Rebel Belle

Chapter 39

I STUMBLED over the hem of my dress, and tripped, smacking my head painfully against the low sink. Stars exploded in my vision, and I heard the door slam behind me. Other than a thin crack of light around the doorframe, it was totally black, and only Miss Annemarie’s heavy breathing told me she was right behind me. I heard the whisper of something swinging at me and flopped onto my back, kicking out blindly.

There was a clink of metal and a soft grunt of pain, and then the bathroom light blazed on. Miss Annemarie stood over me, searching the floor for the knife she’d dropped. “Dear me,” she said softly in the same tone of voice she used when she spilled tea.

“Miss Annemarie!” I gasped. “You? You’re the assassin?”

She glanced over at me, her eyes cloudy. “Have to kill Harper Price,” she said, almost conversationally. And then, spotting the knife wedged behind the toilet, “Ah!”

Her girth made it hard for her to bend down, and I crouched there against the far wall, watching her struggle. All my Paladin instincts were urging me to rush forward, pin her to the floor, and snap her neck. But . . . this was Miss Annemarie. She wasn’t a Paladin, she was just an old lady. An old lady who wanted to kill me, but still.

I got up slowly, sliding up along the wall, but as soon as I was on my feet, she reared back up, one meaty fist swinging for my head. I dodged it easily, grasping her hand in mine. “Miss Annemarie!” I said again, and it was like she couldn’t even hear me. The look on her face was dazed, dreamy. She looked like . . . she looked like Mom had this evening.

Mind control. A shudder ran through me. So that’s how Blythe was going to get rid of me. By sending the last person I’d expect to—

And then I looked closer at the pink stain over her upper lip. Punch. She’d been drinking Aunt Jewel’s punch.

As had nearly everyone downstairs.

Oh my God.

Blythe had gotten her job at the university by making a mass mind-control potion, slipped into their potluck lunch. She’d done the same thing here, only with my Aunt Jewel’s punch, and suddenly that part of David’s vision made perfect sense.

It also meant I was perfectly effed.

Armies of cater waiter assassins I’d been prepared for. Some hired thugs, sure. But people I knew and loved, all turned against me? I couldn’t kill those people. I couldn’t even hurt those people.

Miss Annemarie jerked her head toward mine, trying to head-butt me, but I’d perfected that move. I ducked, and then reaching out with my right hand, tried the thing Saylor had taught me. I pressed right above Miss Annemarie’s carotid artery, and she dropped like a stone.

I did my best to haul her inert body out of the way, and flung the door open. There was no murmur of voices downstairs now, no violins. Everything seemed deathly quiet, and when I eased out of the bathroom and peeked over the landing, I saw everyone just . . . standing there. Arms at their sides, abandoned punch cups on the floor. What I didn’t see were any white dresses.

I checked my watch. Of course! While I was fighting Miss Annemarie in the bathroom, the other girls had probably gone upstairs. And they wouldn’t have had any of the punch since red juice plus white dress equals disaster.

Moving as silently as I could, I crept down the hall to the bedroom where we’d been told to assemble. The door was closed, but when I opened it, I was greeted by a sea of white dresses. “Harper!” Amanda and Abigail cried, and I waved my hand.

“Shhh!” The girls all stared at me, but everyone went quiet. “Look, there’s been a little delay,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “First of all, has anyone in here had the punch?”

“Do we look stupid?” Mary Beth asked, narrowing her eyes. Her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair. “You and Miss Saylor both practically threatened to kill us if we touched the stuff.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, I pointed at them. “Wait here.”

Dashing down the hall, I ran to the bedroom where I’d left David. He was putting on his jacket when I opened the door. “Am I late?” he asked when he saw me standing there.

Without answering, I grabbed his hand, tugging him out of the room.

When I got back to the girls’ room, I practically threw him inside. “All of you stay in here until I come back,” I instructed. “Don’t let anyone in, and don’t let anyone out.”

“Harper,” Bee said, moving forward, but I stopped her with a hand.

“Not now, Bee.”

“But—”

“Seriously!” I snapped. “I’ll be . . . I’ll be right back.”

Something flickered across her face, but I shut the door before I could put a name to it. I had way more important problems now. Namely that I didn’t know what to do next. I had to keep Blythe from David, but that meant I had to find Blythe. She was obviously here, but where? Should I just stand guard over this door, or should I make my way downstairs, fight it out?

And then the choice was made for me. There was the pounding of feet on the stairs, and suddenly, people were swarming the landing, all headed for me. The knife Saylor had given me rested cold against my thigh, but the first person to leap at me was my Aunt May, and I couldn’t even think about using it.

Aunt May, my sweet Aunt May, who taught me how to knit, who bought me a piece of candy every time we went to the store, jabbed a cocktail fork at my eye. I ducked, my back still against the door, and then Mrs. Green, the children’s librarian, reached down and tried to tug at my ankle. I shook her off, but even as I did, someone else was grabbing my hair, and another hand closed on my wrist, and I was fighting and kicking, but there were so many of them, and they had me backed up against the door.

“Harper!” I heard someone cry from inside the room. I thought it was Bee, but I couldn’t be sure. More hands were on me now, and someone had a pie server nearly at my throat.

I shoved it away, trying to close my fingers around that spot that had worked on Miss Annemarie. I had to get to Saylor. I had to find Blythe. I had to get out of this before I was killed with some elaborate cutlery.

“Bee!” I shouted through the door, Dr. Greenbaum’s nose crunching under my elbow. “Is the door locked?”

“Yes!” came her muffled reply. “But, Harper—”

I would have to hope it held. One thing I knew for sure was that Blythe wasn’t upstairs. I’d been in all the rooms, and she wasn’t in the crush of people surrounding me. Taking a deep breath and muttering, “I’m really sorry about this,” I pushed both arms out as hard as I could, fists clenched.

The three people nearest to me fell back, stumbling into the people behind them. I heard someone cry out as they tumbled down the stairs, and I prayed with everything in me that it wasn’t one of my aunts. I let every Paladin instinct I had take over as I pushed the crowd back, back, farther down the stairs. There were lots of them, but not a one had my powers. I tried not to look at faces as I whirled and kicked, as I flipped people over my shoulder, as I spun and knocked people off their feet.

Finally, a clear path opened up and I sprinted down the stairs. I heard footsteps behind me, but I didn’t turn around. “Saylor!” I screamed. “SAYLOR!”

I ran through Magnolia House. Somewhere in the fight, my dress had gotten ripped, and I nearly tripped over the hem again as I pushed my way into the kitchen.

Saylor was there, up against the counter. Brandon lay at her feet, and there was a rolling pin in one of her hands. The other lay across her abdomen.

“That young man attacked me,” she said, her face the color of oatmeal.

“It’s the punch,” I told her, locking the door behind me. “She put a mind-control potion in the punch, and . . . Saylor, I can’t kill people I know. People who don’t even know what they’re doing.”

She grimaced, disappointed in me, I thought. But then she drew her hand back and I saw that it was slicked with blood. For the first time, I saw the knife at Brandon’s side. “He got in a good blow before I hit him,” she said, her tone surprisingly light for someone discussing being stabbed.

“Saylor—” I said, stepping forward, but she shook me off.

“It’s nothing. I have a potion that can heal this right up. David. Is he all right?”

“For now,” I said as the kitchen door rattled and shook. “I locked him in with the girls. They didn’t drink the punch.”

Saylor’s mouth wobbled. “One valuable piece of advice, it turns out.”

“Can you reverse this?” I asked.

The thumps on the kitchen door were getting louder, but Saylor shook her head. “As long as Blythe is here, they’re under her control.”

Sighing, I ran a shaking hand over my face. “But where is Blythe? I didn’t see her anywhere in the crowd and—”

Pain ricocheted through me, so strong that I felt like I had been stabbed. I bent over, panting, my vision shaking.

No, not my vision. The house. The entire house rumbled and quaked, little bits of plaster falling from the ceiling. “David!” I gasped.

Saylor moved forward, clutching my dress. Her hand left streaks of blood down the skirt. “You said he’s with the girls? All of them?”

I nodded, closing my eyes. I could see the sea of dresses in front of me, see David’s bewildered face as I’d slammed the door.

“Yes,” I said. “All seven of them.”

“Harper.” Saylor’s eyes were huge with pain and fear, her skin paper white. “There were only six other girls.”