by Sarah Cross
Viv bounced on her heels—eager, edgy. The first flowers on her dress were wilting, and others were sprouting to take their place. The faint halo of mist that had surrounded her skirt was burning away as the fresh green of her dress turned golden, like grass singed by the summer sun.
“You really won’t wait at the club?” Jasper said. “It’ll be another hour, at least.”
“I don’t care. I want to see them as soon as they get here.”
When the rest of the doors opened and the guests began streaming down, Viv stood on tiptoe to try to see past the crowd.
“Do you want a step stool?” Jasper asked.
“Very funny.”
After twenty minutes, Jasper said, “I don’t want to stand here all night.”
“It won’t be all night.”
Viv waited there for another hour, checking every face, desperate for a glimpse of someone familiar. If not one of her friends, then someone she recognized. A classmate, a member from Seven Oaks, someone she’d met at a party. But there was no one. All the guests seemed to be coming from somewhere other than Beau Rivage.
“Let’s go see if there’s something wrong with the door,” Viv said. “If they’re having trouble getting through.”
“The guards won’t let me take you up there.”
“The guards won’t let you? You’re the prince.”
“You know whose orders they follow.”
“I’m going up there,” Viv said.
She stepped around the checkpoint and as she moved past it, one of the guards grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Testing my reflexes or my resolve?” he asked.
“Let go of me. I’m Jasper’s princess. I’m not some uninvited guest you can manhandle.”
“Princess, we don’t manhandle uninvited guests, we cut their heads off.”
“Jasper,” she said. “Tell them—”
“Bring her to the shore,” Jasper said. “We’ll go to the club. We’re done waiting here.”
The guard kept a tight grip on her arm and marched her to the lake. Jasper signaled to a boatman whose gondola was already occupied and the boatman ordered his passengers out. Jasper stepped into the gondola then, gracefully, so that it barely rocked, and held out his hand to Viv. The guard released her and she whipped around, searching the distance for Blue’s hair or Jewel’s falling gems.
“Come on, Viv.”
“Tell my friends—when you see them, tell them to go right to the front. I don’t want them waiting in line. All right? You saw them before. You’ll tell them.”
The guard gave a mock bow. “Sounds easy enough.”
“Make sure you tell them. If I find out they were waiting in line for an hour …”
“He’ll tell them, Viv. Stop worrying. Let’s enjoy ourselves until then.”
At the club she paced around with a drink in her hand. Her dress was doing all sorts of amazing things—going from summer to autumn to winter and then back to spring again—but she kept her eyes on the door. She only noticed her dress when a guest remarked on it, or Jasper told her how beautiful she looked in a gown of snowdrifts.
“Can we dance a little?” Jasper said. “Maybe they were busy tonight. Your friends are in a band together, aren’t they? Maybe they had to perform.”
“Some of them would have come. Mira. Layla. Jack Tran.”
“I don’t know what to say, Viv. Maybe they were tired. Maybe they’re not as good friends as you think they are.”
“You promised you’d invite them!”
“I did invite them!”
“If you don’t want them here, why don’t you just tell me? Why are you lying?”
Guests were beginning to gather around them, sipping cocktails, pushing closer so they could hear every word. Jasper took her by the arm the way the guard had—as if he were escorting her, but squeezing hard enough that she knew he was serious—and dragged her out of the club. He didn’t even let her stop on the hillside to squint across the lake. He just hauled her toward the palace.
“If you want to fight with me,” he said under his breath, “don’t do it in public.”
“Don’t lie to me and I won’t have to!”
“I didn’t lie to you. I can’t help it if your friends chose to come late, or to do something else tonight. If you don’t believe I sent the invitations, I’ll send them again. Now. In front of you.”
Viv waited in the palace’s front hall while Jasper summoned a horseman, put a stack of invitations and a list of addresses into his hand, and paid him off with a fistful of gold branches. Then they returned to the club. Viv circled the room, looking for her friends. Crocuses sprouted on her dress and cherry blossoms fell from her skirt. Green grass and cattails smothered the flowers until they, too, were buried under a tapestry of red and gold leaves. Eventually a soft layer of snow blanketed her dress and melted on her shoes as she paced.
Season flowed into season, and Jasper sighed, and the night passed. Viv stayed until the club had emptied out completely. Even the Twelve Dancing Princesses were gone. Debris littered the floor; the servants were sweeping up when she left. Her friends never came. Not even Jack Tran, who she’d thought would show just to steal some silver branches.
“I’ll send more invitations tomorrow, all right?” Jasper said. “I’m exhausted. What a waste of a night.”
“I want to know what happened.”
“So do I. But I don’t think we’re going to. Not until they show up and tell you.”
Jasper sent new invitations every afternoon. And every evening, before the doors to the surface opened, Viv went and sat on a rocky hill overlooking the lake. She stayed there for hours, eyeing each new group of guests, searching for a face she recognized, and never seeing one.
Her friends had been worried about her; she knew they would come if they could. So why hadn’t they?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
THE THEME TONIGHT WAS TREASURE, and the dance floor glittered like a dragon’s hoard. Dresses dribbled down bodies like liquid metal. Royals came wearing their heirloom jewelry: pearls that had been cried by their ancestors, gold chains that had been spun from straw. Bright silks blazed against the black backdrop: ruby and sapphire, bronze and silver, emerald and amethyst.
Viv’s only piece of jewelry was her engagement ring. Her treasure was the notebook she carried in her black clutch purse: her storehouse of names. Jasper had stopped accompanying her to the club because she refused to dance, and she spent the nights having conversations like:
I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Viv. Right—the Snow White princess. And you are? Great name. I’ll remember that one.
After an hour of introductions Viv went to the VIP ladies’ room—which was usually empty because it was reserved for her and the twelve princesses—and sat down on the fainting couch and added the names to her notebook. She did that every hour. It gave her something to think about besides how alone she was.
On her third trip to the ladies’ room, she went to the mirror and studied her reflection—that dark-eyed, cold girl who’d grown darker and colder in the underworld. She was still watching herself when she heard a male voice say her name.
She jumped, startled. The mirror spanned the length of the wall, and yet she didn’t see any reflection but her own. The stalls were open, empty. She glanced up, looking for a speaker or an intercom or something.
“Jasper?” she said.
And then … she looked at her reflection again. And stumbled backward, away from it.
It had been weeks since a mirror had talked to her. She’d left the magic mirror up there, on the surface. And though the magic mirror could pull other mirrors into its network, she hadn’t thought it could reach her in the underworld. The thought of being watched by that thing for the rest of her life …
“Do I sound like that piece of shit?”
“Wh-what?” The voice was right next to her, and now she was panicking, because—she shouldn’t be hearing his voice. Her hands were trembling and her clutch
clattered to the floor. “I’m finally going crazy.…”
She felt strong arms wrap around her, a broad chest pressed to hers, a safety she hadn’t felt in so long. And then that mouth—his mouth—lips she would know anywhere. She closed her eyes so her mind wouldn’t feel so breakable, and gave in to the sensation she’d longed to feel.
With her eyes closed, lost in darkness, he was here beneath her hands. She found his face, his shoulders; threaded her fingers into his hair and pulled so he’d kiss her harder, until she found herself on the fainting couch, with the taste of Henley in her mouth.
“Are you a ghost?” she whispered. “Or am I losing it?”
“Are there cameras in here?”
“What?”
“Security cameras. Are there—?”
“Oh my god.” Delusions didn’t ask practical questions. Neither did ghosts. She started crying before he pulled off the invisibility cloak—a gray cape that appeared just as he came into view. Henley. He was here.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SHE PULLED AWAY SO SHE COULD LOOK at him. Held his face in her hands and just absorbed him for a moment. He was someone different now that she’d almost lost him: miraculous. She wanted to say a million things. She wanted to kiss him again; she wanted to work herself back into that space where no words were necessary. It just felt … so powerful, being with him again, when she’d thought he was gone forever. She could sense it was that way for him, too. He looked at her with the same awe and longing she felt coursing through her own body.
He was wearing a tuxedo. He almost never dressed like that.
“How did you—? What happened?” she asked. “I thought you were—”
“I was afraid you’d push me away. That you’d replaced me already.”
“No, never.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.” His hands were gentle on her face. He watched her like every flick of her eyes, every breath, every quiver of her throat, was something he wanted to remember.
“It should sound like me,” she said, watching him just as carefully. “That’s who I am. That’s how I feel.”
He smiled, almost surprised, and it was such a soft look on him. So different from the pain and frustration she usually provoked. His surprise nearly broke her heart. The month they’d been apart felt like a year. Now, she felt as distant from the Viv who’d stopped trusting him as she’d once felt from the Viv who’d trusted him implicitly.
“Everyone thought you were dead,” she said. “What happened? Where were you?”
“I was at the farmhouse. With Jack and Elliot.”
“You … no.” She shook her head. “That’s impossible. Unless Jack Tran is a sadistic asshole.”
“Will you let me explain?” he asked quietly.
“Because I called him. I called him every day. He told me no one knew where you were. I needed to know you were okay, and he—” Her anger broke like a wave. Tears ran down her face and she couldn’t speak.
Finally, she choked out, “I thought I killed you. I thought you died because of me.”
“I’m so sorry, Viv.”
She crawled into his lap and held on to him. She needed to feel his heartbeat, his breathing, the vibration in his chest as he spoke. He kept his arms around her and told her what had happened, his voice low and reluctant, like it wasn’t a story he wanted to tell.
“I killed him—I guess you know that now. Jack helped me dispose of the body. We went to the farmhouse and … the dogs … took care of the evidence. I stayed there because I didn’t want anyone to know what had happened. Whether I was dead or alive. I didn’t want Regina to be sure. I thought if she knew, she’d sic the police on me and that would be the end of us. I’d be locked up, you’d marry your prince, and I’d never know if we could make this work. If we were still … if you even wanted to.”
“You don’t think I would’ve waited for you?”
“Viv … you didn’t even want to be with me. We were as good as broken up. You were all about your prince.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was stupid. I …”
“You were scared. I don’t think I knew how scared until I saw you with the Huntsman that day.”
The old Huntsman was dead. She’d been so thrilled to see Henley that she hadn’t thought about what else his presence meant: the man who had tried to kill her would never hurt her again.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I just keep thinking, if I hadn’t been there … I thought I’d convinced your stepmom to leave him out of it. And then I got your message, and I came over and I saw his truck smashed into your car, and I had this pain in my chest like I was going to have a heart attack. I’ve never been more scared in my life. It was like my mind went blank, and I was just following your trail through the woods, and then when I saw you I was so relieved … and so full of hate for him. I didn’t know if I could kill him until I saw you, and then I knew.”
He was trembling and she put her arms around his neck and hugged him as if to say: I’m here. We’re alive. His hand slid up her back, pressing her closer. It felt so good to be with him. This was what it was supposed to feel like.
“Every time I heard Jack on the phone with you I felt like shit. But I needed him to lie. I needed there to be doubt. I thought that if you believed I was dead, Regina might believe it, too. I was still trying to decide how to tell you when Jack found out you’d gone to the underworld. No one knew when you were coming back. I thought that meant you’d made your decision. And—”
A burst of music broke up their embrace as the door opened and all twelve princesses swept in. Henley threw on his cloak and Viv fell over onto the fainting couch, her heart racing, hoping none of them had seen him. Fortunately, the princesses had other things on their minds. They’d been dancing and drinking for hours; they were sweaty, tearstained, and desperate to pee. In five seconds the stalls were full, the mirror reflected a row of primping princesses, and Waltz, Tango, and Foxtrot—holding hands like a chain of paper dolls—stepped up to Viv and said:
“You’re on our couch.”
“Yeah, it belongs—”
“To us.”
Viv got up. “Take it,” she said. They could have their couch. She just wanted them to hurry up and leave before one of the sisters bumped into Henley. The bathroom was much more crowded when you added twelve princesses.
Flush. Flush. Flush. Flush. Flush.
Five princesses emerged from the stalls and five more replaced them. The girls at the sinks checked their makeup, their teeth, their cleavage, while they washed their hands. Viv stood in the corner, trying to stay out of their way.
“What are you doing in here?” Calypso asked her.
“Um—taking a break.” Viv realized how weird it must seem to be standing in the bathroom, just kind of … hanging out.
“Were you crying?”
“She looks like she was crying.”
“Are you depressed? I think you can get depressed from not being in sunlight.”
“If you’re depressed,” Rumba said, “you should ask Jasper to get you some Xanax.”
“Or chocolate!”
“Or sex.”
The girls started laughing. Charleston clapped her hands over Calypso’s ears—she was already giggling with the rest of them. They went on like that until Calypso’s feet started tapping. When she twirled, the other girls groaned and began to move, as if dancing was an itch they had to scratch, a pain that needed to be soothed.
“Break time’s over,” Charleston said. “Come on, girls.”
The sisters danced out in a halfhearted conga line. Charleston was the last one to leave. She stood in the doorway, slippers tracing a box step, her eyes roving over the empty spaces in the room.
“Silva,” she finally said. “Door closes at four. Don’t be left behind.”
She let those words sink in—then minced out onto the da
nce floor.
Viv spun, searching for Henley, only letting out her breath when she saw that swirl of gray cloak and then—him. Tall and striking in his black tuxedo. His face more troubled than before.
“She knows … you’re here?” Viv said.
Wordlessly, Henley pushed down the collar of his shirt so it dipped to the base of his throat, and showed the single black hash mark that had been tattooed there.
“No …” Viv choked on the word, and her protests were lost as a sob filled her throat.
“I had to. I had to see you.”
“Why? Why did you have to?”
He was holding her now, trying to calm her down. “No one could get to you. None of the people you invited could enter the underworld. There was some kind of magic keeping them out. Keeping me out, too—I tried to get through; I couldn’t. And then even the invitations stopped. I knew something was wrong. They were isolating you, and I didn’t know why they would do that—unless you didn’t want to be here. I couldn’t abandon you.
“Jack told me that if I wanted to do something crazy, there was a way. There’s one door that can’t be blocked by magic: the door the Twelve Dancing Princesses use. Anyone who volunteers to break the curse has to be able to follow them to the underworld. So I volunteered.”
Viv leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. This was a nightmare. He couldn’t come back to her, couldn’t be alive just so she could lose him three days later.
“I don’t want you to worry about me. I didn’t come here to break the curse—I came to get you out of here. I want you to take my cloak—”
“No.”
“I want you to take my cloak—”
Henley was touching her hand, running his fingers along her wrist, and then he stopped. “Is that an engagement ring?”
She’d forgotten she was wearing it. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means you’re engaged.”
“It doesn’t mean anything to me! It’s like an arranged marriage. That I didn’t agree to. You don’t know what it’s like here.…”
