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“What’s the difference between manipulating my mind and casting a spell, if she makes me believe unreal things either way?”
“You can only play into her hands if you want to,” Peach reminds me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew her, when we got here? Why all this hating her as if she’s the devil?”
“I didn’t know her, not really. When I lived with Miriam, she talked about Anastasia. She appeared in her monologues frequently, and I was a little scared of the woman. Miriam kept talking about her coming for a visit, and then the day before she was suppose to arrive, I split. I always thought I could handle just about anything with Miriam, you know the way she is.”
I nodded.
“I’ve never had anyone take care of me the way she does, not even you. But all the talk about Anastasia was just too weird, and I decided it was time to cut myself away from Miriam and find something else. Then, when you and I arrived here, and I saw that Miriam wasn’t living here anymore, and Anastasia was—I guess I knew it was time to face her. There are other things, I’ll tell you about sometime.” She pauses, considering carefully what she’ll say next. “She’s Miriam’s sister, you know. Her darker half, I’d say.”
“Sister?” I repeat, though I’m not particularly surprised, certainly in a spiritual sense they’re twins. I’ve already concluded that. Why not be a physical match as well?
“You’re not shocked?” Peach says.
“Not really.”
Two women walk by us on their way back from the beach.
“You going down later?” they ask.
“How could we miss it?” Peach says sweetly. They hold hands. When they stop to kiss, I think of Peach and I when we first met. The gentleness between us was extraordinary. It’s hard to imagine with things so different now.
“Say, you need to get ready for tonight.” Peach tells me. “Let’s go upstairs and see what we can find.” She pops up from her chair and pulls me with her. I admit to being delighted by her attention, since it seems forever since she’s offered to care for me.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“The attic,” she replies.
“I’ve already been there many times,” I inform her.
“Good.” She’s hardly dissuaded as she insists that I follow her beyond the third floor to the attic I’m so familiar with.
As we enter, I ignore that I’ve been here before, hardly taking notice of the mess that still exists. I doubt that Analise has returned since I took her away. Now I follow Peach to an antique wardrobe, a fine mahogany piece with double doors, beveled mirrors on the front and a latch that closes with a key: a key Peach conveniently pulls from the pocket of her shorts.
“You planned this?” I observe aloud.
“The thought crossed my mind, but I had to come up here anyway. Tasia needs one of her costumes for tonight.”
Peach opens the wardrobe so I can see dozens of clothes hanging inside. There are shoes, hats, dresses, beads, even a man’s tuxedo.
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“Why all these?” I ask.
“That would take me too long to explain, and likely I couldn’t explain all this anyway. Remember I’ve only known the woman for a few weeks.”
“It seems like longer,” I comment.
She nods agreeing, then turns to rummage through the clothes as if she knows exactly what she’s after. She pulls out a shawl that seems inappropriate for the moment, and throws it over her arm. Reaching deeper inside the wardrobe, I hear the sound of jangling beads. I imagine a beaded skirt similar to the ones I saw in the trunk, but what appears in her hand is something unexpected. It looks like a dress the way it hangs on the hanger. The beads gleam; they’re not the rough wooden ones that I wore the night before. I can tell it’s heavy the way Peach holds it.
“This is magnificent,” I exclaim. “Tasia’s going to wear it tonight?”
“No.” Her eyes gleam, “You are.”
“Me? For heaven’s sakes why?”
“Don’t you like it?”
