Storykiller (17 page)

“Robin Hood,” Snow said. It was a bit breathless, and something about it made things inside Tessa clench uncontrollably.

“Snow,” Robin repeated, and there was a decided chill in the air that did not come from Snow.

Snow looked at Tessa. “I suppose this is your idea of an appropriate trainer?”

“Well, it’s someone’s idea and it seems like a damn good one,” Tessa grinned.

“Oh yes. Robin Hood. Anarchy and theft. The absolute best role model for a super-powered teenager,” Snow said, rolling her eyes.

“Where you see anarchy and theft,
I see passion and principles,” Tessa shot back without even thinking. Snow stiffened.

“Fine.
At least he can teach you how to use a sword and a bow. But I think we should keep looking,” Snow said, crossing her arms and shooting a look of icy daggers at Robin across the room.

“Qeen re mec ghen bewien, Nueve? Triulien ba feenek ai gre yain sael ge reastk hew ge pennacae?” Robin said, hurling the words across the room violently. This was by far the most of the Story language Tessa had heard and it still sounded unlike anything she had ever heard. It was both lyrical and harsh at the same time, strange to her ear. She guessed that made sense since Snow had admitted that the Story people had created it and created it specifically so that Mortals would have trouble understanding or learning it.

“Mec ghoun venuii mec prishaa crimaane. Mal ba novel loush el mec!” Snow shouted
. It was easy to feel the brutality of their words without understanding a thing.

Tessa was about to shout at them both to speak English when Brand looked at Robin and asked, “What does that mean,
‘tears of the innocent’
?” Robin and Snow both looked at Brand, mouths agape.

“You understood what I said?” Robin asked. Brand nodded and shrugged.

“Yeah, something about Snow ‘
getting rich off of the tears of the innocent’
,” he said matter-of-factly. Snow smiled deviously at Brand.

“Well, my dove, I think we’ve just discovered your change,” she said.

Robin and Tessa hiked to Northside Park not far from Tessa’s house. Northside was the biggest park in Lore, a massive green space that was largely wild once you got a quarter mile in, and eventually turned straight-up wild in the form of legitimate woods if you went east long enough.

When they left the house, Brand had been reading Tessa’s father’s old French books like he’d been born in Provence. Apparently the whole understanding the Story language thing didn’t stop with Story; he understood all the languages. Even dead ones, like Latin. He was giggling like a mad scientist (in Russian) when they left, though he’d pouted when nobody else had been invited along for the training session. Tessa was pretty sure he’d cursed at her in Chinese. Chinese cursing be damned, Tessa had felt a huge wave of relief that Brand had exhibited his change and it seemed so far to be something positive and decidedly non-threatening. Snow, Tessa noticed, seemed both pleased and vexed. Snow put up a good front of not giving a crap about anything, but she was definitely more than surface. And despite all her complaining, Tessa could see her puzzling things out. It was a concern. While deep in her thoughts, Robin had pulled ahead of her and so Tessa ran a few steps to catch up.

“So, I had been thinking more along the lines of—do some push-ups, a little weapons training, maybe a dreaded rope climb—you sure this instant field test is the way to go?” Tessa asked a little breathlessly. Robin cast his eyes over to her, seductively, Tessa thought (or perhaps hoped).

“This is the best way for me to see what you know, what you don’t know, and what you desperately need to know. It’s like a dozen…sessions all at once.”

“You paused there, what were you going to say?” Tessa asked, swinging her broadsword a bit, like a kid that probably shouldn’t have access to a broadsword. Robin hesitated before answering her.

“I almost said dates.”

Tessa stopped mid-broadsword-swing and almost dropped the damn thing. “Dates?” The word rolled around in her mouth like tasty treats. Robin shrugged and laughed.

“Sorry,” he said, a little embarrassed.

“Sorry? Don’t be sorry. I’d happily upgrade this to a date,” Tessa said, and then slapped her hand across her mouth, horrified she’d said it aloud. Robin smiled, his eyes glinting. “Oh hell,” Tessa said. “That was supposed to be said only inside my head.” She tilted her head back and wished herself into a passing bank of gloomy clouds.

“Now I’m not sorry about it at all,” he said, his smile turning a bit more serious, a bit more dangerous, but in a horribly exciting way that made Tessa quiver down into her damn boots. He moved closer to her and pushed a stray stand of hair from her face. “I like your hair,” he said, staring at the red strands, bright even in the dimming light.

“I like your…all of it,” Tessa said, unable to settle on one feature in particular. Robin laughed again and she wished she’d said smile. Smile was definitely the way to go. Or laugh. Or eyes. Or yeah, everything. She had been right the first time. He was close now, close enough that the leather of his jacket brushed against hers. He stared into her eyes, and Tessa sort of forgot where she was. She blinked and turned away, trying to jolt herself out of the intensity of the gaze and started walking again.

“Can I ask you something?” Tessa asked.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“With Bluebeard—”

Robin cut her off, “—I heard about that. Don’t let them make you feel you did wrong. Like any Story, it shakes me to hear when one is killed, but that was one very bad man, by both Mortal and Story standards. I’m sure he gave you no choice.”

Tessa took a deep breath. “Thanks. Thanks for saying that.”

“I should have said something sooner.”

“There’s something that’s been bugging me about that night. I mean, there are a lot of things, but—”

“What?”

“Why did Bluebeard give Micah the keys to her own room? When I was upstairs, when I was going to break down the door, Micah pushed the keys out to me. She said he gave them to her. Why would he do that?”

“It was part of his Fiction,” Robin said. “In his Story, Bluebeard gives his new bride the keys to all the rooms in the house, telling her she may enter them all, save one. When she, of course, enters the one forbidden room, she discovers his headless former wives.”

Tessa looked at him blankly.

“It’s like—a
compulsion
. He wouldn’t have wanted to give her the keys, or it might not have even occurred to him, but he felt compelled to do it regardless. It’s hard to fight our Fiction. Some of us are better at it than others. Given what I heard you found in his home, I’d wager Bluebeard wasn’t good at it or didn’t care to fight it. When our Stories have different iterations and interpretations over time, it can sometimes loosen those bonds a bit, give us room to breathe. On the other hand, the same Story told without much variation can sometimes strengthen the Story, make it even harder to fight what shaped us. In Bluebeard’s case, that element of his Story is…was vital. Whatever adaptations, the test of the key, or at least what it represents, always appeared. That likely made it a very hard pattern to break. Still, some Stories don’t even want to fight it. Given what I know of Bluebeard, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was happy to revel in his Fiction, no matter how grotesque.”

Tessa sighed wearily. “It’s complicated.”

“Yes. And that is a word I suspect you’re going to get sick of very quickly.”

There was a long pause between them, Tessa’s mind racing about everything she knew, or thought she knew, about Robin’s stories. What part of his Fiction would he have to fight, or not fight? It made her feel anxious, and so she tried to change gears.

“So. You and Snow, not such great pals, huh?

Robin shrugged. “She’s a Queen. A bad one. And I don’t handle authority well under the best of circumstances.”

“Like
how
not well?”

“Like don’t leave us alone in a room too long. It’ll end badly.”

“Well, that depends on whether I actually like Snow, which, you know, I
don’t
. So, it
could
end awesomely.” Tessa said, shrugging.

Robin smiled. “Well, we’ll keep that in our pocket for later then.” Tessa smiled too and then tried not to trip over her boots while admiring him.

“We’re here,” he said looking up.

“Mmmm?”
Tessa mused, still staring.

“The park. You ready?” There was a challenge in his question, and in his smile. Something surged in Tessa, more than just silly hormones, and she wanted to take on whatever challenge he laid out for her. Take it on and crush it. Surpass all expectations.

Be an utter badass.

“Yeah,” she said. And then turned away from him until she was facing the park entrance. “But, I mean, what are we even going to find in here—it’s
just a park.”

Robin looked at her, not unkindly, but with an expression that said she should know better. “The first thing you should learn Tessa is that nothing is going to be just as it seems anymore. There’s always something, and it’s usually something dangerous.” Robin pulled a sword out from a scabbard strapped to his back, and they both faced the park entrance in silence for a moment. It was getting toward dusk, that magical twilight-y time where it’s extra hard to see. Not exactly ideal conditions for her first training session. They plunged headlong into the park with their swords drawn, running, and as they did it, Tessa realized they were hunting.

Back at the house, Brand had run out of new languages to try reading and had begun watching some kind of Spanish soap opera on cable, laughing frequently and far too loudly.

“This show is hysterical!” he called to Micah, who was in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes from earlier. Snow watched her, which was irritating the crap out of her. Micah finally spun around on Snow.

“If you’re going to just stand there watching me, you could at least help.”

Snow shook her head, her smile widening. “I like to watch you. It reminds me of home.”

Micah rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, your minions?”

“Silly girl, my servants. You don’t let minions in the kitchen. Ridiculous.”

Micah growled a little and dropped a plate, which broke into two neat pieces.

“And THAT is why,” Snow said, pointing at Micah’s broken dish. Micah breathed deeply and tried not to throw the next plate at Snow’s head. She had seriously considered shoving a drumstick up her nose. More than once.
Maybe today was the day.

“Are you worried, minion?” Snow called from her dishes-free perch on a stool at the kitchen island.

“I’m not going to talk to you if you call me that,” Micah said, not turning around.

“I’m sorry, are you worried little Asian minion?” Snow asked and Micah turned around so suddenly that she flung soapy water all over Snow as she did it. Micah
burst into a fit of laughter at the sight of Snow, drenched and foamy.

“You did that on purpose,” Snow seethed, her eyes shining brightly. The temperature in the room dropped at least ten degrees in an instant. Micah’s eyes widened. She hadn’t ever actually seen, or
felt
, Snow use her powers.

“Are you, are you using your powers on me?!” Micah demanded. Snow didn’t answer but it was clear from her appearance, her blue eyes harder and sharper than usual, her face fixed into a stony expression and her skin taking on an almost glassy quality, that she was. Micah whipped out one of her drumsticks from her deep sweatshirt pocket and pointed it at The Snow Queen. “Stop it right now, Snow. If you lay so much as a snowflake on me, when Tessa gets home I don’t think there’s a thing on earth that will stop her from killing your white ass.” Neither of them moved for a moment and then the room warmed, inch-by-inch, or degree-by-degree rather. Micah lowered her ‘drumstick as weapon.’

“Overreact much? It was just water,
and
it was an accident,” she added, turning back to the sink. There was a long silence, and then Snow spoke as if nothing had happened.