Cinderella Dressed in Ashes ( Book #2 in the Grimm Diaries ) (27 page)

Still looking for the butterfly, Shew opened the bag Cerené had given to her. A wicked smile crossed her face when she saw its content. The bag was full of chalk and dead Rapunzel plants. Shew knew what to do with them.

Finally, Shew saw the butterfly, fluttering her feeble fiery wings against the cold. She admired the butterfly’s courage in this stormy and darkened weather. It put a brief smile on her face. Shew stretched out her hand, hoping it would get the message and rest upon her palm, but the butterfly wasn’t there to take shelter in the warmth of her hand. She was there to show her the way.

Shew followed the butterfly into the Black Forest.

She began marking trees with chalk on her way. It was Cerené’s gift to her so she could find her way back if she needed, and also to have some kind of a map to get to the cottage in the future, in case Cerené couldn’t create guiding butterflies for her.

A little later, the butterfly stopped by a tree. It kept circling around a certain leaf buried in the white snow.

“What?” Shew asked, her heart beating fast as the distant voices of the huntsmen worried her. “What do you want from me? Just show me the way to the cottage.”

The butterfly continued circling, its wings getting heavier. Shew worried it would die. She knew butterflies were Cerené’s longest living creations, but they died eventually like everything else.

“You want me to pick up the leaf?” Shew reached for it, watching the butterfly land on the back of her hand.

“You want me to be gentle?” Shew said impatiently.

She moved her hand slowly over the leaf, brushing the thick snow away. Underneath it, there were seven caterpillars. Shew’s heart almost stopped. It reminded her of another suppressed memory of Angel Sorrow’s infatuation with butterflies. The King of Sorrow had kept caterpillars safe in his garden, taking care of them. He’d been fascinated by their life cycle, watching as their cocoons as the fought their way to a new life.

You have no time for this!
That damn voice inside Shew’s head growled.
Forget the butterflies and run for your life.

“I know what to do,” Shew told the butterfly, burying her inner thoughts in the same dark place in her mind they came from. She imagined what Cerené would have done if she were in her shoes.

“We’ve got seven soon-to-be-beautiful passengers on board,” she told her unicorn, wrapping the caterpillars in their own protective leaf and tucking them in a safe place in her dress.

The butterfly flew higher, swirling with gratitude then began leading the way to the cottage again.

Then Shew heard the sound of approaching huntsmen. The butterfly froze in its place.

“Don’t worry,” Shew told it. “I think I know what to do,” she pulled a fistful of Rapunzel plants out, remembering when Cerené told her they would come to life again if planted back in the earth. She got off her unicorn and started planting the vicious plants everywhere, creating a shield against the huntsmen when they arrived.

“We’re going to rip off your toes!” One of the plants screamed at Shew.

“Can’t you just be grateful and shut up?” Shew complained, making sure not to walk near them. The plants were dark by nature and knew no manners.

“What good is it being grateful?” Another Rapunzel yelled at her, trying to eat her foot. “We’re from hell!”

“Nice to meet you,” Shew mumbled, having planted plenty of them already. “Now do your job well and bite all those huntsmen and unicorns’ feet or legs or whatever it is that you do.” She jumped back on her unicorn and rode away, following the butterfly to the cottage.

She could hear the huntsmen’s unicorns tumble and moan behind her as she sped farther into the forest. This should keep them away from her for a while.

Deeper beyond the trees, the Black Forest became much darker. Thick and curvy Juniper trees moved over her head, almost blocking all light from the sky, except a tiny moonbeam sneaking through.

“Hey!” Shew shouted, waving at the moon behind the trees. “Are you really a girl? Could you help me? I know you might have something to do with the Lost Seven.”

The moon didn’t reply, nor smile.

“Of course,” Shew mumbled, riding along. “Who am I to get an answer from you? Only Cerené does.”

Deeper and deeper into the forest, Shew saw large golden fireflies, giving way with their glowing light. Then the butterfly stopped again. Shew pulled her unicorn to a halt.

“What is it now?” Shew asked. “Are you lost?”

The butterfly wasn’t lost. It was dying. Shew watched it dim and harden into a black piece of ashen glass then drop like a stone.

She watched it, speechless, as the world around her in the forest seemed to squeeze her with its darkness. She got off her unicorn and patted it for assurance.

“It’s going to be alright,” she whispered.

Looking beyond the wavering dark, Shew saw pairs of red oval eyes staring back at her. She pretended she hadn’t seen them. She was only worried how she’d find the cottage now.

The light from the fireflies turned out to be helpful. Shew walked carefully over the mushy ground underneath her, stepping over stones for safety. There were hissing sounds all around her, and she wondered if they were animals or ghosts. She drew out her fangs in hopes to scare whatever meant her harm.

“Happy birthday to me,” she muttered.

Shew’s voice made her feel a bit safer. Foolishly, she decided to sing a birthday song to herself, pulling her unicorn along. She rested the leaf of caterpillars on a thick branch filled with other caterpillars and cocoons. It seemed like a safe place.

“You’re much safer here,” she told them. “The huntsmen could find me and kill me any moment.”

She came across a small lake filled with frogs.  They jumped out on the lake’s edge, croaking. She suspected they liked her birthday song, but listening carefully, she learned they were singing with her.

“Loki is right to hate your croaking,” Shew mumbled but didn’t mind their company.

As she rode deeper and deeper into the forest, she began feeling safer. She hadn’t found the cottage, and assumed the huntsmen had lost their way after whatever evil the Rapunzel plants bestowed on them. She still marked some trees on her way as she hummed her little birthday song.

Eventually, she came upon a spot in the forest rich with enough moonlight as if someone had drilled a hole of white light through the thickness of the trees above.

Then … everything froze to the sound of a pair of clapping hands.

Shew turned around and saw the red eyes had disappeared. The tree branches had stretched back as far as possible, and the fireflies hid in their shade.

Before Shew could catch her breath or question anything, a silhouette of a boy appeared under the light of the moon. It was if he were the center stage of the evening in the forest. He walked confidently toward her, slowly like a panther watching his prey. Then he stopped and leaned his shoulder against a tree, clapping again.

“One more time, please,” Loki said, waving his hands theatrically in the air. He looked like Loki but smelled like a monster; a cute, arrogant, and wicked one. He had his hood pulled back, his beautifully deceiving platinum blonde hair dangling down his shoulders, “sing it one more time, but with feeling,” he smirked.

35

A Wit of Swords

Shew’s unicorn took a couple of strides back.

“Loki,” Shew whispered to herself with longing.  Unlike her unicorn, Shew took a foolish step ahead, then her brain took over and she stopped. Her heart was yearning for Loki, but she had to find a way to resist his charm. This wasn’t the Loki from the World Between Dreams.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Shew said, buying time until she decided what to do.

“Love hurts, princess,” he titled his head and  flashed his irresistible smile.

“So you remember loving me?” Shew wondered aloud.

“Of course,” he said. “Not,” he added. “I know
you
like me, princess. Always did. I don’t blame you. What’s not to like about me,” he asked nonchalantly as he chewed on a dead Rapunzel plant.

“You found me because of my singing,” Shew blamed herself.

“Beautiful voice you have, princess,” Loki leaned back against a tree, sniffing the Rapunzel plant. “Wrong song. Nothing’s going to
happy
about your birthday.”

“You’re right about that,” Shew agreed, her eyes looking for an escape. “You know this is a dream, right?” she stalled again, hoping he’d remember.

Loki said nothing, and began trimming his fingernails with his knife.

“Believe me, Loki,” she pleaded. “We’re both stuck in a dream, and we can only wake up if one if one of us kills the other,” she almost bit her tongue.  The last words were agonizing. She shouldn’t have told him that.

“Now that’s interesting,” he puffed air at his nails. “Would you want to have the privilege of trying to kill me first?”

“Argh,” Shew thought. It was useless conversing with him, “you are not you who you think you are. Are you even listening to me?”

“Here is my advice to you, Princess of Sorrow,” he gazed back at her. “You’re much more fun when you’re silent. Now how do you prefer to die?”

Slowly, Loki walked closer to her. He stopped midway, his eyes scanning her face. For a moment, she thought he remembered her, or at least sensed something was wrong. Then his stare intensified again, and sent a chill through her spine. It was almost as scary as the Queen’s eyes when she got angry.

Shew didn’t know what to do. She had no Rapunzel plants and no magic. Had she tried to run away, he’d have caught her. She’d seen him killing in Furry Tell. He was fast and merciless.

“What are you looking at?” She sneered at him, pretending she wasn’t afraid. She made sure she straightened her back and held her chin up.

“It’s a shame I have to put such a beauty to sleep,” he said, rubbing the tip of his sword gently on her face. It didn’t sound as sincere as she’d hoped. Shew pushed his sword away and he did not resist.

The situation drove Shew crazy. Looking at him weakened her. She would have preferred an ugly enemy she could just kill without thinking. Loki’s charm was disarming.

Loki kept approaching slowly. Like the Queen, he took his time with his prey.  He knew he’d win in the end.

In her defense, Shew took a huge chance. She walked over to him and slapped him on the face, “behave when you talk to me. I am your princess,” she said lamely, trying to pose like her mother. “Kneel before me, Huntsman.”

Foolish! Damn foolish. What’s wrong with you?

Loki took the slap then wiped it off his cheek as if it were a spit. He gazed back at her, admiration sparkling in his eyes, “Tsk Tsk,” he wiggled his forefinger, staring at her lips. “Not a smart move.”

“Listen to yourself,” she said. “Who says ‘tsk tsk’ in the 19th century? This is a dream!”

All of Shew’s talk about dreams meant nothing to him. He kept staring at her. For a boy set on killing her, he seemed infatuated with her courage and his eager pace slowed.

“Even though the Queen of Sorrow is waiting for me to return with your heart and liver, I’m immensely enjoying this,” Loki said, circling around Shew, his hands behind his back. She could feel his eyes scanning her body, his nose sniffing her scent. “I like a girl who isn’t afraid of me,” he said. “That’s why I’m going to give you a chance to run,” he stopped right in front of her again. “If you escape me, the Queen will hang me by the noose, and you will get your freedom. What do you think about that, princess?”

Shew didn’t think it was a good idea. He knew that if she ran, he
would
catch her. If this was how the game was going to be played, then she thought she’d better raise the bar. People only die once. What the hell!

She decided to offer him an even bolder solution, “How about we fight?” She took some steps back, pulled Cerené’s glass sword from its scabbard, and raised it in front of her. He was too far from her to swing at him.

“A brave and crazy princess,” Loki rubbed his chin. “What more could a man ask for?” he locked eyes with her again then let out small laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” Shew demanded.

“You’re standing in an awkward position,” he raised his eyebrows.

“Stop talking and fight like a man!” She shouted. Loki approached her with two hands in the air, promising he wouldn’t attack her. “May I?” he said, offering to help straighten her position.

Shew thought it was the perfect moment to strike, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. How did she expect to fight him?  She didn’t have the heart for it.

Loki positioned her legs and her arms as if he were a teacher. She, let him, helpless to his advances. When he did, another mild headache hit her. This time, she remembered Angel von Sorrow teaching her how to fight when she was a child. It was an image of them swinging swords in the castle’s garden, Angel teaching her how to ride unicorns, and training at night. She felt the knowledge Angel had given her rush back into her veins.

Loki sniffed her while positioning her. She could tell he liked her scent. She elbowed him in the rib so he’d back off a little.

“How about we fist fight in the mud instead of using swords?” Loki said playfully, walking backward, still facing her. “This way we could get to know each other better.”

“You wish, Huntsman!” Shew sneered, unable to escape his piercing look.

Foolishly, again, Shew waited for a signal to start the sword fight. What was she expecting, a blast of a horn?

Loki surprised her and made the first move. He took a swift step back, pulled out his sword, and slashed at her as if he were an elegant painter with a long brush, putting his final touch on his portrait.

Shew shrieked, eyes closed, waiting for the pain to seep through her body as she realized where he’d cut her. The wind that swooshed with the sword’s swinging almost cut through her neck, but nothing really hurt.

Eyes still closed, she heard him whistle. He was a good whistler.

Shew opened her eyes, and saw he’d only slashed at her dress, leaving her with a bare shoulder.