Rosehead

by Ksenia Anske

  Panther grudgingly shuffled over. “I must regretfully report that I haven’t figured out a way to squeeze out of myself more blood than a thimbleful. On the other hand, a certain other liquid—”

  “Smell this. I think it’s skin. Smells like dry leather.”

  Panther sniffed. “More like dead rats?”

  “No, listen. I don’t think it’s the mansion. These paintings are not part of it. Look at this one, it’s like a face that’s been”—Lilith’s heart chilled at the thought—“peeled off.” She covered her mouth.

  “Madam, may I interrupt your important ruminations?”

  “Do you understand what this means?” Lilith’s hands shook. “These are...they are—”

  “I’m in a dire situation here.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “I really need to pee. Sorry, can’t hold it any longer.” Panther lifted his leg on the pedestal and shamelessly let out a shiny stream. His urine momentarily upset what promised to be the biggest discovery Lilith made to date in her pursuit to understand the rose garden’s secret.

  “Panther Bloom Junior! Oh no, you didn’t!” she shrieked.

  Too late. The room noticed. While it adored offerings of blood, it despised any other liquids, particularly those of animals, particularly waste products, and it began to spin, getting ready to expel them in the rudest manner possible, revolving around the pedestal.

  Lilith lost her footing and slid across the room, bumping into Panther.

  “My apologies,” he barked, “but you suggested I produce a certain liquid.”

  “Not that liquid!” cried Lilith.

  “It worked though, didn’t it?”

  The gallery spun faster. Portraits swung from their hooks, gawking at both the girl and the dog, in the blur of the movement, looking less and less like faces and more and more like roses.

  They bumped into walls, speeding up, and Lilith thought she’d lose her breakfast. She clutched her beret with one hand and Panther with another. The gallery groaned. The ceiling unzipped with a crack and ejected them into the sky.

  Rain drenched them. Lilith couldn’t see where they were flying, but she could tell that at the end of that destination an imminent death awaited them with abated breath. For the first few seconds Lilith cried her terror and Panther barked hysterically, but then the uselessness of it silenced them both. And about time. Their flight ended as quickly as it started.

  Something leafy and tangled caught them, cushioning their fall. They landed deep inside a very thick, very wild, and very large rosebush, coming to a crashing stop in its middle.

  “The rosebush woman!” Lilith yelled, blind from panic. “She’s tearing us apart! We need to get out of here! She’s eating us!” Lilith thrashed, cutting herself and ruining her ballet attire.

  “It’s rather futile to escape! In case you thought she hasn’t noticed us by now, you’re terribly wrong!” Panther yelped. “I think we’re being digested alive!” He gave a few exaggerated cries of pain.

  “Don’t you fall apart on me, Panther! Let’s show her!” Lilith broke stems left and right, oblivious to cuts, furiously fighting the beast she thought was the rosebush woman.

  It took them both a good minute of battering the poor shrub to realize that nobody was attacking them. They landed in an ordinary bush, and it blissfully ignored their presence like any normal bush would. On top of that, it oozed a deliciously normal rose fragrance.

  Panting, Lilith and Panther looked at each other and then at a face that appeared through the thicket of leaves.

  “Ed? Is that you? Oh, please excuse my tattered appearance,” Lilith croaked, wiping her filthy face and smoothing her torn tutu. “How did you find us?”

  Ed pointed up.

  “You saw us flying?”

  Ed grinned affirmatively.

  “But how did you...Do you just know where to expect people to drop from the sky?”

  “Dogs, not people.”

  “Okay, if you want me to be absolutely grammatically correct, a dog and a person.”

  Ed waved his arms about, slapping his forehead.

  Lilith felt her face stretch into a silly smile.

  It took them a few minutes. After much grunting and heaving and puffing, they rolled onto the wet grass.

  Rain turned to an annoying drizzle.

  Panther shook with a grace that would make any wet dog jealous. Lilith brushed herself off as best she could. “Thank you so much for getting us out. You’re amazing. You always happen to be at the right place at the right time. Remarkably, you also happen to have a knack for disappearing when—”

  Ed stared at Panther.

  Panther produced a doggy smile.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’ve introduced you. Ed—Panther. Panther—Ed. Ed, Panther is my best friend, and he can—”

  Panther bit Lilith’s ankle.

  “Ow! I mean, he can be rather irritating sometimes.”

  Panther coughed what sounded close to cow manure. He extended a paw.

  Ed shook it.

  “Where are we, anyway?”

  They stood by a tall rosebush that grew in front of Ed’s cottage. Lilith wondered if it moved. A small traditional fachwerk house, it sprouted from the ground like a dwarf covered in beams. Its backside bordered the garden’s fence, beyond which the Grunewald forest stood sentinel. Its façade faced the sea of scarlet roses.

  “This is where you live, right?”

  Ed nodded and mimed energetically.

  “Wait. We flew all the way here from all the way over there?” Lilith gaped at Panther, who pretended to be an ordinary dog in front of this strange mute kid, grinning idiotically.

  The drizzle trickled out and stopped.

  “Please, excuse me while I try to comprehend this. The mansion spit us out. We flew over half a garden, landed in a bush, and survived. Wow. This is crazy.” Lilith felt her well-controlled demeanor crack, as it habitually started doing in Ed’s presence.

  He studied her with utmost concern. His cookie aroma enveloped her. Embarrassed, Lilith had to admit that she missed him. There was a swell in her chest, a flush in her face, and a ridiculous desire to hug him and sniff his hair. Lilith fought it, fought it, and lost. She promptly flung herself on Ed in an attempt to express her gratitude for saving them, surprised at herself for doing it.

  Driven by some mysterious force to share, clutching on to Ed for dear life, Lilith recounted every event that transpired since she lost sight of him in the kitchen, from finding his note, to Alfred demanding her to become the Bloom heir, to the sleeping pills, to the crow pecking her head in the morning. Here, Lilith took a shuddering breath and launched into explaining how she and Panther were locked in her room, how they escaped, how the second floor drank water and the third one drank blood, and how they stumbled into a gallery full of dead faces. She conveniently avoided mentioning Panther’s ingenious escapade invention.

  An awkward pause spilled into the air.

  Lilith let go.

  Ed stood very still. His pale face was pink, as were the ends of his ears. His eyes turned slightly misty, and it wasn’t because of the moisture in the air.

  Panther raised an ear and unashamedly shook the water from his coat. Lilith was about to chastise him, when an echo of distant shouts reached them, punctuated by Bär’s barks and crow cries. The garden moved as if disturbed by a multitude of people running along pathways.

  “Fantastic. Let me hazard a guess at who they’re looking for.” Lilith wiped her face with the sleeve of her leotard, which was also uncharacteristic of her. “You don’t happen to have some sort of a hiding cave, do you?”

  Ed flipped two thumbs up and motioned for them to follow. They trotted to the cottage. Only now did Lilith notice that her ballet slippers were sodden, she was wet and cold, and—

  “My beret,” she gasped. Her insides turned to ice at the thought of Alfred finding it in the red gallery, knowing that she’d been there, that she broke his rules
again.

  Ed pressed his ear to the door and listened. After a minute or two he put a finger across his lips, carefully turned the handle, and beckoned them in.

  Chapter 14

  Jürgen’s Paintings

  Warm air smelling of liquor enveloped them. They crept in semi-darkness across the hallway, Lilith’s ballet slippers making chewing noises. Panther’s claws clicked, causing him to freeze every few steps. They made it up the staircase and sidled along the wall. Ed masterfully stepped on boards that didn’t creak, arrived first, and pushed open a door. Lilith only had enough time to register that every surface in the room was covered with canvases, when a woman’s voice trailed from below.

  “Ed, darling, is that you?” It sounded drawn out, like that of a fortune-teller or a dreamy radio announcer.

  Ed mimed that he’ll be right back and left.

  “Well, that was quite a tumble.” Lilith tiptoed around a patchy rug. “You and your liquids.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “At least now we know how to get out in case we get locked up again and happen to have no water or blood to spare,” Panther growled proudly, licking himself dry. “Since my bladder is very small, in case we run out of my urine, you could, you know...”

  “No way. Don’t even think about it. I did not hear you and you did not say it,” Lilith scoffed.

  “Why so pedantic? I thought when matters concern life and death, anything goes. Isn’t that what a proper detective would do?”

  Lilith played deaf, smoothing her hair and looking around.

  Ed’s room resembled an artist’s studio shaken just enough to have a messy appearance. It smelled of paint, and she liked it immediately. There was something cozy and lived-in about it, in contrast to the incessant order of the mansion, more suitable for a hotel.

  A bed heaped with blankets squatted against a wall. Across it, next to a window, stood a desk, its surface covered with a higgledy-piggledy of notepads, papers, brushes, and pencils. Lilith pulled out a chair and plopped down, taking off her sodden bag that miraculously survived their tribulations. She checked inside to make sure nothing got lost.

  “I should’ve packed a change of clothes,” she mumbled, eyeing a drawing that looked suspiciously like her portrait. “Ed is quite an artist, don’t you think? It’s too bad his parents died.”

  Two voices argued below. Someone slammed something, and someone turned on the radio.

  Lilith and Panther exchanged a glance.

  “I don’t see how this makes him special.” Panther sneezed, for emphasis. “I’ve never even met my parents. What terrible fate could’ve beheld them? Yet I still talk.”

  “Panther. This remark was very much uncalled for. You know perfectly well that I love you from the tip of your nose to the tip of your tail, but your jealousy is starting to get old. Ed is my friend, okay?” Certain pride swelled within Lilith’s chest. “Besides, we’re supposed to be investigating cruel murders and not discuss your doggy feelings. That red gallery, for example, what do you think it’s for?”

  But Panther wasn’t easily swayed. “Have a heart, madam. I still don’t see how boys could be cuddlier than dogs.”

  “Oh, come on, get off it. Admit it, you want him to hug you as much as I do. How could you not? That cookie smell...” said Lilith dreamily.

  “Stale cookie smell,” Panther rumbled. “Stale hormonal teenage—”

  The door opened, letting in the sound of a radio turned up to full volume.

  Both girl and dog caught their breath, but it was only Ed.

  Lilith jumped up, blushing. She realized she must look absolutely dreadful—her ballet attire turned unrecognizable, leotard wet and muddy, tutu torn and hanging askew. She glanced at Panther who didn’t look much better, resembling a wet cat.

  “I’m sorry. I only wanted to sit down.”

  Ed shook his head so violently Lilith thought it might fly off.

  “Thank you for allowing us to stay in your room. Er, is there a bathroom? Can I...?” She raised her eyebrows.

  Ed took her hand and led her to the opposite end of the landing. Lilith’s heart threatened to steam right out of her ears.

  “Don’t forget to turn off the water!” came through the blaring music.

  Terrified of being discovered, Lilith did her business, washed her face, and wrung out her hair. Panther stealthily slunk inside, causing the door to creak.

  “Shh!”

  “Pardon me. I don’t think she can hear us through all that racket. Can I? A dose of toweling, please?”

  Lilith briskly rubbed him off.

  They slowly crept back to Ed’s room.

  “Dinner at six, darling!” the voice announced in between songs.

  “Is that your step-mom?” Lilith inquired, once the door was locked and they sat on Ed’s bed, Panther in Lilith’s lap.

  Ed nodded.

  “She won’t come up and check on you, will she?”

  He shook his head.

  Lilith let out a breath of relief. “Why is she talking to you in English?”

  Ed scribbled on a pad. SHE SAYS ENGLISH IS KEY TO SUCCESS. SHE’S GETTING ME READY FOR LIFE.

  “Oh. I know what you mean.” Lilith let out a long sigh.

  DID YOU PISS ON IT?

  “What?” Lilith looked at Ed, bewildered.

  THE GALLERY. DID YOU PISS ON IT? IT’S THE ONLY WAY TO GET OUT.

  “I—Oh. No.” Lilith shook her head. “No, not at all. Panther did, actually. It was a dreadful thing to do, in my opinion, and to think that it was me who suggested he produce a certain liquid to get us out...”

  Panther perked up, a smug look about his muzzle. Mutual understanding flickered between him and Ed, something that excluded girls from the appreciation of certain boyish pleasures.

  “Wait, how did you know we were in the gallery?”

  IT’S THE ONLY ROOM ON THE THIRD FLOOR THAT ANYONE CAN ENTER, APART FROM ALFRED. AND IT LIKES SPITTING THINGS OUT, WHEN IT GETS BORED.

  “Curious. It took my blood to let us in.”

  IT PREFERS TYPE O.

  “Does it?” Lilith raised her brow. “What’s it for, anyway? The paintings, they’re not really paintings, are they?”

  FACES OF BLOOM HEIRS.

  Lilith swallowed. “Real faces?”

  FACIAL SKIN.

  “I was afraid of that.” Lilith shuddered, thinking about her grandfather’s demand. “Did your dad tell you all this?”

  Panther stopped purring, listening intently.

  HE TOLD EVERYONE.

  “I don’t understand. Then how come nobody knows?”

  Ed put a finger on his lips and motioned to the canvases.

  Without frames, they had a raw unfinished look about them. Lilith carefully rolled Panther onto a blanket, stood, and walked up to one. It depicted a wild rose, brilliantly crimson against rich greenery. When she looked closer, she saw a tiny woman’s face framed in petals, the same one that peered at her in the gallery. Lilith suppressed an impulse to look away. It wasn’t polite to freak out in front of a new friend, especially not about his dead father’s paintings.

  She glanced at another canvas. It portrayed a rosebush turning into a large monstrous woman. The canvas next to it made her hair stand up. The rosebush woman stuffed a fistful of apparently dead people into her mouth, splats of blood flying everywhere. Each painting was signed with the same name, Jürgen Vogel.

  Lilith wheeled around. “Did you—did he, your dad...did he see this happen?”

  Ed nodded, stroking Panther, who conveniently migrated to his lap. Lilith hardly noticed, her blood boiling.

  “This is why grandfather wanted to separate us. He was afraid I’d find out. Panther, you were right. He’s a creep, he kills people, and the rosebush woman eats them. I wonder if it’s something I’ll have to do once I inherit this squalid, abominable, incarnadine property.” Lilith glared, her face hot. “Is that what he does in his laboratory? Takes
faces off previous heirs? To paint over them? To preserve them as Bloom family legacy trophies? And who will have to take his face off when he’s dead? I think I’m going to puke.”

  Ed began writing.

  Lilith shook.

  “Is it part of a Bloom heir duty, to fashion the previous one into a painting?”

  Ed broke the pencil, jumped to the desk, grabbed another one, and kept scribbling.

  “You know what, it doesn’t matter.” Lilith took a few deep breaths. “Dearest Ed, please excuse my vigor and directness, but what I’m about to say is very important. I would like your complete attention. Although you never answered my question about how exactly grandfather kills people, I think I guessed it myself. He probably lures them into the garden and lets the garden deal with them in its own preferred manner. How it happens is rather irrelevant. What matters is that people are dying.” Lilith breathed heavily, trying to contain herself. “You have helped us before. Tremendously. Therefore, Panther and I would like to invite you to join us in stopping Alfred Bloom from doing any more of this outrageous, despicable massacre.” She took another breath. “We just decided,” she added, to Panther’s puzzled stare and Ed’s questioning look. “Yes, Panther can talk.”

  She waited anxiously.

  Ed looked at Panther, mystified. Panther threw Lilith a glare that was supposed to burn her to the ground.

  “Friends don’t hide secrets from each other, so don’t give me that look. Besides, we need Ed’s help. Come on, say something,” commanded Lilith.

  Ed froze, pencil hovering in his hand above the notepad.

  Panther cleared his throat and professed in his most courteous manner, “Well, since the squirrel is out of the bag, so to speak...Very nice to meet you, Ed, and I wanted to thank you for being so kind as to spot us earlier today flying in the sky. As to the current point of conversation, what madam Lilith Bloom means is, time is running short. If by some unfortunate circumstance we happen to be interrupted in the next few minutes or, worse, seconds,” he said, as he sniffed at the air, “she’s afraid she’ll be separated from you again and might not be able to confirm her theory regarding the rose garden’s mystery and perform the elephantine task of saving the lives of all guests currently residing in the mansion, two of whom, as you are well aware, despise her very guts, yet the kindness of her heart does not permit her to simply let them vanish into the rosebush woman’s thorny clutches.” He threw Lilith a quick glance. “It also means that madam here is a saint and has never, never in her most terrible dreams imagined neither Daphne, nor Gwen Schlitzberger, being devoured by said monstrosity with extensive crunching and slurping and chewing.”