When Rose Wakes

by Christopher Golden

  As the lights flickered on she ran toward the back of the classroom, caught her hip on a desk, but did not slow down. The big wooden cabinets at the back of the room had probably been there for thirty years or more, but the combination locks were more recent. She looked around the room for something to pry the doors with, considered half a dozen things, and then her gaze fell upon the huge metal deck of the paper cutter. The thing was heavy and would have made a hell of a weapon if she could have wielded it with any accuracy, but she would only get one chance and could not afford to mess it up.

  Hefting the paper cutter off the shelf by the window she went back to the cabinet, raised the metal deck—careful not to let the cutting arm swing open and closed on her—and brought the thing down on the lock once, twice, a third time. Her arms sagged, tired from the weight, but on the fourth try, the lock did not break but the latch tore free of the wood and the doors swung open. She dropped the paper cutter with a heavy thunk.

  Third shelf from the top, right in the middle, she found what she wanted. Snatching it up, she raced back into the hall and around the corner into the main corridor just in time to see Maurelle hurl Aunt Suzette to the floor. Aunt Suzette hissed in pain, breathing in gasps, and tried to rise. Her sister kicked her and she crumpled. That black death aura had coalesced around her right hand again and she muttered something in the language of her people—not a spell, Rose thought, but some cruel farewell—and dropped to her knees beside Aunt Suzette.

  Rose feared her footfalls would be too loud but Maurelle remained so intent on murder that she did not even look up. Why should she? What harm could one girl do her?

  As Maurelle reached for Aunt Suzette, Rose stretched out the coil of iron wire she had gotten from the lab. They’d used them in corrosion experiments, but these were new, without a trace of rust. She held the dozen or so strands of wire taut between her fists. In the last moment, just before she reached Maurelle, the Black Heart seemed to sense her and hesitated, but she did not turn quickly enough.

  Rose whipped the wire over Maurelle’s head, caught her around the throat and yanked her backward enough to keep her off balance. Where iron touched her neck, Maurelle’s skin began to sear and blacken, and Rose smelled burning flesh. Maurelle gave a choking cry and reached for the iron wire with her one good hand, but the second she touched it she drew back her hand. Instead, she batted behind her, trying to strike Rose, who stayed out of reach as she twisted the ends of the wire together behind Maurelle, creating a collar around her neck that she could still hold on to. The iron cut deeper into her skin, hissing like butter in a hot skillet, its poison working into Maurelle’s flesh. It would seep into her blood and her bones, weakening her.

  She fell onto her side, hand poised over her own throat, wanting to try to pull the iron wire away but unable to do so. Her eyes pleaded in anguished silence.

  A dozen emotions warred within Rose’s heart, but she shook her head and backed away a step.

  “I hope it hurts.”

  But Maurelle did not hear her. The Black Heart had surrendered to unconsciousness, breath coming in hitching gasps as the poison infected her further.

  Cut and bruised, bleeding and weak but alive, Aunt Suzette sat up. She buried her face in her hands for a moment and when she lowered them, her eyes were full of tears of grief. For a moment Rose thought they were only for Aunt Fay, but from the way Aunt Suzette looked at Maurelle, she realized those tears were for all three of her aunt’s sisters and perhaps even a little bit for herself. She was alone, now, except for Rose.

  “Bind her wrists and ankles with it as well,” Aunt Suzette said.

  “And then what?” Rose asked. “Will you let her live?”

  Aunt Suzette gazed at her sadly. “As opposed to what? Would you have me kill her, or kill her yourself, and have a heart as black as hers?”

  Rose thought for a moment, and then shook her head. When Aunt Suzette knelt beside her suffering, unconscious sister, Rose turned and walked back down the corridor toward the lab. There was more iron wire there and she would do as she’d been asked, since Aunt Suzette couldn’t touch the wire herself.

  She made her way around several of the fallen students before it struck her. She paused and looked back down the corridor. They were all still asleep. Maurelle had cast this enchantment and she was unconscious. When would they all wake up? Would they all wake up?

  “Jared,” she whispered, and then she ran to him.

  The blood from his maybe-broken nose had not spread any farther. Rose slid him away from the small pool on the floor and then took her jacket off. She’d meant to ball it up under his head, give him something soft to lie on, but instead she took the sleeve and cleaned the blood from his face. His nose was swollen and a huge bruise had started to form on his cheek.

  “Hey,” she said. “Wake up.”

  Nothing. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting all of the sleepers to begin to stir at any moment, but none of them moved.

  “Jared,” she whispered. “Please?”

  What would she do if none of them woke up? What if they were all like this until someone could break the spell, if it could be broken? A hundred Sleeping Beauties.

  Rose cocked her head and looked down at Jared again. A small smile touched the corners of her mouth and she bent down and kissed him gently. His lips felt dry and he exhaled into her mouth at the moment she inhaled, breathing in his breath. The intimacy of the moment made her sit up in surprise.

  Jared moaned, furrowing his brow in pain, and his eyes opened.

  Rose stared at him. “Wow.” I did it, she thought.

  “Hi,” Jared rasped.

  “Hi yourself,” she said.

  She turned to see that everyone else had begun to wake as well. So it hadn’t been her kiss at all, just Maurelle’s spell wearing off. The realization disappointed her, but she knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. Things like that only happened in fairy tales. There was no magic in a simple kiss.

  Jared reached over and took her hand, forcing himself to sit up.

  No magic in a kiss, she told herself.

  But just in case, she kissed him again.

  Rose woke early on her first day back at school. A week and a half had passed during which the police had confessed to their bafflement at the strange bird attack on St. Bridget’s High School. Such things, they said, had been known to be caused by atmospheric disturbances, but they doubted this would ever be fully explained. Nor had there been any real conclusion of the investigation into the strange death of Fay DuBois, whom they now believed had crashed through the window while being attacked by birds and had struck a table when she fell, breaking her neck.

  Neither Rose nor Aunt Suzette had told the police that a broken neck alone would not have been enough to kill Aunt Fay, that the dark glamour of the Black Heart—the death that Maurelle could wield—had stolen the life from her. Instead, Aunt Suzette had cast a glamour of her own, so that no one involved in the preparation of her sister’s body for burial would notice that she wasn’t human.

  Four days had passed since the funeral. Aunt Suzette still had gray hours when she could not stop crying, but Rose comforted her as best she could. It would be just the two of them from now on, and they would give each other strength. More than once she had managed to make Aunt Suzette laugh, and she considered that a victory.

  Jared had been by to visit often and twice he had taken her out—once to the movies and once to dinner. Aunt Suzette had taken a liking to him but was still wary. Rose found herself equally wary. She and her aunt had had many conversations about what would happen if she ever decided to have sex with a guy. Did the death of her husband centuries ago mean the curse had been broken then? Maurelle had obviously not thought so. Would the curse still apply if she never married again? Aunt Suzette wasn’t sure. She had promised Rose that they would investigate further, that there were still a handful of other fey in the world who might be able to answer that question. Which was fine. Until she had a real
answer, Rose was not in any hurry to risk it.

  Jared would have to be patient. They had only just started to really get to know each other, after all. Rose did not know if what she felt for him was love, but she thought it best that they answer that question before worrying too much about the other.

  The rest of the world had not stopped to wait for her while she mourned her aunt. Jared kept her up-to-date on the goings-on at school. Both Courtney and Kylie had turned up the same afternoon that Maurelle had been defeated, her power over them shattered. Courtney’s parents had discovered her sleeping in her own bed covered in dirt and leaves, with no memory of anything since the night of Chloe’s birthday party. Kylie had wandered into the courtyard behind St. Bridget’s shortly after all the students and teachers had been sent home. Her memory loss began about twenty-four hours after Courtney’s. Rose had spoken to her almost every day since but they had not seen each other yet. That reunion was the biggest reason she was so looking forward to returning to school.

  There was another question that lingered in Rose’s mind, however. She spent a lot of time wondering what had become of her half brother, Etienne, after he had gone to wander the world. Did he still live? She hoped so, and she hoped that one day she would see him again. Some nights she dreamed about him.

  Rose climbed out of bed and went to her window. It was still dark this early in the morning, but the indigo, predawn sky was clear. She glanced at the clock and then dragged on the thick bathrobe Aunt Suzette had bought for her. The heat ticked and hissed but it was still cold in the apartment during these November mornings. She needed to eat breakfast and shower and dress, then make sure she had everything she needed in her backpack.

  But first she had another task to see to.

  She padded down the hall to Aunt Fay’s old bedroom in the dark, then flipped on the light. The figure lying on the bed did not stir at all. The iron wire had been removed from her throat and arms and legs. Instead, she was chained to the bedframe with heavy iron cuffs on her wrists and ankles. The poison would not kill her, but really, the chains were only there for Rose and Aunt Suzette’s peace of mind. With the enchantment that Aunt Suzette had placed her under, even if they took all of the iron away, Maurelle would not wake up.

  Not for a thousand years.

  Her aunts had painted wards on the walls and on the door as well, so that no one who might enter the house would even see that there was a door there at all. To all but Rose and her aunts, it would be as if she no longer existed… as if she were nothing but a fairy tale.

  Rose tested the chains, studied the sleeping face a moment, and then turned out the light and padded back down the hall and went downstairs. She could smell bacon frying. Though Rose had told her she didn’t have to do it, Aunt Suzette insisted on waking up early to make her breafast nearly every day. Now she smiled, her stomach rumbling, as she headed for the kitchen. The sky would begin to lighten to that soft November blue while they ate at the small table in front of the window together.

  They would be all right, Rose knew. They might not live happily ever after, but they were alive and they were happy enough. That was all anyone could really ask for.

  Ever after only happened in fairy tales.