Section 4
GLASS HOUSES
“Tomorrow’s your birthday, Lucette.” Her father cupped her face in his hand and concern shot from his eyes. “Sixteen.” He tucked her duvet more tightly around her legs as she leaned back against the solid gold headboard. Wood splintered; gold didn’t.
“I know, Dad.” As if she could forget this big day. Unlike most girls’ sixteenth birthdays, hers would be anything but sweet. She wiggled her fingers inside her gloves, sick of the feel of the leather on her skin. At least he’d agreed to let her sleep in her room alone now that her mother was leaving. Maybe in time she could figure out a way to sneak from the room at night to do some slayer patrols and keep her skills—and her stakes—sharp.
“Mom is coming to my party, right?” After that horrible talk two days ago, her mother had immediately moved into the summer palace on the far side of the village. She was leaving for the country immediately after Lucette’s birthday party.
Her father’s smile wavered at the corners, as if he were laboring to hold it. “You do understand we’ll have to take some extra precautions after your birthday?”
“Like what? Thicker gloves?” Her father had taken every safety measure imaginable. Sewing needles had been banned from the castle almost since she was born and seamstresses were licensed, the tools of their trade accounted for and locked up each night by armed guards. He’d removed every possible potential finger-pricking tool from the castle grounds, yet still acted as if the curse could fall at any moment.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep you safe.” He ran his hand over her hair, which she’d worn down to please him, and then planted a kiss on her forehead. “Now drink your hot chocolate.”
Lucette smiled. She hadn’t really liked hot chocolate since she was little—it was too sweet—but her father had brought it into her bedroom himself, so she couldn’t refuse it. She took a sip. Tomorrow she’d be sixteen, and something in the pit of her stomach told her nothing would ever be the same again.
Lucette awoke with a start. Something was wrong. She reached out and pounded on the thick glass wall in front of her, but the sound was muffled by the padded gloves strapped over her hands and clamped halfway up her forearms with tight fasteners.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Let me out!” Her heart raced. Was this part of the curse coming true? It was certainly a nightmare. She spotted small holes bored through the glass, and moved her mouth directly in front of the holes. “Let me out of here!”
Her father appeared at the top of what looked like stairs on the other side of the small room about ten feet from the glass partition that divided the room.
“Where am I? What have you done to me?” She felt dizzy.
The last thing she remembered was drinking hot chocolate before bed last night . . .
Suddenly, she shouted, “You drugged me! You drugged me, then locked me up!” The rate of her breaths increased and it felt like she was drowning. Realizing she was hyperventilating, she bent and forced her breathing to slow. Rage and hurt fought inside her and she regretted choosing to stay with her father. “Why would you do this?” she yelled at him.
“You know why, Lucette. Once you calm down, you’ll see this is for the best.”
“For the best?” She slammed her hand into the glass wall between them. “What good is this, anyway? It’s glass! You don’t think a vampire can break glass?” She felt sure she knew more about vampires than her father, but decided not to go down that road.
“The glass was enchanted by the fairies,” he said. “It won’t break. They made it to keep you safe.”
“You’re lying! Mom told me the fairies said they couldn’t get involved, that they couldn’t help us anymore.”
He drew a deep breath. “Enchanting this glass was the last thing they did for us. I had to promise I’d never ask them for help again.”
She backed away from the glass wall and bit at the clasps on her arms, trying to remove the huge padded gloves, but the smooth clasps did not yield to her teeth. She could barely move her hands in these gloves.
“Now, Lucette,” her father said as he stepped up to the glass and put his palm on it. “I’m sorry you were frightened when you woke. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to reassure you. I stayed all night and only stepped away for a moment.”
“That’s not the point, Dad.” She gave up on her attempts to remove the gloves and walked around her cell. There was a bed with no frame and what looked like a puffy mattress with a duvet on top. A chair constructed in a similar style sat in one corner, and opposite it was another chair cast of heavy iron with padded cushions on the seat. A screen sat in the other corner, behind which she found a bathroom, but all the fixtures were coated with clear rubber.
The walls were made of polished stone, with no edges to climb, and broken only by one bar-covered window high on the far wall. The window had no glass, presumably to let in fresh air, but even if she could figure out a way to climb up to it—an impossible task given the smooth walls, not to mention the thick gloves on her hands—she’d never get through those bars.
“You’ve locked me in a prison.” She strode toward the glass wall and slammed her shoulder against it. “How could you?”
A few hours later, her mother entered the room and her initial shock at seeing her daughter behind the glass turned into rage. She ran to the glass and pressed her hands against it. “Lucette, darling! Are you okay?”
Lucette shook her head. She was not about to pretend she was okay living like this—not even to keep the peace. She held up her thickly gloved hands.
Her mother gasped and then spun toward her father. “Stefan, this is too much! She can’t even move her fingers in those things!” She turned back to Lucette. “It’s not too late to change your mind. Come away to live with me.”
Her father slumped against the stone wall next to the stairs and put his head in his hands. Lucette’s heart lurched. She might not agree with everything her father had done, but in her whole life she’d never seen him question himself. Not like this. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was crying.
Her mother approached him and stood just a few feet away. Lucette pressed her ear to the holes in the glass so she could hear what they said.
“Stefan. Those gloves. Really? How is she to wash herself?” Her mother’s voice rose with each word. “You’ve got her in a prison. How could you do this?” She shoved his shoulder. “What were you thinking?”
He straightened and glared, as if her scolding had firmed his resolve. “Unlike you, I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. To keep our entire kingdom safe. And after what you did . . .” He shook his head. “The lies you told. The danger you put her in. The risks you took.” He pushed off the wall and the queen backed up a few steps.
“But, Stefan, the gloves. What can happen to her behind that unbreakable glass? At least give her lighter gloves.”
Her father’s jaw hardened as he stared at her mother, but he lifted his head and met Lucette’s eyes. She held up the confining gloves.
Her father ran his hand over his black hair, and then strode over and crouched in front of a long, narrow slot at the bottom of the glass wall. “Fine. Lie down, reach your hands through this meal slot one at a time, and I’ll unlock your gloves.”
Happy birthday to me, thought Lucette.