Beneath the Sugar Sky (Wayward Children, #3)

“But you’re not fat!” Cora couldn’t keep the horror from her voice. She didn’t even try. Growing up fat had meant an endless succession of diets suggested by “helpful” relatives, and even more “helpful” suggestions from her classmates, ones that suggested starvation or learning to vomit on command. She’d managed to dodge an eating disorder through luck, and because the swim team had needed her to stay in good shape: if her school hadn’t offered endurance swimming as well as speed, if she’d been expected to slim down to be allowed into the water, she would probably have joined the girls behind the gym, the ones who died slowly on a diet of ice chips, black coffee, and cigarettes.

“It’s not about fat or thin,” said Christopher. “It’s not … oh, fuck. You probably think this is about dieting, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to reply before he continued: “It’s not. It’s really not. Mariposa is a land of skeletons. As long as I have skin, as long as I’m like this, they can make me leave. Once the Skeleton Girl and I marry, once she cuts my humanity away, I can stay forever. That’s all I want.”

“That’s all any of us want,” admitted Cora.

“You were a mermaid, weren’t you? That’s what Nadya said.”

“I still am,” said Cora. “I just have my scales under my skin for now.”

Christopher smiled, a little lopsided. “Funny. That’s where I keep my bones.”

The pomegranate grove was coming to an end around them, the trees growing less frequent as they approached a high marble wall. There was a door there, tall and imposing, the sort of door that belonged on a cathedral or a palace; the sort of door that said “keep out” far more loudly than it would ever dream of saying “come in.” But it was standing open, and when they drew nearer, no one appeared to warn them off. Kade glanced back at the others, shrugged, and kept walking, leaving them no choice but to follow.

And then, with so little warning that Cora thought the people who lived here—who existed here—would be fully within their rights to be angry, they were in the Halls of the Dead.

The architecture was exactly what a thousand movies had told her to expect: marble pillars holding up impossible ceilings, white stone walls softened with friezes and with watercolor paintings of flowering meadows. The colors were muted, whites and pastel greens and grayish pines. They somehow managed not to become twee, but to project an air of solemnity and silence instead. The only sounds were their feet tapping against the stone floor, and the clacking of Sumi’s bones.

“You were not invited, and none of Our doors have opened, nor closed, in this last day,” said a woman from behind them: she was between them and the doorway that might have led them back to the pomegranate grove. Her voice was low and husky, like blackberry brandy given a throat. “Who are you? How are you here?”

Cheeks burning, feeling like a child who’d been caught sneaking to the kitchen for a midnight snack, Cora turned, and beheld the Lady of the Dead.

She was short and curvy, with skin the color of polished cypress and hair that fell down her back in a cascade of inky curls, stopping just below her waist. Her eyes were like pomegranate seeds, deep red and as impossible as Rini’s candy corn irises, yet just as undeniably real. Her gown was the same color, some loosely draped Grecian style that complimented every curve she had, and made Cora yearn for a fashion as forgiving.

“Well?” asked the Lady. “Have you all been struck silent by My presence? Or are you thinking of excuses? I suggest you not lie to Me. My husband has little patience for those who offer trespass and insult both in the same hour.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said Kade, pushing his way forward. The relief from the rest of the group was almost palpable. Let someone else take the blame, if there was blame to take. “I know we came uninvited, but we weren’t sure how to ring the bell.”

“You taste of Fairyland, little hero,” said the Lady of the Dead, wrinkling her nose. “All of you taste of something that isn’t meant for here, all but him.” She pointed to Christopher. “Mirrors and Fairylands and Lakes. Even the skeleton tastes of Mirror. The taint lingers past death. You have no business ringing Our doorbell.”

“We’re here to beg a favor, ma’am,” said Kade doggedly. “This is Rini.”

Rini raised her hand in a small wave. She was down to a single finger and her thumb, and half of her palm had melted away, replaced by that same eye-burning nothingness.

“The skeleton is her mother, Sumi, who died before Rini could be born, and now Rini is, well, disappearing,” continued Kade. “One of our old classmates lives here with you. We were hoping she might be able to help us find where Sumi’s spirit went after she died, so that we can try to put her back together and keep Rini from disappearing altogether. Er. Ma’am.”

The Lady of the Dead’s eyes widened fractionally. “You’re Nancy’s friends,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not,” said Nadya. “I’m a Drowned Girl.”

“So you are,” said the Lady of the Dead. She gave Nadya a thoughtful look. “You went to one of the Drowned Worlds, the underground lakes, the forgotten rivers. Many of them touch on Our borders. They aren’t Underworlds, but they’re under the rest of the world.”

Nadya paled. “You know how to get to Belyyreka?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t say that,” said the Lady. “We have no power over the Drowned Worlds. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—open a door there if you asked Me. But I know the place. It’s beautiful.”