Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer by Katie Alender
Brynn laughed. “I welcome the guidance of our evil corporate overlords.”
“It’s not that complicated,” I said. “You just follow your instincts.”
Audrey sighed. “Easy for you to say. My fashion instincts are defective. I don’t know the first thing about what color goes with what pattern, or whatever.”
“I could help you sometime,” I said, without meaning to.
“Really?” Audrey was looking at me like I’d offered her a pony. “That would be really cool. It would make my mom’s entire year.”
I shrugged, but inside I was already wondering (a) what I’d just done, and (b) how to get out of it.
Before I could say anything else, the waiter came to take our orders. I asked for a ham and cheese quiche, and then Audrey started talking about French food, and nobody said anything else about clothes.
I was halfway through my meal before I remembered that I was supposed to be going back to the suite to eat with Hannah and Peely. I stopped short, my fork hovering in midair.
“What’s wrong?” Audrey asked. “You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”
Um.
“I was supposed to get this to go,” I said. “I totally forgot.”
“That’s not a big deal, though, is it?” Brynn asked.
“Hannah’s in a bad mood already,” I said, starting to stand.
“At least finish eating,” Brynn said. “She’s got Pilar in her clutches; she can’t be mad that you ate dinner, can she?”
I didn’t answer. But not answering felt like making a giant confession about my friendship with Hannah.
Brynn and Audrey exchanged a quick glance, and that one little moment contained an eternity of shame and humiliation for me. A warmth spread up through my face, and I hoped the lights were too low for them to see me blushing.
“Colette, don’t take this the wrong way …” Audrey spoke slowly, cautiously. “But do you really need Hannah in your life?”
The warmth reached my ears and turned to heat. “She’s my friend,” I said. “I know she’s a little high maintenance sometimes, but you don’t ditch people based on little flaws.”
“Hannah would,” Brynn said shortly.
Audrey gave Brynn a look. “Colette’s right. You have to decide how much you’re going to put up with.”
I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact with either of them. “Thanks for letting me sit with you. I’d better get back upstairs.”
I left my plate of half-eaten food and walked out of the café. But I made it only halfway to the stairs before someone moved into my path.
“Bonsoir,” Armand said, smiling down at me.
I took a step back, Peely’s warning echoing in my head.
“Hannah’s upstairs,” I said.
“I am not here to see Hannah,” he purred. “You called me, so I came.”
I stood up straighter, not letting my guard down for a millisecond. “You could have called me back … you know, on a phone?”
“It is time to tell you about La Clé.” He gently took hold of my arm. “It will be better to do it face-to-face.”
I looked up at him warily. “Like, really tell me, or just drop a bunch of mysterious hints?”
His laugh echoed off the lobby walls. One of the girls at the reception desk glanced up in curiosity and then popped to attention when she saw him. You couldn’t blame her. He looked like a movie star.
“No hints,” he said. “I will tell you everything I know.”
I sighed. If Hannah came downstairs I’d be in huge trouble … but what were the chances of that happening? Still, I nudged him toward a little sitting area that wasn’t visible from the elevators.
“Five minutes,” I said. “I have to get back to Hannah.”
“Don’t worry about her,” he said. “I will deal with that later. So what do you know about the order?”
I told him about finding the building and the names on the engraved plaques in the basement. “I guess that means our families knew each other.”
“They were very rich, very powerful, and very closely tied together,” he said. “They knew each other intimately.”
The sound of the word intimately in his French accent sent shivers through me.
“But that was more than two hundred years ago. What difference does it make now?” I asked.
Armand clasped his hands, interweaving his fingers. “We are bound together. Our families are linked, and we can preserve that. We need to claim our birthright, and we must all act together to do so.”
“What do you mean, claim our birthright?”
He unclasped his fingers and relaxed. “I did some research on you. Your father is Leo Iselin, heir of the Iselin estate, and the rightful owner of the title of Duc de Broglie.”
Wait. My dad, a duke?
Seriously?
What did that make me? I guessed it made Mom a duchess (or ex-duchess), and since titles seemed to travel down the male side of the family, it made Charlie a duke, too.
I remembered the postcard with the picture of the woman who looked like me — the one the caption had called “the duchess.” Did that mean she was an ancestor of mine?
I was in a daze. This would be seriously impressive to Hannah and Pilar. My mind began to trace the paths of all the fabulous possibilities that lay ahead of me. Spending the summer in Manhattan and having the paparazzi follow me around … my picture on celebrity websites — “La Duchesse de Broglie made an appearance at a charity event last night, wearing vintage Chanel” — being the It Girl, for once, instead of the It Girl’s Struggling Backup Friend. Maybe they’d even find some way to make a big deal out of me at the Versailles party.
Except —
“Does France even have dukes anymore?” I asked.
“No — but that is an unfortunate technicality, one that we can fix.” He leaned forward. “My father is working very hard to restore my family’s title. And if we can gather the members of La Clé, we have that much more advantage.”
“But why?” I asked. “Who cares?”
He snorted. “I care! And you should care! It’s about prestige, and pride in your family’s history … your mother could be La Duchesse de Broglie.”
I wondered if the customers at Macy’s would be impressed that La Duchesse de Broglie was ringing up their perfume for them.
“We’re special,” he said, grabbing my arm. “We must return to the glory our families once possessed — la noblesse ancienne.”
I had the sense to pull away.
“And what about the queen?” I asked.
He stared at me. “What do you mean? Why do you ask?”
“Because the order was in the eternal service of the queen — Marie Antoinette.”
For the first time since I’d met him, Armand seemed ill at ease. He sat back and looked at me as if he was making up his mind about something. “How do you know this?”
“Because it’s what the plaque said. That’s why the symbol has the cornflower in the key shape — it was her favorite flower.”
Armand shook his head.
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
Had the queen appeared to him, too? Was he just hesitant to say it for the same reason I was — because it sounded crazy?
I decided to take a chance. “Have you … seen anything unusual lately?”
“Oui.” His eyes flashed, and he looked around like he wanted to make sure no one was watching us. Then he rolled up his right sleeve. “This was on my arm when I awoke today.”
I looked down at his right forearm. On it was a dark mark, about two inches long. It was smudgy, but I didn’t have to use my imagination to figure out what it was. A key. With cornflower-shaped cutouts.
“Is that a tattoo?” I asked.
“You can see it?” He stared at his arm. “I don’t know what it is, but no one else can see it.”
“Where did it come from?” I asked.
“I do not know. Do you have one?”
I shook my head, but he reached over and pulled up my sleeve for confirmation. All that was visible was my winter-pale arm.
But had he seen the ghost? Or a slightly different version of his own face staring back at him in mirrors? Was there a portrait at Versailles of a man who resembled Armand?
“Perhaps yours will come soon,” he said. “But now you understand that what I am saying is real — and important. Don’t you see, Colette — it means we’re truly connected!”
The air in the lobby seemed warm, and I began to feel dizzy — almost like one of my claustrophobic episodes, except it was from the thoughts closing in on my head.
Maybe Armand was special — maybe I was even special. But my family couldn’t even come together for dinner, so how were we supposed to fight for anything? Clearly, Armand assumed my dad had tons of money, more than enough to lead the crusade to restore our — what had he called it? — noblesse ancienne? I opened my mouth to start explaining when I felt a hand on my shoulder, pressing down with more intensity than seemed necessary.
“Well, hello,” Hannah said. “What am I missing?”
My blood went cold. I looked up into her icy green eyes and knew that I was in seriously dangerous territory. I pulled my arm out of Armand’s grasp.
“Nothing,” I said.
“We were waiting for you to bring your food back,” she said, a psychotic-sounding little chirp in her voice. “And I got a strange feeling, so I decided to come check on you.”
Somehow, while saying this, she managed to wedge herself between us.
“I ran into Colette outside the café,” Armand said. “I was just about to call you.”
“How nice that you two could spend some time together,” she said coolly, “alone.”
Armand didn’t even blink. “Yes, it has been nice.”
Hannah shot me a look that would have turned a fireball into a lump of ice. “I can’t wait to hear allllll about it, Colette.”
Armand grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down to sit on his knee. “Oh, you don’t want to hear it. To be honest, even I was getting bored. We were just talking about our families.”
Hannah, thrilled by his affectionate gesture, took the bait. “Your families?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Didn’t you know? Colette’s family is one of the oldest and most influential in France.”
“Really?” she asked, shooting me a curious look. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“She outranks us all.”
“Rank?” Hannah’s gaze lingered on me for a moment. Then she turned back to Armand. “What’s your rank?”
“Well, it’s very complicated … but one day I will be the Duc de Valois.”
And boom — Hannah was hooked. Her eyes went wide and starry, and I knew she was imagining her future life as La Duchesse de Valois.
I took the opportunity to escape. “Okay, cool, see you guys later.”
Armand shuffled Hannah to the side and stood up, reaching for my hand and kissing it with exaggerated courtesy. “We will talk again soon.”
“Maybe.”
“We are bound, Colette.” Armand looked right into my eyes. “We are bound by blood.”
I broke away and practically ran for the staircase.
When I reached the suite, Pilar let me in and asked if I’d seen Hannah. I nodded, breathless, and flopped down on the couch. Suddenly, the fact that I’d kept all of my stuff neatly packed in my suitcase seemed like a good idea, because I had a feeling that when Hannah got back I’d be kicked out of the penthouse and left to sleep in the hallway.
Finally, the door opened.
I braced myself.
“Bonsoir, mes amies!” Hannah trilled. She wafted into the room and sank down next to me on the sofa. “Colette, why didn’t you say anything? This is such a huge deal.”
“I … I guess I didn’t really know,” I said. What on earth had Armand said to her?
“What’s a huge deal?” Pilar asked.
Hannah ignored her. “Armand said that technically the title would pass to the male heir, but that since it’s modern day, you could potentially contest Charlie’s right to —”
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “Did he tell you that titles don’t exist anymore in France?”
“He said he’s working to bring them back, and that you were going to help. And I told him I’d help, too — I’d make Dad let me go to school here and then I could do whatever he needs me to do.”
“Also,” I said, “why would I fight my own brother to steal a title from him?”
She laughed. “All you ever do is fight with your brother, Colette. Why not do it over something important, for a change?”
Peely’s head went back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. “I’m still majorly confused, by the way.”
“Just think …” Hannah said dreamily, the low lamplight casting a golden glow on her pale skin as she rested her head on my shoulder. “We’ll be duchesses together.”
MY HEAD HURTS. I’m sweating. I try to move, but I feel sluggish, heavy. It takes me two tries to get to my feet. And then something is dragging me down, like a fifty-pound weight harnessed to my shoulders and hips.
The room I’m crossing is full of people. Soft music plays, but I can’t see the musicians because I’m holding a fan in front of my face. I pause in front of a mirror and steal a glance at myself.
My wig is a monstrous mass of curls and bows and powder. That’s why my head hurts. And the weight pulling me down? It’s a dress of dove-gray taffeta that grips me around the waist like a boa constrictor and then explodes out from my hips.
It’s midsummer, and the room feels stiflingly hot, especially as I’m wrapped in fifteen layers of fabric. I just want to find the exit and escape out into the evening air.
But I can’t; there’s someone I need to talk to.
I scan the room over the top of my fan, and I can tell something is wrong. Though we’re gathered for a small party, the mood is tense. The guests are pretending to be festive, but something is off.
I keep walking. I bump into a servant girl with my skirt, and she turns to me and blushes.
“Pardon, madame,” she says, curtsying.
Then people clear out of my way, and I find the person I’m looking for: a woman who reclines on a chaise, her head held high, her large eyes surveying the room with what I know is feigned interest. Her gown is the finest pale-pink silk, with delicate tufts of silk flowers sewn onto it. It rests low on her shoulders.
Around her neck she wears the most fragile-looking silver chain …
And from the chain hangs a medallion.
I woke in a cold sweat to sunlight peeping in through the closed curtains. I had an unsettled, unrested feeling, like I’d hardly gotten any sleep at all. I’d been dreaming, but I couldn’t remember the details — only that there was something I’d been trying to do, and I hadn’t been able to do it. The frustration lingered as I lay on the sofa bed and stared up at the crystal chandelier, running through last night’s talk with Armand.
Even if I were a duchess, it wouldn’t make a huge difference in my life … would it? I thought about Dad and how status-conscious he is. He’d jump at the chance to be the Duc de Broglie … and then I started to daydream about how maybe dukes weren’t allowed to be divorced and he’d have to come crawling back to Mom and beg her to be his duchesse. And then we could all spend the summer in New York together.
One clear advantage of being part of France’s noblesse ancienne — it made Hannah treat me like someone who approached being her equal. So I hadn’t heard another word about not coming back up for dinner, or even about my unplanned meet-up with Armand.
When I heard Hannah’s phone alarm go off, I got up and took a shower. I put on jeans and a vintage sweater I’d found at a thrift store, dark blue with a sequined dolphin on the front, and a pair of gray ankle boots. I gathered my hair into a ponytail and put on berry-colored lipstick and no other makeup.
“Hey, you look great!” I said.
“Thanks.” She relaxed. “I thought I’d try your style today — it’s so fast.”
Hannah came out looking like her usual dressed-to-the-nines and made-up-to-the-nines and flat-ironed-to-the-nines self. She did a double take when she saw Pilar, and her head made an unhappy little tilt to the side, but she didn’t say anything.
Well. Ten points for the duchesse.
Our first destination was a place called the Catacombs. I remembered Jules mentioning that Marie Antoinette’s bones could have been there, and it was all I could think of as our group waited at the Metro station for him to meet up with us.
“Don’t look now, Colette,” Hannah said quietly, “but I think that puppy you fed has followed you home.”
I didn’t understand what she meant until I turned to see Audrey standing a few feet away, watching me anxiously.
“See? That’s the problem with getting buddy-buddy with people you don’t really like,” Hannah said, in the manner of a wise elder advising a pupil. “They think you’re BFFs, when really you were just bored or whatever.”
I nodded, a little distracted. Audrey seemed genuinely worried about something, and I kind of wanted to go ask her if everything was okay.
I didn’t have to, though. Because a few seconds later, she was tapping me on the shoulder.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” she said.
“Oh, hey,” Hannah said. “What’s up, Autumn? Love your sweater. Is that from Walmart?”
Audrey, who was wearing a perfectly serviceable black sweater, shot her a confused look and then looked back at me. “Do you have a minute?”
“We’re actually kind of busy at the moment.” Hannah gave her a sad little smile. “Maybe Colette can just check in with you later?”