The Autumn Castle (15 page)

Mayfridh felt embarrassment creeping through her limbs. “Oh no, am I so obvious?”

“Yes. Very, very obvious.”

“Then what’s number two?”

“You’ll never get him.”

Mayfridh narrowed her eyes. Was Gerda suggesting she wasn’t beautiful enough for Jude? “How do you know?”

“Because he and Christine are inseparable.” Gerda shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking how beautiful
and glamorous you are, and how plain Christine is. I thought that too. I thought that because I’m an artist and she’s not,
Jude was bound to like me better. I went through exactly what you’re going through right now. And I got nowhere. If you try
to make eye contact, he’ll look away. If you throw your arm around him, pretending to be friendly, trying to get a feel of
his body, he’ll smile at you coolly and shrug you off quickly. He holds it all back. He’s got nothing for girls like you and
me. It’s all for Christine.”

Mayfridh felt her heart slide. “Then he really loves her?” she asked. “Jude really loves Christine?”

Gerda smiled, a wicked twinkle in her eye. “Now I didn’t say that.”

“Then why? Why won’t he look anywhere else unless he loves her?”

“You don’t know then?”

“No. Do you?” Mayfridh was thinking about Jude’s secret. Did Gerda know it?

“I think I do.”

“Then tell me.”

Gerda dropped her voice to a whisper. “What’s the one thing that a struggling artist never really has, but
always
needs?”

Mayfridh shook her head. “I don’t know. What?”

Gerda rubbed her forefinger and thumb together, smiling. “Money,” she said, “lots and lots of money.”

B
y the following morning, Christine found she had started to relax around Mayfridh. It was clear her friend was happy playing
the part of Miranda, was deft at sidestepping Gerda’s questions, and had stopped ogling Jude at every opportunity. When they
had left Super Jazz, Mayfridh had asked to sleep over in Gerda’s apartment rather than Christine’s, taking her out of Jude’s
way. In fact, she found Mayfridh’s manner amusing and sweet as the faery queen determinedly attempted to adjust to a social
setting where she wasn’t in charge: biting her lip when a drunk spilled beer on her, putting up with Pete’s constant stream
of trivia, and good-naturedly trying every toxic substance Gerda offered her. Jude himself was profoundly unaffected by the
gorgeous new interloper, and that was comforting if not unexpected. He’d never betrayed her, not even when Gerda had turned
all her charms on him in their first few weeks at Hotel Mandy-Z.

Christine fetched Mayfridh from Gerda’s place in the morning, and the two of them went walking in the Tiergarten.

“Did you have fun last night?” Christine asked as they passed under the Brandenburg Gate.

“Yes, though I couldn’t really get used to the smoke and the loud music.” Mayfridh was wearing a much more sober outfit this
morning, a dark blue pullover and black velvet skirt. Her hair glistened in the morning sunshine.

“Gerda took a shine to you.”

“Yes,” Mayfridh said guardedly, “though I don’t know yet if I trust her.”

“No, no, Gerda’s harmless, believe me. Deep down she has a generous spirit. Just don’t tell her anything she might use against
you later.” They entered the park now. A deep drift of fallen leaves swirled at their feet. In the distance, church bells
rang from two directions, eerily out of tune with each other. “Ah, I love the sound of bells.”

“Let’s sit here,” Mayfridh said, indicating a bench under a red-gold canopy of leaves.

“Okay.” Christine sat beside her, eyes closed, listening to the bells.

“I remember you always loved the bells on that church near where we lived,” Mayfridh said.

Christine opened her eyes on the shady wood. “Yes, that’s right. I’d wake up Sunday morning and just lie in bed listening
to them.”

“You were such a strange little girl.”

“I was?”

“Oh, yes. I always thought so, that’s why I liked you. I’m sure it was Alfa and Finn’s intention to bring you up as the weirdest
child on the planet.”

“You’re probably right,” Christine said, smiling. “Do you remember that pinafore my mother made for me?”

“Yes. The paisley one with the tiny stuffed animals hanging off the hem.”

“God, what was she thinking!”

“As I recall, you loved that dress.”

“Yeah, I was six. I didn’t know better.”

“She offered my mother to make me a matching one—”

“—and your mother looked horrified! I remember. You were always so beautifully dressed. Your mother really doted on you. She
spoiled you.”

“Do you think so?” Mayfridh asked.

“Yeah, of course. Remember that fresco she painted on your ceiling? Moon and stars and clouds and colored balloons?”

“I loved that. But I always loved your house better. It was chaotic and warm and smelled like peaches and cinnamon.”

“Probably my mom’s incense,” Christine said. Mayfridh was right; her parents had always been as chaotic as they were compassionate.
For the first time in many years, she was sharing memories of her parents with someone who had actually known them. She felt
a fond flush of feeling for Mayfridh.

Mayfridh was watching her. “You know, Christine, you’re almost beautiful when you smile.”

“Um, thanks.”

Mayfridh shook her head. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“Yeah.” Christine laughed. “Yeah, it was.”

“I’m used to being able to say whatever I want, and do whatever I want.”

“It’s okay, I know it’s true. I’m not beautiful.”

“Jude must think you are.”

Christine shrugged. “I guess so, I don’t know. He says he does.”

“Before I came, I sent Eisengrimm to watch you a while. I saw you with another man, a dark-haired fellow, rather large.”

Christine felt herself shudder. “Ooh, Mandy.”

“Mandy?”

“Immanuel Zweigler. He owns the building. He runs the gallery.”

“And you don’t like him?”

“He’s kind of revolting. Avoid him at all costs. There’s about a three-foot gap between the foyer and the stairs where he
can spot you from the gallery. Always run past it. He’s weird and he asks strange questions and he gives me the creeps.”

“I’ll take your word for it and avoid him as best I can.” They settled into silence for a few minutes. Two joggers ran past,
and a woman pushed a pram up the leaf-strewn path.

Mayfridh turned to Christine and patted her hand. “I want to give you a present.”

“A present?”

“You make me happy, Christine. You make me feel less lonely. I want to take away some of your pain too.” She reached in her
bag and pulled out one of her spells.

“Ah, I’d rather you didn’t cast any more spells on me,” Christine said.

“No, no. I’ll give you something you can use whenever you want.” Mayfridh closed her hands over the spell, muttered a word
Christine couldn’t hear—it sounded like “twice” or “wine”—and then opened her hands again. The spell was gone, and in its
place was a ball of golden thread.

“What is it?” Christine asked, gingerly reaching out to touch it.

“It’s enchanted twine.” Mayfridh pressed the ball into Christine’s hands. “If you come here to the Tiergarten, to the passage,
hold one end and cast it away from you, then follow the thread, it will lead you into the autumn forest.”

“You mean . . . ?”

“The place where you feel no pain. Collect the twine and walk around to the gate of the castle. If you call out, Eisengrimm
will hear you and come to get you.”

Christine studied the ball of golden twine in her hands. Relief, instant relief. She became acutely aware of the humming and
pressing in her back. In a second it could be gone.

“All I ask is that you keep it safe,” Mayfridh said, “and keep it near you. Don’t leave it where someone else could find it.”

“Of course I’ll keep it safe,” Christine answered, her fingers testing the texture of the twine.

“Do you want to go now?”

“Will you come?”

“I’ll go back to the hotel. I’ll spend the day with Gerda. I’m having too much fun to go home just yet.”

Christine considered the offer: although she was unsure whether to trust Mayfridh around Jude, she knew that Gerda would keep
an eye on her. “Maybe,” she said.

“If Jude asks I’ll tell him—”

“He won’t ask. He’ll be in the studio all day.” Jude was working hard on a new painting, torturing himself over it. He would
be too busy to concern himself with Mayfridh. “Don’t disturb him.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe I’ll just go for a couple of hours.”

Mayfridh touched Christine on the wrist. “Keep an eye on your watch. Time doesn’t run the same in Ewigkreis.”

“No? Faster, slower?”

“Both. Neither. It’s just
different.
”

Wonderful relief was calling her. Just a couple of hours. Nothing bad could happen. Christine checked her watch. It was seven
minutes to eleven. “Okay, I’m going. I’ll be back at one o’clock. I’ll come to Gerda’s to look for you.”

“I’ll be waiting. Come on, let me show you where the passage is.”

Mayfridh led her deeper into the park, away from the road. They approached a dark elm, its leaves spattered with yellow. “Quickly,”
Mayfridh said, “while there’s nobody to see.”

Christine crouched and rolled the ball of twine away from her, holding the loose end between her fingers. It glimmered as
though lit from within, and a soft sighing noise accompanied it. She thought the twine would completely unravel in about ten
feet but the ball just kept rolling away.

“Go on,” Mayfridh said, “follow it.”

Christine stood, hand over hand following the twine that ran on ahead of her. “When will it stop?” she asked. Mayfridh didn’t
answer. Christine checked over her shoulder. Mayfridh was gone; the Tiergarten was gone. She stood amongst the diving golden
leaves and slanted sunbeams of the autumn forest.

Mayfridh watched Christine disappear and turned toward the road. It was good to know that Jude would be in the studio today,
rather than in his apartment. Mayfridh needed to get in there and collect a few of his personal possessions—ones he wouldn’t
necessarily miss—and make Hexebart weave a good strong mind-reading spell. What Gerda had said to her the previous night played
on her thoughts. Christine was a millionaire, and had vowed not to touch a cent until she was married. Jude was a penniless
artist who had lived his adult life so far on scholarships and grants. After his Zweigler Fellowship ran out he would be faced
with teaching art to ungrateful amateurs if he were lucky, measuring fat businessmen for suits in a department store if he
were unlucky. Christine not only provided him with a great address, having inherited her parents’ West Chelsea home, if he
stuck around for long enough he would never have to worry about money again.

“You watch,” Gerda had said, “he will have proposed to her before the end of his fellowship.”

Mayfridh wandered up Unter-den-Linden, past sausage vendors and coffee carts. She didn’t want to believe it, not of Jude.
Surely Jude must possess the most beautiful spirit that had ever found its way into a human body. Also, she didn’t want to
believe it for Christine’s sake. Then some other instinct engaged, one she wasn’t proud of. Surely Christine’s millions must
pale in comparison to Mayfridh’s entire faery kingdom? If Jude sought riches, then . . . She chastised herself for want-ing
anything to do with a man who could be so deceitful.

If he was deceitful. If Gerda was right.

So was it a protective instinct for Christine, or a need to prove to herself that Jude was good, that drove her this morning?
Jude had a secret and she
had to know it;
even more now than before, with Gerda poisoning her ears with stories. If she found out through the mind-reading spell that
Jude really was in love with Christine, then she would let him go. She would stop turning on her faery glamour whenever he
was around, and she certainly wouldn’t be so cruel as to steal Christine’s happiness.

Or at least she would try her very best not to.