Briar Blackwood's Grimmest of Fairytales (9 page)

Myrtle's usual, sensible approach never sat well with Ash. He was visibly shaking in his kimono. “She cannot find the book.
We
cannot find it, ourselves. What madness is this?”

“What book?” Briar asked.

“There is a certain compendium that was once in our possession,” Myrtle said like an old mother reading a child's story.
“The Book of Cinder and Blight.”

“Sounds like a real page-turner,” Briar said. “What kind of a book is it?”

“A book of dark things. Wicked, vile things,” Myrtle said.

“Why would you want it then?” Dax interjected.

“I think I liked this boy better when he was scared out of his wits,” Myrtle said. “We need
it—you
need it because within the
Book of Cinder and Blight is the antidote for your Leon.” Myrtle placed a hand on a page of the tome in her lap. “In our possession, Orpion cannot use it for her own ends.”

“This is suicide,” Ash insisted.

Myrtle made a motion, midair, with her index finger and thumb that mimicked sewing with a needle and thread. Ash fell back into his chair, grabbing at his mouth. When he moved his hands, Briar saw that his mouth was now sewn shut with zig-zagging sutures. Briar gasped; Dax looked like he might vomit.

“Well, what say you, Briar of the Black Woods, champion of the Realms?” Myrtle asked with a penetrating stare and an air of anticipatory triumph.

Briar turned to Dax, a strange look in her eyes. From that look, Dax understood that life as they knew it up to now had come to an end. There were things that must be done now— matters of life and death.

“I can't go back, Dax,” Briar said. “Not to that place. Not to that life.” Dax could not answer.

He shook his head and bit a lip. “But think about it, Briar. What can you do about magic? What can you do about plots that have been hatching for who-knows-how-long? And so what if you go to wherever they're suggesting? Don't you think someone is waiting for you to follow the trail to Leon? You'll step right into their trap.”

Briar shook her head. “As screwed up as this sounds, Dax, if I don't do something—if I don't act now, they'll just find me and finish me off anyway. We've already got wolves creeping out of every corner. I either do something, or I just wait around to be killed.”

“She is correct,” Myrtle said. “Magic is the only way to stop the forces at play now. She may not know much of magic yet, but she soon will. And a master of it she shall become.”

Dax looked into Briar's face and saw a fire of determination burning. He knew that Briar would likely do this alone, if need
be. But she shouldn't. Now was the time to stand by her side and see her to safety. Things would be different, he knew it. But there didn't seem to be another way. He took Briar's hands and nodded with a smile.

“I always liked this boy,” Myrtle said.

Briar turned to Myrtle with a daring smile. “So tell me more about this book.”

Chapter 14

“Perhaps Ash has a point,” Sherman piped up as he entered from the kitchen. He shimmied like a squirrel to stand on the arm of a couch and he clutched it with his claws, his wild bush of a tail went straight. “This girl has the magical ability of gravel. And even that's an insult to gravel,” he huffed.

Myrtle raised her eyebrows. “That is exactly why you shall accompany young Briar and her friend.”

Sherman's eyes seemed to grow to twice their size. “What?” he asked. “You can't be serious.”

“Oh, I am quite serious, Sherman,” Myrtle replied. She stood carrying the old leather-bound book in both hands. Then she turned to Briar and Dax to explain. “You see, before Sherman came to live here with us, he was quite the accomplished enchanter. Novices from every shire and province sought his instruction.”

“I see where this is headed.” Sherman intervened. “And it shall not work. I am not going with Queen Emo and her foppish satyr back to the dangers of the Realms. No thank you.”

Dax looked at Briar. “Nothing gets past that fox. He nailed you, all right.”

Poplar ignored Sherman and chimed into what Myrtle had said, “Sherman instructed the greats: Ashputtel, Little Red Cap, Fundevogel, Hansel and Gretel— Recites most of the spell books by heart, he does.”

Sherman turned up his nose. “As tempting as the offer may be to help Little Miss Ingrate go on this marvelous and existential journey to find the meaning of life, I am telling you once and for all that she is not the girl we seek, nor shall I accompany such a rank amateur.”

Myrtle pivoted around on her sensible button-spattered heels. “You can and you
shall
go, Sherman,” she said. Then with a touch
of heat, she added, “You know as well as I that the Realms have been sealed off. No Realmsmen may cross the boundary without immediate incineration. But a fox—a fox can cross through.”

“Ah, well, whose idea was it to use the Char-Char Charm?” Sherman asked with a told-you-so tone. “Certainly not mine. Now it won't fade until the girl turns sixteen.”

“Don't worry,” Briar said. She marched over to Myrtle and Poplar. Sherman decided to take over Myrtle's pre-warmed seat and he curled up in a smug little ball. Briar continued, “Dax and I will do just fine. I'm not sure we could learn anything from him anyway. Besides, I think I've picked up a thing or two just by watching the two of you. Look—” Briar flicked her fingers at a nearby candelabra, but nothing happened. She tried again, this time moving her hands and hips in gyrating hip-hop moves, finishing by pointing her hands at Sherman. All the while, Sherman watched with his white-trimmed muzzle agape, and he flattened himself as soon as she pointed her hands in his direction.

Then he puffed out his fur and gave a short growl. “This is beyond ridiculous. You're not even using your trinket. It's a world gone mad.”

“Who needs a trinket?” said Briar, “I know what I'm doing. Step aside, fur coat.” Then she began flicking her fingers at other things in the room.

Sherman dove behind his chair and Briar could only see the soft white tufts from his ears. “Someone stop that lunatic before she hurts someone—or turns herself into a flaming gecko,” Sherman shouted.

Dax said, “I'm with the fuzzy little dog, Briar. That's not even a decent pop-and-lock.”

Myrtle watched with the ends of her ruby lips curled up into a crafty smile. “That's marvelous raw talent.”

“Oh yes,” Poplar replied as she emerged from the kitchen. “Can you show me that last move, dear?” She tried to imitate, but
nearly ripped her hip-hugging skirt.

Myrtle nodded. “Yes. I can see it—a whole new trend in magic. Soon we'll all be doing this. I'm starting to understand that perhaps the Omens were right after all—”

Sherman peeked from behind the couch. “You call that talent? Those aren't magical passes. They're just rubbish.”

“I don't know—” Myrtle said.

Sherman's face drooped like a stuffed animal that had its cotton batting extracted. He wriggled up Myrtle's body, curling up around her neck. “Not another word about it. I know I shall regret it, but I shall take on this extreme-makeover. If I can teach this nose-ringed slacker to cast even one decent enchantment, it shall be among my greatest accomplishments.”

“If you say so,” Myrtle said.

“Now, I suggest we all get a good night's sleep.” Sherman gazed at Briar with his fierce gold-flecked eyes. “I dare say that your feeble mind will need rest, if you are to learn anything in such a short time.”

Myrtle placed her thumb and forefinger on an illustration in the old book she carried. The image stuck to her fingers and she lifted it off the page. She stood and held it in front of her eyes. “Goggles,” she warned the others. Myrtle reached up a sleeve and found her brass goggles with her free hand. Briar helped her to strap them on while Ash and Poplar put on their own. “Shield your eyes,” Myrtle said over her shoulder to Briar and Dax.

“These were to be your quarters at Blackwood Manor,” Myrtle murmured. Briar peeked through her fingers at what looked like a holographic transparency of a room. “That was before the Lady Orpion burned the place to the ground.” Myrtle sighed heavily. “No sense in wasting a picture of the place, at any rate.” Then she stretched the image with her finger and thumb. The image glowed brightly and remained suspended in midair while she set the book down. Then she stretched the image more with her hands, stretching it out here and there, like taffy, until
what once looked like a small transparency became a three-dimensional room in which they were all standing.

Once the blinding glow of her magic faded, Dax uncovered his eyes and looked around in wild wonder of how any of this could be possible. Briar took his hand and they stood with their faces looking like deflated balloons.

The room had a vaulted ceiling, at least two stories high, with thick arched wooden supports. A queen bed was leveled against the wall closest to the bedroom door and deep blue velvet swags draped around its ornately sculpted redwood frame. A carved Gothic armoire stood opposite the bed. Bats, gnarled ogres, cyclops, and wolves were seamlessly intertwined in a macabre dance that stretched across the face of the wardrobe. Breaking up the carving were two full-length mirrors, inset into the doors.

Bizarre portraits framed in ornate rococo gold neatly adorned the soaring red satin-lined walls. In one depiction, a white cat dressed in dark robes and a judge's powdered wig stared out with steely blue eyes. In another, a pale ominously smiling woman stood within a dark misty forest. Her long curling orange hair flowed down her body, covering her otherwise bare breasts; a long red-hooded cape hung loosely on her shoulders. Each painting was more peculiar than the next: a goose sitting cross-legged on a plush antique throne, a goggle-eyed marionette with a trickle of blood seeping from its wooden mouth, and a black-cloaked figure whose face could not be seen, standing beneath storm clouds over grasslands that stretched out to the distant horizon.

Myrtle and Ash left the room to get blankets and Poplar stayed behind. “That's the Blackwood gallery, dear,” she said. Briar watched Poplar's dreamy smile while gazing up at the portrait of the red-haired woman. “Brings back memories,” she said. Then her expression changed and was laden with some unseen weight. “Some of them are oddly disturbing, but they're memories nonetheless.” Then she made a quick intricate design
with her fingers and a feather duster popped into her hands amid a flurry of sparks. She began dusting objects in the room with the wrong end of the duster. “It's like the old rodent-free days.” She patted her stomach and looked away, as though hiding some emotion.

Briar and Dax looked at the odd pictures and shot each other puzzled looks.

“You mean you didn't always eat—you know—?” Briar asked.

“Eat what?” Dax asked. “You mean—? Okay that's just a hair ball waiting to happen.”

“Heavens no—who would ever
choose
to eat such things?” Poplar said. She clutched the feather duster to her chest. “Insects perhaps, but not rats. And Ash, always changing from one look to the next. And poor Myrtle—” Poplar put a hand to her doughy cheek. “She got the worst of it—” Her voice cracked. She turned away and busied herself with dusting, not saying anything more about what had happened.

Briar and Dax exchanged glances, but neither decided to press Poplar for more. Instead, they ambled across elaborately woven rugs, touching the glittering array of treasures and oddities scattered here and there, including a floor-to-ceiling library, and an arched window that looked out to a starry sky.

While passing by the mirror in the armoire, a ghostly image caught Briar's eye. In the reflection of the room, off to one side and behind her, stood a creature—or perhaps it was a tiny man— Briar couldn't be sure. A little thing it was, indeed—no bigger than a human hand. He had golden skin that looked leathery and scuffed, and the tiniest deep black eyes. He was wearing a red and gold cap with fringe and feathers that he removed with one of his clawed, gangling hands. Then he smiled broadly, showing hundreds of golden toothpick-sized splinter-sharp teeth. “Findery me,” it said in a whispering rasp. Briar turned around, expecting to see the little gargoyle behind her, but it was not
there. When she turned back to the mirror, it had vanished.

“Did you see that?” Briar asked.

“What, dear?” Poplar asked, still preoccupied with her thoughts, and still fussing with the room.

“In the mirror. I saw some—I don't know—a creature. It was wearing a weird hat.” Briar turned and looked around the room again. “I thought I saw it. And when I turned around, it was gone.”

Poplar clutched her heart. “Sister,” she exclaimed. “The mirror.”

“Ash!” Myrtle shouted as she clip-clopped at a brisk pace down the hall. She entered the room with an armload of blankets. Poplar pointed to the mirrored armoire. Myrtle rushed over and covered it with blankets. “How did you overlook the speculum?” Myrtle shouted to Ash as he entered the room.

“With all the excitement, I guess none of us really noticed it,” he said. He clapped his fan closed and helped Myrtle to cover every inch of mirror.

“Should the Lady see us—the consequences!” Myrtle said.

Ash clapped the fan shut and slapped it twice on the palm of his free hand. Then he made a quick mid-air star with his hand. “Cover your eyes,” he said. Then twinkling sparks floated lazily from between his palms and covered the armoire. The light specks multiplied until the entire thing was illuminated.

Briar felt the heat of his magic, and at the peak of its brightness, the specks detached and drifted back to Ash's palms leaving no trace of the armoire behind. He snapped open the fan, as though he had barely exerted himself, and busied himself with fanning again. Briar and Dax uncovered their eyes and blinked at each other.

“Did you see anything in that mirror?” Myrtle asked. She sounded positively ill.

Briar shook her head. “I think it was just my imagination.” Poplar glanced at Myrtle with a worried expression.

“You needn't concern yourself with anything here. There are indeed shadows and memories of shadows in this place,” Myrtle said.
“But
shadows and memories have no substance. They'll never harm, unless you beckon to them and linger in their presence. And in this place, after all, they are nothing but ink, in a picture, in a book.”

It sounded convincing enough. But Briar could hear the sense of worry clutching behind their soothing words.

“Tomorrow morning your journey begins, so sleep soundly.” Myrtle took Poplar by the elbow and ushered her out the door.

“Sleep well,” Poplar said, wiggling her fingers goodbye. Ash followed behind, but lingered in the doorway for a moment. He seemed to be pondering something.

“Is there a bathroom around here?” Dax asked him.

“Just down the hall, seventy-seven doors to your left,” he replied.

Dax looked like his face might slide right off. But he marched from the room, determined. Briar listened to Dax count each door aloud, until his voice finally faded in the distance.

Ash watched Dax traipse down the hall with his dark-lined geisha's eyes, and when he was far enough away, he turned back to Briar. He closed the door with care not to make a sound, and leaned his back against it. Briar noticed drips of sweat on his forehead and his eyes shifting left and right.

“I could lose my head for this.” His voice trembled a bit. “Know that there are stories within stories, young Briar.” He looked up at the Blackwood gallery, and nodded at the strange portraits.

Briar remained silent, but found it odd that Ash would choose to tell her this separate from Myrtle and Poplar. She wondered if perhaps he could read her thoughts, and then she wondered if maybe all three of them could do so.

“Trust no one,” he said. “The wheels that turn are immense and a thousand-grooved.”

“What do you mean?” Briar asked.

Ash seemed not to hear her, but stayed true to his task of warning. “Do not tarry long in the Realms. The longer you stay, the more there will be forgetting.”

“Forgetting?” Briar could feel her pulse rising. “Forgetting of what?”

Ash reached into his kimono and pulled out a shiny black stone. He handed it to Briar and said, “Keep this with you at all times.” It felt smooth and cool in her hand. Then she noticed a strange design etched onto the top that looked like a sixteen-pointed star wreathed by twining dragons.

“Won't Sherman teach me to use the trinket?” she asked.

“There are some sorceries that go beyond trinkets,” he said. Then he clenched his red-bowed lips. “Even masters have their limits.”

Briar heard Myrtle call from beyond the door. “Ash, come along.”

“Keep it with you. Keep it hidden,” he said. Then he darted away.