“She…” Cerené started shuddering. “She…”
Shew knew she had pressed her too much, but she wouldn’t stop now.
“People said she was some kind of a witch!” Cerené turned back, on the verge of exploding. The ghostly breeze chilled the cornfield and lightning struck somewhere in the distance, illuminating the ashes hanging in the air. “Are you satisfied? She burned things, many things. She even burned towns. They burned her back by the stake! They way they had burned a humiliated so many witches. Burn! Burn! Burn!” Cerené, hugging her urn, ran away toward the Wall of Thorns, her red dress fluttering over the yellow corn and beneath the ashes.
“Great job, Shew,” Snow White mumbled, angry with herself. She shouldn’t have pressed her that hard. She should have been careful since Cerené had run away last time when She asked too many questions.
Watching Cerené run, crying, shattered her heart.
Frozen in place, Shew watched her disappear behind the gap in the Field of Thorns. There was no point in running after her this time. Cerené was hurt and she doubted she could help her.
The ghostly wind spiraled again around her feet, and she felt unsafe, alone in the field among the sleeping beauties. With Cerené gone, Shew had the feeling she was being watched. Something other than the girls hid in the cornfield, maybe in the Wall of Thorns itself. Shew began walking slowly toward the gap, wondering if it was Bianca.
Each of her steps echoed in a dreamy sort of way. She dared not look back but was sure someone was following her. She swallowed hard.
Her steps quickened.
Who’s behind me?
She began running, the footsteps behind her following her.
Shew stumbled over one of the sleeping beauties. In that moment it occurred to her that whoever was behind her wasn’t chasing her, they were following her.
On her feet, she turned around to face whoever it was.
Remember you’re the Dhampir. You shouldn’t be scared.
Shew saw nothing but yellow corn, ashen skies, and blurry thorn bushes afar.
“Loki!” Shew screamed from the top of her lungs, thinking he was the one after her, “what are you waiting for? I’m here!”
Nothing.
No one called back, no evil Huntsman. Shew let out a sigh and turned around. She walked slowly toward the gap in the Wall of Thorns.
She could hear the steps behind her again.
Running, she passed through the gap in the Wall of Thorns—the gab was large and the nearest thorns weren’t close enough to slash at her. It occurred to her that she could have passed through the wall if she’d ran through with a fast horse.
Finally, Shew entered the Black Forest. She managed to look back briefly and finally saw someone in a black cloak in the distance. Whoever it was, they were not riding a unicorn, but followed her on foot and stopped once she looked back. From such a distance, recognizing this mysterious person was impossible.
Silently, they stood watching, expecting and waiting. Their silence crept across Shew’s skin, giving her Goosebumps.
She turned and ran as fast as she could, hoping she could remember the way back to the Schloss.
Fifty strides later, she tripped over a log, bumped her head and fell unconscious. Her pursuer approached.
10
The Girl with One Glass Shoe
Shew opened her eyes, not to the person following her in the black cloak, but to the Queen of Sorrow.
Shew understood immediately that she had awaken in another time because Carmilla had her favorite mirror next to her, which meant she’d met Bloody Mary already.
All other mirrors in Shew’s room had been covered with white blankets so they wouldn’t reflect Carmilla’s true nature. Shew watched her check out her crown and her braided hair in her beloved mirror. Bloody Mary wasn’t present.
“We need to talk,” Carmilla said, sitting by the edge of Shew’s huge bed.
Shew sat straight up without uttering a word. She thought she’d better listen to what Carmilla had to say first.
“I know you’re lonely, Shew,” Carmilla said. “Because you’re part vampire we have been forced to separate you from everyone for your own good. Soon you are going to be cured. You just need to be patient.”
Shew was a Dhampir who needed to feed, but Carmilla was a vicious murderer of young girls. Shew was ready to scream at her and tell her that her situation was nothing compared to the queens, but held back.
“However, this doesn’t mean I will allow you to be friends with that Slave Maiden. What was her name again, Tabula?” Carmilla clicked her gloved fingers without looking at her.
“Chi-re-ney,” Tabula answered, her hands rested upon each other in front of her, her chin almost touching her chest.