As White as Snow (The Snow White Trilogy Book 2)

by Salla Simukka

  The man was awake. He was often awake in the wee hours of the morning when everyone else in the house was asleep. A shepherd guarding his flock. That’s what they thought, anyway, and they weren’t completely wrong. They were his flock and he had been raising and shepherding them for years, more than twenty now. He had been patient and long-suffering. The man had told himself many times that if he could just wait long enough, he would be rewarded.

  The man paced from room to room with soft, soundless steps. The rooms smelled a little dusty and stuffy, and they were full of the breath and dreams of sleepers. He looked at the peaceful, slumbering faces. One mouth hung open a little, another clutched a pillow like a long-lost lover. They all looked small and fragile, even the men. They were like butterflies he could reach out and touch. He had the power to crush them, to pierce them with pins and make them part of his collection, to pluck their wings, to choke them with smoke or take away their oxygen.

  He held their lives in his hands.

  FRIDAY, JUNE 17

  Jiři Hašek squeezed two oranges into a glass and threw the juice back in a single gulp. The fresh, sweet flavor spread through his mouth, and he could almost feel the vitamins being absorbed into his bloodstream and giving him his morning pick-me-up. Looking out the window at the city waking up to its morning bustle, he could tell the day would be sweltering again. A thin, misty layer of cirrus clouds covered the sky, but it curbed the blazing sun about as much as a veil cooled the warmth of a bride’s gaze at her groom.

  Jiři smiled to himself, thinking how handsome he looked sitting in his penthouse apartment drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice. With his classically styled dark coiffure, straight-legged trousers, and white collared shirt, he was like something out of an advertisement. The embodiment of success and vitality.

  Jiři almost laughed out loud. He was only twenty-five years old. He had the job of his dreams. Every sign pointed to a career with a steep upward trajectory. He was an investigative TV journalist who could easily become the next big star in his field. He could have his own program before he was thirty. He wasn’t in a serious relationship, but that wasn’t due to any lack of options, just a matter of personal choice. Jiři didn’t want to make any serious commitments yet. He wanted to be able to flirt, to have adventures, to enjoy all the variety the world had to offer. He could settle down in a few years once he found a woman who was interesting and exciting enough.

  Jiři Hašek was living his dream to its fullest and shamelessly loving every minute of it. He wasn’t completely sure whether he deserved his position or this life, but he wasn’t about to start apologizing for it.

  The youngest of five siblings, Jiři had learned to stick up for himself and to grab some candy whenever it passed by. He was never the brightest student, but he was hungrier for knowledge and had a knack for finding exactly the information that would help him get ahead. Sometimes that information was helpful to him and harmful to others. When Jiři discovered the relationship between his history teacher and the math substitute—something he’d caught hints of and then established definitively when he opened the copy room door at just the wrong moment for them and just the right moment for him—he didn’t hesitate for a second. He demanded higher grades in history and math, and of course, received both.

  The right information opened doors that would otherwise stay closed. Jiři realized that he had a nose for news and found his way into journalism very early.

  Jiři thought about the story he was working on right now. He felt a thrill race through his body. This was going to be huge. It would be his big break. Once he broke this story, everyone would know his name and recognize his face.

  It was completely different from the bland stories he normally had to work on: Protests against the government. The effect of the euro crisis on the common man. The rise in food prices from the perspective of shop owners. Mistakes in the restoration of historic buildings. Jiři always did the stories his bosses asked him to do. He tried to be accurate and creative, bringing some new perspective that no one else had thought of yet. But he had never been as genuinely excited about a story as he was about this one.

  This one was important. It was heartrending. It had a human element. It was shocking and serious and worth exposing.

  Jiři didn’t play pious. He could admit that his desire to stand above the rest of the world drove him just as much as his thirst for knowledge. Yes, he wanted to be a hero. He wasn’t one of those workhorses who stayed in the background, content just so long as the truth was revealed. Jiři wanted to be seen. He wanted glory, and he wanted praise. He wanted people to remember his name and face just as much as the story he happened to be telling. But for Jiři, truth and fame were not mutually exclusive. They were two sides of the same coin. Telling the truth brought fame, and his yearning for fame increased his motivation to work at unearthing the truth.

  For the first time in his life, Jiři was doing a story that would have real significance and attract the attention of a wide audience. He had spent months studying parish records and family histories. He had pored over police reports searching for clues and inconsistencies. He had also interviewed people who were so afraid they wouldn’t let him show their faces or use their names. Jiři knew the material he had was dangerous, which was why it was so valuable.

  Divine, some would say. Devilish, he would say.

  Now, the moment was at hand when Jiři needed to move closer to the heart of darkness, literally. He had to find an interview subject who would be willing to speak on camera, even if only as a blurry, anonymous figure with a digitally disguised voice. And he had to confirm things with his own eyes.

  The heat was oppressive. Something in the air seemed to threaten thunder, maybe even a full-on storm, but there were no signs of anything like that in the sky.

  Jiři stretched his arms and put on his suit jacket. Over his shoulder, he slung his new black backpack, which contained the thinnest laptop on the market, along with more traditional note-taking materials. He had learned that, with some interviewees, a small notebook and a pen created just the atmosphere of credibility and trust he needed. Tapping away at a keyboard put too much distance between him and his subjects. You had to know how to appear genuinely present in just the right way. You couldn’t push or seem too eager. Knowing how to listen patiently was crucial. You had to ask the right questions and be interested, but not intrusive.

  Many of the same rules applied to doing a good interview as to hitting on a woman.

  Jiři found himself humming. The tune was from Carly Rae Jepsen’s irritatingly catchy new song.

  Maybe at the end of the day he’d go sit at a street café and relax, letting an ice-cold beer spill down his throat while he watched the giggling tourist girls and explored what he could get them to say using different interview techniques. Jiři promised himself he could do that if he made significant progress on his story today.

  Rules bring safety. Rules create a home. Rules make a family work. Without rules, we would be adrift, at the mercy of our desires, beings drawn to darkness and chaos.

  That is why we need rules. Rules are our guardian angels.

  The most important rule is this: The family is sacred. Family business is sacred. Family business belongs to no one outside the family. We do not talk about family business. Silence is our rule. If someone tries to ask about internal family business, we do not answer in any way.

  For this we all know: He who breaks this most important rule and sins against the Holy Family shall not go unpunished. We shall silence anyone who talks too much. We shall smother all words that attempt to sully the holy whiteness.

  If one speaks, we are all in danger.

  The will of the one may never outweigh the will of the family.

  Lumikki kept thinking she’d get used to this sight, that it wouldn’t take her breath away every time, but she was wrong. Prague always looked enchanting from above. Of course, everything looks more beautiful from up high, when your gaze has room to sc
an the landscape far off into the horizon. Lumikki dreamed that someday she could live in an apartment with windows overlooking a city. What city, she couldn’t yet say. During these days in Prague, she had begun increasingly to feel that the city wouldn’t necessarily be in Finland. Central Europe was a much more attractive option. You could smell the history in the streets here in a different way. The pace of life was more relaxed, and it was easier to melt into the crowd and hide.

  For Lumikki, Vyšehrad Fort was one of Prague’s most beautiful places. She was kind of glad that Lenka had suggested meeting here. The hill didn’t draw gaggles of tourists the same way the center of the city or Prague Castle did. There was no traffic noise. It was peaceful, tranquil, and green.

  Lumikki sat down on a wooden bench warmed by the sun and filled her lungs and her senses. She closed her eyes. As far as she was concerned, time could stop right now. She could just be here, in the middle of this summer, not wanting to go anywhere or yearning for anyone, as long as she kept her thoughts in check. The hours could glide past. The day could turn to afternoon and the afternoon could turn to evening. Lumikki could just drift off to sleep and then reawaken to continue gazing at this scenery, which never grew old and always offered new details to find.

  Lumikki sensed Lenka’s arrival before the rasping of her feet on the gravel path was even audible. She smelled the same medley of scents as the day before, but now something sharp was mixed in. Sweat? That too, but on days this hot, sweat flowed more readily and was more dilute. It didn’t smell this strong. No, this was something else.

  Lenka stank of fear.

  She sat down next to Lumikki. Lumikki kept her eyes closed, and for a moment, Lenka said nothing. Lumikki tried to gauge her own feelings. Did she feel like she was sitting next to her sister? Was this person familiar to her on some deeper level? Was it easy and natural to sit silently side by side?

  No.

  Lenka was frightened and tense. Lumikki was nervous. She knew she couldn’t conclude anything based on that, though. This was only the second time they’d met. And Lumikki didn’t actually believe she should be able to feel a genetic link. For all intents and purposes, they were two complete strangers.

  In Lumikki’s life, there had only ever been one person who felt familiar right away, and she was still amazed that had ever happened.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Lenka began.

  Lumikki opened her eyes. For a few long seconds, the sunlight felt too bright.

  “Of course I came,” she said.

  Lumikki tried so hard to keep out of things that weren’t her business. This was, though. As much as anything could be.

  “I should probably tell you about my family now,” Lenka said.

  She hesitated with every word, as if saying them was unpleasant or caused her pain. Burning coals in her mouth. Her gaze darted around even more than the day before. Lumikki thought of a skittish rabbit expecting a fox or hunter to lunge for it at any moment. Or scared it would step in a trap. Lumikki imagined a snare biting into the rabbit’s foot and blood dripping on the white of its pelt. She remembered her dream and shivered.

  “When my mother died, I learned for the first time that I had other relatives in Prague. Mother never talked about them. I don’t understand why. They are good people.”

  Again those words. “Good people.” It sounded somehow strange to Lumikki, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.

  “How did you find them?” Lumikki asked.

  Lenka shook her head and smiled slightly.

  “I didn’t. They found me. They came to me the day after the accident and said they would take care of me. That they would take care of everything. And they did. They handled the arrangements for Mother’s funeral and all the paperwork and official things. They contacted our landlord and the tax authorities and all the other places I never would have known to call. I wouldn’t have survived without them. They saved my life.”

  Lenka’s expression turned more ethereal. Illuminated from within by a strange light that struck Lumikki as otherworldly. It was clear why Lenka would feel as if she’d been saved after an experience like that. She’d been a couple of years younger than Lumikki was now when her mother died. Lumikki wondered how she would have felt if her own parents had died suddenly when she was fifteen. If people appeared and promised to take care of everything. She would probably have ended up worshiping them too. At least for a while.

  “Are they a couple or . . . ?” Lumikki asked. She wasn’t clear how many people Lenka was talking about.

  “No, they’re . . .”

  Lenka’s sentence trailed off, and Lumikki watched as her expression changed from that bright smile to one of alarm. Lenka looked over Lumikki’s shoulder. Lumikki turned to glance behind her and saw a bearded man with dark glasses and white linen clothing. She didn’t have time to get a closer look because Lenka grabbed her firmly by the shoulder, stood up, and roughly dragged Lumikki away.

  “Run!” Lenka hissed in Lumikki’s ear and took off.

  Lumikki didn’t wait around to ask questions. She just ran, following Lenka along the cobblestone street toward the Basilica of St. Peter and St. Paul at the center of the fort. The rounded stones were treacherous underfoot. Lumikki nearly stumbled over and over. When she took a quick glance back, no one seemed to be following them. Lenka ran ahead surprisingly fast, and Lumikki had to struggle to keep up. Lenka ran as if she were used to escaping.

  At the church, Lenka finally stopped. Lenka panted heavily. Her eyes shone with panic.

  “It must not have been him,” Lenka said. “He would have come after us. Maybe it was someone else. The sunglasses and everything made it hard to tell.”

  Lumikki was lost.

  “Before our next wind sprint, it would be nice to know what’s going on,” she said.

  Lenka wiped the sweat from her brow.

  “We’re not in any danger. I just didn’t want him to find out this way. It would be hard for him to understand. But it wasn’t him, so . . .”

  Lenka was talking to herself as if Lumikki wasn’t even there, and Lumikki was getting frustrated. Lenka swung between moods so fast it was hard to keep up.

  “What are you talking about?” Lumikki demanded loudly to get her attention.

  It worked. Lenka straightened up and came back to the present moment.

  “I should probably just take you to meet the family. Openness is the best solution. They’ll know what to do.”

  Lumikki wasn’t at all sure she liked the sound of Lenka’s words.

  The house rose dark and drowsy even in the brightest sunshine of a summer day. It was an old, three-story wooden house with a tower. Actually, it looked a lot like Tuulikki Pietilä’s model Moomin house. Not the simple, cone-shaped building from the Japanese cartoon versions of the Moomin stories or from the Moominworld amusement park. This was more like the rambling, angular model with all the windows and balconies that Lumikki had loved studying as a child when she went to the Moomin Museum at the Tampere City Library.

  But where the mysterious passageways and unexpected nooks in the Moomin house excited the imagination, Lenka’s family’s house seemed strangely melancholy. That was probably because of what awful shape it was in: peeling paint, rusted gutters, collapsing balconies, and unwashed windows, some of which were cracked. The house was so far gone it would have been condemned in Finland. Overgrown ivy crept across the walls, climbing all the way to the roof. The exterior must have been ivory once, but now it was more splotchy gray.

  The yard didn’t seem like anyone paid much attention to it either. The grass was short, but it was yellow and dead in places. The only decorative element was the row of white rosebushes along the front walk. And even some of the roses were discolored, their heads hanging down in sorrow. At the back of the yard was a small, strange stone building whose purpose Lumikki couldn’t imagine. It was too narrow to be a toolshed, but didn’t look like an outhouse either.

  Nothing about the house or
the yard was welcoming. Even less so was the massive, black iron fence that surrounded the property, tall and threatening. The sharp spikes sent a clear message: Don’t even try getting over. The gate was big and heavy and locked.

  The house definitely wasn’t in the center of town. Lenka had led Lumikki first by metro, then by bus, and finally, a long way on foot. They were off the beaten path to say the least. There were no residential buildings on the neighboring lots.

  Lenka looked at Lumikki hesitantly.

  “Do you believe you’re my sister?” she asked.

  Lumikki was uncomfortable.

  “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “Everything you said sounds possible, and it would explain a lot, but—”

  “You can’t come meet the family if you don’t believe,” Lenka said, interrupting Lumikki brusquely.

  What the hell was this? Had she brought Lumikki all this way for nothing?

  “We have a rule that only relatives can pass these gates,” Lenka explained. “And that rule is absolute.”

  Lenka’s gaze was steadfast, as if she had suddenly found the inner certainty she’d been missing. As if the proximity of her home gave her the strength to stand a little straighter, to speak in a firmer tone.

  Lumikki weighed her answer. She couldn’t say that she completely believed Lenka’s story. It was a lot to swallow at once. Lumikki had heard so many lies that sounded true in her life that she had learned to be wary. She knew from experience that anyone could smile pretty and swear their friendship one moment and then spit in her face the next.

  The bullies at school had told her over and over that if she just did what they wanted, the violence and humiliation would stop. But it never did. And they’d drawn other students into their schemes, bribing them to lie to Lumikki about all kinds of things. That PE had been canceled the next day or that the principal had asked Lumikki to come to her office. The moments of humiliation when Lumikki realized she had fallen for another one of their traps were burned into her mind.