CREEPY.
Kyra clutched Rosie to her chest, staring in awe at the blond-haired mannequin in front of her. It was uncanny how much this stiff, dead thing looked like the princess. It even had her frizzy hair. Maybe Gabrielle’s tailors did their work for the princess on a life-size model of her, just to be certain they got everything just right. Maybe.
Kyra set Rosie down on the floor and watched in dismay as the pig scrambled back up on top of the mannequin. Weird.
She went back into the other room and took down a lantern hanging on a hook, lit the wick, and brought it into the storeroom with her. She knelt by the mannequin that looked like her friend. It was perfect. It even had the mole on her belly that Ariana said was shaped like a teddy bear.
Except this Ariana was carved out of wood.
And had a tiny and very contented-looking pig curled up on its stomach.
Was Rosie wrong to lead Kyra here, to this thing? Or was there more to this mannequin, a lie in its appearance?
Kyra took out her potions bag and picked through the bottles.
Her fingers closed on the potion she’d spent so much time and energy acquiring. The potion she’d risked breaking into the Master Trio’s flat for and had ended up finding on the floor across the hall, in Ellie the hermit’s living room.
Official name—Peccant Pentothal; potion number—07 211; previous working name—Red Skull Serum.
The potion she’d used on Arlo at the king’s bidding.
The potion that had nearly killed him. Which, diluted with pine oil, had transformed him into wood. Arlo had been told of Kyra’s mistake; maybe he’d repeated it on someone else.
Kyra took several deep breaths to still her hands before beginning a far different dilution process for the Red Skull Serum. The proper dilution.
Properly prepared, the serum could reveal any falsehood—including magical ones. Could it counteract this spell?
Improperly prepared—well, depending on the potions used on this painted doll, it could end up destroying the mannequin, the storeroom, and anyone in it.
Kyra glanced down, patted the piglet’s head, and scooped her up. “You’re going to wait outside,” she told Rosie, setting her in the main showroom and closing the door on her.
She unscrewed the top of an empty dropper bottle and filled it with dilution fluid. Carefully, she went through the many steps of the process, repeating them to herself as she worked through every possible counter-reaction, just to make certain she wasn’t overlooking anything. She put the cap back on the dropper bottle and swirled the contents around inside.
As she worked, questions ran wild through her head. What if Ariana came to the shop to get her wedding dress mended and never left? What if I don’t have to kill my best friend after all?
She uncapped the bottle and sucked a tiny bit of the serum up into the dropper.
Her hand hovered over the mannequin. It stared at her with its painted blue eyes so much like Ariana’s, blond hair in a pouf around its face. It didn’t have the identical features as the models lying around it, and it was thicker and sturdier.
This has to be her.
Kyra squeezed one drop of diluted serum on the wooden lips. A small bead of moisture stood out—the wetness turning the pink paint a shade darker where it lay.
Nothing happened.
Kyra went back over her calculations. She didn’t believe she’d made it too strong; she’d taken every care to make sure it wasn’t lethal. Had it not been strong enough? Or had she completely lost her mind and this was just what it appeared to be—a replica of the kingdom’s princess?
A series of images clicked together in her head: Arlo going rigid when she’d administered the wrong mix of the serum to him. The vial of Peccant Pentothal she’d found in Ellie’s lodgings. The way Rosie had first led her to Ellie, who was somehow mixed up in the princess’s disappearance.
But even if this mannequin were Ariana, it wasn’t flesh and blood: it was a wooden figure. It could no more drink a drop of serum than Kyra could cough out a splinter of wood.
And it was all her fault. It was her poison that had been used on Ariana. Kyra had failed in her mission to kill whatever had taken Ariana’s place, just like she had failed to rescue the princess from this horrible fate.
After everything else she’d suffered, this was just too much: Kyra wept.
She hugged the stiff figure and sobbed loudly, her tears slicking her cheeks and the hard face of the Ariana mannequin, crying out, “I’m sorry, Ari—so sorry. It’s my fault.” She cried until she’d dampened the doll’s wooden visage, cried until she didn’t have any more tears. She ignored the scratching of the pig at the door and just held on to her friend.
Then something absolutely miraculous happened. Beneath her arms, the wooden stiffness warmed and began to soften. Kyra pulled back and looked at the mannequin. The painted skin brightened into flesh, and a sparkling blue replaced the dull paint of the eyes.
Kyra barked out a laugh and dragged her hand across her snotty nose.
Her tears! She hadn’t diluted the solution enough, after all—she’d overlooked the necessary admixture of salt water as an alkaline. Kyra laughed again and shook the figure in her arms.
Ariana sucked in a great gulp of breath.
Then she turned those sparkling blue eyes on Kyra. And coughed in her face.
“Kitty, I feel awful.” Her eyes spun as she looked around the room, then she rolled over onto her side and wheezed. “Ugh. And why aren’t I wearing any clothes?”
Kyra smiled. “It’s a long story.”