Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer by Katie Alender Read Free Book Online Page A

“Just wait for us at the Grand Trianon.”
    “Okay,” I said, although that wasn’t even where I wanted to go. “But what if I don’t find you?”
    “I’m going to pee my pants,” Pilar said. “I think I drank too much coffee.”
    Hannah looked exasperated. “Colette, we’ll either see you there or we won’t. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Pilar needs to potty.”
    I nodded and started down the path, trying to look like I was rushing to find our teacher.
    But as soon as Hannah and Peely were out of sight, I slowed down and felt a small, triumphant glow.
    Because I wasn’t trying to catch up with anybody. I was just trying to get away from my friends. Managing to do so with Hannah’s express permission was like a bonus.
    I couldn’t explain why, but I wanted to be alone.
    And now I had the whole afternoon to myself.

    I followed the long, tree-lined path toward Le Petit Trianon. The building was beautiful, but it was small and boxy and almost plain. I mean, certainly not small relative to where I now lived, but to people like Hannah and Pilar, this place might not be completely awe-inspiring.
    Inside, I got the same impression. Compared to the all-out opulence of the main palace, it felt cozy and intimate. There was still plenty of grandeur — plaster carvings on the walls, floors of checkerboard marble tile, and a chandelier hanging above the grand staircase — but also a vibe of privacy and closeness. You could see how a person would feel more at home here, like she had her own little space.
    There were hardly any tourists, so I had time to linger, stopping in each doorway to look around before wandering into the next room. The air was still, but there was an underlying energy. It felt quiet … but not empty.
    Kings and queens walked here , I thought, looking over what had once been a billiards room. As I turned to move on, I caught a flash out of the corner of my eye — a shape moving outside the window.
    I peered through the glass but saw nothing except a flock of sheep grazing on a distant pasture and a pair of old ladies wandering down a winding dirt path.
    But I could have sworn I’d seen a pale-pink dress.
    As I stepped back from the window, I noticed that it had an elaborate metal handle with a lock.
    And carved on the lock was the same spiky flower that was cut out of the key in my medallion. Checking the other windows revealed that each one had the same fancy lock, and on each lock was the same flower carving.
    I felt my throat tighten almost imperceptibly.
    I headed upstairs, following a path through a series of little rooms — dining rooms, game rooms, music rooms — and stopping at the queen’s bedroom.
    Every piece of fabric — the curtains on the windows, the bedspread, the drapes around the bed, and even the chairs — featured a white background with tiny sprays of little blue flowers, each petal ending in a delicately spiked fork.
    It wasn’t exactly the same as the design on the medallion — it was missing the key. But the flower being featured so prominently definitely raised my curiosity. Had the Iselin family — my family — had some real connection to the royals?
    A door to my left led to a small, square room with walls of light blue, decorated with white carvings like the frosting on a cake. There didn’t seem to be any windows, but on each wall was a large gold-rimmed mirror.
    I stepped into the room and saw myself reflected a million times. I spun in a slow circle, taking in the smell of polished wood and that hard-to-pin-down scent that just meant “old.” As I completed my turn and glanced at my reflection, I froze.
    The face in the mirror wasn’t my own.
    The eyes were set a little wider, there was a widow’s peak in the center of the forehead, and the lips were fuller. I was so captivated by the odd sight that I hardly had time to realize that it wasn’t just the face that was different — none of what was reflected was me, unless I’d somehow changed into a