Read Marie Antoinette, Serial Killer for Free Online Page B

turned the corner and the palace came into view, even Hannah was struck dumb. It was as big as a shopping mall and covered in ornate stonework and metal accents, with wings the size of slightly smaller shopping malls on either side. In the center was a gigantic cobblestone courtyard that had once, Jules said, bustled with the activities of the royal court. Separating us from the palace grounds was a fence of gleaming yellow-gold, impossibly vivid against the pale-blue sky.
    I looked from one side to the other and thought, My family might have come here. Maybe they even walked on these same cobblestones.
    “In front of us is the main palace,” Jules said. “Behind it lie the world-famous gardens. Farther off, you will find the private residences of the king and queen, Le Grand Trianon and Le Petit Trianon. Past Le Petit Trianon —”
    His voice faded out of my mind as I tried to imagine what it would be like to cross the bumpy courtyard in a horse-drawn carriage, knowing that when the carriage stopped, there would be an army of servants to help you out … carry your things … bow down to you….
    I could practically feel the weight of a gown on my hips, a powdered wig on my head.
    “Earth to Colette,” Hannah said. “We have to go get our tickets.”
    “Right,” I said, snapping out of it.
    After we crossed through the metal detectors, Madame Mitchell gave us the okay to split up, but threatened us with certain death if we failed to meet back by the entrance at 5 p.m. on the dot.
    “Are you listening, Hannah and Pilar?” she said.
    “No,” Hannah said under her breath. But Pilar nodded and gave the teacher a thumbs-up.
    Then we were on our own. Hannah declared that first we would walk through the main house (only she could look at this place and call it a “house”), and then we’d venture onto the grounds when the day got a bit warmer.
    The wings contained a series of rooms, one leading to the next like links on a chain. You could imagine someone spending a whole morning lounging on the brocade sofas and satin chairs as they waited for their audience with the king. The walls were covered in jewel-toned panels of silk, with huge oil paintings and carved marble busts everywhere.
    Hannah didn’t linger; she entered a room, looked around, and then started for the exit on the other side. I tried to take a few pictures, but it was hard to keep up with her pace.
    Finally, we stopped at the entrance to a grand expanse of a hallway.
    “The Hall of Mirrors,” Pilar said, reading from her map.
    The room was as long as a football field, lined with gigantic mirrors, soaring arched windows, and classical statues. Hanging from the ceiling must have been forty crystal chandeliers. Thinking of the work that would have gone into creating such a place made me feel still and silent.
    It was a work of art, a masterpiece that you could actually walk right into. And once upon a time, people had lived here, walked through it as they discussed their dogs, or what they were having for dinner, or who’d looked fat in her ball gown the previous night.
    I felt a tightening in my chest, a sharp spike of intense sadness — almost like nostalgia, except it was for a life I’d never lived.
    “So,” Hannah said, suddenly turning on us, “I didn’t want to say anything before now, but I talked to my dad this morning, and everything’s settled.”
    Settled?
    I glanced at Pilar, to see if she was in on it — whatever it was. But she seemed lost, too.
    Hannah wore the beginning of an incredibly self-satisfied smile. “Next Saturday” — she paused for what felt like five minutes — “we’re coming to a party here.”
    A party? Here?
    “Whose party?” Pilar asked.
    “It’s being given by the embassy,” Hannah said. “And Dad’s friend got us on the list. Just the three of us.”
    “No way,” Pilar said. Then she gave a little hop and then a bunch of hops that ended with her arms around Hannah’s shoulders in a tight