Midnight Beauties

by Megan Shepherd

  “Anouk, stop, for God’s sake!” Viggo called from the stairs. “Slow down—​I’m impaired!”

  She went to the library and pulled out the heavy stacks of maps. She laid them on the floor and traced the routes with her fingers, the trek from Paris to a remote corner of Germany that would involve trains and taxis and miles on foot. Little Beau wagged his tail, fluttering the maps, and some loose pages fell out. She caught one, a drawing that Luc had made of charcoal trees and swirling snow. It was a scene from one of his fairy tales, “The Frozen Labyrinth,” about a Goblin girl who had ignored her family’s warnings and trekked into the Black Forest after hearing rumors of a castle filled with candy.

  “Goblins know better than to go to the Black Forest,” Luc had said. “There’s dark magic there. Ancient creatures who keep to themselves.”

  “What kind of creatures?” Anouk asked.

  “Creatures who like the cold, who especially like girls who wander into their woods. They can help travelers find their way, but they’ll want something in return. There’s a reason few girls ever make it to the Cottage. Whatever you do,” Luc warned, “don’t let them kiss you.”

  Anouk made a face. “Why, what happens?”

  “Nothing good.”

  At the memory, Anouk bit her lip. If only Luc had finished the story, she might have some clue as to what she was getting herself into.

  Huffing with effort, Viggo at last reached the library. “You can’t trust Rennar,” he protested, dabbing sweat off his brow with his shirtsleeve.

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “And what am I supposed to do, stay here and babysit a houseful of Goblins?”

  Her excitement dimmed. “Oh . . . right. Ah, I actually promised that you and the Goblins would stay at Castle Ides.”

  “You bargained us away as hostages?”

  “You’ve seen the Castle Ides kitchens! You’ll feast on suckling pig and petits fours every day! That’s hardly torture.”

  She expected Viggo to sputter about how Rennar was the enemy, to stomp around in a fit of melodrama, but instead his face grew disturbingly calm. “There’s something I haven’t told you about the Schwarzwald.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Have you been there?”

  “Yes, once, with Mada Vittora when I was a boy.” He shuddered at the memory. “The Cottage is a bleak place filled with desperate girls. Girls freeze to death just trying to find it. The ones who make it don’t have a much greater chance of survival. You’ve heard of the Coal Baths? They’re a mystical bed of coals so hot that most girls don’t even burn when they try to cross it—​they just vanish. Only their screams remain. The year we went to observe the trials, all of the initiates burned. Not a single one got to the other side of the bed of coals. I had nightmares for months.”

  Little Beau, at her feet, rested his chin on her knee. She set her hands on the dog’s head to keep them from shaking. “I’m no stranger to nightmares. Besides, I won’t be alone. I’ll take Little Beau with me.”

  Viggo scoffed. “A dog won’t save you from the dangers in Bavaria.”

  “I think you’re underestimating dogs.”

  Outside, the last of the autumn leaves blew against the windows. Winter would be here soon. She stood up and peered out the window. A group of young Pretties stood at the corner, heads bowed over devices that cast an eerie electric glow over their faces. Drones whirred above them. Rennar was right; technology was spreading faster. If they didn’t do something to curb it, would magic disappear before she’d even had a chance to master it? With no magic, would the whole Haute vanish? And the beasties?

  Cities falling one by one

  White to Red

  White to Red . . .

  A cold nose pressed against her and she felt her tension melt away. She turned from the window and knelt down so she could gaze into Little Beau’s face. “Beau, are you in there?” she whispered.

  Little Beau cocked his head and looked as though he might miraculously answer, but then he only scratched an itch on his side with his back leg.

  Anouk sighed.

  Viggo folded his arms testily across his chest. “If you and that dog have finished your heart-to-heart, do you mind sharing your decision?”

  She hesitated.

  “Tell me you aren’t going to go through with a deal with that imbécile, Anouk.”

  “Um . . .”

  “Tell me you aren’t complètement fou.”

  “Well . . .”

  He groaned toward the ceiling and muttered a curse that would have made even a witch blush. “You’re going to get yourself killed and leave me alone with the Goblins.”

  * * *

  That evening Anouk took a step back to examine the supplies she’d gathered on the bed. The maps. A hooded fur coat. A knife from the kitchen. Some hard cheese and sausage the Goblins hadn’t yet discovered. Most of it went into the pockets of her Faustine jacket. Once she was a witch, she would enchant the pockets to serve as her oubliette—​her magic bag—​but for now, they were simply pockets, and they bulged with the bulk of everything.

  “You are going to say goodbye, aren’t you?” Viggo asked from behind her.

  She turned. “To the Goblins? No, they say that goodbyes are bad luck. To you?” She smiled. “Of course.”

  Viggo returned a half smile. Although they had lived in the same house and considered the same woman a mother, they’d never been friends. In a million years, she’d never imagined that she’d find a new sort of family with Viggo, and yet here they were. Her heart tightened. “You’ll look out for them?” she said, nodding toward the Goblins’ rock music coming from downstairs. “They’ll need someone at Castle Ides to keep them safe.”

  “I should think I can babysit some Goblins. At least until you return.” He paused. “You are coming back.”

  “I’m coming back,” she promised.

  She wrapped her arms around him. His knit hat scratched her skin, but she didn’t mind. Viggo would always be like that hat of his—​a little irritating, a little silly, but also a little endearing.

  He gave her a curt but warm hug in return. “Watch out for the other girls at the Cottage. It isn’t a tra-la-la kind of place. Are you certain you can find it?”

  She dug around in her pocket and eventually produced a small piece of carved antler with a broken tip. “I have this. It’s a piece of a clock that’s imbued with magic. Duke Karolinge gave this portion of it to Mada Vittora, who kept it hidden in a dresser drawer. I found it once while putting away her laundry. It’s made of antler from elk in the Black Forest, and the rest of the clock is still there, in the Cottage. If Beau is any good at being a dog, he’ll be able to track its scent back to the rest of the clock—​to the Cottage.”

  She slipped the piece of antler in her jacket pocket, next to Rennar’s mirror, which brushed against her fingers like ice.

  “Good luck, Dust Bunny,” Viggo said.

  “Stay alive, okay?” she answered. “And try not to do anything stupid.”

  “Me? Never.”

  They went downstairs. She opened the door. Little Beau followed at her heels, silent and loyal, as, for the first time in weeks, they both stepped beyond the protection spell and into the city.

  Chapter 4

  When it came to trains, the magic was the easy part for Anouk—​with a few whispers, she was able to cloak Little Beau in a shroud of shadows that let her get around the strict “no dogs” policy. Figuring out timetables and ticket booths wasn’t nearly as simple. By the time she’d found the right train and plunked down on a second-class seat across from two German tourists, she was frazzled.

  The tourists were hunched over a guidebook with a castle on the cover. If they noticed the perpetual shadow at her side, they didn’t comment on it. The train carried them across countries that the Pretties called France and Germany (the Royals just called them “ours”). Fields bled into mountains with their heads in the clouds, and then the world turned dark as the stars
came out. The rumbling of the train took the edge off Anouk’s worries, even as she knew the calm would never last. She got off at a small station outside of Baiersbronn and was immediately glad she’d worn one of Mada Vittora’s fur coats over her jacket. It was past midnight and the promise of snow hung in the air. Wind bit at her cheeks as she turned down an alley and whispered into the shadows: “Egrex et forma veritum.”

  Little Beau shook off the shadows cloaking him as if he were flicking off water. Anouk consulted her map. The chances of getting a ride by hitchhiking were slim so late at night, so they set out along the road on foot. Trees grew taller and houses became more spaced out, and soon there were no more homes or even roads, only forest.

  Her feet ached by the time they reached the entrance marked on her map. Dawn was just breaking, and sunlight illuminated a well-trod path with a sign telling her she’d reached the Schwarzwald, the Black Forest.

  But there were two Black Forests.

  There was the one written about in guidebooks like the one the tourists had on the train, the Black Forest with quaint woodland trails and mountain lodges and squirrels and grouse—​that one was a pleasant illusion created for the Pretties.

  The real Black Forest had no well-marked paths. It was a place of perpetual snow and eternal winter, where trees grew tall enough to block out the sun and where monstrously huge wolves and boar stalked smaller creatures in the murky dark.

  Anouk took out the broken piece of antler and knelt down.

  “Take us there, Beau,” she whispered.

  Little Beau sniffed it thoroughly, then lifted his nose and bounded toward the untamed forest.

  “Little Beau, wait!”

  He’d taken off over tree roots and brambles. She scrambled to follow. There was nothing to indicate this was a path. No markings. No signs. The ground was damp with autumn leaves. Little Beau tracked the scent in short bursts—​pausing to sniff the air, bounding in a new direction, then doubling back and herding Anouk forward when she was too slow. After an hour of the two of them trudging through thick forest, the topography grew steeper. The temperature dropped as they entered a valley. The ground here was dusted with a light snow. More flakes floated amid the trees, growing heavier and thicker the farther they walked. Her boots started to sink into snowdrifts. When she turned around to check her footprints, they were already hidden by fresh snow.

  The tips of the trees glistened like knife blades. Everything appeared in shades of white and green. The pine boughs were thick with ice. Except for the falling snow, it was perfectly still.

  Too still.

  She slipped on mittens and pulled up her hood. She couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere, someone was watching her.

  “Luc told stories about these woods,” she said into the eerie quiet for the comfort of hearing her own voice. “Magic is concentrated here, which leads to strange things.”

  The snow was so thick now that she couldn’t see more than ten feet on either side of her. The wind picked up, sending the snow flying diagonally into her face. The sky was only a smear of white. Little Beau tried to curl up in the lee of a stump, but she tugged on the scruff of his neck. “Come on,” she told him. “We have to keep moving.”

  She offered him a sniff of the antler again and was relieved when he got back up and put his nose to the ground. She tromped behind him. Even though she had on mittens, her fingers were going numb. She’d prepared for snow, but not for a blizzard. What would happen if the storm got worse before they found the Cottage? How long could they go without stopping to make a fire? She trailed behind Little Beau on a path of dizzying switchbacks that made her feel as though they were hiking in circles. She could swear they’d passed by the same trees several times, but if their footsteps had ever been there, new snow had already hidden them.

  As evening fell, the forest plunged into an even deeper cold, and she collapsed against a rocky outcropping that provided a windbreak from the storm. Her feet were rapidly turning numb. If she didn’t start a fire and warm them, she wouldn’t make it another mile. With frozen fingers, she hunted through the snow for branches and formed a small pile of kindling, but even with dry matches, she couldn’t get a spark going. The wood was too wet. She dug through her pockets and found a scarf and a fresh pair of socks, but they weren’t enough to keep her warm. She needed magic. With a swallow of powdered herbs, she cast a whisper to conjure an enchanted spark that would burn through damp wood. She added more wood onto the pile, whispering softly, and the fire grew. Her shoulders sagged in relief.

  The snowdrifts around them began to melt. Water trickled down, forming a puddle in a bowl-shaped indentation in the rockface. She cupped the water in her hands and drank deep.

  The dog, though, kept his distance from the flames.

  “What’s wrong? Aren’t you thirsty?”

  She turned back to the snowdrift and let out a cry. The snow had melted away and now lifeless eyes looked back at her. Pale blue eyes, pale blond hair, skin the same sickeningly white color as the snow itself.

  A corpse.

  Anouk pressed a bare hand to her mouth. It was a girl. Younger than Anouk. Melting snow clumped in the girl’s hair. She’d been dead for, what, weeks? Months? A sickening bubble rose in Anouk’s throat.

  A few broken twigs lay at the girl’s feet. She must have tried to make a fire too. Anouk started to notice other oddly shaped snowdrifts scattered on the ground throughout the woods. How many of them hid bodies? Was this a forest or a graveyard?

  A branch snapped under Anouk’s foot and she cringed, picturing a snapped femur beneath the snow. It was getting darker. Night was falling and there was no sign of the Cottage, no paths, no signposts, no traces of lights anywhere. The Cottage could be a stone’s throw away and she might not see it. With the wind changing directions so erratically, Little Beau would never keep hold of the scent.

  She felt something at her back, a shadow. She jumped up, twisted to look at the clearing, and scanned the trees. She found nothing. But the hair on the back of her neck was prickling.

  Cautiously, she turned back to the fire.

  She let out a cry.

  A boy had appeared on the other side of the clearing. Anouk’s heart began beating as violently as the storm. There were no tracks in the snow around him. He’d appeared supernaturally, as though blown in with the snow.

  The boy cocked his head and said in a voice that clinked like ice, “I’m cold. Can I share your warmth, lovely?”

  Chapter 5

  Anouk didn’t dare respond to the stranger.

  His skin was smooth enough to give him the look of a child, but there was craftiness in his gaze that seemed ancient. His long white hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck, but a few jagged pieces hung sharp and straight in the front, like icicles. His skin was so pale it was nearly blue, but his eyes gleamed with a black so complete that it bled beyond his irises.

  Whoever he was, he wasn’t human.

  Little Beau growled. He should have picked up the boy’s scent long ago—​unless, like the snow, the boy had no scent.

  “Stay back.” Anouk plunged her hand in her jacket pocket, searching for her knife.

  He cocked his head at her curiously. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt fire.” Despite his insistence that he was cold, he kept a wary distance from the flames. “You aren’t like most girls who wander into these woods. They come seeking magic, but you already have a glimmer of it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s impossible to light a fire in the Black Forest. The wood is too wet. The wind is too fierce.”

  With a shiver, Anouk thought of the frozen girl and her paltry collection of twigs. She asked, “What kind of magic handler are you?”

  “Snow Children don’t handle magic,” he chided. “We are magic. Whenever there’s snowfall, we are there.” The reflection of flames danced in his eyes. “You want to be an acolyte at the Cottage.”

  She nodded. Her left hand, thr
ust into her pocket, curled around the hilt of the paring knife.

  “I can take you.” A curl formed at the corners of lips. “It isn’t far if you know the way.” The winds shifted, throwing stinging snow into Anouk’s face. “If you don’t, it might as well be in another world. You’ll never find it, even with magic.”

  A log popped in the fire. Heavy flakes caught in her eyelashes. Little Beau pressed protectively against her leg. She eyed the boy warily. He was doubtlessly one of the creatures from Luc’s fairy tale, something outside of the four orders of the Haute.

  “I don’t need magic to find the Cottage. My dog is leading me there.” She showed him the piece of carved antler. “This is part of a clock that belongs to Duke Karolinge. Little Beau can track its scent to the Cottage.”

  The boy regarded her pityingly. “Poor lovely. The dog is tracking a scent, yes, but not the one you think. He’s following a herd of elk. You’re going in circles, trailing the elk as they forage. It isn’t the dog’s fault. He can’t tell the difference between the scent of a carved antler on a clock and the real thing.”

  Anouk knew in her heart he must be right. They’d been walking for hours in circles. The storm showed no signs of dying. The cold had seeped into her bones. Her teeth were chattering. Little Beau had a coat of fur, but it was soaked with melting snow, and the pads of his paws were exposed. He was shivering violently. Even with the fire, they’d be lucky to survive the night.

  She swallowed and asked against her better judgment, “What do you want in exchange for showing us the way?”

  His eyes gleamed. “From a lovely girl like you? I’ll settle for a kiss.”

  She shook her head firmly. “Not that.”

  “So wary of a kiss?”

  “I’ve been warned against kisses from your kind.”

  He feigned indifference. “Well, then, it’ll be a shame to have another girl freeze in these woods. It’s already so full of the dead. And the dog won’t last much longer than you.” He tsked. “Pity. I’m fond of dogs. And there’s nothing more tragic than a dead dog who easily could have been saved, don’t you think?”