Shew wasn’t going to argue. She was now even more curious about Cerené.
“I don’t want to hear that you’re talking to her again, understood?” Carmilla said.
“Of course, mother,” Shew finally said, wondering where Cerené was at the moment.
“Hmm,” Carmilla leaned slightly forward, looking in Shew’s eyes as if trying to see behind them. “Politeness is not one of your virtues, princess. I wonder if you’re trying to fool me. You know the consequences will be dire if you don’t do as I wish,” she patted Shew’s cheeks.
Carmilla’s words left Shew confused. Carmilla was putting on some kind of show, the same way she warned her about Cerené’s fake act of friendship. She knew Shew as stubborn, and that warning her would only encourage her to break the rule and meet Cerené again. Why would Carmilla do that?
“You know I make sure you feed, so you don’t want to keep away from me, believe me,” Carmilla said then showed her a small liver-shaped box. “Look what your mother brought you,” she said, opening the box.
Shew looked inside the box and felt dazed; her body leaned forward against her will, her fangs drawing out.
She was staring at a fresh liver.
“It’s ripe,” Carmilla said. “And it’s young,” she licked her lips. “I want to feed you the best, dear.”
Shew pulled the liver up to her mouth and bit into it, sucking the blood dry. She didn’t know how the liver had been preserved. It was more like a bag filled with blood. The blood quenched Shew’s thirst, and she felt guilty for liking it.
This was a dream, a memory, nothing more, she told herself. The Queen was feeding her, awaiting her sixteenth birthday when she could either turn her into a vampire and fight on the side of Night Von Sorrow or kill her and eat her heart if she disobeyed.
“Good girl,” Carmilla said, a little iffy about the drops of blood spattered on her face. She was planning to feed her dangerous daughter day by day until her birthday arrived.
“I will be sending Dame Gothel to you later today to weigh your heart,” Carmilla said. “Be kind to her, and don’t bite her like last time,” she patted her daughter gently then wiped some of the blood from her lips with a red napkin.
Who the heck am I? What does being a Dhampir really mean? If I fed on so many people in the past, and if I killed all those teenagers in the Schloss, how can I be forgiven? How can I be the good one?
The blood had entered Shew’s veins like a drug, and she liked it. It was her nature, and it explained why the Wall of Thorns wanted to kill her. She was a Sorrow after all, and she had a big choice to make, to stay a Sorrow or fight the Sorrows.
“What do you mean by weighing my heart?” Shew asked.
Carmilla’s face knotted slightly. The Queen had a minimalist way of showing facial expressions as if not wanting to wrinkle her beautiful face. She had been working hard—killing girls and swimming in their blood—each week to stay beautiful. She wasn’t going to allow it to fade so easily, just to please her daughter with a tender smile. “Your heart needs to be weighed each week. No more questions asked. I offer you food and shelter and private schooling like a good mother. In exchange, I’d like you to do as I say without too many questions. Are we clear?”
Shew nodded.
Carmilla’s tone was scary. She smiled flatly at her obedient daughter then stood up slowly, taking her time. She never did anything in a hurry. She rubbed her dress gently as if she had caught germs from sitting on her daughter’s bed then turned and walked out of the room.
“And don’t worry about Mr. Oddly Tune,” she said from the hallway. “May he and his laughable name rest in peace.”
Shew grimaced. How was it possible to keep anything from the Queen?
“Would someone prepare my bath?” she ordered other servants outside.
“Why does she have to weigh my heart, Tabula?” Shew asked in the absence of her mother.
“Ah—” Tabula stuttered, unable to look Shew in the eyes. “I’d better be going, princess.”
She watched as Tabula clutched the Queen’s mirror and left with it, closing the door behind her.
Shew walked to uncover one of the mirrors in her room and inspect her image. She was a mess.
“Who the hell am I?” she muttered again. “And why can’t I remember why they weighed my heart? How is it even possible to weigh someone’s heart?” she scowled at her own image. Although her reflection looked like her, it also looked like a stranger. People tend to think of themselves as good and kindhearted, until they look in the mirror and discover they have blood on their hands. Of course, that’s when they decide to go buy another mirror. For a long time, Shew stood in front of the mirror, imprisoned by the silence of her room.
Suddenly, she could hear something crackling in the walls. It was a strange sound, as if someone was walking inside them. Alert, she scanned the large chamber with her eyes.
11
The Princess and the Pauper
The sound kept increasing.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of black boots behind the curtains. Someone was there, eavesdropping; maybe the black cloaked person from the Field of Dreams.
Shew stood frozen at first, but quickly decided she had enough and hurried to pull the curtain open and expose this mysterious person.
When she was halfway across the room, she heard someone call for her from behind.
“Joy!”
Shew froze in place and turned around. She saw Cerené tucked away in the unlit fireplace with a broom in her hand. It was Cerené who’d made the noise in the walls, she was sneaking in through the fireplace like usual.
“Stop staring and come over and help me,” Cerené said.
Shew lent her a hand. Cerené threw her precious broomstick into the room first—it was a strange broomstick, heavy and made of some kind of iron. Shew pulled on Cerené with all her might and dislodged her from the fireplace, spreading ashes into the luxurious chamber.
Cerené looked like she’d been working in the coal mines.
What was new? This was Cerené, all ashes, all the time.
“Thank you,” Cerené said. “You should make one of your many servants clean that fireplace of yours.”
“But of course, Cerené” Shew nodded, bowing her head and letting out a giggle.
“It’s full of dead squirrels. If you persuade the Queen, I can really clean this mess,” Cerené said. “How can a castle so beautiful have such an awful fireplace?”
“What were you doing in it anyway?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Cerené picked up her broomstick and smiled at her. Shew couldn’t see much of Cerené’s face except her teeth.
Shew suddenly remembered there had been someone behind the curtain. Cerené had distracted her unknowingly.
When she turned around to look for them, they were gone. She pulled the curtain back and looked out the window, but she didn’t see anyone she didn’t recognize.
“Looking for something?” Cerené asked.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”
“So you like my surprise?” Cerené said.
The way she asked melted Shew’s heart instantly, “I do like your surprise, and I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore,” she responded with a sincere smile. “However, you need to bathe. You look buried in all that ash.”
“You don’t look bad yourself in all that…” Cerené held her smile. “Blood.”
Shew laughed from her heart. So did Cerené. Although one of them was a princess and the other a maid, they both had a lot in common.
In the middle of laughing, Shew saw a newer scar on Cerené’s neck. This one was a different scar. It was a bite mark that Cerené tried to hide underneath the ashes.
“Who did this to you?” Shew broke her laugh and gently grabbed Cerené by the neck. “Talk to me, Cerené. I’m not going to let go without you telling me about this. Who did this to you?”
“I am a Slave Maiden, remember?” she pulle
d herself away, holding onto her broom like a cane.
“What are you talking about?” All kinds of obscene scenarios flashed in front of her eyes. What did they do to her? Who were they? “I thought Slave Maiden meant…”
“It means I am a slave. I only do what my masters demand of me,” Cerené said, “even when they want to feed. Why is it so hard for you to get it?”
“Who’s been feeding on you?” Shew grimaced.
“Who do you think? There are only two insane people in this castle,” Cerené said, wiping her face with Shew’s bed sheets. She did it spontaneously, unaware of the consequences the Queen had in store for Shew.
“Two?” Shew wondered. “You mean the King and the Queen?”
“I mean you and the Queen,” Cerené blew her nose in the bed sheet.
“Are you calling me insane?” Shew smiled.
“Everyone thinks you’re some kind of a monster,” Cerené said. “I know it for sure. I helped you bury one of your victims.”
“Oddly Tune was no victim,” Shew bent forward. “He was a werewolf. How many times do I have to remind you?”
“You drank his blood, Joy,” Cerené said, wiping her teeth with the bed sheet. “But I don’t hate you. Being a monster is good. I expect you to be strong enough to stand in the face of those want to hurt you,” she said. “And maybe those who hurt me,” she said under her breath, but Shew heard her.
How could I not admire a Slave Maiden who sits on my bed, treats my bed sheet like toilet paper, dares to call me what I really am, and then tells me that she forgives and doesn’t hate me?
Shew sat next to her, “Does the Queen feed a lot on you?”
“I don’t know. Whenever she needs to,” Cerené said, pulling out her glass urn from under her dress. She had wrapped it around her waist, covered it with curly leaves, and knotted it with vines from the trees.
“You know she slaughters young girls and swims in their blood, don’t you?” Shew said, trying to sound as tender as possible. The imagery of what the Queen did sent a cringe through her soul.
“I know. I’ve seen it,” Cerené said.
“You have?”
“I have figured out most of this castle’s secret doors and pathways,” Cerené’s eyes glittered.
“I can imagine,” Shew said. “I’m wondering why the Queen spared you, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? She doesn’t hesitate in bathing in any peasant girl’s blood,” Shew said. “So why hasn’t she killed you?”
“Maybe she thinks I’m good at housework?” Cerené suggested, her eyes darting aimlessly, trying to figure out why. “I could be a senior servant like Tabula one day.”
“I doubt that is her intention,” Shew said.
“Do we have to talk about this?” Cerené asked. “I came to show you my magic!” She held her glass urn up in front of her.
“I want to see your magic,” Shew assured her, but she was still thinking about why Carmilla spared Cerené. It crossed her mind that even if Cerené decided to expose the Queen, no one would believe her. She had no one to tell, no one respected her, and if her mother had been a burned as a witch, it was easy to accuse Cerené of being like her. It made sense why Tabula had sent her to wash Shew after biting the prince.
In the Kingdom of Sorrow, Cerené was a nobody. She could’ve been killed without anyone missing her.
“Are you still thinking about why the Queen spares me?” Cerené broke the silence.
“So you actually have an idea?” Shew said.
“Yes,” Cerené looked sideways, inspecting for intruders then leaned forward, “the Queen wants my Art!”
“Oh?” Shew raised her eyebrows.
“You think your Art is that valuable?”
“You have no idea,” Cerené’s face lit up from behind the ashes, titling her neck upwards, and making both her hands into fists. “My Art is astounding!”
“Alright, then it’s time for you to show it to me.” Shew would have preferred if Cerené just told her what the Art was. The things Cerené had shown her were fascinating, though. It was reasonable to think the Art was worth the suspense and the wait. What could Cerené possibly have that the Queen would desire enough to spare her life?
Shew’s thinking confirmed the Queen’s phoniness when she warned her not to mingle with Cerené. In fact, the Queen must have told her the Italian fairy tale for a reason, something to stir Shew’s thinking.
“Remember when I told you my Art is made of a Heart, a Brain, and a Soul?” Cerené said. “There are two Brains, the tools for my Art, one of them can only be obtained from a house in the Black Forest.”
“House?”
“An evil house,” Cerené leaned in, whispering.
“Huh? Evil house,” Shew said. “If it’s such an evil house, why would it help your Art?”
“There is something special in the house, something we need.”
We? Shew thought. Although I am barely contributing to anything, I like the idea of ‘we’.
“What kind of something special?” Shew wondered.
“A furnace!” Cerené exclaimed. “One where children are cooked.”
12
A Trail of Breadcrumbs and Candy
Cerené called it the Candy House, an abandoned house on the top of a hill beyond the forest. She described it as the second most haunted house in the Kingdom of Sorrow.
“If this is the second, what is the first?” Shew asked, following the tiny ashen girl into the dark of the forest. The way Cerené guided her through the secrets of Sorrow, reminded Shew of an imaginary childhood she should have experienced. Had she not been a prisoner of the Schloss by her father King and mother Queen, she should have experienced the kind of adventures Cerené did. The girl might have been poor but the world was her playground. Nothing could’ve been more fun than a childhood of exploring the doghouse in the garden and pretending it was a rabbit hole to another dimension. Of course, in Sorrow she didn’t need to pretend anything. Surreal and imaginary was normal.
“The most haunted house in Sorrow is the Schloss itself,” Cerené said, ducking to avoid a bending tree branch—trees acted mostly like humans in Sorrow, using their branches like arms, tickling you, playing with you, and sometimes doing things that were more sinister.
“The Schloss is not haunted,” Shew squinted her way through.
“Oh, yes, it is,” Cerené said. “Did you know your cellar was a dungeon used for torturing enemies and that the Schloss had been seen in others places around the world before your father even built it in Sorrow? It’s a Genus Loci.”
“What’s a Genus Loci?”
“All the things I just mentioned about the Schloss before. Basically, it’s a place with a soul of its own. Pay attention, Joy.”
“Oh,” Shew said. “I get it,” Trust me, you don’t have to tell me about the Schloss.
“The fact that you and the Queen live in the house makes it haunted already,” Cerené chuckled nonchalantly.
“I’m not offended by what you just said, thank you very much,” Shew let out half-a-laugh. Shew began regretting she had told Cerené to speak her mind. The girl was too frank to be honest.
“Don’t shake hands with the trees by the way,” Cerené said without looking back. “It’s a trap.”
“Shake hands?” Shew saw two tree branches taking the shape of human wooden hands and shaking each other as if they were friendly. One of them turned to Shew and offered her a hand. Shew snarled at the tree branches. She scared them so much that they ran away on eight branches, like spiders on eight legs.
“What have you done?” Cerené peeked back from between the bushes. Her ashen face was barely visible. Only her blue eyes and white teeth showed—the toothpaste had been working its magic.
“I snarled at them,” Shew said impatiently. “I’m fed up with all the scare. I think it’s time I use my powers.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Cerené objected. “They
already fear you. Many things in the forest fear you. They know who you are, and it scares them.”
“I don’t remember the Rapunzel plants or the Wall of Thorns being scared of me,” Shew said.
“The Rapunzel plants are said to be watered by the devil. That’s a different story. The Wall of Thorns hurt you because it is scared of intruders. By reacting the way it did meant it’s actually scared of you, too, the way bees sting a person if they fear them,” Cerené whispered. “Now that you scared the trees, we have nothing to hide in. That was the whole point of walking in their shade.”
“If everything here is scared of me, why aren’t you scared of me?” Shew drew back her fangs.
You’re my friend, Joy,” Cerené said. “And sometimes you’re weird but I forgive you.”
“I’m weird?” Shew felt insulted. She had been dealing with all kinds of weird Cerené had gotten her into since they met.
“Do I have to remind you again that you bit a cute prince and killed Oddly Tune, Joy? That’s weird,” Cerené rolled her eyes and turned around, arching her back like a sneaky cat on her way to catch a rat. “Come on, we have a long walk ahead of us.”
“Do you even know where you’re going?”
“We’re following the breadcrumbs on the ground,” Cerené said. “Look at your feet.”
Shew saw a trail of breadcrumbs, indeed. They were scattered randomly on the ground, creating a snaky trail in the distance.
“Is that like a secret sign that shows the way to the Candy House?” Shew said.
“An evil witch lives in Candy House, she likes to eat children, and she lures them to her house with the trail of breadcrumbs,” Cerené explained.
“What’s so luring about breadcrumbs?”
“When you’re poor, breadcrumbs left by a witch on the ground are luring, trust me,” Cerené said. “Besides, there is candy scattered on the ground, too.”
Cinderella Dressed in Ashes ( Book #2 in the Grimm Diaries ) Page 9
