Snow ✓

Night Visitor

Hours later, when everyone else was asleep, Snow stood in her doorway listening to the house settle, eyeing the boots stacked in the corner near the front door, remembering what they had last discussed.

"I can't leave Gran."

"I know."

"Where would you even go?" Mat said, a challenge in his voice. "Stay. We'll figure something out."

What if there's no time?

The chime of the bell above the Cherrywood door strummed her taut nerves as she moved into the dusky toy shop. There was no need for introductions; the old sorcerer had been waiting.

"I was wondering when you'd make a solo appearance."

Startled, Snow spun around to find him casting shadows in the aisle beside her.

"I don't suspect the boy knows you're here," he said, moving past her and down the opposite aisle.

She shook her head, but he had already disappeared around the far corner on the right. She followed just in time to see him squeeze through the gap. She followed to stand beside him in front of the mural. All the flowers were gone, painted over.

"They pine for you while you play house."

Light kissed his angry tufts of hair. Wondering at the source, for there were no candles or lanterns, Snow needn't look far to see it was the ripple, now a tear, painted on the wall, emitting a soft glow.

"Try as you might, you cannot hide."

I do not play. "I do not hide."

The old man gave a toothy grin. He was a man of many smiles, Snow could see them mapped out on his wizened face.

Quick as the lighting of a match in a black room, she remembered that she had wanted to ask about her brother, but the point seemed mute; he was dead, she had to think of herself. So now, when it mattered most, why couldn't she speak, as if that old stopper was back in her windpipe?

"Prove it."

Prove it. How? She wasn't hiding. She was out of bed at this very moment under a full moon, catching blades of golden grass between her fingers, longing for a song to ease her mind, though none came. So, what would he call that? Child's play, probably, or something else a textbook villain would say.

"And what would you call what you're doing, holed up in that shop?"

A buzzing in the distance stilled all thoughts, so distant that she first thought she had imagined it, but the hair on her arms was already standing to attention.

Snow instinctually tilted her head up to the sky—the wrong impulse, for the airship suddenly appeared right above her, like a stone thrown across the surface of a lake, much lower than she had ever seen it; the sound was deafening, a hive full of buzzing bees melting her brain to honey; the massive spinning blades that held it aloft spat wind that parted the grass and sent her cloak whipping about her; red pinpricks of light, like millions of beady eyes, shown on its underbelly.

Hide.

The seconds she spent gawking felt like an eternity. Feeling dizzy, she jerked her face toward the ground, the earth tilted, and sap left her nose in a stream to stain her front as the ground rose up to meet her. Her heart threatened to eradicate itself against her ribcage as she curled up into a ball, pulling her cloak closed around her, sap pooling in her nasal cavity—it smelled like a forest floor in full bloom. She closed her eyes tight against the wailing, not daring to lift her hands to cover her ears. Holding her breath, she played dead, and only then did a verse slip into her head—

There she flies across the sky

A huntress aboard a ship, she be

Snatching at stars sinking under the hull,

One for every poor bastard she bleeds

A whisper against the shriek, her conscience wielded the words like a sewing needle against the ether. Then, as quickly as the howl had arrived, it thinned to a high-pitch echo.

Chest burning, she breathed deep but didn't move as she thought about how it had lingered and wondered whether those on board had seen her face peering up, a moon-white satellite. The static in her head dissipated to a residual hum, but every fiber of her being anticipated the airship sucking her up into a blinding beam of alien light, leaving nothing behind for Gran or Mat to marvel over.

Her head snapped back, and a new, dimmer light flooded her vision. Disoriented, her eyes swiveled as she tried to make sense of where she was, first thinking the fish oil lantern she focused on meant she was back in Elis' shop. No. The bedroom. Her bedroom. She was sitting cross-legged atop the bed. She started—something was stuck to her cheek. Looking to her lap, she found Fantastic Folklore open, an alpine edge left where a page had been torn out. It was now stuck to her face, slick and crusted with slobber. Snow swung her legs out over the side of the bed, all clumsy limbs as she caught her bearings and let the sap back into her toes. Gently, she pulled the page away from her cheek, but it was too late—jagged white holes dotted the page where her spit-slicked face had torn away the parchment. What was left of the illustration of pygmy unicorns swam as her eyes brimmed with tears.

A dream. She pinched the bridge of her nose. It was just a dream.

Her tears dripped onto the open book, creating splotches. In a sudden burst of fury, she threw the book across the room into the bookcase with such force that one of the shelves came undone, its books tumbling to the one below. Unable to support the weight, that one fell too and the one below it until all the books spilled out onto the floor. Shocked by the display, Snow stared at the mess before covering her face and collapsing back onto the bed as she anticipated Mat bursting into the room. Sure enough, seconds later he rushed in, clumsy with sleep. Ashamed and wanting to be left alone, she kept her face covered.

"What happened?"

The bed sagged as he sat beside her. When she didn't respond, he brushed her hair back from her hands.

"Snow? Are you alright?"

She let him gently pry away her hands.

"Just a bad dream," she said, the rattle in her voice betraying her. "I'm sorry," she added, rubbing her face to knead away the crusty bits of paper.

"You want to tell me about it?" he asked, still holding her other hand.

"No," she said through a choked laugh.

He let go of her hand and looked to the pile of books on the floor. "I'll rehang that in the morning," he said, then got up to go.

"Will you stay for awhile?" she asked so quietly that she wondered if she had said it aloud, though knew she had when he stopped.

He stayed quiet for so long that she opened her mouth to rescind the invitation only for him to nod and move back to the side of the bed, giving it a once-over before eyeballing the floor.

Snow extinguished the light on her bedside table, then scooched until her back was against the wall. He laid down facing her and tucked his hands under his head.

"I don't want to talk," she said after a moment.

"OK."

Snow turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, her shoulder pushing into his elbow. She waited until his breathing grew heavy with sleep, then said: "Out of all the doors I could've been dumped at, I'm glad it was yours."

It seemed important right then for the universe to know.