by Sarah Cross
This wasn’t how she wanted to die—if she had to.
She didn’t want it to be at this Huntsman’s hands.
She wanted—
The old Huntsman took a thin rope from his belt and looped it around her neck, pulling it tight like a leash. When she tried to run he yanked the rope to cut off her air supply. While she was gasping and choking, he tied her to the trunk of a tree, winding the rope in a crisscrossing pattern around her throat, across her shoulders, behind the tree to bind her wrists, and then around her hips and thighs before securing it with a firm knot.
The way he looked at her let her know what was coming. He’d bound her tightly, but he’d left her chest and abdomen an open canvas for his blade.
“It’s not supposed to be you,” she said. “Henley’s supposed to do this. You’re retired.”
“Looks like I’m back in business.” The old Huntsman grinned. He looked even more savage in the daylight. “I must say it feels natural getting back to this. It’s been a while since I used these blades on anything human. Last girl was little like you. Younger, though. Eleven. Little heart, little lungs. When I cut them out of her body it was like holding a doll’s organs. I could’ve fit three of those hearts in that box. Men think women like diamonds.… I’ve never seen a woman happier than when you present her with the heart of her rival. She’ll stroke it like a kitten. It’s the sweetest thing.”
“You’re sick,” she choked.
“No sicker than a fairy godmother. This whole world is sick. You’ve had seventeen good years. Never cold, never hungry. All those years and your only hardship is that you have to die today. And dying’s not even hard.”
He held her white dress by the neckline, pulled it taut, then slashed it open from throat to hem. “There,” he said. “Nothing in the way now.”
“You’re not supposed to do this. You have to let Henley do it! This is his curse. Ours. You have to—”
“Sorry, Princess. Your stepmom called me. The woman knows what she wants.”
He placed the blade against her collarbone and drew it down slowly, barely exerting any pressure. A hot line of pain opened on her chest—and a trickle of blood followed. She heard the squawking of crows as she cried out, the beating of wings as they took to the sky. Then quiet. The hush of a vast stretch of woods that would swallow every sound.
Viv cried as he cut her again—another surface cut, designed to hurt. By the third cut she was sobbing, her body jerking with emotion, chest rising toward the knife when she wanted to shrink away from it.
“Come on,” the Huntsman said. “Beg me to spare you. Let’s make this fun.”
Viv gritted her teeth. Tried to make her body go rigid. If she had to die, she didn’t want to be his entertainment.
Her head drooped, just enough for the rope to choke her, and as she lifted it she thought she heard someone running. Hard footsteps smashing through the underbrush.
The Huntsman was turned away from her, facing … Henley, who was coming toward them.
She might have thought she’d imagined him, if his face hadn’t been so coldly angry. Henley’s anger had always been hot, burning under the surface, a struggle to contain. This looked closer to resolve. He wasn’t fighting with himself; he’d made a decision. He had the jeweled knife in his hand.
“Henley—”
He barely looked at her. His focus was on the old Huntsman. “This is my curse. I don’t need you stepping in for me.”
“That’s not what I hear,” the Huntsman said.
“Then you heard wrong. Viv’s mine. She’s been mine. Regina promised me I could have this.”
Standing there, watching them square off, it was clear that although the old Huntsman was an experienced killer, Henley posed a threat. He was taller, more muscular, and had youth on his side—and he was furious. The Huntsman gave him a curt nod. “Go on, then. I’ve already got her trussed for you.”
“I don’t need that. She won’t run from me. Will you, Viv?”
She made a sound that was neither a yes nor a no, but a help, and Henley cut the rope with his jeweled knife, the blade scraping the tree as he slashed her bindings. Viv fell into his arms as the rope dropped away, her body trembling with fear and adrenaline.
Henley tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. There was no tenderness in his face. His gaze was hard, as if he barely saw her, as if that was what it took for him not to waver.
He turned her around and held her body against his, not roughly—almost like a caress. His right hand held the knife. His left arm was holding her body, keeping her close, and she gripped his arm as tightly as she could—the way she used to hold Regina’s hand at the doctor’s, for courage before a shot. Her fingers slid over veins and hard muscle. She imagined she could feel his heartbeat. As rapid as hers.
“This will be over fast,” Henley told her. “Just listen to me and it won’t hurt, okay?”
“Okay,” she said. She took deep breaths, and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the old Huntsman. She tried to focus on Henley’s arm … tried to remember the first time he’d put his arms around her, surprising her—like a boyfriend, not a playmate.
She breathed in, out …
Henley folded Viv’s fingers around the handle of his knife, then closed his hand around hers. He drew the knife up to her throat, gently, as if the blade were a bow and Viv a violin, and they were about to coax a single, fragile note from her—together.
“I made a promise,” he said.
“I love you,” she said.
Henley’s whisper brushed her ear like a kiss. “Run.”
The warmth of his body left her, but the knife was still in her hand.
She opened her eyes to see Henley lunge at the old Huntsman, to see them both hit the ground as Henley tackled him. Leaves flying up from the dirt. A smear of blood on the Huntsman’s face.
Startled, she dropped the knife—then quickly snatched it up. “Henley!”
They were wrestling, fighting for control of the Huntsman’s blade.
Viv hesitated. She still had the knife. Maybe she could help him.…
The two Huntsmen rolled over, faces flushed, tendons straining—and Henley saw her.
“Run, goddamn it!” he yelled.
So she ran.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VIV TORE THROUGH THE WOODS like there were beasts at her heels. She was less familiar with this stretch of forest, but she knew that if she kept running she’d reach a pond with a picnic area. Families used it during the day, teenagers hung out there at night. She didn’t know who might be there this early, but she hoped there would be someone who could help.
When she stumbled into the clearing, the last of the morning mist was rising off the pond. Blood plastered her torn dress to her skin, and she clutched the dagger in a death grip. Her feet hurt like someone had burned them. Her chest was heaving, and she knew she looked like she’d committed a murder. Or escaped one.
She saw Beth Teal sitting on a picnic table on the far side of the pond, her head bent over the nettle jacket she was knitting. Viv gathered her breath to yell—and Beth’s swan brothers swam toward her, honking aggressively. Beth glanced up at the commotion.
“I need your phone!” Viv shouted. “Henley’s in trouble!”
They met halfway around the pond, Beth pushing her phone into Viv’s hand before Viv had a chance to ask again. It was already calling Jack Tran’s number.
Jack sounded worried when he answered—“Beth?”—and Viv realized it was because Beth never called people; her brothers would die if she spoke.
“It’s not Beth, it’s Viv. Henley got into a fight with the other Huntsman. The Huntsman has a knife and—”
“Where?”
She did her best to explain, but it was hard to describe their exact location. “I can take you there.”
“No, you stay with Beth. I’ll find them.”
Viv paced while she waited; despite her injured feet, she couldn’t sit still. The
swans had stopped menacing her, and birds were chirping and sunlight glimmered on the water and it just seemed wrong that Henley could be dead in those woods. If he didn’t get his hands on the knife fast enough. If he didn’t strike first.
“I shouldn’t have left him. God. What was I thinking?” She burst into tears and Beth rubbed her back with one blotchy red hand.
Two hours had passed by the time Jack showed up at the picnic area. The dirt on his clothes and skin hinted that things hadn’t gone smoothly, and Viv ran to find out what he knew. Beth came with her, tossing a handful of crackers to her brothers to keep them busy.
“Did you find him?” Viv asked.
“Just this.” Jack took Henley’s cell phone from his pocket. Dirt was caked in the grooves and the screen had been smashed. “This doesn’t mean anything,” Jack said. “He probably dropped it and stepped on it while they were fighting. But I think I found the place where they fought. I followed the blood trail, but … it just stopped.”
“Blood trail? Whose blood was it? Why didn’t you—?”
“I don’t know whose blood it was. It probably belonged to both of them. But—it looked like someone was being dragged. I don’t know who came out on the better end of that fight. I wish I did. We just have to hope we hear from Henley. And hope we don’t see that other Huntsman again.”
“We can’t just wait! We have to look! I’ll go with you this time. We have to find him. He could be hurt! He might be—”
Jack wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. He smelled like pine needles and earth. “Viv, I want to find him as much as you do. But there’s no one in those woods anymore.”
“Then we need to find a grave.” She buried her face in Jack’s chest, wiping her runny nose on his shirt, not caring how disgusting that was because she didn’t have any pride left.
She’d always worried about whether Henley would kill her. She’d never considered that he might die because of her.
“I’m going to get Viv out of here,” Jack murmured over her head. She felt Beth patting between her shoulder blades and then Jack was leading her to his car—an old Mustang painted the leafy-green color of a beanstalk. Viv felt like a zombie. Jack opened the door for her.
“I need to take you somewhere safe,” he said. “At least until we know if that Huntsman’s still out there. You can’t stay at my place.… Is there somewhere you can go?”
“I can stay at Jewel’s.”
“Jewel the singer?”
Viv nodded.
“What’s the address?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JACK HAD DRAPED A JACKET over Viv’s shoulders so her bloodstained dress would be less panic-inducing. He walked her to Jewel’s door, shooing away the feral cats and pigeons that swarmed them when Viv got out of the car.
“I don’t know if she’ll hear the bell,” Viv said. “We were out all night. She’s probably passed out.”
“Someone’s awake.” Jack nodded at the door—it was opening. Viv hugged her jacket closed to spare Jewel the sight of her dress; but when the door swung fully open, it wasn’t Jewel standing there, but Blue.
His spiky blue hair was crooked from sleep. He was wearing heart-print boxers and a Maleficent T-shirt, and past him, Viv could see a heap of blankets and a pillow on the couch.
Blue squinted sleepily. The barbell piercing above his left eyebrow glinted in the light. “Did Henley trade you to Jack Tran for some magic beans?”
Viv burst into tears.
Blue’s lazy expression turned frantic. “What happened?”
“You might not want to make any jokes about Henley,” Jack told him, ushering Viv inside. “Is Jewel here?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll wake her up.”
Viv sat down on the couch. Her feet hurt; her eyes burned from crying. She was covered with blood and her guilt was so intense she had the near-constant urge to throw up. Why did you leave him? What the hell is wrong with you?
She wiped her wet face. She wanted a shower. She wanted to go back and do this day over, or fall asleep and never wake up. Jack didn’t seem nearly as troubled. He browsed around Jewel’s living room like it was a showcase, lifted a shot glass full of gems, and held it to the light. “Are these real?”
“Don’t steal those,” Viv said. “You’re not at a giant’s house.”
“Yeah, I know, but … she has so many.…”
“I’m serious.”
Jack set the glass down and sighed.
Jewel came rushing into the room, her bright pink robe tied over a Curses & Kisses T-shirt. She was walking funny, as if every step hurt—and finally she dropped down on the couch next to Viv, pulled her into a hug, and said, “Tell us what happened.”
Viv couldn’t get the words out, so Jack told them: How the old Huntsman had come for Viv. How Henley had arrived to stop him. How they’d fought, and Viv had run, and now no one knew where Henley was.
“Viv needs to be somewhere safe,” Jack said. “She wants to stay here. Is that all right with you?”
“Of course she can stay.” Jewel’s arms were still wrapped around her. Viv felt the soft tumble of flowers down her back as Jewel breathed nervously in and out. “We’ll look after her.”
“Good,” Jack said. “I’ll let you know if there’s any news.”
“As soon as you hear something,” Viv said, twisting around to face him. Her palm came down on a damp chrysanthemum. “You have to tell me right away. Good or bad.”
Jack nodded. “I won’t pull any punches.” His eyes danced over the shot glasses full of gems. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks for bringing her,” Jewel said.
Jack stopped at the door on his way out. “Hey—Viv. Don’t take any candy from strangers. You’re not out of the woods yet.”
“I know,” she said.
The curse wasn’t over. Once Regina knew that Viv had survived, she would try to kill Viv herself. That was Snow White’s fate.
The door slammed as Jack left and, right away, Blue went over and locked it. He’d put on pants at some point, and now he was wearing ripped jeans with his Maleficent T-shirt. Someone had written Property of Mira in black marker on the butt of his jeans. Probably Blue since it didn’t seem like Mira’s style.
“That is so classy,” Viv said.
He turned to look at her. “Locking the door?”
“The ‘property of’ on your ass.”
“Does that mean you’re feeling better?”
“No. It just needed to be said.”
“Blue, can you make us some coffee?” Jewel asked. “I’d do it myself but I feel like I woke up with mermaid feet. Every step hurts. Wait—you do know how to use a coffeemaker, right?”
Blue lived at the Dream, the hotel and casino his father owned. He didn’t actually have appliances. He got his coffee from cafés, his food from restaurants.
“Walk me through it,” Blue said.
Viv got up to take a shower while the two of them worked it out. She stuffed her dress in the bathroom garbage, then stood under the hot water and scrubbed her skin clean of dirt, blood, sweat, and tears until she felt faint from the heat. After she’d shut off the water, she sat on the edge of the tub and took deep breaths, water dribbling from her hair and making puddles on the floor. She felt dizzy, and so full of regret she could hardly breathe. The cuts the Huntsman had made looked like three rusty zippers running down her chest.
There was a knock on the door. “Are you okay?” Jewel asked. “I mean, physically?”
“Go sit down, Mermaid Feet. I’m doing better than you are.” Which wasn’t true. But she wanted it to be.
“I brought your bag. In case you want to wear something that doesn’t have blood on it.”
“You know me so well.” Viv opened the door and Jewel passed her the overnight bag.
“Hurry up. We miss you when you’re traumatized.” Jewel’s smile was weak, worried, but she was trying. Viv was grateful for it. She didn’t want her friends to tiptoe
around her. If Jewel and Blue were too careful with her she wouldn’t be able to think about anything except what had happened in the woods today. And she wanted to feel normal enough that she could feel something like hope … hope that Henley might be okay.
Viv pulled on a sundress patterned with ladybugs, then checked herself in the mirror. The cuts on her chest were visible—too disturbing—so she changed into a black T-shirt and a frayed denim skirt. Her face did not look nearly as broken as she felt. Her sadness was artful, too pretty. Like it wasn’t real. Like she wasn’t real.
She tried not to look.
In the living room there was a steaming cup of coffee waiting for her, a cheese Danish big enough for a giant, and a support group. Jewel was on the couch, and she’d been joined by Mira, Freddie, and Layla Phan.
Layla was a Beauty, destined to redeem the obnoxious, womanizing, so-far-unrepentant Rafe Wilder—once he turned into a Beast, anyway. She had long, silky black hair that was in a fishtail braid today, dark eyes, a warm sheen to her skin, and a smile that made you feel like everything could be okay. She and Freddie were both Honor-bound—they were destined to break curses. And like Freddie, Layla could be too good for her own good sometimes. She despised Rafe and claimed she’d leave him as a Beast once he transformed, but her friends suspected she was too compassionate to actually stick to that plan.
Layla, Freddie, and Mira were looking at Viv like they wanted to cry her tears for her. Viv tried to lighten the mood, but her voice was raw as she said, “What, the Beast doesn’t care about my pain?”
“Did you want Rafe here?” Jewel asked. “We left him out to spare Layla.”
“But if you want to see him,” Layla added quickly, “and I don’t know why you would, but if you do, we can call him.”
“I don’t. I don’t think I can handle his brand of sensitivity.”
“What should we do?” Mira asked. “Do you want us to look for Henley? Do you want us here?”
“I have a German shepherd in the car,” Freddie announced. “He’s not trained in search and rescue, but—we have a rapport. I think together we could—”
