The Name of This Book Is Secret (17 page)

He promised that the next few treatments would be less messy, and considerably more pleasant. Each of them, he explained, was designed to stimulate one of the five senses.

“Is that why they call it a sensorium?”

Owen nodded. “M-ms. M-mauvais says the g-goal is to b-bring the s-senses b-back into har-m-mo-n-ny with each-ch-ch other.”

“You mean like synesthesia?” Cass asked, before realizing she might be giving herself away. (After all, how many kids had heard of synesthesia?)

Owen looked at her in surprise. “Yeah, that’s r-right,” he said.

He led her into a large airy room with a domed ceiling of cut glass through which light refracted in an ever-changing pattern of rainbows. Cass, remembering her mother’s guidebook, thought she recognized the room as a solarium. She didn’t ask this time, however, not wanting to attract more suspicion than she already had.
^*
Instead, she obediently lay facedown on a padded table, sticking her nose through a hole apparently designed for the purpose. Above, she could feel the warm sunlight streaming through the glass—although she wasn’t sure whether she was feeling the real sun, or the Midnight Sun, or both. A faint breeze ruffled the long, gauzy silk banners that had been hung from the ceiling to provide privacy. She felt almost as if she were outside—yet nowhere on Earth.

A team of nearly a dozen women in white flocked silently around her, sailing in and out, disappearing behind the silk banners only to reappear seconds later holding new crystals and chimes, oils and unguents. They traipsed around the room releasing scents (Cass, who had practiced with the Symphony of Smells, identified pine, orange blossom, lavender, and even shiitake mushroom). Then they circled, making eerie sounds with small gongs and tuning forks (someone called the sound vibrations “acupuncture without needles,” and indeed Cass felt a prickling on her skin; but she wasn’t sure whether the vibrations or her own anxiety had caused it).

After scent and sound came touch.

Eyes closed, Cass became aware of new sensations at all ends of her body: they scratched her scalp and they scraped the bottoms of her feet. They dug into her palms and they pulled on her fingers. They massaged her temples and patted her cheeks. They tugged on her earlobes and they wiggled her nose. They spiraled her arms and shook out her legs. They rotated her ankles and cracked her toe knuckles. They pushed and prodded and rubbed and rolled. Until she lost track of who was who and what was what and where was where.

Cass was hovering on the brink of unconsciousness when she heard Dr. L speaking from somewhere behind her.

“Hello, Miss Skelton. I hope you’re enjoying your treatments,” he said in his distinctively indistinctive voice. “No, please don’t open your eyes. Instead, allow me to suggest some images to you. Many patients feel it helps them to relax....”

Cass could feel him coming closer; it was excruciating, like an itch. She was aching to sit up, but she knew she had to lie still if she didn’t want him to suspect anything.

He began murmuring in Cass’s ear. “Think of the light of the Midnight Sun shining on your back.... It’s warm...bright...welcoming.... Can you feel it...? Good...Now imagine yourself floating slowly toward the light....You’re like a speck of dust in a sunbeam....That’s right, just floating...softly floating....”

Cass told herself not to listen; the important thing was to stay alert. But there was something so lulling about Dr. L’s voice. His words slipped into her consciousness without a ripple, as if they were her own thoughts.

“All those worries you carry with you,” he continued, “let them all go....Those fears about crimes and disasters and emergencies, they’re drifting away... they’re gone...gone....You don’t need to prepare for anything here. We’re taking care of everything for you....You’re safe. Perfectly safe. Let’s repeat that word, shall we? Safe...Safe...Safe...”

Cass found herself almost unwittingly repeating the word.

Safe...Safe...Safe...

“Good...Good...Now I’m going to ask you a question we ask all our patients, so we can better help them. And I want you to answer honestly and truthfully. Can you do that?”

Cass murmured her assent.

“Wonderful...The question is: Why are you really here?”

Cass opened her eyes with a jolt. She was still on the massage table, but uncertain how much time had passed.

What happened? Had she been hypnotized?

What did she say to Dr. L? Had she told him who she was?

Alarmed, she pushed herself up and looked around. She seemed to be alone.

No, there was Owen, entering the room. How did he always know?

He greeted her as though nothing were different—she must not have given herself away, after all.

Cass was so relieved she almost laughed out loud.

By now, she had seen most of the spa—with one notable exception.

After Cass had dressed, she asked Owen what was inside the pyramid.

“N-nothing,” he answered quickly. “J-just a lot of r-rocks. I w-wouldn’t g-go in there.”

She shrugged agreeably. But of course his answer had only increased her curiosity. And this time, she vowed, she wouldn’t be so easily derailed.

Yawning, she told Owen that she was tired after all her treatments (which was true) and that she needed to rest (which was also true). She said she could find her way back to her room without him (true, too). Why didn’t he take a break now and check on her later? She was going to go take a short nap (false).

“I don’t know. I’m n-not really supposed to—”

“You’re my butler, right? Aren’t you supposed to do whatever I say?”

He nodded.

“Well, then, I’m ordering you to go relax.”

“B-but if I go relax, I won’t be around to follow your orders, will I?”

Cass looked at him to see if he was serious: he smiled.

They both laughed. And suddenly Cass felt she not only had a butler, she had a friend.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Owen why she was at the spa. Did he know about Dr. L and Ms. Mauvais? she wondered. Could he possibly be as evil as they? She didn’t think so, but she decided it was better not to risk saying anything.

The way back to her room was through the hot pools. So Cass went in that direction, in case Owen was watching. She figured she’d change course as soon as she was hidden by the steam.

Just as she was about to veer off toward the pyramid, she heard a loud sigh—and nearly slipped on the wet stone floor.

She peered down at the pool in front of her. A woman was floating on her back, her round pink face bobbing in and out of the bubbling water, as if she were simmering in a giant pot of soup.

It was Gloria Fortune, real estate agent for the dead.

What was
she
doing there?

Earlier, Cass had feared Gloria might have joined her clients in the afterlife; but, under the circumstances, stumbling upon her alive was almost more alarming than stumbling upon a corpse.

If Gloria recognized her, it would all be over.

Luckily, Gloria’s eyes were closed. Cass backed away as quickly and quietly as she could.

There was no time to lose. At any moment, Gloria might pop up again—this time with her eyes open—and identify Cass. She had to find Benjamin and get out of the spa right away.

The night before, the lamp on top of the pyramid had shined so brightly that it could have been daytime. Now, late in the afternoon, the lamp was dim, its flame a bare flicker; and the spa was in shadows—so dark it could have been evening. It was as if the spa existed in its own alternative time zone, in defiance of the laws of the physical universe.

The shadows allowed Cass to cross the open courtyard in relative safety. But when she reached the reflecting pool that surrounded the pyramid she had to step out in the open. The reflecting pool, she now realized, was no pool at all; it was a moat. And the drawbridge—it was standing upright, blocking the entrance to the pyramid.

Her only hope of getting inside was to find an underground passage. Where would the passage let out, Cass wondered, if there was one? From the back of the pyramid, she traced an imaginary line to the nearest building, and she marked the spot most likely to hide an entrance to the underground.

As it turned out, the building was one of the few Cass had not yet entered. Like the others, it was designed very simply around a single, central corridor that stretched from one end to the other; but here the atmosphere was subtly more luxurious. A long, narrow, richly embroidered rug, such as you might find in a throne room, lay atop the stone floor; intimidating to step on, it nonetheless allowed Cass to walk the length of the corridor in silence. She must have passed a half-dozen doors, all closed, and all painted a deep royal blue, before she saw the one she wanted. In contrast to the other doors, it was covered in gleaming gold leaf—and had been left ever so slightly ajar.

She put her ear against the door but didn’t hear anything.

Dare she? She had to. It was her only chance.

Cass cracked the door open—then stepped back in fright: the room behind the door was occupied by hundreds of people.

Or was it?

She looked again: the room was empty—save for hundreds of reflections of herself.

Nervously, she entered.

Mirrored panels covered all the walls as well as the ceiling, creating the illusion of an infinitely expandin-g space. Even the marble floor had been polished to a reflective sheen. A giant, octopuslike chandelier—Cass’s grandfathers would have identified it as Venetian glass—hung from the ceiling and was reflected in the many mirrors, so that it seemed to be replicating in all directions. A long, backless couch upholstered in golden silk—Cass’s grandfathers would have called it a daybed and noted that it was in the Napoleonic style—and a small desk plated in silver completed the picture.

Cass immediately recognized the room for it was: the private office of Ms. Mauvais. Cold but deceptively glamorous, like the woman herself. One could easily have imagined her sitting for hours on the daybed, gazing at herself in one mirror after the next after the next after the next....

Our young heroine, however, had no time for lingering. She tiptoed across the marble, examining it for telltale cracks or seams—she thought there might be a hatch door in the floor—until she found herself butting up against one of the mirrored panels, startled once more by her own reflection. Multiplied over and over, her ears seemed to grow larger and larger.

“Are you looking for me, Miss Skelton?”

A familiar chill descended on Cass as Ms. Mauvais’s reflection—make that
reflections
—appeared beside hers.

She was caught: what should she do? What
could
she do?

Slowly, Cass turned around. She half hoped she wouldn’t find anyone—that the blond, Barbie-esque woman in the mirror was nothing but a mirage. But she was all too real—and as fake as ever.

“I’m Ms. Mauvais. Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. I trust the Midnight Sun is everything you hoped?”

Cass grimaced involuntarily, her heart thumping. She told herself to say something, say
anything
—but nothing came out.

“You know, I couldn’t help noticing the way you were looking at yourself a moment ago,” continued her hostess. “Of course, we do offer makeovers, but we thought you were more the natural type....Here, let me see.”

She lifted Cass’s head with a gloved hand, and examined her young guest from all sides. “If you like, we can do something about it.”

“About what?” Cass asked, finally finding her voice.

“About your ears. We can fix them.”

“My ears?” Perhaps, Cass thought, if they talked about her ears, Ms. Mauvais wouldn’t question again why she was in her office.

“Yes, I thought they were bothering you. They do rather stick out—”

“What do you mean? How would you fix them?” Cass tried gently to pull her head away, but Ms. Mauvais wouldn’t let go.

“Among his many talents, Dr. L is a very gifted plastic surgeon—”

“You mean you would operate on them!?” Cass exclaimed in obvious horror, remembering too late that a Skelton Sister might have a different reaction to the prospect of plastic surgery.

“There’s only so much makeup can do,” observed Ms. Mauvais, at last releasing Cass’s head from her hands. “Don’t worry, he has a very light touch. He never leaves any scars. He’s an artist....Here, what do you think of mine?”

She gathered up her blond hair and tilted her neck, exposing her ears for Cass to inspect.

“Every year he works on them. They’re like a sculpture that’s never quite finished. He says he won’t be done until I have the most exquisite ears in the world.”

The way she said this, Cass could tell Ms. Mauvais thought her ears were already something special. In truth, Cass couldn’t remember ever seeing any more perfect.

“Just think what he could do with a beautiful young girl like you.”

Should
she have her ears worked on? Cass had never even considered it. But the idea of not being teased anymore was very appealing. And Ms. Mauvais made it sound so easy.

“Your mother doesn’t have ears like yours, does she? Wouldn’t you like to look more like her?”