Ivy had grown over the floorboards and walls. Candles flickered here and there, light and shadows twining, illuminating the herbs that hung from hooks in the ceiling. Jars filled with things lined various shelves. Oh, good gracious. An eyeball floated to the surface of one and peered right at me.
In back, a sign read Magics, Foretellings and More. Cleaning a long wooden counter was a teenage girl dressed to kill in golden armor, dark leather and an array of glittering jewelry.
I stiffened. She wasn’t just any girl. She was a witch. The witch. The one who’d (inadvertently?) pitted my mother against Nicolas and planned to take us back to Enchantia.
Wait. She resided in Sevón, rather than Airaria? But why was Truly, an Airarian princess, in Sevón?
Farrah executed a flawless curtsey, saying, “Good morn, Ophelia.”
“Good morn, Princess Farrah. Princess Truly. Saxon.” The witch—Ophelia—continued wiping the counter. “You’re here to speak with Noel, I’m sure, but she’s with a customer.”
Saxon remained behind the princesses, a tower of menace and might. He didn’t respond to the witch, or even acknowledge her presence. Instead, he scanned the shop for any possible threat to his charges. I liked his dedication. Nothing swayed him from his task.
“Actually, you might have the answers I seek.” Farrah withdrew a small bag of coins, or maybe jewels, the pieces clinking together. “In her last vision, Noel told us my father could be saved, but only after the harvest moon. Well, the harvest moon has come and gone.”
“You wish to know if Noel has had any other visions?”
So, oracles had visions separate from the prophecies/fairy tales. Good to know.
“I do,” Farrah said. “Hours ago, my father’s heart stopped. If not for our healers, he would have died. One day, one day soon, I fear their magic will not be enough.”
Sympathy welled. Poor Farrah.
Ophelia extended her hand, palm up, a silent demand for payment.
I had to admire her business acumen.
As soon as Farrah tossed the bag, the witch announced, “Yes, Noel has had another vision. In it, your brother journeyed through the Enchantian Forest, risking life and limb to find the Apple of Life and Death.”
The princess blinked rapidly as if trying to jump-start her brain. “What is the Apple of Life and Death? Why have I never heard of it?”
Ophelia smiled, a little sly. “You ask the wrong question. You, who cannot live, until you die.”
I jolted, as if hit by lightning. Had I just heard a bit of prophecy?
“What is the right question, then?” Truly all but vibrated with irritation. “And what does that even mean? Cannot live until you die,” she mocked. “You make no sense. Not that you ever do.”
The tapping on my shoulder started up again but didn’t last long.
The witch quirked a dark brow. “Not every death signifies the end of a life. Sometimes death heralds a new beginning.”
Ooh la la. Mom had mentioned the Tree of New Beginnings. Any connection between the two?
Behind the counter, an older man in the midst of a grumbling tirade brushed aside a beaded partition and marched toward us. Noticing Farrah and Truly, he ended the mantrum midsentence and gawked.
“Your majesties,” he said, reaching out to take their hands.
Saxon lunged before contact was made, pushing the man away.
Realizing he’d angered the royal bodyguard, the man muttered an apology and raced from the shop.
Farrah heaved a sigh. “Must you be so forceful with my subjects?”
“Yes, Princess,” the avian replied. “I must.”
“He meant no harm.”
“How do you know?”
The beads were swept aside a second time, ending their conversation. A pretty teenager with fire engine–red hair, pinkish skin and purple eyes emerged. This must be Noel. She wore the same type of armor as the witch, and just as many jewels. While Ophelia hit badass status, this girl appeared more delicate, even fragile, but also like chaos walking, as if she’d dressed in the dark...while in a hurry...as alien ships bombed her house.
“Hello, Great Oracle.” Farrah executed another flawless curtsy, bowing her head in deference. “We long to purchase a few moments of your valuable time.”
Excitement spiked. A real, honest-to-goodness oracle, who might or might not have answers about Snow White and the Evil Queen. I wanted to speak with her, too.
“Oh, goodie. Prince Roth is here, too. Shhh.” Noel pressed a finger to her lips, then loudly proclaimed, “No one mention how much I want to chain him inside my lady dungeon and have my wicked way with him. Even though he’s meant for—Cookie!”
As she’d spoken, Ophelia had waved a hand and produced a platter of cookies.
Noel swiped a treat, reminding me of Thor when he caught a glimpse of a squirrel.
Roth... a name found inside the word brother. The Brothers Grimm—bROTHers. Coincidence?
“The strange way you speak.” Truly frowned. “Where do you hear these things?”
“Only everywhere,” Ophelia said on behalf of her friend.
The bell over the door tinkled, and the thump, thump of footsteps sounded. As the newcomer stalked around the shelves, breathing got a whole lot harder, my heart sprinting.
This is Prince Roth? Hot Stuff, the darkly hypnotic boy I’d seen bang and bail.
Just as before, the sight of him arrested me. My instincts shouted, Dangerous!
Oh, yes. Dangerous to my peace of mind.
He scowled at Farrah, fury pulsing from him. “You disregarded my orders. Again.”
Oh, sweet goodness. His voice! Deep and growly. As smooth as butter and as rich as chocolate.
“I gave you one order, only one,” he said. “If you ventured from the palace, you were to take Vikander. So, why is the fairy at the palace while you traipse about the village?”
Guilt darkened her expression, but she rallied swiftly, lifting her head high. “I never meant to worry you, and I’m sorry I did. But Vikander hovers, and I—I’m an independent woman, well able to take care of myself.”
Or maybe this Vikander guy would have stopped her from getting busy with Truly? Just a guess.
“Vikander protects you in ways others cannot,” Roth said.
“Saxon protects me, too,” she said, lifting her chin another notch. “Truly protects me.”
“Saxon coddles you, and Truly—” He ran his tongue over straight, white teeth and massaged the back of his neck. “We teeter at the edge of war with Azul. I have meetings scheduled with Fleur, the outcome critical. Spies abound. If you were hurt, if you were taken captive to force my hand, if I were to lose you and Father... I need to know you’re safe, Farrah.”
Once again, sympathy welled. While his expression evinced zero emotion, his tone conveyed incredible pain. No doubt he’d already lost someone he loved, maybe even multiple someones.
Noel fake-coughed, gaining everyone’s attention. “You wish to learn more about the Apple of Life and Death, and how to save the King of Sevón, yes? Or perhaps you wish to buy a spell from Ophelia?”
Roth went still, not even daring to breathe. “More about it? Oracle, I know nothing about it. Are you saying I can save my father if I find this apple?”
“Yes. I am, and you can.”
Why the emphasis on can?
“Tell me where to find it, then,” he commanded.
“Far, far away,” she replied, “but oh so close. You must search the forest, high and low.”
A muscle jumped beneath his eye. “A search takes time. Time my father might not have. Time I cannot spare. I have trade meetings with Fleur’s representatives, and I must escort Princess Truly back to Airaria—” he balled his hands “—for a brief visit with her mother, to pay respects to her father. And buy a spell from Opheli
a? No. She demands a sacrifice. The price is too steep.”
Ophelia spread her arms as if she were the last sane person in a world gone wrong. “If you won’t make a sacrifice for me, why should I make a sacrifice for you to use my magic?”
“What do you actually sacrifice? You weaken when you cast a spell, yes,” Truly said, “but your power always replenishes itself.”
Ophelia narrowed her eyes. “Do not act as if you know the trials of a witch.”
Noel scratched her head, as if confused. To the witch, she said, “Did I pre-remember the conversation I had with Roth about the apple?”
“You did,” the witch replied, her anger draining. “If Prince Roth wants answers, he’ll pay double the usual cost. I post-remembered we raised our rates. And, Prince? My spell might be the most expensive commodity in Enchantia, but there’s a reason. I’m that good.”
Truly mumbled something that sounded like “Greedy wenches.” Maybe wretches?
“I’ll pay for information only. You will speak.” Roth tossed a second bag of coins to Ophelia, then waved his hand, a royal decree for the oracle to continue. “The sooner the better.”
“Let’s go back and I’ll—” A sudden, strange calm fell over Noel. The whites of her eyes expanded, spreading over her irises. Creep city! Voice monotone, she said, “No, your father will not die while you are away. The opposite is true. Go to your meetings, escort Truly and search for the apple in the heart of the forest. Only then will the King of Sevón have a chance to heal. But take heed, dear Prince. The apple metes life and death with equal measure. Make the right choices, bask in the rewards.”
Fascinating. A vision in action, one both detailed and vague. What choices were right, and what choices were wrong?
“How will I know the difference?” Roth asked, his tone gentle. I didn’t know him well, or at all, but I suspected he would prefer to snap and shout.
“Your heart will know,” Noel replied. “Listen to it. Listen well. The heart wants what the heart wants, and no other will do.”
Everyone waited for her to say more, but the milky film dissipated in her eyes and she smiled. “What’d I miss?”
Ophelia patted the top of her head. “I’ll explain later.”
“I’ll go on this journey with you,” Farrah told Roth, resolute. “I’ll help you find the apple.”
The prince shook his head, a lock of dark hair falling over his brow. “No, sister. I need you home, caring for Father. Safe.” Looking to Noel, he said, “What can you tell me about my negotiations with Fleur? We need their crops. What should I offer in—” He stiffened and withdrew a sword, his gaze darting left, right. “Someone’s watching us.”
Uh-oh. He sensed me. Did the others?
“Put the sword away before she decides not to come.” Noel winked—at me. “Hello, Your Majesty. We are going to become the best of friends. Well, maybe not the best. You’re going to hate me, but only for a time. But after that... No, still not the best.” She frowned and tapped her chin, then brightened. “We’re going to be such mediocre friends! Bonum et malum, united forever in life and in death!”
I opened and closed my mouth. How was this possible?
Bonum et malum—good and evil. United. Had her mother eaten a forbidden apple, too? Was she the strongest oracle in the land, just like Hartly and I were the strongest...princesses? Mortal magic wielders? A type of witch?
Roth’s gaze zipped past me, then returned. I reared back, snared by the mesmerizing haze of those green, green eyes. He stared hard, awareness boring into my soul.
His image began to wink in and out, like a wire had frayed. I banged on the glass, not ready to lose the connection. I needed to know more, everything.
But my actions had no effect. Roth and Truly vanished, my flushed, sweat-dampened reflection staring back at me. My eyes glowed metallic silver, and it was eerie AF.
My attention moved to Mom. Through the mirror, in slow motion, I watched her collapse against me. Impact shoved me down. I pinwheeled my arms as I fell, trying to grab the counter. No luck. I ended up on the floor, the rest of the world rushing back into focus.
Hartly was screaming. Thor was barking.
Mom lay beside me, unconscious, her face bloody. She looked like the woman I’d seen in my yesterday’s vision. Thinner, sickly, with yellowed skin, lifeless hair and blue-tinted lips.
“Mom!” I scrambled to my knees. “What’s wrong with her?” I felt for a pulse. Yes! It was reedy, but there.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Hartly cried. “Before she fell, she clutched her heart. You have to help her!”
“Call 9-1-1.”
“Already did. They’re on the way,” she said between sobs, then crumpled at my other side.
Fighting hysteria, I patted Mom’s cheek. “Mom! Aubrey!” Tears scalded my eyes, obscuring my vision. I patted her cheek with more force.
Finally, she came around, moaning and blinking open her eyes. When she managed to focus her gaze, she looked between Hartly and me, realization dawning. “Listen. Must explain.” Her beautiful blue irises grew dimmer by the second. “Mother, aunt...father, sorcerer...sister, cousin. Love, hate. Will be...whatever heart...desires.”
“Shhh, shhh,” I said, fat tears streaming down my cheeks. I clasped her hand. So cold, so weak. “Save your strength, okay? Help is on the way.”
“Love...” A long stream of breath seeped from her parted lips, her body going lax.
“No!” Hartly and I shouted in unison.
Again, I felt for a pulse. This time, I couldn’t find one.
Frantic, not knowing what else to do, I straddled Mom’s waist, flattened my hands above her heart and pressed. Once, twice. Ten. Twenty. “I won’t let you die. I won’t, I won’t.”
I loved her, needed her, and any moment she would jerk awake. Paramedics would arrive and whisk her to a hospital, where she would receive expert medical care. She would recover. We would have a long, happy life together. We would return to Enchantia, a family united, and Mom would regain everything she’d lost. But minute after minute passed with no improvement.
Sweat poured from me, my muscles quivering. Can’t stop, won’t stop.
“Harder,” Hartly pleaded. “Make her live.”
I pushed so hard I felt Mom’s sternum crack. I whimpered, my tears dripping on her brow, collecting in the corner of her eye as if she, too, were crying.
Finally, the paramedics arrived. Someone forced me aside. Hartly picked up Thor and gathered me close. We trembled against each other.
Mom was lifted onto a gurney, a clear mask strapped to the lower half of her face. Someone straddled her waist, picking up where I’d left off, administering CPR. One, two, three...
Though the group worked feverishly, Mom never opened her eyes, never took another breath. Aubrey Morrow died, a piece of my heart dying with her.
6
Dry your tears and march ahead.
You can rest when you are dead.
Thunder crashed and lightning flashed, lighting up the sky. Hail beat against the roof of our house, an end-of-summer storm bringing freezing rain and wild winds.
I felt like the one being pummeled. Raw inside. Hollowed out as if the best parts of me had been removed, only scar tissue and a sickly layer of guilt remained. I kept replaying things Mom had told me over the years.
Hope is like a seedling. In darkness it dies, in light it thrives.
How easy it is to love the lovable. The true test of strength is loving the unlovable.
A dirty dollar bill isn’t worth any less than a clean one. Every life has value.
I desperately needed light, my hope withering.
Mirrors continued to call to me. One more peek. Look, see. Learn. I had a lot of questions. Why had Mom died? Where was Nicolas, and what was he doing? Would I ever see Truly and Farrah again? What
about Roth? How could I help Hartly? She’d grown despondent.
What should I do next? Every day, I communed with a mirror for one hour. Problem was, I continued to see the freaky version of myself, and all she ever did was study me, silently, creeping me out.
Desperate for a light bulb moment, I shuffled through the house, grazing my fingertips over Mom’s favorite paintings. An apple orchard. A crown made from browned apple cores. A glass coffin, with Snow White sleeping inside.
My ears twitched as a soft moan drifted through the house. Soft, yes, but it crashed through my calm like a wrecking ball. I rushed into the living room, where Hartly slept fitfully on the couch. How innocent she appeared, curled in a ball with a pillow clutched to her chest, Thor resting beside her.
Ever since our return from the hospital—where Mom had been declared DOA—Hartly had camped here, dozing on and off as if awaiting our parents’ arrival, so they could wake her from this nightmare.
Barbed wire wrapped around my heart and squeezed. If I broke down, I sensed I would be like Humpty Dumpty; all the king’s horses and all the king’s men would fail to put Everly Morrow back together again.
Every day, Hartly weakened a little more...and I strengthened. Physically, at least. Mentally and emotionally, I teetered at the razor’s edge of misery.
Careful not to jostle my precious sister, I settled at her side. Thor growled at me, his new normal, but Hartly didn’t rouse. Ignoring the dog, I checked her temperature. Hot, but not frightfully so. I tucked an afghan around her shoulders. One of the many blankets Mom had knitted throughout the years.
I cleared my throat to dissolve a lump of grief. “Can you believe Peter came knocking on our door this morning? I didn’t answer.” I smoothed a damp lock of hair behind her ear and cringed. Bruises marred the flesh under her eyes. Her skin was ashen, her lips chapped, and she’d lost weight. Too much, too fast. “What is wrong with you, Harts?”
I’d forced her to visit a clinic early this morning. The doctor diagnosed situational depression and gave her a prescription to help her sleep. I didn’t have a medical degree, but I wasn’t convinced. What if she’d contracted whatever killed Mom?
The Evil Queen Page 8
