“I don’t know,” Fable said. “I need to cross the purple light into the Dream Temple.”
“No, you won’t,” Axel blocked her, his back to the light. “What you have done to yourself is enough. I’m going to take you to a hospital now.”
“Hospitals have no cure for magic spells, Axel,” Fable said, trying to peek over his shoulder at the purple light. “If I went that far, let me into the Dream Temple. I will posses Loki’s body and break his connection with Carmilla. Maybe then, one won’t have to kill the other.”
“I said no,” Axel pulled her away from the light. Fable was weak enough. She didn’t resist him. “Look what’s happened to you from using the spell, and you haven’t entered Loki’s body yet. Who knows what happens then? I have no interest in Loki and Shew coming back if you’re dead.”
Fable insisted one more time. Axel slapped her hard enough she fell back in his arms, helpless and unable to move.
“I’m sorry, sis,” Axel said, holding her tight. “I can’t let you inside the Dream Temple.”
33
A Breath of Life
Shew wasn’t sure at first because she thought she was numb, but apparently someone had been touching her lips for some time.
A breath of air tickled her lungs. The air was warm. Shew felt it fill her veins as her hearing and vision slowly came back.
This must be it, she thought. The kiss of life again. Could it be Loki?
Whoever touched her lips didn’t taste of Loki’s. Was it the prince she’d bitten when she was younger?
Now that her soul returned to her body, she knew that whatever touched her lips tasted of metal. She was sure it wasn’t a kiss. The magic wasn’t in the metal on her lips, but in the breath filling her soul.
She opened her eyes, eager to see who resurrected her. Who else would it have been, but Cerené?
“Hurry up, Joy,” Cerené urged. “They’re preparing the bathhouse for the Queen’s ceremony so she can consume your heart. We’re still in the chamber. They all left and I sneaked in through the fireplace,” she pulled off her muzzle.
“You saved me,” she hugged her, unable to express her gratitude enough. “I think you’re my Chanta or something.”
“I’m your Chanta, really? What’s a Chanta?”
“I understand now,” Shew said. “I’m not alone. I have a mentor, except it’s not an old man with a stick and white beard. It’s you.”
“You’re talking too much, Shew,” Cerené said. Shew remembered Death and Loki before telling her the same thing. “You have to escape the castle now. Here is your sword,” she gave her the glass sword she’d designed for her. “I named it Joyuka Snotari. You know like all those legendary names of swords sent to the huntsmen from the Far East?”
Shew took the sword, and the first image that hit her was the blood of her enemies on it.
“I have your favorite unicorn tied up outside the window. You can escape on it,” Cerené said.
“I won’t escape,” Shew said. “I will fight.”
“Don’t be impulsive. You still need to learn a lot. You still need to find your own Art,” Cerené said. “There is a cottage in the forest that I know of.”
“What cottage?” Shew wondered, already heading for the window. “Is it safe?”
“I found it once and hid in it when running from my stepsisters,” Cerené explained. “It’s my secret place from the darkness in Sorrow. I don’t know if it’ that safe, but its secret is that you can only get if someone guide you to it. It’s like Candy House; it changes places. I met a kind old man there once who told me I could go hide in the cottage anytime I like.”
“What old man?” Shew turned around.
“When you get there, you’ll see there are other people using it. I haven’t met them, but don’t fear them. They look lost like you and me.”
They look LOST like you and me.
The words rang in Shew’s head. This must be them, The Lost Seven.
“You didn’t answer, Cerené. What old man?”
“His name is Charmwill. Love his name, but I don’t think you’ll see him again. I just met him once. Just go now,” Cerené pushed her. “I’ll find you.”
“How?” Shew asked. “How am I even supposed to find the cottage?”
“Ah. I forgot,” Cerené walked to one of the bigger candlesticks in the chamber. She pulled out one of her mixes and let it heat. She attached the molten to her blowpipe and breathed into it. She ran back to Shew, and blew her pipe onto the world outside, “the butterfly,” Cerené pointed at the butterfly fluttering out into the world, just out of her blowpipe. It looked like the one Shew had seen in the hallway. “It will usher you to the cottage through a secret path. Hurry and follow it before it dies. The life I gave it won’t last long. Take my bag also. I think it will help you.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“You’ll see as you ride,” Cerené replied.
Shew took the bag, ready to follow the butterfly. Although she could hear the servants’ footsteps outside, she turned back to Cerené, needing to ask a question.