Banishing the Dark (Arcadia Bell #4)(71)

And sitting on the floor at the base of the clock was a large gated playpen, a bigger version of Mr. Piggy’s. No hedgehog in this one. Inside sat a little girl. A toddler with dark bobbed hair and thick, straight bangs. She was humming to herself while shuffling wooden puzzle pieces over a tiny play table.

And she had a small, pale halo swirling around the crown of her head.

Quick footsteps and whispers drew my attention to a hallway at the back of the room. I nearly tripped over my own feet in my panic but managed to duck behind a chair before they saw me. I recognized the voices a moment before I peered around the back of the chair and spied two people striding past the fireplace toward the door, arguing in French.

Mom and Dad.

I clamped my hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

Impossible! But there they were. Not ghosts, not memories. In the flesh, just as real as I was. My mom was dressed in a skirt and a striped top—one I knew was navy and white, even though my silver sight didn’t show it; I remembered her wearing the outfit in photos of book signings. My father wore his usual button-up Oxford and slacks. And they were so young. About my age, I thought. Which meant—

The girl in the playpen had to be me.

Seriously, what the hell was going on?

The knock on the door came again, this time more insistent.

“Coming,” my mother cooed before she and my father momentarily stepped out of sight. The overly friendly male voice of the visitor boomed through the walls.

“Enola and Alexander,” the voice said. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by unannounced. I was on my way home from San Francisco and thought I’d take a detour to see if you’d arrived in town yet.

“We have,” my mother said in her heavy French accent.

“May I come in?”

“Of course, of course. Come on in.” That was my father and his used-car-salesman voice. The one that made you feel as if you were the most important thing in the world, until you heard him use it on someone else and realized he was only playing you.

I held my breath, listening to them stroll into the great room. From where I was crouched, I could see the grandfather clock and Little Me in the playpen. The girl didn’t see me. I didn’t know if this was because I couldn’t be seen or because she was too busy watching the adults across the room. Was I reliving a memory? I certainly couldn’t recall this house at all, so that seemed impossible.

“Can I take your coat?” my dad asked. “I’d offer you a drink, but we haven’t had a chance to refill the pantry yet.”

“No, that’s fine. I can’t stay long. Just wanted to check in. Make sure we were still on for Monday.”

“We are here, no?” my mother said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “Have we given you any reason to think we would not be?”

“My wife’s tired. The flight was a little rough.”

“No need to explain,” the voice said. “I just . . . ah, there she is.”

Footsteps approached. Little Me’s head tilted upward as she quietly watched the visitor walking up to the playpen. She wasn’t frightened, I didn’t think, but she wasn’t speaking, either. She just stared up at him, mouth drawn in a tight line, assessing him. Was I this cold and calculating as a child? Was this really me?

“Hello, Sélène,” he said to her.

I let out a shaky breath, waiting to hear her voice, but she didn’t reply.

“Are you shy, pretty girl?” he asked. “Do you remember me? I met you last winter, when you were just a year old, but you’ve grown so much since then. I barely recognize you now, but I see you are looking more like your beautiful maman.”

“We’ve taught her not to speak to strangers,” my mother’s voice said bluntly.

“Ah,” he replied. “Probably wise. The world is full of crazies, and she’s . . . quite the prize, your little Moonchild.”

My mother made a sharp, unhappy noise.

“As we’ve told you before, we prefer that people don’t know we’re here,” my father said, as if he were her interpreter. I immediately remembered Karlan Rooke calling him my mother’s apologist. “So please don’t use that title around your own people or anyone in town. I’m afraid we must insist on that, or the deal is off.”

“Strong words, Alexander. But I understand, and you have my word.” A man’s hand came into my view as he reached over the playpen’s gate and pointed at the scattered puzzle pieces. “What are you playing with there? Astrological symbols? My. Already the great magician, I see. Following in your parents’ famous footsteps.”

“Naturally. She is a Duval.”

“And your first child, so I’m sure you’ll spoil her rotten.”

Not the first. If this man only knew . . .

“Don’t worry, I will not tell anyone about her,” the man said, standing so that I could only see the toes of his polished shoes. “But I would advise you not to parade her around La Sirena. Back home in Florida, the chances of her encountering one of us are slim, but here? The locals call this area Earthbound Paradise. If the wrong demon got a glimpse of her, he might decide she’s rare enough to warrant his interest.”

“What do you mean by that?” my mother snapped.

“I mean that I’d advise you to find a babysitter in Florida for your little moon muffin when you come to work for me next year. Bring her here at your own risk.”