Snow White blushed and handed the book to Circe, who immediately became engrossed in the story. “Of course he couldn’t. My heart has been filled with dread ever since I read it. But I wonder, who tore those pages out?”
“I did, sweet majesty,” Jacob said. “I was trying to protect my poor little witch, Gothel. I promised her mother I would keep her secrets. And now, well, it seems I may have caused more harm by keeping them.”
“You did right to try to protect her, Jacob. Truly. Please don’t blame yourself.” Snow held back a tear. “I always thought the fairy tale book belonged to the odd sisters. How did you come to have it?”
Jacob’s face contorted into a strange smile. “And so it does. But it wasn’t always so.” Snow thought she understood what he meant. Everything had been leading her and Circe here, to the dead woods. Everything she had suspected since she read Gothel’s story was now playing out.
Circe gasped. She looked as if some invisible creature had stolen the life from her. She looked like a ghost, her eyes wide with terror.
“Circe, what’s wrong?” asked Snow. “Did you read the story?” Circe nodded, unable to speak, taking everything in.
Snow went to her side, putting her arm around her cousin. “Shall we read the rest together, then, dear cousin? Don’t be afraid. I will be right here.”
M anea was crumpled in a heap over Jacob’s dead body. Her mother had slashed his throat. Manea was weeping so hard she couldn’t catch her breath.
She had made her choice and lost her dearest love.
“Mother…please…don’t take…my baby!” She could hardly get the words out. She felt like she was choking on them along with her overwhelming grief. She felt as if she were trapped in a nightmare from which she couldn’t wake. All she could do was weep. She was helpless. Her mother was too powerful and would do anything she wanted with her daughter. Manea looked up at Nestis with pleading eyes. “Mother, please.”
Nestis put her hand on her daughter’s head, patting her like a broken and neglected child or a beloved pet. “My darling girl, please stop crying. I promise you will be happy with your daughters.”
Manea felt the ruin of her life crashing down on her. She had betrayed her dearest love to try to save her daughter, and her mother was going to do with her what she willed anyway. Manea didn’t dare try to use what little powers she possessed against her mother. She knew she wasn’t strong enough. Her mother could kill with a single look if she desired.
“My sweet, confused daughter, this was your choice. You could have had Jacob and your daughters, but you chose to stand against me and suffered the consequences.”
Manea cried even harder, sobbing into Jacob’s chest. “My dearest love, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Oh, please forgive me.”
Nestis lost her patience with Manea and sent her crashing violently across the room with a wave of her hand. “Stop this nonsense at once, Manea! I won’t have a daughter of mine degrading herself over a human!” She cradled the baby girl in her arms. “Now compose yourself at once, and start conducting yourself as the future queen of these lands! Do you understand?” She didn’t wait for Manea’s reply. She turned and exited the room with the child, leaving Manea alone.
With Jacob’s body.
Manea’s hands and dress were covered in his blood from her trying to stop the bleeding. She sat there crying over the loss of him, and over the loss of the relationship she’d thought she had with her mother.
And over the loss of her daughter. Her darling girl.
What would she do?
She didn’t know how to contact the ancestors without the mourning box. Her mother had destroyed it.
They had promised all would be well. They had promised they wouldn’t let it go too far.
She had to trust them. Trust they wouldn’t let anything happen to her daughter.
As she sat there, wondering what was to come, her mother’s skeletal minions came into the room, their bones rattling and scraping along the stone floor. She had grown up with these silent, morose creatures skulking about the house. Her mother used them like servants. They were always about, ready to do her mother’s bidding. Manea couldn’t stand the sight of them. When she was queen of these lands, she would have them shut away so she wouldn’t have to feel their empty, hollow eye sockets always watching her. Without ceremony, the skeletal grotesqueries gathered up Jacob’s body. “Where are you taking him?” Manea cried. But they didn’t answer. They never did. She couldn’t stand their silence. It was worse than the cacophony of a thousand harpies and, to Manea, more deadly. She felt like she could drown in the absence of their words.
Manea sat huddled in the corner, covered in her lover’s blood, as she watched the skeletal minions take him away.
She looked at the empty crow’s nest cradle, where her daughter should have been, and felt numb. She had no choice other than to wait and see what happened. Her mother was too strong. She was queen of these lands. And the ancestors would do nothing beyond making sure her mother didn’t try to extend her reach past the forest of the dead. She had never felt so alone, so afraid, and so filled with dread.
Outside, the sky was turning lilac. It seemed like another world outside the nursery windows, and she was afraid to face it. Afraid to live in a world without Jacob. Afraid to live in a world with a mother who would do this to her. So she sat alone, waiting for her mother to return. Waiting for her to bring her daughter back to her. Her daughters, she reminded herself. Soon she would have three. Would she be able to tell her own daughter from the abominations her mother was creating? Would she know which one she had brought into the world herself and which were created by magic?
“They are all your daughters, my darling girl. Each of them. And I know you will love them all equally.”
Nestis stood in the doorway between two of her skeletal minions. Each of them was holding a baby. Manea’s head spun and the room swayed; everything was going in and out of focus as she desperately tried to pick her own daughter out of the three before her.
“Behold your daughters, Manea.” Her mother was beaming as she and the minions put the babies into the crow’s nest cradle. “Look at them, my love. They’re perfect.”
Manea got up slowly. She felt as if she were treading water. This must be a nightmare. It couldn’t really be happening. But there they were, all three of them, perfect, beautiful, and unharmed.
“They will be the most powerful witches this land has ever seen! Mark my words, Manea. Your daughters will be the ruin of all our enemies!”
“What have you done? What will my daughters become?”
Nestis laughed in a way Manea had never heard her mother laugh before; it sounded wicked and cruel, and full of madness and contempt. “They will bring darkness to the world, my sweet. Their murder ballads will be heard in every kingdom!”
Manea looked at her daughters and couldn’t tell one from the others. The three were identical, mirror images of each other. “Which one is mine?” she asked, but her mother just laughed harder.
“They are all your daughters, Manea.”
“But which of them is Lucinda?” she screamed, making all the babies but one cry. And then she knew. Something within her told her this one was Lucinda. Her true daughter. The first.
“They are all Lucinda. They will always be Lucinda. They are one,” said Manea’s mother. “But give them their own names. Give them their own power. Give them your love and guidance. They are yours. All of them.”
Nestis left Manea alone in the nursery with her daughters. Manea picked up Lucinda, looking down on the other two.
“Ruby,” she christened one. “And Martha,” she said, looking down on the innocent babies in their nest. “Lucinda, Ruby, and Martha.
“But always, always Lucinda.”
The crows circled the dead woods, obscuring the sunlight like ominous, lurid clouds. Their caws and screeches were otherworldly, and terrifying.
Snow White and the witches put down
the pages from the fairy tale book and ran to the large morning room windows, pressing themselves against them, watching the creatures circling closer and closer. Snow gasped. “Who sent them?”
Circe didn’t know. They seemed somehow familiar to her, but she could feel nothing from them. It was the strangest thing, feeling nothing from these creatures. There was no life force within them. None at all.
“They are not alive, Circe. They’re dead things, sent by your mothers.”
Circe’s heart skipped a beat. “Hazel, are you sure? I didn’t know my mothers employed crows or could command the dead!”
Primrose squinted at the striking birds, as if she was trying to take their measure, to feel something perhaps Circe was unable to detect. “They’re Maleficent’s birds, but they were sent by the odd sisters.”
Something about that terrified Circe. “Are my mothers dead, then? Or have they sent Maleficent here to destroy us?”
“No, they are not dead, but they command the dead—like their mother and her mother before them. And they are coming here to take what they think is their rightful place among them,” said Hazel.
“What does she mean, Circe? Your mothers are coming here?” Snow White panicked.
Circe didn’t understand how the witches knew so much, but she trusted them. She didn’t know why, but she did. “I have to get Snow out of here,” she said, looking at the witches. “I’m sorry. But my mothers have a vendetta against Snow White, and she’s in danger if she stays here. We have to go!” Circe had taken Snow by the hand and was ready to flee. She hated the idea of leaving Jacob, Primrose, and Hazel to contend with the odd sisters alone, but she felt she had made a mistake in bringing Snow White here, and she wanted to get her out of the dead woods at once. “I will come back. I promise I won’t leave you here alone for too long. I just want to get Snow safely away,” said Circe, feeling conflicted. And feeling trapped.
“Your mothers move among the ravens, they float upon the breeze, they move among shadows, they walk across the sea, they move among the candles, they float among the smoke, and they move something deep inside of me,” said Hazel, her gray eyes somber.
“What are you saying, Hazel?” asked Circe, still panicking at the thought of her mothers swooping down on Snow White.
“My sister is saying your mothers are everywhere. You can’t escape them, so you might as well face them here,” Primrose said. Her wide, friendly smile hadn’t wavered, not once since they had arrived.
“But what of Snow?”
“This is Snow’s story, too, dear Circe. All our fates are connected. Haven’t you guessed this yet?” asked Hazel.
“Snow White is not a witch!”
“True, but her mother is, and though they may not be related by blood, there is a bond between them so pure and so deep she has become entangled in this fairy tale nevertheless.”
“How soon before they get here?” asked Circe, looking out the window and watching the crows.
“We still have time. Your mothers are not strong enough to make their way here, not yet,” said Hazel, contemplating the crows along with Circe as if she got her information from them.
“Yes, we have time. More time than we need, really. There’s still so much you don’t know. And we want you with us when you learn the truth. We want to help,” said Primrose.
Circe had thought she was coming here to help Primrose and Hazel. She thought they would be alone, frightened, and lost. But it turned out she was the one who was lost. It was she who needed help. And she was thankful the witches were here with her. Thankful to be home.
This is my home. Circe felt for the first time as if she was in a place she truly belonged. She felt at home at Morningstar, and in her mothers’ house, of course, but this place was different. She felt like she truly belonged in the dead woods. She felt a connection to it, by blood and by right. This was where she would stay. This was the place she would call home. It comforted and frightened her at once.
“That’s right, my dear. You are home. This is your land as much as it is ours. You were born of Lucinda, Ruby, and Martha. You will inherit the dead woods after your mothers pass,” said Hazel.
This was all too much. Circe was angrier with her mothers than she had ever been before. There was so much they had been keeping from her. So many secrets.
“Why didn’t they grow up here? Why didn’t my mothers tell you who they were when they first came here so many years ago, when you were all girls together?”
Jacob, who had been sitting quietly in his chair, finally spoke. The sudden sound of his deep voice startled the witches and Snow, who had forgotten he was there. “Manea sent our daughters away. But you’re right, Circe, my granddaughter. There is much more to the story.”
Circe hadn’t even put that together. She was too worried about Snow and her mothers. She felt muddled, confused, and overwhelmed. Jacob was her grandfather.
“Of course you’re muddled and confused, sweet Circe. Jacob understands,” said Primrose, reading Circe’s mind. “This is too much for even the strongest of witches. And you are the strongest witch of the age. Even stronger than your mothers. Stronger than our mother, and her mother before her. You have the power to stop your mothers, Circe. We just hope you choose the right way.”
Jacob got up from his seat and put his hand on Circe’s cheek. “Oh, how I wish Manea had your strength and power. None of this might have happened. I wish I had never allowed our daughters to be sent away only to come back and destroy everything.”
Primrose took Jacob’s hands tenderly in hers. “Lucinda, Ruby, and Martha were meant to take this path no matter. This isn’t your fault, Jacob,” she said.
“How do you know all of this? It’s uncanny. Witches or not, you know so much,” said Circe, looking at Primrose and wondering how it was possible they could all know so much about her and her mothers.
“Everything can be heard in the place between if you listen hard enough,” Primrose said. “We had nothing else to do but listen. As your mothers were always behind the mirrors, watching, we were always behind the veil, listening.”
The idea sent chills through Circe. And she suddenly felt afraid her mothers were listening to them now. “Do you think my mothers are in the place between? Do you think they are listening?”
“I do,” said Hazel. “I feel them, but they are still very far away.”
Nanny watched the Fairy Godmother flit about, getting everything ready for the fairy council meeting. She was putting out the tea and little cakes and arranging cookies decorated with pink frosting. And she was setting out her best preserves for the biscuits. If Nanny hadn’t known better, she’d have said her sister was preparing for a tea party and not making a battle plan to stop the odd sisters from trying to destroy the Fairylands.
“Sister, can you get the pink rose-pattern tea set? I have so much to do, and I could use some help,” said the Fairy Godmother as she set a plate of cherry tarts on the table. Nanny conjured the set with a wave of her hand. “I wish you would use your wand!” said the Fairy Godmother, giving her sister a nasty look, or at least the closest thing to a nasty look the Fairy Godmother could manage. If anyone else had seen the look on her face, they wouldn’t have guessed she was cross with Nanny. “It’s what a real fairy would do.”
“Why should I use a wand when I don’t need to?” Nanny was trying not to be annoyed with her sister, but since they’d been back to the Fairylands, her sister was becoming more fairylike by the day.
“And don’t forget to make your wings visible!” the Fairy Godmother squealed.
Nanny sighed. “Yes, Sister.”
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Sister! Did you know there are humans who have wished with all of their hearts they had fairy wings? And here you are, dreading wearing them!” said the Fairy Godmother, tutting at her sister.
“I’d happily give them to someone who wants them more than I do. You know that. Now let’s please change the subject before we become even more cross wit
h each other,” said Nanny.
The Fairy Godmother conjured lovely plates, doilies, and a beautiful four-layer pink-and-blue cake. “Yes, of course you’re right! Have you spoken to Tulip? Did she mention if Oberon would be attending the meeting?”
“She didn’t say. They’ve both been occupied with their adventures.”
“I don’t know about that young lady! Romping about with the likes of the Tree Lords. What will her parents think?”
“I fear this is another topic we won’t agree upon, dear sister.”
“Fine! Maybe we should just focus on getting ready for the meeting. Just pop some bows on the backs of these chairs, then, won’t you? The other fairies will be here any moment!”
“Bows?” Nanny was aghast.
“Goodness, you’re no help! I’ll take care of it myself, then!” The Fairy Godmother waved her wand with an air of annoyance as she conjured gaudy pink bows on the backs of the seats around the council table. She stood back and surveyed her work. “It looks lovely, don’t you think?”
Nanny looked around, laughing to herself as she realized, what with the blooming cherry blossoms and the Fairy Godmother’s decorations, she was surrounded by the color pink. She was in the Fairylands. She asked the gods to give her the strength to be patient with the fairies. Especially her sister.
As Nanny and the Fairy Godmother finished up their preparations, the other fairies on the council began to assemble. Nanny and her sister had set everything up in the courtyard, near a fountain with a life-sized statue of Oberon at the center. Cherry blossoms had fallen into the water and were littering the cobblestones. Being there again, Nanny started to feel the pangs of heartbreak as she remembered Maleficent. But she pushed them away. She hated that Circe was so far away, especially now that her mothers were at large and Grimhilde was up to something. And what if the odd sisters could truly summon Maleficent from the dead? How would Nanny be able to face her? She tried to push all her fears away. At least she wasn’t afraid for Tulip. She was safe with Oberon. He would protect her. One less person to worry about.
The Odd Sisters Page 9