Jill snapped out of her daze, opening her mouth to protest—it couldn’t be time for lunch, they’d just eaten breakfast—before her stomach gave a loud growl. The water was still warm, but maybe that didn’t matter in a magic room inside a magic castle.
“Coming!” she called, and waded through the water toward the place where she’d left her clothes. They were gone, a towel and robe in their place. Understanding what was expected of her, Jill dried her body with the towel and covered it with the robe, which was soft and white and felt almost like the bubbles from her bath. There was no towel rack or hamper. She folded the used towel as carefully as she could and put it down against the base of the wall, hoping that would be tidy enough, good enough, for her host. Then she let herself out of the room, to where Mary waited.
The maid gave her a thoughtful once-over before saying, in a faintly surprised tone, “I suppose you’ll do. Here.” She picked up a bundle of pale fabric—purple and blue and white, like a bruise in the process of healing—and thrust it at the girl. “Get dressed. If you need help with the buttons, I’ll be here. The Master is waiting.”
Jill nodded silently as she took the clothes, and was unsurprised to see that a screen had appeared on the far side of the room. She slipped behind it, setting the clothes down on the waiting stool before untying her robe and beginning to dress herself.
She was relieved to find that the undergarments were ones she recognized, panties and a slip-chemise that was halfway to being a thin tank top. The dress, though … oh, the dress.
It was an ocean of cascading silk, a sea of draped fabric. It was not an adult dress, meant to grace an adult figure; it was a fantasy gown intended for a child, one that made her look as much like an inverted orchid as she did a girl. It took her three tries to figure out which hole was for her head and which were for her arms, and when she was done, the whole thing seemed to slouch around her, unwilling to fit properly.
“Mary?” she said, hopefully.
The maid appeared around the corner of the screen, clucking her tongue when she saw the state Jill was in. “You have to fasten it if you want it to fit you,” she said, and began doing up buttons and ties and snaps, so many that Jill’s head spun just watching Mary’s fingers move.
But when Mary was done, the dress fit Jill like it had been tailored for her. Looking down, Jill could see her bare toes peeping out from beneath the cascading skirts, and she was grateful, because without that one small flaw, it would have all been too perfect to be real. She looked up. Mary was holding a purple choker with a small pearl-and-amethyst pendant dangling from its center. Her expression was grave.
“You are a member of the Master’s household now,” she said. “You must always, always wear your choker when you’re in the company of anyone other than the servants. That includes the Master. Do you understand me?”
“Why?” asked Jill.
Mary shook her head. “You’ll understand soon enough,” she said. Leaning forward, she tied the choker around Jill’s neck. It was tight, but not so tight as to be uncomfortable; Jill thought she would be able to get used to it. And it was beautiful. She didn’t get to wear beautiful things very often.
“There,” said Mary, stepping back and looking at her frankly. “You’re as good as you’re going to get without more time, and time’s a thing we don’t have right now. You’re to sit quietly. Speak when spoken to. Think before you agree to anything. Do you understand?”
No, Jill thought, and “Yes,” Jill said, and that was that: there was no saving her.
Mary, who had not spoken the word “vampire” aloud in over twenty years, who knew all too well the limitations that they labored under, only sighed and offered her hand to the girl. “All right,” she said. “It’s time.”
*
WHEN DR. BLEAK RETURNED from his errands with an armful of firewood and a bundle of herbs, it was to find Jack in the front yard, carefully wiping the last of the grime from the sides of the tin tub. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps. He stopped where he was and looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
It had taken her six trips to the well and three turns with the kettle, but she had washed the grime from her body and hair, using a thick, caustic soap that she’d found next to the sponges. Her hair was braided sensibly back, and the only things that remained of her old attire were her shoes, patent leather and wiped as clean as the rest of her. She still looked too delicate to be a proper lab assistant, but appearances can be deceiving, and she had not balked from what he’d asked of her.
“What’s for dinner?” asked Dr. Bleak.
“I have no idea, and you wouldn’t want to eat it if I did,” said Jack. “I don’t know how to cook. But I’m willing to learn.”
“Willing to learn, but not to lie?”
Jack shrugged. “You would have caught me.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Dr. Bleak. “Are you truly willing to learn?”
Jack nodded.
“All right, then,” said Dr. Bleak. “Come inside.” He walked across the yard with great, ground-eating steps, and when he stepped through the open door, Jack followed without hesitation.
She closed the door behind herself.
PART III
JACK AND JILL WITH TIME TO KILL
8
THE SKIES TO SHAKE, THE STONES TO BLEED
IT WOULD BECOME QUICKLY dull, recounting every moment, every hour the two girls spent, one in the castle and one in the windmill, one in riches and one in artfully mended rags: it would become quickly dull, and so it shall not be our focus, for we are not here for dullness, are we? No. We are here for a story, whether it be wild adventure or cautionary tale, and we do not have the time to waste on mundane things. And yet.
And yet.
And yet look to the castle on the bluffs, the castle near to the sea, which sits atop a crumbling cliff in the belly of the lowlands. Look to the castle where the golden-haired girl walks the battlements at dusk and dawn in her dresses like dreams, with her throat concealed from prying eyes, with the wind tying beautiful knots in the long curtain of her hair. She waxes and wanes like the moon, now pale as milk, now healthy and pink as any village girl. There are those in the village below who whisper that she is the Master’s daughter, sired on a princess from a far-away land and finally returned to her father when he howled her name to the western winds.