had expected. Almost all of her questions seemed to have found some sort of answer, but turned out to be wrong. Did she expect the woman to have been indeed herself? Natalie could not decide if she was disappointed, or relieved. Either way, she felt a withering amount of foolishness.

Peter knelt down beside her. "I am sorry to have put you through all of this mess." He picked at a loose thread in the arm of Natalie's chair. "It's my fault."

"What happened, Peter? What happened to you and... this woman you had loved? What is her name?"

He tried to rest his hand on hers, but she moved it. It was meant to appear an absent-minded shift in her seat, but even she knew Peter knew better. He smiled, dropping his hand, and then said, "Just call her Flower."

***

When Natalie found her assistant, she was in the ball room, her arms locked with other dancers in a sort of jig, the drums playing in tune with their quick, airy foot falls. The witch wore a white dress embroidered with silvery designs. Her corset was buttoned close, the hems flouncing around her legs with each bouncy movement. Her mask was of white silk, covered in feathers on one side, and came to a black point over her nose. Her black hair was wrapped into a bun, braided through with strings of pearls.

The mind weaver watched as Piper swung around, trading partners every couple of minutes, until she almost tripped on someone's dress tail and landed in the arms of a male middle person. He helped her upright, and the two spun around each other, Piper throwing her head back with laughter.

Everyone seemed to suddenly move in slow motion, for Natalie could almost see their silhouettes trailing after them like lost shadows. Even the sound of the accordions faded for a few moments. The mind weaver blinked, looking closer. In the candelabra's flickering shafts, she could just make out the wispy shapes of large, layered dresses tied with silk bows, hair powdered white and rolled into tight ringlets, and hear laugher like faint echoes, causing a chill to seep down to the very marrow of her bones.

The transparent dancers broke apart over and again as Piper and everyone else twirled around the ball room, straight through them like they were no more than steam breaking in a train's speed.

She did not realize she had cupped her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle a scream. Nobody seemed to notice or care. Peter came to her aid as she stumbled, snatching the back of a chair in the foyer to keep from falling. He held her upright. "Are you okay?"

Skin cold as ice, she touched the back of her hand to her forehead. "You don't see them?" she whispered.

"I do." He swept her away, out of the foyer and into what looked to be a smoking room. Though a lot of middles dominated most of the chairs in this space, it was a lot better than being out in the ballroom taken up by spirits. She could still hear the music, which was upbeat as much as it was sly and haunting, reminding her of music she would hear at a circus.