Not Good for Maidens

CHAPTER 1

Boston, Present Day

ON THE NIGHT THE MARKET CAME TO CLAIM WHAT IT WAS OWED, Louisa Wickett-Stevens was three thousand miles and five time zones away, trying to figure out how she had so many mothers who didn’t understand her.

She stood at the Do Not Walk sign, dead phone clutched in her hand, and waited for the Walk sign to flash. It was one of those weeks in Boston when the city felt buried under a layer of heat, when she could almost smell the harbor all the way in the middle of town. Every few seconds, she pressed the home button and glanced down at her phone, only to be reminded all over again that there was no point. She’d forgotten to bring her charger to Dad’s. Usually, she’d call Neela when she was walking home alone at night. Especially a night like this, when the city felt sleepy and silent, the weight of it pressing against her ears.

Lou shifted, wishing the light would just change already. Dad had offered to drive her home, but if she rode with him, there would be a guaranteed talk about how her stepmom Gen was just trying to do what was best, trying to be closer to Lou. As if closeness was what she needed.

The walk sign flipped on, and Lou jogged across. It wasn’t a far walk: a mile at best, from her dad’s place in Beacon Hill to the apartment in Back Bay where she lived with her mom and aunt May, recently inherited from her grandfather. Sometimes, Lou’s feet still dragged her to the bus route that would take them to their old place, and she had to consciously remind herself that their cramped apartment wasn’t home anymore. That they’d relocated, shifted with all of their same problems and misshaped dilemmas into the new, bigger place.

Lou took the longer route through the Gardens. Dark was falling, and it probably wasn’t the best idea, especially with her phone dead. But she wasn’t ready to go home yet.

It had started that afternoon, when Lou was at the hardware store with her mom for more Command hooks and wallpaper stripper to handle the upside-down bird wallpaper in May’s bathroom. She wished May was off work to go with them, because it felt less like a chore when May was around and more like an adventure. Lou went back for more painter’s tape and by the time she was done, Mom had found the paint section. Before Lou could intervene, Mom was having a ghastly shade of magenta mixed.

Lou raised her eyebrows, checking the paint chip in Mom’s hand. Hot Lips. Sounds … inappropriate.

Mom only rolled her eyes. She finished up and paid, and she and Lou set off for the car. It’ll look nice in the lounge, Mom said in her broad Yorkshire accent. It was always softer when they were out of the house, like she felt the need to hide some part of herself, even if she was only talking to her daughter.

It’ll look terrible, Lou responded. She was tired and sweaty and didn’t want to spend any more time painting the house. May couldn’t do it, claiming the fumes were bad for her pregnancy, and Mom was too busy with the unpacking and wallpaper stripping. So it had been up to Lou to paint the hall and the nursery in approved colors. If Neela had been there like she was every other summer, it would’ve been fun. But by herself, the whole thing was dull and annoying.

If I spoke to my mum the way you speak to me, she would’ve left me for the fairies, Mom said airily.

Lou rolled her eyes. Sometimes, with the way Mom, May, and Nana Tee spoke, Lou wondered if they actually did believe in fairies.

She slid into the front seat, rolling down a window as soon as Mom turned the car on to get some of the hot air out. About Nana Tee, Lou said, shooting a quick glance over at Mom. Though it wasn’t a great opening, the threat of being taken away, it was better than nothing. Neela had an idea.

Mom sighed, like she knew exactly where this was going. Neela, Mom and May’s younger half sister, was just a year older than Lou. Usually, Neela came to stay with them in Boston for her six-week summer break, but not this year—she had a wedding to attend in India in August, and she was leaving for university at the end of break.

But Lou couldn’t imagine a summer without Neela, her best friend.

What if I go stay with them? Lou asked, trying to keep her eyes on the road ahead. It was easier than looking at Mom, easier than seeing her quick refusal, or worse, her disappointment that Lou would even ask.

When? Your dad has that Yosemite trip planned for August, Mom said. Lou couldn’t miss the caution in her voice, like she was seeking an easy dismissal.

Lou picked at the frayed edge of her shorts. She’d rescued them from Neela two summers before, when Neela splattered paint on the front right side and was about to throw them away. Lou kept them; she thought the splattered paint and worn rips made the shorts look cool and edgy.

Nee gets back August 10th. School doesn’t start until the first week of September. Lou dug her nails into the meat of her palm. There were negotiations to be had, the same tired fight they’d struggled through Lou’s entire life. Why can’t I go there?

Mom’s lips were thinned into a line, her knuckles white as she clenched the wheel. You’re with your dad then. The custody agreement includes—

I’m seventeen, Lou interrupted. I get a say in where I go. And Dad won’t care. Gen might, but Dad—

No, Louisa, Mom said. It was a sharp word, cutting through any and all arguments Lou and Neela had hashed over the night before. She felt that terrible knot in her stomach, the lump in her throat. Lou leaned her head against the window.

But she didn’t want to give up, not this time. I’ve never been to your hometown, Lou said, trying to keep her voice steady. I don’t know anything about where you and May are from. Don’t you think that’s a little weird?

Mom didn’t answer. Lou couldn’t tell if she was ignoring her or not.

Neela and Nana Tee come here every single year. That’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to me. And it’s not fair to Neela or me that we can’t see each other because of your stupid rules.

It’s a lot of money to just go—

It can’t be about money, Lou bit out. Not this time. Not since Grandpa Jack had died and left his hefty bank account and swanky apartment to Mom and May. Yes, they’d struggled for Lou’s entire life, living in the shitty one-bedroom apartment in Revere before Grandpa Jack passed away in the spring and left them the brownstone apartment that May and Mom had grown up in and everything else he owned. But money wasn’t an issue anymore.

Mom turned onto their street. As soon as they were inside, this conversation would be over. Lou couldn’t let this just slip under the rug, like every previous iteration of this conversation.

Please, she said. She hated revealing any vulnerability, showing any loneliness to Mom and May, who got along just fine with themselves. But at least they had each other to lean on. Lou didn’t even have Neela, not in real life. I just want to visit for a few weeks.

She watched as Mom looked up toward their second-floor apartment. Lou could just see the outline of a hanging pentacle in one of the windows, meant for protection of the house.

No, Mom said. You’re too young to go by yourself. Money or not.

You were literally just a year older than me when you came here by yourself, Lou seethed. She couldn’t stop the anger that flooded through her. It’s been enough time. Since whatever happened to you that you refuse to tell me about.

Let me in, she thought. Let me see who you were, why you chose this, why you left.

Mom’s eyes cut over to her, hard and emotionless. I wasn’t alone. I came here with May to live with Dad. And look how that turned out.

The jab smarted, even though she knew her mother didn’t mean it. When Mom and May moved to Boston as teenagers, the first thing Mom did was get pregnant.

Mom closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead. The hairs along her neck had escaped from the bun on top of her head and stood out in frizzy curls. Sometimes, it felt like Mom’s dark wavy hair was the only thing Lou had inherited from her. Like they were strangers, unrelated and unknowable, besides that dark hair.

I’m sorry, she said. I don’t want you to go alone, not without May or me. Her accent was thicker, just like it always was when she spoke of home.

It was finished and done. Mom would not let her go to England to see Neela and there was no debate there.

Or so Lou thought as she angrily texted Neela from her room. But then Nee said, Would your dad let you?

So off Lou went to dinner at Dad’s, where she was supposedly always welcome, even though she wasn’t a permanent fixture there like her stepbrother, Peter. Except that plan wasn’t great either, because Gen threw a whole fit about Lou even considering skipping the family vacation, and Dad had only shrugged and said, Tough luck, Lulu. We can all go next year.

But next year didn’t matter. It didn’t even matter that Lou had dual citizenship if her parents didn’t give her permission to go. And worst of all, Lou’s phone died before she could even call Neela to come up with a new plan.

Now, alone in the dark, Lou let the full force of her misery settle into her bones. She’d never been good at friends. She didn’t know what parts to show, what parts to keep. Maybe she’d gotten that from Mom, who held everything so close to her chest that Lou wasn’t sure anyone knew her, other than May.

She pushed her hands into her pockets and left the Gardens, turning onto Comm Ave. This, at least, was well lit. There was nothing to worry about, not a soul to bother her. Sometimes, it felt like there wasn’t another soul in the world.

The faster she got home, the faster she could call Neela. It was past midnight in York, but Neela was out with her friends. She’d be up.

Lou glanced up at the window as she approached their brownstone. Golden light filtered through the upstairs window. Mom was still up, or May had gotten home early. Lou chewed on her lip. She just had to get to her room, and she wouldn’t have to talk to them.

She jogged up the stairs to the second floor and unlocked the door, excuses already prepared on her lips. But when she went in, the living room was empty.

Mom had pushed all the furniture to the center of the room and laid drop cloths. A ladder stood against one wall, and there was a pan with the offending magenta and an abandoned paintbrush left in it.

Lou paused, listening. The place was old. If Mom was here, she’d be able to hear the creaking. If May was back, then at least Lou could complain to her. Though May was like another mother to Lou, she also filled the role of fun aunt. She knew May would understand the injustice of it all.

Nothing.

The place smelled of burnt herbs. Mom must’ve cleansed the house while Lou was out. A few drips of paint marred the drop cloth. In the shadows of the ladder, they looked like spilled blood.

Lou tried her best to shrug off her sense of unease and shut herself in her room. It used to be May’s, back when May was younger, and there was still plenty of her crap left here from nearly two decades ago for Lou to sort through and throw away before she finished unpacking.

First things first, she plugged in her phone. While she waited for it to come to life, Lou went to her windowsill and brushed away the salt—it was another of her mom’s superstitions, meant to ward the house or something like that. Lou didn’t keep track of all the weird stuff Mom and May believed it. Mom must’ve gone on a full spree earlier after cleansing. The salt looked new, and there was a new iron pentacle hanging over Lou’s window.

She changed into soft shorts and a Boston University T-shirt before settling onto the windowsill. The air conditioning was flighty and old, so Lou preferred to sit here with her window open to cool down. She pulled her phone to her as it flashed, coming back to life.

It immediately started vibrating. Lou wasn’t surprised to see the flurry of drunk messages coming in from Neela: three about someone spilling a beer on her shirt, one about a pretty girl in a bathroom. Nothing to say she’d made it home.

A few messages from Mom, too, and one from May. But Lou didn’t bother to read them.

There were two voicemails, both from Neela. They talked every day on the phone or video chat, but it wasn’t a big deal if one of them left a voicemail or WhatsApp voice memo. It was much easier than sending a million texts back and forth.

Lou pressed play on the first message.

"Oh my god—fuck. Fuck. Lou. Lou I need you to pick up, I need you to—" Neela’s voice faded for a second and Lou heard something odd in the background, like screams mixed with muffled sobbing. Something scraped along a stone floor. Neela’s voice came back, closer, like she was holding a hand over her mouth and the speaker.

I need you. Help me. You have to get— Neela cut off again. Something smashed, like breaking glass, and the line went dead.

Lou stared at the wall, uncomprehending. She listened to the message again, her fear deepening. What had Neela gotten herself into? And how was Lou supposed to help, all the way from Boston?

But there was another message. Her mouth tasted bitter, bile creeping up from her stomach. She didn’t want to listen. She needed to call Mom or May or Nana Tee, someone who understood what was happening. Someone who could really help Neela with whatever had happened.

She pressed play on the second message.

Gaspy, breathless sobbing crackled through her speakers. Please, Neela begged Lou or someone else, someone on the other side of the phone. "I didn’t mean to. You have to get me out."

Someone shouted in the background. There was a dull roar, and above it all, a cackling sound.

I’m out of time, Neela said, her voice more forlorn than Lou had ever heard it. Lou’s palms were slick with sweat. I’m at the market, Lou. When they ask you where to find me, I’m—

Something clattered. The phone, maybe? In the distance, Lou heard someone screaming. Her heart plummeted.

Neela.

The line was silent for a second, as if all the sound in the room had been sucked out. And then, just as Lou was about to start the message over again, a very different voice took over.

Are you coming to Scarborough Fair? the voice whisper-sung in a rusty alto. A chill ran down Lou’s spine. Then, lower, almost inaudible, We’re waiting for you, Louisa Wickett.

The phone fell from Lou’s hand. It had to be a prank, she thought, scrambling for her phone. She needed to know it was a prank.

Lou called Neela.

The phone rang and rang and rang and rang. No answer. Neela didn’t pick up.

Don’t panic, she thought. It had to be an ill-considered, drunk prank. It had to be.

But Neela sounded so awful. So scared. Lou dialed her number again, listening as it rang and rang and no one answered, no one