Sweet Marion, who was like soft rain on a summer afternoon. She was everything to Robin. She was the one thing he looked forward to every day. When he came home at night after a long day of abuse, he found comfort in Marion’s arms. Often, she asked about his work, asked what troubled him, and every time he insisted it was business as usual. He didn’t want to worry his bride, and more importantly he didn’t want to complicate his life any more than it already was. Marion was fiercely protective of her loved ones and quick with a bow, so Robin decided it best not to tell his wife the sordid details of his latest cases, lest she take matters into her own hands.
Robin sucked in his stomach, brushed the crumbs out of his mustache, donned his cowboy hat, and approached the front door of Granny’s dilapidated house, trying to appear authoritative. The one thought that ran through his mind as he pressed the buzzer was I really need more men in my life. Maybe I should join a bowling league.
7
Roses Are Red and Walls Shouldn't Move
Snow White was awakened by a flash of purple light. She bolted upright in her tiny bed and looked out the window that was situated next to it. Nothing but blue skies as far as her eye could see. Strange.
She looked around her little room, disoriented at first, wondering where she was and how she had gotten here. The strangest feeling of deja vu overcame her. Then she remembered where she was and wanted to crawl back under the covers. Except there weren’t any.
She sighed, flung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat there for a moment as her brain caught up with the rest of her body.
After a moment, she got up to fetch her red toothbrush and her favorite cinnamon toothpaste. She set those on the desk along with the mint shampoo and lavender soap she made herself, and opened the closet to decide what to wear today. It was Saturday morning, and as far as she knew there were chores to attend to, although she wasn’t certain what she would be tasked to do. She decided on a white tee shirt and khaki cargo pants and laid them on the desk as well. She had just grabbed a headband when she heard thunder. She turned, but the window was still forecasting a sunny day.
The thunder grew louder, unsteady in its rhythm, and she thought she heard a wheezing at the tail end of it. Like a freight train followed by a squeaky caboose. Only it wasn’t coming from outside the house. The rumble was just outside the door.
She put her ear just above the knob Hansel had repaired yesterday, then got down on all floors to take a look through the gap where the door met the floor. Stripes. Black, tan, orange.
Beast.
“Well, at least I have one friend in this house,” she said.
She guided the door open slowly, careful not to disturb the sleeping dog. His leg twitched, but his eyes remained shut and his snoring grew louder. Snow gathered her clothes and her toiletries, carefully stepped over the massive animal, and made her way to the bathroom.
She was relieved to find a lock on the bathroom door as her own room had none, although the task list mentioned on Granny’s rules was nowhere in sight.
Judging from the position of the sun in the sky, Snow knew that it was still early in the morning. Five-thirty, perhaps a quarter to six. But there were a lot of other girls who needed to bathe and she had no idea if there was a time frame to begin the chores or if they were supposed to cook breakfast as a team. That in mind, she washed hurriedly, towel-dried her hair with a towel she found on a hook behind the door that had likely been used, and dressed as quickly as she could.
Snow dabbed a bit of her mint shampoo on the towel and scrubbed the shower and the sink. She wiped both spaces down, then dried them with the skirt she had slept in the night before. It was a courtesy both for the other girls and the neglected house itself.
She wrapped her dirty clothes in the towel. “I really need to find the linen closet,” she muttered. “I need fresh sheets and a place to lay my head. And I can’t keep using someone else’s towel.”
The scent of roses filled the room, and Snow lifted her eyes to find the stencil work above the sink pulsating. The green vine bulged, reached and stretched itself free of the flat wall with a popping sound. The roses writhed and fluttered, twisting until they too burst from their plaster prison. One by one, the faded blooms filled with a rich, ruby hue and transformed into living flowers parading along the green vine as if it had taken root within the wall itself. Snow smelled dirt and earth, greenery and the fragrant scent that only the most luscious of rose blossoms can deliver.
She gasped and took a step back. Her heart thumped in her chest, the blood pumping so hard she could hear it as she reached behind her back for the doorknob, not wanting to take her eyes off the spectacle that was playing out before her.
Snow stood there, her mouth agape.
Where there had been a flat surface with vines and flowers painted onto it, a cabinet had grown from the wall, framed by actual climbing roses. In that same instant one of the flowers formed its own knob.
The handle jiggled as if to say “Open me.”
Snow’s hands shook as she reached for the rose-shaped knob. She knew what she was seeing was simply not possible, and yet her hand was on a real flower that had somehow sprung a piece of hardware.
She had to know what was behind that wall. She held her breath and twisted.
The rose vine door swung open and there sat a pillow, a blanket, a set of cotton sheets, and two freshly laundered towels.
Should she dare? What if this was a trick? What if Granny was testing her somehow?
But what if it wasn’t? What if her eyes were playing tricks on her and this had been a linen cabinet all along?
Her hands reached in cautiously, touching the fabric. It seemed real enough, so Snow collected the linens, turned to gather her dirties and headed for the door.
She twisted the knob, then hesitated. She looked behind her where the cabinet was still open. “Thank you,” she whispered. It seemed like the right thing to do, and whenever possible, Snow thought it best to do the right thing.
Fresh linens and dirty laundry in hand, she ran back to her room, where Beast was now comfortably resting on her bed, his head dangling over the side of the mattress, tongue practically licking the floor.
She shut the door and leaned against it, trembling. What had just happened? Was that real? Had she imagined it? But there was tangible proof in her hands that in fact the wall opened up and offered her the very thing she wished for.
She was cracking up. That was it. She hadn’t slept well and the stress of yesterday’s events had proven too much. After all, she had just spoken to a house. A house. Animals were one thing, sure—they were living breathing things with emotions and needs. But who talks to a house?
She wondered if she should tell Dr. Bean about this. She was only enrolled in his group sessions, but perhaps she could get some one-on-one time with him. He would surely have a logical explanation for this.
Snow blew out a sigh and pulled herself together. She put the laundry in the plastic tub in the corner of the room, and realized she had forgotten to collect her toiletries, but there was no way she was going back in there. The others could have them. She’d just have to use the chemical-laden products they sold at the drugstore.
Beast yawned and rolled on his back, nearly toppling over the edge of the bed.
Snow stared at the dog, a thought forming in her mind. A theory, really. She decided to test it.
“Are you hungry?” She asked the dog. He lumbered off the bed, his giant paws shaking the floorboards and sat in front of her.
“Good boy. Now tell me what you’d like to eat.”
Beast cocked his head and offered Snow a paw. She shook it.
“Good boy. Now say what you want.”
Beast whined and bowed his front half, his back end sticking up in the air, tail wagging so furiously it knocked over a lamp. He woofed once.
Snow let out a sigh of relief and ruffled the dog’s ear. “Thank Heavens you can’t talk.”
Maybe food was w
hat Snow needed as well. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Perhaps after a full stomach she would walk into that bathroom and discover there had been a cabinet there the entire time.
She slipped out of the room, Beast at her heel, and slid one last look back at the tiny pink bathroom.
It was just as she had left it. Door slightly ajar, light on.
Until the light clicked out.
Snow didn’t look back as she raced down the steps. She set off in search of a kitchen that she hoped wasn’t stenciled in rose vines. Or anything else for that matter.
8
Don't Whistle While You Work
Snow wound her way through the entrance, the parlor, a sitting room, past a few of the “Do Not Enter” doors she’d been warned about, a bookless library, and a formal dining room until she finally found the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen had seen livelier, cleaner days. She wondered why the house seemed to be in such a shambles if chores were one of Granny’s requirements for living here. The kitchen was larger than any she had ever seen and certainly bigger than her own. The entire space was painted in various shades of dingy white, either by design or because some of the surfaces had been freshened more recently than others. The counters were all constructed from butcher’s block that had taken its fair share of knife wounds. The cabinets were an uninspired flat wood, glazed a darker shade than the walls, like cracked eggshells. Even the canisters on the counters, the hooks near the stove and the appliances were a drab, almost grey tone. Snow opened up a few cabinets and was not surprised to see that the dishes were colorless as well.
A back door led to the fenced yard, and Beast walked over to it and sat down. Snow opened the door, and he trotted out to do his business.
She found coffee in the pantry and the percolator on the counter, so she got busy brewing and decided that it might be nice to make breakfast for the household. She was just reaching into the refrigerator for the eggs and cheese when she heard a loud crash from outside.
Beast barked, just once, which was all a dog of his stature needed, really.
Snow poked her head outside to find Hansel dangling from the gutter of the house, his tool belt in danger of de-pantsing him.
He looked down at Snow. “Oh, hello again.”
“Hi there,” Snow said, confused by his calmness.
“I trust you slept well.” His feet were waving in the wind.
Snow eyed the fallen ladder. “Like a princess on a pea.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Hansel flashed that crooked grin. “So, any plans today?”
Snow tapped her chin with her finger. “Can’t think of a one. You?”
Hansel’s face glistened as he struggled to hang onto the gutter. “Oh you know, just handiwork. Speaking of which, would you mind terribly giving me a hand?”
Snow couldn’t help herself. She clapped.
Above Hansel, a woman with hair the color of honey and eyes redder than a stoplight stuck her head out of a window.
“Damn it, Hansel, why must you make all that racket so bloody early in the morning! Some of us need our beauty sleep!”
“Sorry, Cindy.”
Cindy let out a grunt of frustration, ignored the fact that the man was dangling three stories off the ground, and slammed her window shut.
Hansel looked down at Snow. “So about that ladder.”
Snow heaved the ladder back up and angled it against the house below Hansel.
He secured his footing and looked down at her, those tender eyes full of appreciation. “Thanks a million. Sorry for the trouble.”
Snow cocked her head and shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun. Why would he say that? “No trouble at all. I’m just happy you didn’t fall.” She gestured over her shoulder and said, “I’m making coffee. You’re welcome to join me when you’re done.”
Hansel’s eyes brightened and he seemed about to say something. Then he looked off in the distance, his head cocked, like a voice was whispering in his ear and he was straining to hear the message. His sparkling eyes dulled and a cloud passed over them. And as if the backdrop of that sunny sky behind him was all smoke and mirrors, he changed direction. “Better not. Saturdays are a bit hectic around here.”
“Sure.” A prickle of disappointment threaded through Snow’s fair skin.
“Maybe another time,” Hansel said.
“Maybe.” But deep down, she doubted it. Something in her heart of hearts told her it wasn’t a good idea to spend too much time with the ginger-haired gentleman. Much as she might like to.
Forty-five minutes later, there was a spinach and mushroom frittata in the oven, fresh fruit on the kitchen table, coffee in a carafe on the stove, along with plates, flatware, cups, and napkins all laid out on the counter.
Snow was whistling as she finished up the dishes when behind her, a voice said, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
She dropped the bowl she was scrubbing and it landed with a clatter in the sink. Snow whirled around to face Aura. The blush-toned blonde with the grabby hands had a look on her face that told Snow if she were a deer she would have already been shot.
“Are you cooking?” Aura tapped her slippered foot. Her hair was knotted and she was wearing a green tank top and polka dot pajama pants.
Snow looked back towards the stove as if the thing had somehow turned itself on. She stammered, “Well, I just thought—”
Aura interrupted her with a halting motion. “No, you didn’t think, Princess. If you were thinking, you wouldn’t have done something so stupid.”
Why did they keep calling her Princess?
“Look, I’m just trying to be nice,” Snow said, wringing a dish towel in her hands. Her face suddenly grew very hot as she heard movement behind Aura in the hallway. Was it Granny? Would she be punished?
“We don’t do nice around here, we do what we need to do to get by. If you start cooking, Granny will get the twisted idea that we should cook and clean regularly, and before you know it she’ll have us working around the clock to make this dump look like a palace and frankly, I don’t have the time. Some of us have careers.”
Snow chewed her lip. She was so confused. Chores were on the rules list. Did they ignore them? Or was Granny simply lax in their enforcement?
She refrained from asking Aura what sort of retirement plan a car thief was eligible for. So, Aura, how’s your medical? Do you get dental? But Snow was not much of a fighter and Aura looked like she had a pretty good left hook.
Thankfully, Punzie walked into the kitchen then, Cindy shuffling behind her. She was certain Aura wouldn’t resort to violence with witnesses in the room. Almost.
Snow smiled at Punzie, hoping for a better reaction. “How are you feeling? Did you have a good night at work?”
Punzie balked and in a sarcastically sweet voice said, “Oh, sure it was lovely.” She sank into a chair and plopped a foot on the table. That’s when Snow noticed the bandage poking out of Punzie’s unicorn pajama bottoms.
“Oh, no. I was afraid it might be sprained,” Snow said.
“Well spank my monkey and call me a banana, Princess, you think?” Punzie leaned forward and said, a bit too loudly, “Do you know what happens to a pole dancer who can’t dance? She’s relegated to sit, and...I dunno...wiggle.” She slapped her hands on the table. “And do you know where she has to sit?”
Snow didn’t but she had a feeling the answer wasn’t a recliner. She shook her head, growing more nervous with each second that ticked by.
Punzie tilted her head. “Aura, care to take a stab?”
Aura crossed her arms and looked at the ceiling. “Let’s see, is it upon the lap of Mr. Slimy Steve?”
“Ding, ding, ding! Give the lady a prize.” She glared at Snow. “Can you imagine what a man who goes by the very accurate nickname of Slimy Steve smells like?”
“Not good, I imagine,” Snow said.
“That’s right, not good.” Punzie blew a stray hair from her face and curled her bra
id around her waist.
The timer on the oven chimed then and Snow was grateful for the distraction.
“What the fuck is that?” Punzie asked.
Cindy, who was wearing a pale blue nightie and whose head had been lolling about the table since she entered the kitchen, said, “Can you bitches please shut your pie-holes for like five seconds.” Her voice sounded like she had just swallowed a good portion of the desert.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Cindy, are we keeping you up?” Aura asked.
Punzie said, “She’s hung over. Again.” She leaned into Cindy’s ear and shouted, “Aint that right, Cin?”
House rule #1, no alcohol. How did they get away with it? Snow wondered.
Cindy lifted her head up, eyed Punzie’s sprained ankle, and punched it.
Punzie screamed in agony, whipped her braid around Cindy’s throat and tugged. Cindy’s head slammed into the table and she cried out in pain.
“Knock it off, you guys. Granny will be up any minute and I don’t want to upset her. You know what happened the last time you fought,” Aura snapped.
Cindy said, “Screw you, Aura! You always take her side.” Her arms flailed and she managed to get in a jab to the knee before Punzie let go.
“Oh, that is such bullshit, Cindy, and you know it. I’ve cleaned your gin-soaked ass up so many times, I can’t even count,” Aura said.
The three of them continued to bicker over the fresh fruit so Snow went to remove the eggs from the oven. She put some toast in the toaster and basically pretended that she was alone, which, given the circumstances, she sort of was.
She found a pie wedge and a knife and began slicing the frittata into triangles. Perhaps a nutritious meal would quiet them all for a few minutes.
Snow turned back to find Aura, Cindy, and Punzie engaged in a malicious triangle that was almost as baffling to her eyes as the bathroom incident. Punzie had her braid wrapped around Aura’s neck, Cindy had Punzie in a headlock and she could only surmise that Aura was giving Cindy a wedgie.
The Bitches of Everafter: A fairy tale (The Everafter Trilogy Book 1) Page 4
