"My sister's name is Gretel," the boy said.
Loki walked over to Gretel and poked her with the tip of his sword in her shoulder, drawing a small trickle of blood out. "Look at me," he said calmly. "Are you Gretel?"
Gretel nodded without raising her head.
Once Shew saw her, she identified her as Fable. She remembered when Fable bravely fought Big Bad in the Schloss. She admired her for that. Loki had told Shew that Fable believed in her every step of the way.
She wasn’t surprised that Axel and Fable were Hansel and Gretel. Loki had told her that Charmwill had hinted to that fact. All the talk about Candy House and food hinted more at it—Shew really hoped Baba Yaga wasn’t their witch mother. That would be awful.
All Shew could think about were the consequences of Loki killing Fable. Would she die in the Waking World if he killed her in the Dreamworld? She thought she would, because if Fable dies around 1812, how could there be a Fable in the present day? The rules that apply to vampires should apply to her, or?
"Get your hands off me," Gretel was saying. "You're the Queen's bastard."
"Shut your mouth," Axel pleaded. “Or he’ll kill you.”
"One day, I’m going to be a witch and I will curse you, Huntsman," she spit in Loki’s face.
Gretel wouldn't die in the Waking World if Loki killed her here because it wasn’t her dream, Shew thought as she walked slowly. Only if someone dies in their own dream, they die in the real world. She wasn't sure she was right about that, though.
"I can't let that happen," Shew muttered. "I have to save this girl."
"You know her? Is she your friend, like me?" Cerené asked.
“Yes,” Shew said, ready to get on the horse.
“Then let me come with you,” Cerené said. “I can help. I’ll fight with my blowpipe.”
Before Shew was able to consider Cerené, one of the huntsmen saw her and Cerené. He stood staring at them, his face hidden under the hood, from afar. Strangely enough, he didn’t tell the others about Cerené and Shew. He walked slowly toward them without saying a word.
“Who is that man?” Cerené said, aiming her blowpipe like a sword. “It’s times like these when I wish I could spit fire, just like a dragon.”
“It’s the man who’s been chasing me,” Shew was about to shriek, “the one who pursued me every where, in the Wall of Thorns and in my room in the castle.”
“What are you talking about?” Cerené said.
“It’s my pursuer, Cerené,” Shew said. “I think it could be your mother.”
“My mother? That’s impossible,” Cerené objected. “You’re mistaken. Why would Bianca hunt you?”
Her stalker was close now. There were no yellow glinting eyes showing from beneath his hood like the others, though. His silence and confidence was alarming.
Shew was going to get on the horse, pull Cerené up with her and then escape. But she unexpectedly realized she wasn’t afraid of the person following her. It was an unexplainable feeling. She was actually curious to know who it was.
Could it be Loki? Could it be that the other Huntsman isn’t Loki?
Fable’s voice, cursing Loki, brought Shew back to her senses. There was no time for curiosities. She had to fight and save Fable from Loki. Shew snarled with her fangs at her hunter.
“The Huntsmen are stronger than you,” the hunter said, now close enough to talk. The mysterious individual turned out to be a girl. But it wasn’t Bianca because she sounded too young and Cerené didn’t recognize her voice. “The only way to save Fable is tell Cerené to run as far as she can, out of your sight.”
“Who’s Fable?” Cerené said. “And who are you?” she snapped at the girl in the black cloak.
“How will that save Fable?” Shew coped, having no time to ask who the tracker was. If a person, especially a girl, knew Fable wasn’t from this world, she thought she’d trust her. Was it Charmwill Glimmer?
Charmwill is not a girl, Shew! You’re losing it.
“Think about it,” the girl dressed in black said. “Every time Cerené runs away from you, the dream shifts. When she left your room in the castle, the dream shifted to Oddly Tune’s scene. When you upset her and she ran out of the Field of Dreams, the dream shifted and you woke up in your bedroom.”
“What dream?” Cerené questioned.
“I know you’ve been questioning who’s controlling this dream,” the pursuer said. “It’s Cinderella. Cerené, the Phoenix.”
“How do you know my name?” Cerené tiptoed with anger. “Only my mother called me Cinderella? How do you know?”
“If Cerené runs out of your sight now, the dream will shift and Loki won’t kill Fable,” the pursuer said, ignoring Cerené. “Now please tell her to run. She will only listen to you.”