Down below, a few more blows shattered the door. Bluebeard tore it apart. “Get back here!”
Emeline scurried along through the beams, pushing through cobwebs and dust bunnies, startling mice and lizards that scattered in every direction. She caught a glimpse of the landing through the slats. Swinging around, she dropped through. The hole wasn’t as large as she thought. Rotten wood, plaster, and wallpaper rained down on her.
Staggering up, she steadied herself on the banister. Then she ran to the top of the staircase. There were two more doors here on the north side, but that was it. The first one was locked. So was the second. Wherever the door to that other tower was, she couldn’t see it.
The door below slammed open again. “I’ll pluck out your eyes, cut out your tongue, and slice off your ears!”
“If you stuffed my mouth with garlic, you could keep me from coming back as a vampire,” Emeline said, drawing herself up to her full height.
Bluebeard slowed his pace as he advanced up the stairs, cutlass extended. “You have nowhere else to run.”
Emeline pushed on one of the doors. “I’ve killed giants, you know. And if you kill me, then my curse will fall upon you.” She struck a dramatic pose and pointed. “Eye of newt and toe of dog,” she started, kicking the door with each syllable as if it was part of the incantation. “Double toil and stubble, cauldron roil, cauldron bubble—”
Bluebeard laughed coldly. “Is that the best you’ve got? I fear no curse. Do you know why?”
“Nope.” Emeline spun about and kicked the weakening door one last time. The knob crashed through the rotten wood, and the door swung open.
Running inside, she slammed the door shut and turned to find herself in a shabbily furnished bedroom. She set her shoulder to a nearby dresser and shoved it against the door, along with a rotting armchair. The dusty vanity strewn with cobwebs proved more difficult. But she dragged the mirror over and shoved it between the door and the dresser.
When Bluebeard hit the door, the mirror cracked.
“Hey, you’d better be careful about that!” Emeline shouted. “If you break that mirror, you aren’t going to find out if you’re the fairest of them all.” She caught sight of a cutlass on the wall. Racing over, she seized it and wiped the cobwebs away. “Of course, you’ll also get seven years’ bad luck. Not sure which one you’ll hate more.”
“Open this door at once!” he commanded.
“Give me one good reason why I should.” Emeline slid over next to the window, the glass of which was dry and cracked.
“If you open this door, I will swear my love to you and embrace you one last time. Indeed . . .” His voice softened. “If you open this door right now, I will even kiss you.”
Busy scooting a chair to the window, Emeline paused. What sort of freak was he? “Oh, true love’s kiss? Well, who can say no to that? Half a second. I’ll have to break the mirror in front of the door to let you in.” A few swift cracks with the cutlass’s leather hilt left an opening wide enough in the window for her to escape.
No sound came from the hall.
Emeline stuffed down fears that he had guessed her plans and was waiting on the other side of the window. This was her only chance. She clambered out onto the roof.
As she had seen from the ground, the roof was in abysmal condition. Holes gaped at intervals, and the shingles were well worn in the best spots. Large globs of mold and fungus grew in thick patches. Fortunately, the roof wasn’t a straight shot down on either side. It had sections where it was flat, others where it was seamed with tiles, and even more intervals where dormers and garrets jutted out. Emeline eased to the edge and peered over. It was more than a thirty-foot drop.
Glass shattered, and Bluebeard leaped out through a dormer. Steadying himself on the roof, he brandished his blade, madness glinting in his eyes and sunlight glistening in his beard. “I should have known better than to trust you.”
Emeline whipped around. “I’m armed now. So back off, or I’ll run you through.”
“I fear nothing you can do, because in an age long ago I was cursed by sun and moon and stars to never have a marriage that lasted more than three cycles of the sun.”
Emeline backed away. She held her own blade in a defensive position. If only she had known that that fencing class in college would have proved more practical than volleyball. “Have you ever considered that you might be the reason none of your relationships work out?”
“If it wasn’t I who killed them, it would be something else far more horrific.”
“Maybe you should stop getting married, then,” Emeline said.
Bluebeard drew closer. “I am compelled to do so. And because of your treachery, I will neither kiss you nor speak sweet words to you as the life drains from your body.”
“I’m devastated,” Emeline said. The sound of an engine cut her off.
A bright-pink Range Rover barreled down the path, kicking up pine needles and dirt in a steady stream. It screeched to a stop in front of the château. Anna leaped out, the engine and lights still on. She waved her arms. “Emeline! Emeline! Are you all right?”
“There’s a crazy man with a blue beard trying to chop my head off—this is what happens when you say yes to the universe, Anna! There are crazy people in the universe!”
Turning, Emeline brought the cutlass up in time to counter Bluebeard’s blow. It sent painful vibrations all the way through her arm. She leaped out of his path.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry!” Anna wailed.
“Come back,” Bluebeard bellowed as he circled the chimney. “Your time has come, vile woman!” He then pointed his blade at Anna. “And as for you, interfering wench, you’re next. Married or no, I’ll cut off both your heads.”
“Ahhh!” Anna screamed, covering her mouth.
“Anna, you’re utterly useless. Did you call the police?” Emeline demanded.
“Emeline, look out!” Anna pointed, her hand shaking.
It wasn’t necessary. Emeline could clearly see the blade slicing straight at her head. She wobbled and staggered to one side before sliding to one of the dormers. Flinging her arm up, she seized a handhold and struggled up. “Tell me you did something!”
“I told Silas— Watch out! Oh, Emeline!” Anna shrieked.
“Oh, lovely. Maybe he can cater my death. I’d kill for a glass of lemonade. Or maybe some crab puffs!” Emeline ducked again.
Bluebeard came in hard and fast. The shingles splintered and cracked under his feet, setting him only slightly off balance. Emeline ducked behind the chimney and ran to the other side. None of the trees were close enough to the roof for her to climb down.
“I’ll go make sure the cops find us!” Anna shouted. “Stay alive!”
“I plan to.” Emeline darted to the edge. One of the shingles crumbled. She staggered back, falling. Her cutlass spun out of her grasp and spiraled down to the ground. The slippery, muddy shingles flattened beneath her, causing her to fall over. With a frightened shriek, she dug her nails into the roof.
Bluebeard advanced, chuckling cruelly.
Finding a loose shingle, Emeline wrenched it free and threw it into his face.
With a sharp yelp, he fell back. Emeline stood just as Bluebeard got back to his feet. He growled at her, flecks of wood and mold clinging to his once-immaculate suit.
Emeline’s mind spun with panic. There was one possibility left. On the other side of the roof stood a tall pine tree. It was a good several feet away from the château, but maybe if—
Bluebeard swung the cutlass again. Ducking, Emeline squatted, then ran. Her feet slid and her balance wavered.
“Get back here!” Bluebeard roared.
It was all sliding and dodging and flashing blades. But somehow she made it over the top, slid down the edge, and leaped out. For one incredible moment, she was floating through the air. Then, boom! Pine needles, branches, and clinging, gripping, and falling.
Somehow her knees hooked onto a branch and she stopped. By
instinct, she seized the branches and twisted herself upright. For what felt like an eternity, she hung there, breathing in deep gasps of cool spring air.
“Emeline! Look out!” Anna’s voice sounded nearby. How had she gotten back? Sirens wailed and bright lights spiraled through the firs.
Relief flooded her. The police. Emeline released a pained breath, but as she looked up she saw Bluebeard crash into the branches above. Somehow he made it while still holding his cutlass. His weight shook the whole tree.
“You will never escape me,” he growled, leaping down to the next branch. “Your blood must yet stain my blade.”
Emeline twisted around and dropped. Bluebeard followed. All she could see was blue, pine, and silver as she fell hand over hand in the most controlled manner possible. She tore through the last branches, landed on the soft soil, and seized her fallen cutlass.
Bluebeard dropped nearby in a flurry of needles and pinecones. He waved his cutlass over his head. “Run all you like, but you’ll never—”
A silver pie plate sliced through the air and struck him in the head. For a moment, he staggered. Then he collapsed.
Apple pie and cinnamon sugar crumbles spilled all over the ground.
Emeline looked over her shoulder, surprised. “Silas?”
Silas ran up alongside her, another pie at the ready. Raspberry, from the smell of it.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Um . . . yeah, all things considered. What are you doing here?” Emeline didn’t know what else to say. The police officers descended upon Bluebeard.
“I heard you were in trouble, so I came as fast as I could,” Silas said.
“Oh, Emeline! I’m so sorry.” Anna flung her arms around her neck and burst into tears. “I had no idea. I don’t know what happened to Peter, but this is not what I had planned!”
“Oof!” Emeline groaned. She patted Anna awkwardly on the back. “It’s fine. I’m fine. He’s under arrest. It’ll all be fine.”
“I feel so bad,” Anna said.
“Well, now we know the universe hates me,” Emeline said.
“Maybe next ti—” Anna started.
Silas tapped her on the shoulder. “Actually, Anna, would you mind putting this in the truck for me?” He offered her the oven mitt and the still-warm raspberry pie.
“Sure.” Anna wiped the tears away.
Silas waited until Anna was out of earshot. “I’m glad you’re all right, Emeline. I would’ve really been sad if anything had happened to you.”
“Thanks.” Emeline smiled. Her cheeks warmed. He was being awfully sweet.
“I don’t think I could have catered your funeral. I’d have been too upset.”
“That makes two of us.”
“It would have been hard for me to cater your wedding too.”
“Oh?” Emeline raised an eyebrow.
Just then she heard a disoriented growl and looked over to see Bluebeard being loaded into a squad car. As the cops drove off, the last thing Emeline saw of him was that great head with all that cobalt-blue hair lolling about, muttering incomprehensible words.
Emeline lifted her hands in a slight wave, smirking. “Bye-bye, Bluebeard. Please forget to write.” She lowered her hand, relieved. It was a little hard to take all this in.
Of course, there was still what Silas had said. Was it just her imagination, or had he . . .
“Cupcake?” She hadn’t realized Silas had left, but looking over, she saw him returning from his truck and holding up a small silver container shaped like a clam. Several vanilla cupcakes topped with sea foam–green frosting sat inside. Each one had little pearls and aquatic designs etched on its smooth top.
“Cupcakes? That’s your answer to this?” Emeline set her hands on her hips in mock frustration. “I find it hard to believe that all the trauma, all the terror, could possibly be solved by one cupcake.”
“Well . . .” Silas shrugged, smiling. “Maybe not one. But perhaps two. Or maybe three. That’s why I brought three dozen. To be on the safe side.”
“Plus two pies. I never knew pies could be used as weapons.”
“They’re better-ranged weapons than cupcakes. The cupcakes are for eating.”
“Hmmm.” Emeline bit into the frosting. It tasted faintly of pistachios. “Delicious.”
“Thanks . . .” Silas braced his thumbs on the ties of his thick blue apron. “So . . .”
“So . . .” Emeline studied him. “Do you think I could catch a ride with you back to civilization?”
“Absolutely. Let me clear off the passenger seat.” Silas headed toward the truck.
Anna tapped Emeline on the shoulder. “This might not be a good time,” she whispered. “But I think Silas might have a little crush—”
Emeline shoved the rest of the cupcake in Anna’s mouth. “I noticed. Now off you go.”
Spinning around, Emeline clasped her hands behind her back and walked to Silas’s catering truck. It smelled heavenly. “You know, this is really nice. When I was younger, I used to think baking would be a fun hobby until I realized how much work it was.”
“Yeah, it’s great.” Silas lifted another tray of cupcakes and then moved them to the back. “Everyone’s gotta have a hobby.”
“True. I think I’ll plan on avoiding men whose hobbies include being creepy and killing their brides.”
Silas laughed. “Personally, I collect antique oil lamps.”
“Hmm . . . that sounds like a reasonably safe hobby.” Emeline arched an eyebrow.
“Reasonably.” Silas winked. “Of course . . . if you’re still interested in exploring new things, I’d be more than happy to show you a whole new world.”
“I don’t know. I might be done trying new things. It doesn’t seem to have worked out so well.” Emeline smiled.
“Either way . . .” Silas rubbed the back of his neck, grinning impishly. “I like being part of your world.”
“Nicely played. Are you going to give me a ride or not?” Emeline tried to suppress a smile. It was impossible.
Silas stepped away from the passenger door and bowed. “Be my guest.”
The cool breeze played with the loose tendrils of hair on her forehead, pressing away the scents of death and decay. As she fastened her seatbelt, she looked at him, her heart beating faster. “You told me before that there was something I was missing that was right in front of me. I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what that was?”
“Well . . .” Silas’s cheeks turned bright red. He shifted the truck into gear. “I was thinking . . . um . . . me.”
Emeline’s smile grew. “So . . . you collect antique oil lamps and your shop is full of Oriental rugs. Any chance one of them could take us for a ride?”
“If not, we could always find another adventure,” Silas said.
“Well, onward then!” Emeline pointed out the windshield at the sky. “Second star to the right and straight on till morning.”
“That’s the spirit.” Silas revved the engine, and they lurched forward down the road.
Emeline settled into the seat happily. If she’d known what was in front of her the whole time was this wonderful, she’d have said “yes” a long time ago.
Home-School Hair
christine owen
CHAPTER ONE
Something and Someone
THERE WAS A BOY . . .
Isn’t there always a boy? Check yourself. Go on, really check. Is there a boy? For you? Someone you’ve snuck glances at, someone you’ve thought about, noticed new clothes on, watched eating, thought about texting, wanted to kiss—a boy. There is always a boy, dabbling at the edge of our consciousnesses, teasing us collectively with that way his hair falls, or how he looks in the rain, the way he’s all gritty after sports. There is always a boy.
My boy was named Tyler. Well, that’s using the term “my” pretty loosely. It was more like “there’s-this-guy-who-comes-to-the-coffee-shop-I-work-at-every-day-and-never-notices-me.” But yeah, we’ll go with �
�my.”
And that’s where my story starts: the day he finally did notice me.
I’d just been mopping the bathrooms. Of course I had. The manager hadn’t mentioned, while interviewing me in the pristine mocha-colored establishment, backlit by stainless-steel accoutrements, that I’d be on bathroom-cleaning duty for months after being hired. But I was chalking it up to adventure, to the new Zoe.
I’d finally convinced my mother, combating her overprotectiveness, that I should do something now that I’d finished homeschooling and before I started college (something besides Netflix and texting Star Wars quotes to my shady online friends). Still, she’d only reluctantly consented to my getting a job on the first floor of our downtown apartment tower. It was a coffee shop that served the thoroughfare traffic of Chicago’s businessmen and commuting students. And, seeing as how I was technically still in our building, she hadn’t had much to argue against.
So I smelled like cleaner (and that was the best smell—undercurrents of other things too, I’m sure), with my long hair pulled up into a ginormous braided bun. I mean, we’re talking huge. A bun the size of a basketball—no joke.
But he stopped me in the hall, my Lysol fragrance filling the tight space, and pointed a finger at me. At me. With heart hitching in palpitations, I dared to hope. It—it was . . . He was speaking to me! He was moving his mouth! Oh, those lips, oh, that perfectly trimmed stubble . . .
I pushed my bangs over with my hand, not realizing I still had the yellow cleaning gloves on. And they were wet. Eww.
“Excuse me? Do you work here?” he asked, beautiful eyebrows perfectly arched in inquiry.
No, I just happen to wear a green apron and clean poop off every surface I find. I’m like an excrement fairy, just flitting about among the bathrooms of the world, leaving a glitter-sprinkled porcelain wake behind me.
“Yes.” I swallowed awkwardly. “Yes I do. Work here. I work here, that is. That’s me. I’m Zoe. Hi.”
Nailed it.
“Um, do you know who’s supposed to be . . . ?” He motioned behind him to the empty counter.
Once Upon Now Page 3
