Free Midnight Dolls by Kiki Sullivan

choice about who to love, I wouldn’t think twice.
    â€œNo, Caleb,” I say. “You’re not interrupting at all.”
    The mothers sleep in while the rest of us grab pancakes and orange juice. By eleven, everyone’s up and ready for the day.
    â€œWe don’t have to leave for the airport until four,” my dad says. “Does anyone feel like a tour of the town?”
    The mothers and their protectors decline, but Peregrine and Chloe say they’ll come. Simon arrives a few minutes later, and we pile with our protectors into his car and my dad’s for the short ride into town. They parallel park on Rue Vert, the main road through Caouanne Island, and we step out onto a brick street. American flags snap in the breeze, and wind chimes sound from many of the doorways.
    â€œCaouanne Island was built around the same time as Carrefour,” my father explains as we walk. “There’s a canal over to the left that cuts the island in half. It’s spanned by a bunch of little bridges—which we’ll see in a bit—so some of the townspeople joke that we’re the secret Venice of the South.”
    Simon chuckles and adds, “Our ancestors came from New Orleans, just like yours did. The difference is that when they moved here, they cut ties almost completely with that part of their history. That’s why Caouanne Island doesn’t feel as reminiscent of New Orleans as Carrefour does.”
    We take a left off Rue Vert. Ahead of us, I can see a small arched bridge spanning a twinkling canal. “Because everyone in town knows about andaba,” Simon continues, “it’s been much easier for us to keep up the town than I imagine it is for you. Unlike you, we don’t have to hide our powers. The residents here have everything they want and need.”
    â€œBut who works for you?” Peregrine asks. “In Carrefour, we have the Périphérie. You know, the poor people who aren’t in on the Secret of Carrefour. That’s who works in our stores and restaurants.”
    I give her a look.
    â€œHere on Caouanne Island, we don’t see a reason to divide the haves and the have-nots.” Simon looks straight ahead as he speaks, and I have the distinct feeling he’s judging us. “Everyone in town has a job. Everyone benefits equally.”
    â€œLike communism?” Peregrine asks.
    Simon looks at her like she’s crazy. “Of course not. Simply like a utopian society.”
    She shrugs. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
    â€œHard work is the backbone of every successful society,” Simon says. “For example, take me: I’m a king, but I act as a boat captain when I’m needed, and I use my carpentry skills to beautify the town and keep up everyone’s homes. In fact, I built this bridge.” He gestures ahead of us to the wooden footbridge that arches over the canal. “It took me two years,” he adds, “but it’s my masterpiece.”
    â€œIt’s nice and all,” Peregrine says, “but I thought you said you could use your magic out in the open here. Why would you do things by hand?”
    â€œBecause,” my father answers, “we believe that magic should be used in moderation and that we should never take the spirits’ generosity for granted, because it always comes at a price.”
    Peregrine makes a harrumphing noise, but she drops the subject. “So anyway, when’s lunch?” she asks. “I want to have some time to go shopping before we go home.”
    Caleb and I stay behind with Simon to admire the bridge he built while my dad takes the others back toward Rue Vertto grab a table at the diner. Simon beams as he explains how he constructed an arch over the water tall enough to let canoes and kayaks through but with a low enough incline that it’s easy for pedestrians to cross.
    â€œIt’s modeled after the Kapellbrücke bridge in Lucerne,