Текст книги "Cinderella Dressed in Ashes"

Автор книги: Cameron Jace

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

16

A Bird of Fire

When Shew woke up, the sky was filled with ashes, and the sound of flickering fire surrounded her. Trees were on fire. Plants were on fire. And even the air was saturated with it.

Ashes in the sky again, dancing a song of evil.

Shew checked her head, the wound wasn’t serious but she was bleeding. She stood up slowly, her eyes blurry, making everything look hazy as if the world was melting slowly around her.

A couple of breaths later, she understood that her vision was just fine. The world was really melting around her. Lava-like molten crawled down toward her from the top of the hills. It glided slowly over the grass, burning it as it crossed over, taking irregular shapes.

Shew raised her head, looking for the source of the lava creature, and saw it was the witch’s house. It was melting like ice cream in the sun. The Candy House was on fire. Cerené sat with her hands wrapped around her knees, both tucked against her chest.

She was humming those scary rhymes again. London Bridge is falling down and Ashes, Ashes and Burn, Burn, Burn.

Cerené’s hair was the color of fire, almost burning, shaped like a bird’s wings, fluttering above her head as ashes fell down from the sky.

“Look for the Phoenix,” Splash’s words still echoed in Shew’s ears, and she thought she was looking at it.

17

A Puzzle of Seven Cards

“Stop it, Fable,” Axel said. “You’ve been walking back and forth forever.”

“What do you want me to do, Axel?” Fable stopped at the edge of the purple light encircling the Dream Temple. “This dream is locked forever, and we can’t do anything about it. I’m not going to wait here until this purple wall comes down by itself a hundred years from now,” she turned and gazed at the light again.

“And I’m not going to lose you to this Dream Temple. I have big plans for you. We’re going to have a great life. You could be the greatest witch in Sorrow. I could be … hmm … the owner of the biggest restaurant. Which reminds me, I was thinking we could go grab a bite at the Belly and the Beast, what do you think?”

“Why don’t you stop thinking about food for just one tiny second in your life!”

“There’s no such a thing as a tiny second, Fable. It’s either a second or it isn’t,” Axel said. “Besides, food is good. Haven’t you heard the wise man’s saying, ‘good food, good mood’?”

“Did you ever notice that most so called wise men are fat?” Fable snapped.

“We need to feed so the blood circulates in our body and we can think clearer,” Axel defended his cause.

“People feel sleepy after they eat, Axel,” Fable said. “You just don’t know it because you eat all the time. You’re living on the dark side of the moon.”

“Whatever you say, sis; I need to energize myself so I can look through J.G.’s diary,” he flipped through the diary they had found in Bedtime Stoories. “This is all so confusing, a diary that belongs to a J.G. and a Dreamhunters Guide that is signed by a V.H. Who are these people, and how are they related to each other?”

“I’m sure J.G. is Jacob Carl Grimm,” Fable said, happy her brother forgot about food.

“Or someone who wants us to think this is J.G.’s diary,” Axel winked.

“Don’t read too much into everything,” Fable said. “Why are you suddenly reading this diary? Did you give up on Loki’s Dreamhunters Guide?”

“I didn’t, but I can’t find anything more useful in it at the moment,” Axel said. “And he has the original Book of Sand with him in his pocket.”

“And we can’t even get that unless we cross this stupid purple light,” Fable sighed. “See, what I am talking about. I need to walk past the purple light.”

“No!” Axel demanded.

“Let me just touch it,” Fable said. “It might not even be passable.”

“I said no, Fable. Don’t make me use my Kung Fu skills to stop you,” Axel said.

“Why do you have to be the older sibling?” Fable mumbled. “Why wasn’t I born first?”

“Because I tricked our parents into bringing me into the world first,” Axel said.

“Really?” Fable stuck out her tongue. “So seriously, you didn’t find anything else in Loki’s phone?”

“Why are you asking me? You have it.”

“It’s all about the stuff Loki already told us about,” Fable said; “the Dreamworld being six levels, everything about the Waker, the Dream Temple, and even the fact that  you could break a dream by breaking the mirror, if only we could get inside.”

“I told you no.”

“So be honest, Axel. Did you read something and deleted it from Loki’s phone,” Fable played nice. “Tell me what it is, Axel. Please?”

“You’re imagining things,” Axel looked away so his facial expression wouldn’t expose his lie. “There wasn’t anything else that could help.”

“OK,” Fable sighed. “Then what are you looking for in J.G.’s diary?”

“It’s a bit strange if you ask me,” Axel said. “You remember this is the diary that hinted at Snow White being evil and manipulating Dreamhunters, right?”

“So?” Fable wondered.

“So it’s hardly trustworthy if you ask me,” Axel said. “Either Jacob Grimm was mislead thinking Snow White was the evil one, or he really hated her.”

“That’s new to me,” Fable rubbed her chin. “Are you saying that Jacob Grimm is on the dark side?”

“Could be. We don’t even know who is on the dark side,” Axel considered.

“What do you mean?” Fable said.

“I mean whose side do you consider Loki to be on?” Axel said. “One minute he is fighting the Queen and saving Snow White. The next he is on the Queen’ side.”

“Loki’s on our side,” Fable insisted. “He is good at heart.”

“And how about his past?” Axel said. “Remember the Queen telling us he is the Huntsman who killed countless people in Sorrow?”

“The Queen is lying,” Fable said.

“If you say so,” Axel said.

“Let’s get back to the J.G. diary,” Fable suggested. “You were saying Jacob wasn’t on our side.”

“I’m not sure, but maybe Jacob and Wilhelm are on different sides of the coin—that’s how they were in real life, anyway. Everything I read in this diary suggests there is a great conflict between the two brothers.”

“You mean something happened to them after forging the fairy tales that pitted them against each other?”

“Although it’s not clear why they forged the tales, I think it’s a pretty plausible idea,” Axel said. “This might be a war between both writers. Don’t ask me why.

“One of them is the good one and one is evil. I like that,” Fable said.

“Except that it’s not really clear who’s good and evil in this world,” Axel chewed on the words.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, don’t fire back at me, but I think everything is grey here,” Axel said. “I mean Shew is the Chosen One who’s supposed to save the world, but she did kill many teens in her time in the Schloss. And don’t support her by saying she was influenced by the curse. There is no excuse for killing innocent people.”

“She is innocent,” Fable defended Shew. “Believe me, there must be an explanation for this. Maybe all those teenagers were evil.”

“I know you’re Snow White’s number one fan, Fable,” Axel said. “I mean you know how much I like Loki, but he’s no different.  He was the Huntsman.”

“The next thing you’re going to tell me is that the Queen isn’t purely evil,” Fable rolled her eyes.

“Well,” Axel shrugged, “actually, yes.”

“What are you saying, Axel? OK. I get it. You’re hungry. I am sorry. I should’ve let you eat because you’re not thinking straight.”

“Why? The Queen fought until her last breath for her daughter. You can’t say she didn’t go through a lot.”

“If you’re really good, you’ll die before giving into evil,” Fable protested. “You’re only saying this because Lucy said that.”

“Which reminds me again,” Axel scanned the surroundings, “where is she?”

“Forget about Lucy,” Fable said. “We’re wasting time. Let’s get back to Jacob Grimm’s diary. Did you find anything else that might be useful?”

“Not really,” Axel said. “Other than him disliking Snow White, almost everything here hints he was desperately looking for the Lost Seven.”

“What are the Lost Seven?” Fable said.

“Remember when Mircalla, I mean Carmilla, told us Loki’s story in the kitchen?” Axel said. “She mentioned that the reason she can’t get her hands on Shew’s heart is that Shew had split it into seven pieces giving a piece to each of seven friends of hers—whatever that means. Those are called the Lost Seven.”

“So the seven dwarves in the Grimm’s Snow White story weren’t actually dwarves?” Fable adjusted her glasses. “They are just seven friends called the Lost Seven?”

“Sounds like it,” Axel said. “In some parts of the diary they are called Pilgrimms, with two m’s. Get it?”

“I like it. It’s an interesting name,” Fable adjusted her glasses. “It means two important things. One is that they are like pilgrims on a quest. Two is that they are connected to the Brothers Grimm. But if they’re connected to the Brothers Grimm, how come Jacob Grimm doesn’t know who they are?”

“That’s why I am suggesting Jacob and Wilhelm are on two different sides of the coin,” Axel said.

“It’s starting to seem more plausible,” Fable said. “But tell me, Axel. Why would the Grimm Brothers forge the Lost Seven and say they are actually seven dwarves?”

“For one, to hide the identities of the Lost Seven,” Axel said. “That’s pretty obvious.”

“Can you elaborate, Professor Axel?” Fable adjusted her glasses.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Axel warned her. “I’m thinking the Lost Seven are seven well known fairy tale characters,” Axel said proudly, “Little Red Riding Hood maybe, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty for instance. That’d be so cool.”

“Why not? It makes sense to me,” Fable said. “What’s the second reason?”

“The second reason is something beyond the range of our understanding,” Axel said.

“And you think I should consider that a discovery?” Fable had her hands on her waist.

“I know it sounds silly, but let me tell you, this isn’t just about the Queen of Sorrow wanting to get Snow White’s heart,” Axel said. “This is much bigger. If this was only about fairy tale characters being immortal and living among us, I’d have assumed this is only about the Lost Seven and Snow White’s heart. However, this includes Jacob and Wilhelm Carl Grimm, the people who wrote the books in the first place. Have you ever seen a mystery where the writer and character actually meet? This is much bigger, believe me.”

“I’m really happy we’re on the same page in this, bro” Fable said enthusiastically. “What are those?” she pointed at drawings in the book.

“These are the seven items belonging to the Lost Seven, a plate, breadcrumb, a chair, a knife, beans, a fork, and a cup,” Axel said. “Like in the forged Snow White tale, remember when the dwarves enter the cottage and each one asks who moved his cup and so on?”

“Yes,” Fable said, “so what?”

“If the Lost Seven are a substitute for the dwarves, then each item should lead us to one of them,” Axel said.

“Are you sure?” Fable said.

Axel nodded.

“So what we have to do is link the item to the character and we learn who the Pilgrimms are?” Fable asked.

“Not that easy, sis,” Axel said. “Believe me, I tried. The only item that makes sense to me is the beans.”

“Really? What fairytale character is connected to beans?” Fable scratched her head.

“Remember Jack and the Beanstalk?”

“I hate that story,” Fable said. “Jack is annoying and he’s a thief.”

“Don’t say that,” Axel said. “I adore him, and I’d like to meet him.”

“I am sure he’s as hungry as you,” Fable teased him. “So why is Jack connected to beans, again?”

Axel shot her a disbelieving look. “Jack owned beans that when planted grew a very tall beanstalk!”

“Oh, sorry,” Fable said. “I told you I hated the tale. But wait!”

“What is it now?” Axel sighed impatiently.

“There were no beans on the dwarves table in the Snow White fairy tale,” Fable said.

“There were vegetables,” Axel said. “Beans are vegetables.”

“They are? Did we learn that in school?” Fable wondered.

“You don’t learn that beans are vegetables in school, Fable,” Axel said. “You might learn that Shakespeare is a poet—but even that you got wrong; you think he is a wizard.”

“He is a wizard,” Fable insisted. “He just didn’t want the likes of you to know it. Anyway, did you notice the breadcrumbs being one of the items?”

“I did, so what?”

“Sounds very much like you, Axel,” Fable said. “Maybe you’re a fairy tale character and you don’t know it,” she laughed.

“Of course, I am,” Axel said proudly. “I am Axelus the Great. Besides, I eat a lot of food. I don’t leave breadcrumb trails all over the place. That would be you, actually.”

“How dare you? I clean up after you all the time,” Fable drew a finger in the air as if it were a sword.

“OK. OK.,” Axel raised his hands like a white flag. “We’ve got more important things to discuss now. Since you like this part of J.G.’s diary, let me show you something really crazy here,” Axel said, pointing at certain pages in the middle of the diary. “I keep seeing these seven pages, and I’m unable to understand its content.” Axel showed her seven consecutive pages in the diary resembling tarot cards.

“What is that?”

“It seems to me that J.G. failed to connect the Lost Seven to the items so he continued his research until he came upon an incomplete drawing of seven tarot cards,” Axel said “He’d probably seen them somewhere and copied them. He says they are clues to the Lost Seven.”

“Is that the Grimm Reaper?” Fable adjusted her glasses, pointing at a drawing of a red-cloaked girl with a scythe. “How could the Grimm Reaper be one of the Lost Seven?”

“It says ‘Reaper’ on top, and it’s not just any reaper,” Axel commented. “This looks like a girl reaper. Ever heard of anything like that?”

“No,” Fable said. “Did you ever hear about a fairy tale with a Grimm Reaper in it?”

Axel shook his head no.

“What’s on the next card?” Fable wondered.

Axel flipped the page, showing a tarot of a witch.

“A witch,” Fable chewed the words. “And what’s that at her feet?”

“Looks like breadcrumbs,” Axel assumed. “See, the witch looks like you, not me.”

“She’s cloaked. Why do you think it is a she? You can’t tell,” Fable said.

“Whether a she or a he, I think I know who it is,” Axel said. “Remember Hansel and Gretel?”

“Of course,” Fable giggled. “I love that tale. It’s my favorite. I love Gretel, but despise Hansel.”

Axel shrugged, lost in the page in front of him.

“You and I really make a good Hansel and Gretel,” he said absently.

“Nice one,” Fable said. “And we have a Candy House…” suddenly, she stopped. The resemblance was too weird. She gazed at Axel, both sharing an intense moment with appalled eyes. Could it be they were Hansel and Gretel? The thought lingered in the air for a while.  Both of them were speechless.

Finally, they broke the tension with a big laugh, “you and me, Hansel and Gretel,” Fable said, “that’s impossible.”

“You’re right about that,” Axel said. “I guess I was hoping my sis was one of the Lost Seven so I’d eat for free at the Belly and the Beast.”

“So what’s the next card,” Fable demanded, wanting to skip this uncomfortable moment.

The third tarot showed a thief. It was a boy, wearing a green hat, and a smirk on his face. It had Thief written on top of the page.

“He looks funny,” Fable raised an eyebrow. “I’m curious about him. Are those beans in his hand? If that’s Jack, I changed my mind. I like him.”

Axel flipped the page, not wanting Fable staring too long at the cute boy. “And here we have…” Axel raised an eyebrow now.

“A moon?” Fable laughed. “How could the moon be one of the Lost Seven?”

“Maybe J.G. didn’t know much about this Pilgrimm,” Axel said. “This could just be a clue.”

“OK. Flip to the next page, maybe we’ll find something that really makes sense,” Fable said.

The next page showed a beast so ugly Axel twitched his lips, preferring not to look at it.

“The Beast,” Fable mused. “I can’t even tell if it’s a boy or girl. Why would Shew share her heart with such an ugly creature?”

“The next one is a Star,” Axel flipped to an almost empty page that only had the word star handwritten in the middle. “How convenient, one of the Lost Seven is the moon, and the other is a star. This J.G. lost his mind.”

“And who’s the seventh of the Lost Seven?” Fable flipped the page herself. “What is this?” she looked as if someone had just burst her balloon.

“The Phoenix,” Axel stared at the picture of a bird with purple wings, the bird looked as if it was burning. “You know what a phoenix is, right Fable?”

“Of course, I know. I do your homework, Axel,” Fable said absently.

“You do my homework but you don’t know that beans are vegetables,” he mumbled.

“A phoenix is a bird that burns at the end of its life then rises again from its own ashes,” Fable explained.

“Like Zombies,” Axel giggled. Fable was too entranced by the picture of the Phoenix to comment. “Why do I think this is a big clue?” Axel said.

“It is,” Fable said. “But I don’t know what it means.”

“I’m not following,” Axel replied.

“When we were chasing Loki, I heard him mutter something to himself repeatedly, as if he was trying not to forget it,” Fable raised her eyes, meeting Axel’s. “He kept saying, ‘The Phoenix.’”

“So?”

“I have no idea,” Fable said. “All I know is that according to this J.G., she is one of the Lost Seven,” Fable turned back to the Dream Temple protected by the purple light. “Loki isn’t there to kill Snow White. He’s there for the Phoenix,” she uttered her discovery.

“So the Queen sent him to kill the Phoenix?” Axel said.

“Why kill her?” Fable said. “She probably wants to find her to collect Shew’s first piece of heart. Are you sure there isn’t anything else about the Phoenix in this diary.”

“Um,” Axel flipped through the pages. “The only other mention of the Phoenix is an article here where J.G. explains his frustration about the Phoenixes.”

“I don’t follow,” Fable said.

“He says that the Phoenix is the only one of the Lost Seven that he knew the real name of—he is very big on the power of what he calls ‘true names’,” Axel said. “He writes that whenever he has his hands on manuscripts with the Phoenix’s real name, he is confused by other manuscripts that call her something different.”

“So the Phoenix is a girl,” Fable said. “Do you have those names?”

“Wait a second,” Axel flipped. “I have come across them but the writing was too small and almost wiped out—here it is,” he handed Fable the diary.

“I have dyslexia, and you’re handing it to me?” Fable said, already reading it.

“You read smaller fonts better than me,” Axel argued.

“OK,” Fable drew her glasses closer. “One of the names is Cerené—I am not sure how to spell it. And at some point he thought her name was Ember. And then at some other point he thought her name was…” Fable raised her eyes to meet Axel. She looked like she’d seen her dead mother.

“What is the name?” Axel said. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Cinderella,” Fable said. “Carmilla is after Cinderella!”

“How can she be after Cinderella by making Loki enter Shew’s dream? Shouldn’t he be entering Cinderella’s dream wherever she is?” Axel said.

“I don’t know, Axel,” Fable breathed rapidly in front of the purple light. “This locked dream has to end so we know. Are you sure it wasn’t mentioned how a locked dream ends in Loki’s phone?”

Axel pretended he didn’t hear her. He wasn’t going to tell her what he’d read. It was death itself.

18

Rainbow’s End

Although Shew believed Cerené was the Phoenix, the knowledge didn’t answer all of her questions yet.

Who was the Phoenix, really? Why did she have to look for her?

At least, the dream made much more sense now. This dream wasn’t about the Queen wanting to kill her. Loki used the Phoenix Incubator because Carmilla wanted to take Shew back to her relationship with Cerené, thinking Cerené would lead her to the Phoenix.

 What was the point in reminding Shew she had a dear friend in her childhood called Cerené, and why didn’t she remember that part of her childhood?

She had figured out Cerené was Cinderella. That wasn’t the hard part. A girl covered in ashes, lived with a stepmother and stepsisters, slept in a dark room next to cinders, and had one precious glass shoe she couldn’t live without. It had to be her, only she wasn’t the kind you’d expect to read about in a picture book in the Waking World. Cerené was the real flesh and blood Cinderella. She had a feeling that whatever she’d learned about Cerené was trivial.

Cerené wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed of attending the king’s ball and meeting the prince. She was not waiting for a Godmother to dress her in the most beautiful dress and send her a pumpkin coach. She was a young girl who had surpassed all the evil bestowed upon her by enjoying the one thing she did best, the Forbidden Art.

The Art was Cinderella’s getaway, the computer game boys played escaping into their own imaginary world, the embroidery medieval woman excelled at as they wove threads into canvasses of beauty. The Art was Cerené’s drug that took the pain away. It was her hope to live another day; it was the glass shoe she’d left behind, the way Hansel and Gretel left their breadcrumbs, so happiness could retrace her steps and find her one day.

Still, Shew wondered who saved her each time she was about to die. Was it Cerené? Was Cerené capable of creating fire? If so, why didn’t she tell Shew about it? If Cerené could create fire they wouldn’t have had to go to the furnace in Candy House. It couldn’t be Cerené.

Shew thought of Bianca again. There was no other explanation. Bianca was the person in the hood who chased Shew. She was Cerené’s guardian angel, and she burned whoever hurt her daughter.

However, that would only explain what happened near Candy House, Bianca saving her daughter from Baba Yaga and burning the place down, but who burned the Wall of Thorns? The wall was no threat to Cerené. Was it possible that Bianca protected Shew, maybe because she wanted Shew to take care of her daughter?

There were too many questions leading nowhere. The one thing that made sense was that Cerené was one of the Lost Seven Shew had split her heart with, which was also a useless piece of information.

Shew had no recollection of how she split her heart or how she did it. She knew she split her heart because of a solitary memory of the day Carmilla cursed her and trapped her in the Schloss after failing to find the Lost Seven. Carmilla had been asking her about the Lost Seven and how she managed to split her heart with them, not knowing that Shew didn’t remember doing so in the first place. Shew had no explanation why parts of her memory were lost.

Now, at the Rainbow’s End, Shew watched Cerené play with her blowpipe at the reservoir, which was a lake of pure light, shimmering with the main seven colors of a rainbow. This was the place Cerené had promised to take her to see from the beginning, the place they’d gone through hell and back to reach, the only place where the Forbidden Art could be colored. And it was beautiful.

Cerené had showed Shew how she dipped molten glass into the colored lake of light. All she had to do was pick the color she desired. Cerené loved a mesh of colors so most creations came out the color of rainbows.

She also created a huge butterfly with flapping fiery wings, but then killed it when she was out of breath. Cerené’s most amazing creation was smaller butterflies she blew from her pipe, fluttering their wings into the world, as if the blowpipe had been their cocoons. The Butterflies had a long lifespan, not demanding Cerené’s continuous breathing because they were such light creatures. It took them about ten minutes, fluttering freely in the lake before their light dimmed and they turned to stone and fell into the lake.

In her awe, Shew called Cerené the God of Small Things. She was able to create life through her pipe, only it was a short-lived life. The Gods must have chosen Cerené for a reason. But for some other reasons, decided they wouldn’t allow how to create a full life.

Shew smiled, watching Cerené run with her blowpipe under the rainbow. She wondered if all Gods were like her, creators of magnificent things, yet as lost as Cerené. What if the Gods created the entire world by using their imaginations to overcome their pain?

While Shew was watching Cerené play, she heard girls singing a nursery rhyme in the distance. They were tapping their feet and jumping rope somewhere behind the trees. Shew thought they sounded like the creepy girls Loki had told her he’d heard in Sorrow. They were singing a new song:

Cinderella dressed in ashes,

one glass slipper and some matches,

burned the world all down in ember,

ash to ash and sin to cinder.

Shew closed her eyes, wishing the voices would go away. She’d never known who the girls were. She feared their rhymes, though, and thought they always foretold a sinister future.

Instead, she watched Cerené happily play in the reservoir, remembering how they had gotten here after Candy House had melted.

Cerené had shown Shew the way to Rainbow’s End. They had walked in silence for about an hour. Cerené had gotten her single glass slipper and now walked normally. Baba Yaga had escaped, and Shew dared not ask about what had happened while she was knocked out. Splash had told her to look for the Phoenix, and here she was, walking side by side with her. Hell, the Phoenix was Shew’s best friend.

They had passed by the small village of Furry Tell,  but Cerené demanded they shouldn’t stop there.

A match made in Hell—I mean Heaven—I must say.

“What are you doing, Joy,” Cerené said, standing in the middle of the reservoir blowing her pipe and mixing the molten with the Rainbow’s colors.

“I’m coming,” Shew said, waking up from the recent memory. She walked over and stepped into the lake of light. It felt ticklish at first,  like she was standing in a mist.

Rainbow’s End was actually a rainbow’s end. Shew didn’t know where the other rainbow’s end was, but she was sure they had one end of the rainbow in Sorrow. If that didn’t say enough about their kingdom, then she didn’t know what would.

For a moment, Shew pitied her own mother, Bloody Mary, and Night Sorrow. Whoever had surrendered to the hate and darkness in their souls could not have laid eyes on Rainbow’s End. How could succumb to darkness  once you saw this place. She looked up at the arching rainbow curving away in the sky beyond the midnight trees. The rainbow was visible in the dark.

Cerené had melted her mix with the fire that had been burning Candy House and continued blowing it all the way to Rainbow’s End. It broke Shew’s heart that her friend was closer to death with each breath she blew, but there was no reasoning against the happiness in Cerené’s eyes, even when it meant being one step closer to death.

Cerené breathed to keep the fire alive so she could mix it with the rainbow from the lake. It was the only way to color her magic glass art. She said that ordinary glassblowers in the world used quartz and other natural colored stones—Shew knew nothing of these stones. But Cerené explained that she was no ordinary glassblower. She was a Keeper of the Art.

Now, all the huge glass flowers she created were colored like butterfly wings. She’d breathed a glass castle for them, which they spent some time inside, but it didn’t last long after the fire died. Cerené had even blown a small rocking boat, which floated upon the Lake of Light—Shew didn’t question how—but that fire died too. When all her molten fires ended, Cerené wasn’t going to go back to get fire from the furnace in Candy House, not today.

If only Cerené could create fire, her powers would have been complete, and would have created her own wonderland to live in.

“Do you have any idea why you have been given that talent?” Shew asked while they sat on top of a hill next to the Rainbow’s End. Cerené had played all she wanted and was exhausted. Where they sat, the rainbow was an arm’s length away.

“It’s magic, not talent,” Cerené said. “But I don’t know why. Must there be a reason for magic? Its fun, and I love it.”

“Were you cursed when you born or something?” Shew said playfully. “I know I was cursed.”

“You were?” Cerené wondered.

“It’s a long story. I’d rather have to make my own choices than walk in the footsteps of a destiny I was made to fulfill.”

“So you’re not just a lunatic vampire like your mother?”

Shew laughed, “No, there is actually a logical reason for my existence.”

“I wish I knew of the reason of my existence,” Cerené said absently. “But I don’t care. I am having fun,” she snapped.

“You think we’re good friends, Cerené?” Shew said with caution.

“Friends forever,” Cerené giggled.

“So could I ask you something without you being upset?” Shew said.

“Something like what?” Cerené was as reluctant as Shew.

They locked eyes for a while, the moment freezing and time stopping. Shew thought it was finally the right time she’d ask Cerené for some clarifications without her getting upset. She inhaled deeply, and tried to ask Cerené as gently as possible.

“Like where you’re from for instance? I promise I will listen without judgment. I’m not going to question your answers like I did in the Field of Dreams.”

“I was born on Murano Island,” Cerené said casually. She’d been feeling much better since she’d arrived at Rainbow’s End. She felt safe here, the place where her art took its optimum form.

“Murano? Never heard of it. Where is it?”

“Near Venice,” Cerené said without elaborating.

“That’s where?” Shew knew it was in Italy—another thing she’d learned from one of her victim’s phones in the castle. She still wanted to hear it from Cerené.

“Italia,” Cerené’s eyes widened. “It’s practically an island,” she lowered her head to whisper something to Shew. “It’s shaped like a shoe,” she made an invisible shoe with her fingers.

“Oh, really?” Shew said, trying to solve some of the puzzle, and figure out what Carmilla had to do with this.

“They say a prince lost a poor girl he loved, but found her through the glass slipper she left behind,” the story seemed to mean the world to Cerené. “The gods honored their love by shaping Italia after a shoe.”

“That’s a fabulous story,” Shew pretended she hadn’t heard it before. “Any idea who the prince or the girl is?”

“It’s a fairy tale, Shew. Be reasonable,” Cerené said. “Sometimes you strike me as naïve.”