I didn’t have to wait long. Adrianna thundered into view, pure rage on her stolen face, and hammered on the door. It opened a few seconds later, revealing the familiar face of everybody’s favorite traitor, Birdie Hubbard.
“Where is she?” demanded Adrianna.
Birdie frowned. “She’s sleeping. I told you that might be the only option. She’ll dream as I tell her, and when we drag some fool in here and drug him into thinking she’s his one true love, she’ll wake malleable and ready to be of service.”
“Not her, the other one,” said Adrianna. She gestured wildly to her—to my—face. “This one! She’s here, and I know she’d go straight for her missing piece. Where is she?”
Birdie’s eyes widened in evident alarm. “Henry? She’s here? In the castle? How could you let that happen? You promised we’d be safe here. My work—”
“Isn’t going to matter if she kills us both,” snapped Adrianna. “Did you let anyone in? A mouse, a bird, a clever little squirrel? Think, woman!”
“I let you in.” Birdie’s expression smoothed out, becoming neutral. “Where have you been all day, Adrianna? Is that your name right now? Or did Henry take her body back?”
“It doesn’t work that way for us,” said Adrianna. “Don’t be stupid as well as useless, or I might start thinking I don’t need you.” She turned then, and stalked off down the hall, presumably to keep looking for me. Birdie stayed in the doorway, watching her go.
That was my opening. As soon as Adrianna turned the corner I rushed forward, slamming my shoulder into Birdie’s chest and driving her backward. My lower center of gravity actually came in handy; in my own body, I would’ve had trouble running while bent that far forward. As it was, the run came easily, even naturally, and Birdie went sprawling. I slammed the door, taking my eyes off her long enough to lock it. I didn’t need to have worried. She was still on the floor when I turned around, crawling backward away from me as fast as she could.
“You can’t be here!” she said.
“Oh, so you recognize me, do you?” The room was a weird jumble of princess iconography, from the spinning wheel to the pile of mattresses in one corner. A fire burned in the fireplace, making everything too hot. The cold around me was fighting back, intensifying until I left frozen footprints on the floor. “Too bad you decided to leave the Bureau. You could have saved me a lot of trouble. Now where is Sloane?”
“Adrianna! Help! She’s here! She’s—” My hand across her mouth cut her off. I crouched with one knee on Birdie’s chest, ignoring her wide, pleading eyes.
“I’ve figured a few things out. You’re a Storyteller. You can twist the narrative. That’s a big power to have. Too bad it only works if you can talk.” I shifted more of my weight onto my knee. She whimpered. “Now where. Is. Sloane?”
Birdie pointed to the stack of mattresses.
“Thank you.” There’s an art to knocking someone out without killing them. It’s never as easy as the movies make it out to be. But there were other ways. “You said you’d help me, so help me,” I said, and used my free hand to pinch Birdie’s nostrils shut. She looked at me like I had lost my mind—until the smell of apples filled the air, and her eyes closed.
“Great. I’m chloroform now.” I pushed myself off of her. That was a trick that wouldn’t work in a world that was more set in its ways: I knew that, and I didn’t care. As long as it worked here, that was all that mattered.
There were fifteen mattresses in the stack. I climbed them as fast as I could, almost falling several times. When I got to the top, there she was: Sloane Winters, asleep, in a gown that had been fit for a princess once, before it was shredded and burnt to the point of becoming rags. There were bruises and cuts on her exposed skin. I had no doubt that there was worse concealed under her clothing. Her eyes were closed. She had slept through my entire fight with Birdie. She’d sleep forever unless someone woke her.
“Dammit, Sloane,” I whispered. She was my friend. She was my colleague. She was my brother’s ex-girlfriend and the pain in my ass, and she was probably going to kill us all one day, and none of that mattered, because she was Sloane. I loved her because she was Sloane.
I loved her. Maybe that would be enough. Gingerly, I leaned forward, and I kissed her.
Her eyes snapped open. I pulled back, fast enough to get out of her way as she sat up, grabbed the front of my shirt, and demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Henry,” I said. “It’s a long story. Do you want to hear it, or do you want to help me kick Adrianna’s ass?”
She paused. Then, slowly, she nodded. “You’re going to tell me everything, snow-bitch. Including the reason I taste apples right now. All right?”
“All right,” I said. “Can you walk?”
Sloane snorted. “Can you keep up?”
# # #
It turned out I could, although it wasn’t easy; her legs were so much longer than mine that I felt like I was sprinting as she led me through the castle, her unerring nose for the story leading us to a ballroom swathed in cobwebs and dust. Adrianna was there, pacing back and forth at the far end of the room. She stopped when she saw us.
“You,” she snarled. “You’ve ruined everything. Do you understand what you’ve done?”
“My job.” I didn’t have a gun. She had my gun—something I was reminded of when she pulled it from her belt and fired in my direction.
She also didn’t have any firearms training. The shot went wild. Sloane and I didn’t hesitate. We both broke into a run, rushing for her as fast as we could. It was the only hope we had left.
Sloane reached her first, and Sloane’s fist reached her face a heartbeat later, impacting with a wet crunch. The gun went flying. I grabbed it, aiming straight for Adrianna’s chest. Sloane took a step back, giving me a clear shot.
“Stand down!” I snarled.
Adrianna smiled. “Shoot me,” she countered. “Can you? Can you kill yourself, just to stop me? I hope you can, niece. I’ve already done more damage than you can know. I want you to remember it every time you look in a mirror. I want you—”
She stopped mid-sentence, looking suddenly confused. Then she folded forward, hitting the floor with all the grace of a sack of wet concrete. Sloane smiled, holding up a long brass needle.
“Spindles come apart,” she said.
I blinked. Then I held out my hand. “Good,” I said. “Put me under.”
“What?”
“Put me under. I need to stop this. Besides.” I smiled, lopsidedly. “This time, I’m pretty sure Jeff can wake me up. Now put me un—”
Her hand lashed out, embedding the needle in my arm.
“—der,” I finished.
I didn’t feel myself fall down.
# # #
The whiteout wood was exactly as it had always been, black and white and red: only I was different. I felt like a resident, not a visitor. This was my home now.
“You,” snarled a voice. I turned. There was Adrianna, wearing her own face, standing some feet behind me. The snow under her feet was already melting, revealing black, blasted ground. “You little bitch. You ruined everything.”
“No, Aunt Adrianna,” I said. “You did. You tried to make me your mirror. You came too close. I’m sorry.”
“You will be,” she said, and took a step toward me—or tried to. The ground gripped her feet fast, holding her in place. She looked down, suddenly alarmed. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know how you stayed out of the mirrors for as long as you did, but that’s over now,” I said. “The story chose me. When something’s a reflection, something else is real. I guess you’re not the real one anymore.”
She was still screaming when the mirrored hands reached up from beneath her and pulled her down.
I sat down in the snow. Then I stretched out, full-length, getting myself comfortable, and crossed my hands over my chest in the classic pose. They’d wake me up soon enough. I believed in them.
They were my family,
after all.
# # #
Jeff was still leaning over me when I opened my eyes. He looked concerned, like he’d been afraid his kiss wouldn’t work this time either. I blinked. His look of concern deepened.
“Henry?” he asked.
“Oh thank Grimm I’m me again,” I said, and sat up, looking down at my body—my body—before turning to him. “You woke me up.”
“Yes,” he said, tears of relief beginning to form.
I grabbed him, pulled him close, and kissed him hard before I asked, “Where is everyone else?”
“Demi went back up the beanstalk to get Ciara and Piotr, while Carlos and Sloane kept watch over the rest of you. Together they got you, Andy, and the others out of Adrianna’s fold before it collapsed. Demi and Ciara removed the mirror from Carlos’s eyes while the rest of you were removed to the hospital,” said Jeff. “Sloane is recovering. Your temporary host is still in her coma. Carlos said to thank you for removing him from the field; he’s returned to HR. Piotr said fuck you very much for taking one of his best agents away, although the fact that he got to take custody of Birdie made up for some of it. She still hasn’t woken up, by the way. Ciara is requesting a permanent reassignment to our team, under you. I—why are you smiling?”
“Because I’m home with the people who love me, and that’s what matters,” I said. I’d have to tell Sloane what happened, and we’d have a lot to talk about once she knew I’d kissed her awake. I wasn’t going to recover instantly from having my body stolen. Jeff was probably going to have his own issues with it. And there was the matter of what I might owe to my story . . .
But all those things were problems for later. Right now, I was here, I was home, and I was one step closer to the ever after that I deserved. That was what mattered. As I pulled Jeff close and kissed him for a third time, that was all that mattered in the world.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I wrote Indexing, I wasn’t necessarily planning on a season two. I had left some openings, in case it decided to happen, but as far as I was concerned, the case was closed, and we could all move on.
And then people started asking what would happen next. And I realized that I really, really wanted to tell them.
Big thanks to the Amazon Kindle Serials program, which made this story a possibility; thanks for going out on a limb for me. Thanks also to my acquiring editor, Alex Carr, my faithful Machete Squad, and my developmental editor, Michelle “Vixy” Dockrey, who is finally getting professional credit for the heavy lifting that she’s been doing all along. Finally, I owe a debt of gratitude to my agent, Diana Fox, who puts up with more than any one person should ever be expected to tolerate. All my love.
As I have said before, the Aarne-Thompson Index to Motifs in Folk Literature is a real thing, and is used by folklore and fairy tale scholars the world over. My copy previously belonged to the state folklorist of Minnesota, and is one of my most prized possessions. If you’re interested in learning more, I highly recommend checking the folklore section of your local library. There’s so much to learn about the stories that we have created, and which have created us in turn.
Now rest my dear, and be at ease; there’s a fire in the hearth and a wind in the eaves, and the night is so dark, and the dark is so deep, and it’s time that all good little stars were asleep.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© Beckett Gladney
Seanan McGuire was born and raised in Northern California, where she has lived for the majority of her life. She spends most of her time writing or watching television, but also draws a semiautobiographical comic strip and has released several albums of filk music (science fiction and fantasy themed folk music). To relax, Seanan enjoys travel, and frequents haunted corn mazes, aquariums with good octopus habitats, and Disney Parks. Seanan is remarkably good at finding reptiles and amphibians wherever she goes, sometimes to the dismay of the people she happens to be traveling with.
Indexing: Reflections (Kindle Serials) (Indexing Series Book 2) Page 34
