White Roses a.b

chapter 43

Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie sat on the edge of the well sipping from porcelain teacups. They still wore their plain white dresses, though the meadow seemed colder than before and Ashley thought they must be freezing in such flimsy fabric.

The oddest thing, though, was that the three girls were now wearing masks. An owl. A raccoon. A fox. The masks were tied to their heads with ribbons and only the girls' enormous eyes could be seen through circular cutouts – so black and fathomless it was like looking through the holes into nothing.

Ashley was grateful when Andy's hand found hers again, lacing their fingers together.

It was a strange thing, to stare across a peaceful forest glen at three little girls and feel that she'd stepped on to a battlefield.

'Hello,' said Hatta, with a calmness that was offset by his tense shoulders. 'Tillie. Elsie. Lacie.'

The girls did not move. They held their teacups in one hand and their saucers in the other, their pinkie fingers pointing at matching angles.

'We've been practising,' said the Owl.

'We've been drawing,' said the Raccoon.

'We've seen many things,' said the Fox.

They sipped their tea in unison.

'I have given you five minutes of my time,' said Hatta. 'Show us, so we might be on our way.' It sounded like a script, like a tired conversation he'd recited too many times.

The Sisters were quiet for a while, their empty eyes gazing, before Lacie the Fox set down her teacup and stood. Her long hair clung to her calves as she stepped away from the well. The silvery ends were sticky with treacle.

Andy and Ash released each other's hands so Lacie could pass between, splitting them like an axe into a log. She reached the wall of hedges and pushed her hands into the brush. Grabbed and pulled.

The leaves and vines fell away, revealing a wall of stone. It was covered in drawings. Some were faded and smeared, while others still glistened from wet ink. The Fox stepped back and beckoned them to approach.

Ash stepped closer, scanning the array of drawings. A marigold. A mosquito. A menorah. A milk bottle. A branch of mistletoe. Mousetraps and mirrors and memory.

'See our new work?' said Lacie the Fox, gesturing to a group of drawings, and Ash noticed that she had Raven's quill tucked behind one ear, dripping ink down the back of her neck. Her fingers were smudged with recent ink as well, though Ash was sure they'd been clean before.

Ashley followed the girl's gesture and felt the blood drain from her body.

The drawing showed two men. One was on the ground, surrounded by a pool of darkness that she assumed was blood. His head had been severed clean from his body. A three-pointed joker's hat lay on the ground beside him.

The second man stood in the distance – enormous and cloaked in an executioner's hood. A bloodied axe was in his hand.

A memory darted through her thoughts. It was the same ominous shadow that had followed her across the castle's lawn on the night she met Andy. The shadow that always attached itself to Raven.

She recoiled, pressing a hand over her mouth. 'Why?' she stammered, knowing that Andy was right beside her, alive and well, and Raven was his friend and would never hurt him. Or did she know that? The picture was detailed enough to insert a sliver of doubt into her thoughts. 'Why would you draw something so terrible?'

'Ash . . .' Andy's voice was strained. He wasn't looking at the same drawing. Her gaze followed his and she saw –

Herself. Sitting on a throne, wearing the crown of the Queen of Hearts and gripping a heart-tipped sceptre in one hand. Her expression was cold as stone.