Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback

“Karin,” Justus said, forcing his voice into a higher register.

Valfrid offered a hand to help Justus into the carriage, and Justus took it as daintily as he had practiced for the past year. Valfrid closed the door as Justus settled on the cushioned bench. The lock clicked with finality, trapping Justus in a garish display of wealth. The carriage walls and ceiling were painted with murals of woodland beasts chasing and fleeing. Instead of simple canvas shades, there were real glass windows set in iron grids that couldn’t be kicked out by desperate maidens.

Justus peered at himself in the reflection. At first he saw the captivating young lady Valfrid must see—but after only a moment his eyes adjusted and he recognized himself, shaved and painted, but the same old Justus. Even though he’d often been teased that he looked like Gudrun’s younger sister, Justus was still nervous about his disguise.

Thoughts of his sister filled his belly with familiar fire. He spent the next few solitary hours fantasizing about his coming triumph, caressing the scarred hilt of the cutlass through a strategic tear in the folds of his skirt. He would look for tools he was more familiar with—he was no swordsman—but a blade this size was comforting nonetheless.

When they arrived, Valfrid helped Justus out of the carriage and led him to a small side door. Above them, the walls of the castle glared down with hundreds of green eyes. Justus prepared himself for halls lit by sickly green witchlights, but the lantern in the entry hall glowed a normal yellow.

? 238 ?

? Cory Skerry ?

His eyes immediately fell on the opposite wall, to a strange tapestry of pale leather, the uneven pieces stitched together by an unskilled tailor. Justus might never have realized the skin was human if not for the ghastly masks haunting every wall.

The hole-eyed faces of dozens of slaughtered women stared at him, through him, beyond him. Some of the masks were lacquered to retain the quality of the face paint; someone had painstakingly styled the hair. Justus’s stomach twisted like a scared rabbit as he recognized some of the tortured faces as those of girls from his own village, now stretched over wooden frames and dried into an eternal expression of horror.

The eerily reverent display of death surrounded him on every side, even from the back of the door as it swung closed. He did not see Gudrun’s face, but he had time only to glance over the collection before Valfrid set a gaunt hand on Justus’s arm.

“Come,” the servant said, guiding Justus into a long, dark hall.

The door at the end was plain dark wood, marred by a halo of deep slashes around the knob. It looked as if someone had tried to hack it out. Valfrid opened the door for Justus, who stepped through to meet the Greve of the Castle of Masks.

The castle’s master lay curled in front of an enormous stone hearth.

A pattern of scars zigzagged over the mound of shadow outlined by the flames, and as Valfrid lit the lamps, Justus could see more and more of the monstrous Greve.

Each ragged square of his motley skin was that of a different animal. A patch of silvery wolf fur covered his massive shoulder, and on his right flank was a scrap of feathers that might have come from an owl. When the Greve rose to his feet, he stretched like a cat, the firelight glistening on his pelt. Beneath a raccoon tail, his anus was surrounded by white sheep’s wool.

“Valfrid?” the Greve prompted. Justus was no longer concerned that his voice would give him away; the deep, rumbling bass of the Greve’s voice made any human sound dainty in comparison.

“Greve, may I present Fr?ken Karin, of ?stbrink.”

? 239 ?

? Castle of Masks ?

It suddenly occurred to Justus that the wolven-snouted monster before him might be able to smell the salty reek of a man’s sweat, even under layers of perfume and powder.

Shaken, Justus murdered his curtsy. He rose to find the Greve scrutinizing him. The castle’s master was perhaps seven feet tall.