Indexing: Reflections (Kindle Serials) (Indexing Series Book 2) Read online

  “The story changes.” I paused. “The story changes. You were the first of us, you started the archetype, and when the monomyth wouldn’t let you go, people kept on changing the way they told the story, because—because they’d seen you? Because they’d known you? Every Snow White had her own name once.”

  “They didn’t call me that for centuries, not until I’d split off from the narrative that claimed me and become a story all on my own,” she said. “I was more flexible then. I changed more quickly, because there was less weight behind me.”

  “You were a paragraph,” I said. “You were what Adrianna is now. Don’t you see how easy it would be to let her make you into a villain? All these girls you’ve been before, the village girl and the princess and the tithe, none of them would matter, because there’s no coming back. Once people see you as the bad guy, you don’t get to be good again, no matter how much good you do. No matter how hard you try. Human hearts don’t forgive that easily.”

  She smiled, and her lips were red and her skin was white and her hair was as black as a raven’s wing. She was a village girl and a princess and a sacrifice and a resurrection of the spring, all in the same body, and I had never seen anything so beautiful, or so terrifying, in my life. “She can change me. That much is true. But so, my windfall apple, can you. You can shift the boundaries, just a little. Just enough. We want to be free of what we’ve become. The glass coffin is too small. We need something larger. Something where we can be a heroine, and not just a prize to be won. Fight back.”

  “Help me,” I countered. “Offer the hand that no one offered to you, and help me. Let me defeat her on her own ground, and show that the story where you’re a hero matters more than the one where you’re a villain. I’m not going to pretend to be your only chance. You’re bigger and older than I am. But I’m telling you the truth when I say that I can’t win this without you.”

  She stepped closer, Snow White stepped closer, and the frightened princess that always lurked at the bottom of my thoughts shrank away, shivering, from the frozen beauty that birthed us both. I was her daughter and her sister and her protégée, and it hurt to be this close to her.

  “Do you really want my help?” she asked. “I warn you, once done is done forever. You can’t be separated from me once you let me in. No mortal force will ever split us apart.”

  “My story’s already active.”

  This time, her smile was sad. “Oh, pretty little village girl, with your red, red lips and your white, white skin, you never understood, did you? How could you, when your world was so much smaller than the woods around it? Your story is active, but that doesn’t matter. That’s a change of degrees, a rearranging of the flowers in the garden. What you ask will blow the palace doors open, and leave you to contend with what’s been locked inside all this time. ‘Active’ is a word for humans to put on stories, to try and contain them. What I will make you is so much more than that.”

  “Will you put the knife against my throat?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said, smile fading into seriousness. “If that’s what it takes to bring about the springtime, then yes. You are so important to me, child, but you must never forget that my mother bled me out and left me white as winter in the wood.”

  “Then I accept,” I said. “Help me.”

  “As you wish,” she said, and pulled me close, and kissed me. Her skin was cold, and her lips tasted like blood and apples, sweet and salty at the same time, until there was nothing else in the world. She wrapped her arms around me, and I was falling, and I was never going to land, and that was all right, because this was how the story was supposed to go. I gave up fighting. I let her in, and the whiteness closed over everything, and took the world away.

  # # #

  “Can she, you know, freeze to death? Because the ‘snow’ part in her name isn’t literal. It’s a metaphor for her total lack of complexion.”

  “Technically, white is a color, so she has a complexion. It’s just a very, very pale one.” Demi sounded more anxious than Andy had. Neither of them sounded happy. I couldn’t blame them for that. Watching your friend and team leader’s borrowed body collapse into the snow would make anyone uncomfortable.

  I rolled onto my back, staring up at the gray, storm-wracked sky. I was obscurely grateful for the clouds that covered it. Blue would have been hard to handle at the moment, one color too many forced into my three-color world. Gray wasn’t black or white, but it was a transition I was prepared to endure. “I’m okay,” I said. “I just had to sort a few things out with my story, that’s all. I’m fine. Somebody want to help me up?”

  “You bled everywhere,” said Carlos, bending to offer his hand. My fingers were shockingly white against his brown skin. “I thought Agent Santos was going to toss her cookies.”

  “Agent Santos does not have cookies to toss,” said Demi primly. “I’ve been gluten-free for years.”

  “How do you do burritos?” asked Carlos.

  “I don’t. Corn tortillas work for everything else. Tastes better, perfectly healthy, and I don’t spend as much time sick in bed.” Demi shrugged. “It works out.”

  I let go of Carlos’s hand. “All right, fascinating as this moment of shared culture has been, it’s time for us to get moving. How long was I out?”

  “Not long,” said Andy. “Maybe five minutes. Long enough to groan a few times, which is why we left you there. It seemed better than messing with you while you were doing whatever it was that you were doing.”

  “I was having a chat with my story.” My lips still tasted like apples and blood. They felt like they’d been bruised. It was all I could do not to touch them and find out. Snow White—the original—had kissed me in this body. She’d warned me that there was no going back. What if I was trapped here now? My own lips had never kissed my story, after all.

  “What did she say?” asked Demi, eyes going wide.

  “She said she’d help me.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Andy.

  “I don’t know.” I turned to face Adrianna’s castle. “Let’s find out.” And I started walking. The others followed me. Demi and Andy were in the habit of letting me take the lead, and I got the feeling that Carlos was just glad we weren’t looking to him for answers.

  Before, I hadn’t been walking on top of the snow: the snow had just been getting out of my way. Now, I seemed to balance atop the thin crust, and though I weighed as much as ever, I no longer broke through it, or left even the faintest of footprints in my wake. It was like I’d come to some sort of an accord with winter. That would have been unnerving, if not for the fact that the castle on the hill was getting closer. Every step we took seemed to devour ten feet of distance. We’d be there soon. Adrianna and her lackeys couldn’t hide from us.

  “What are we going to do when we get there?” asked Andy.

  “We’re going to do our jobs,” I said. “We’re going to get Sloane back, and we’re going to stop Adrianna and Birdie from doing whatever it is that they’re planning to do.” Distort the narrative. Turn the stories that wouldn’t stop replaying to their advantage. We knew the broad strokes, but we’d never quite managed to unsnarl the details. I wasn’t sure they had either. We’d been at their heels every step of the way, and it’s hard to properly plot your evil empire when the damn heroes won’t stop harrying you.

  “I can’t go back,” said Demi. I glanced at her. She was shivering, and not just from the cold. “Birdie . . . she said things when she had me. They made so much sense, because she knew where to hit my story to make it resonate. I can’t go back to her. I’ll die before I go back to her.”

  “You’re not going to,” said Andy. “She can’t claim me, and I am totally cool with the idea of punching a woman who wears glasses as many times as necessary. I think I might actually enjoy it if it’s her.”

  “Use lethal force if necessary,” I said. “Against anyone but Sloane.”

  There was a moment of stricken silence before Andy said, “Henry,
if we shoot her while she’s . . . you know . . . what’s that going to mean for you?”

  “I’m not a ghost, if that’s what you’re asking, and I didn’t steal this body. The original owner doesn’t want it anymore. That happens sometimes with Snow Whites who didn’t know about their story.” I shook my head. “I can stay here if I need to, and if the girl who used to live here comes back, I can find another one. It’s a trick they don’t advertise when they’re explaining the ins and outs of once upon a time.”

  “Is that why sometimes princesses wake up from comas and they’re all weird and don’t know their own names anymore?” asked Demi. The rest of us turned to look at her. She shrugged. “I read. I’ve been trying to learn as much as I can, since all this started. I think I might like to work in the Archives someday.”

  “You’d be a damn good archivist,” I said. “Yes, this is why sometimes sleeping princesses wake up different. It’s because they can become totally different people while they’re unconscious. I’m serious, guys. Do not let the fact that Adrianna has my face keep you from pulling the trigger. Saving Sloane and maybe the world is a lot more important than keeping my bra size from changing.” At least I wanted it to be, almost as much as I wanted my own body back. I had been through too much to be comfortable with the idea of seeing someone else’s face in the mirror for the rest of my life.

  And that couldn’t be more important than saving Sloane. It couldn’t. I refused to let my story be that selfish.

  “You’re the boss,” said Andy.

  “We’re here,” I said, looking up at the cold stone wall of Adrianna’s castle.

  “Now what?” asked Carlos.

  I smiled at him, thin and cold as a knife sliding between his ribs. “Now we get inside.”

  # # #

  Sloane wasn’t screaming anymore. Sloane had run out of screams some time before, right around when she ran out of tears and tension. Now she hung in her web of spun straw and knotted silk, head bowed, not responding to the world around her. Birdie sighed.

  “You were supposed to be made of stronger stuff, my broken glass-girl. You’ve lasted so long without committing yourself to a tale that I genuinely thought you’d be able to ride through this. Have I broken you, or are you just playing possum to see what I’ll do? I don’t recommend toying with me, Amity. You’ll like me better as a friend.”

  Sloane didn’t say anything. Sloane didn’t move.

  Birdie sighed a second time. “So it’s the long nap and the contemplation for you, then. I was hoping you’d be willing to fight beside us. The story needs you more than you can know. But a time of rest should give you a chance to consider your crimes—and give me the time I need to change a few things about your past. You’ll wake to a better world.”

  She pulled a needle from the collar of her sweater. It gleamed in the firelight, dull as pewter and sharp as sin. Birdie smiled.

  “I promise.”

  # # #

  The servant’s door at the base of the main tower was locked. That wasn’t a surprise: what was the point in building a secret castle on a layer of reality that wasn’t even supposed to exist if you were just going to go and leave the door open for anyone who wanted to wander inside? I glared at it anyway.

  “Demi, can you pipe this open?”

  She shook her head. “I could pipe a key out of a lock, but I can’t convince a lock that it wants to be open when it’s not.”

  “Ciara could talk it into opening, but we had to leave her behind,” said Carlos. “Maybe now that you don’t need that counterspell for the prison wards anymore—”

  “There isn’t time,” I said. I felt bad about cutting him off, but that didn’t stop me from going on. “You’d have to climb back up the beanstalk, give her the crystal, explain the situation, and then get back down here to us. Adrianna isn’t going to hold off blowing us into next week for that long. We need to move.”

  “How concerned are we about being found out?” asked Andy.

  “She knows we’re here.” Even if she hadn’t before I kissed our shared story, she did now. There was no way she didn’t. “The only reason we’re not trying to go through the front door is that it’s ten feet tall and eight feet across, and we don’t have a battering ram.”

  “Great,” said Andy. He drew his pistol, turned, and shot three times at the wood right next to the lock. Everyone but me exclaimed in surprise and dismay, and were still exclaiming when he holstered his gun, walked over to the door, and punched a hole through the damaged section of the paneling. Reaching inside, he pulled back the bolt, withdrew his hand, and opened the door before turning to beam at the rest of us.

  “Given the right situation, anything can be a key,” he said.

  I nodded. “Good thinking. Now follow me.” I stepped past him, through the open door and into Adrianna’s lair.

  The first thing that struck me was the cold. It was like walking into a freezer, and while my breath didn’t plume in the air, it was only because my core temperature was already so low. I could feel the chill, and that told me more than enough about what we were walking into. Adrianna was still strong here. Stronger than I was, even with our story on my side.

  The second thing that struck me was her fist, as she stepped out of a hidden alcove in the wall and slammed her knuckles into my nose. I reeled backward, knocked off balance. Andy’s hands on my shoulders caught me, pushing me upright in time for Adrianna to swing for me again. This time I ducked, and her fist hit him in the middle of his chest. Andy looked down at it, his eyebrows rising toward his hairline.

  “You probably didn’t want to do that,” he said, before grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward him. He bent at the same time, clearly intending to throw her. He had a lot of experience at throwing that body; we’d sparred together for years. He knew exactly how to take me down. By extension, he knew how to take her down.

  I saw her smile and knew that he was making a mistake.

  “Andy, no!” I shouted. It was too late. Adrianna was on top of him, and as he pulled her into the throw, she ran the fingers of her free hand down his cheek in what looked almost like a caress, except for the part where it left bloody scratches in its wake. Andy froze. Adrianna pulled her hand out of his grip, still smiling. And ponderously, slow as a tree toppling over in a forest, Andy fell.

  The floor shook when he struck. Carlos and Demi were staring at her in open-mouthed shock. Demi hadn’t even raised her flute yet. Adrianna straightened, turning her bloody smile on the two of them.

  “Now that it’s just us pretty lies standing here, why don’t we have a bit of fun?” she asked. “You run. I’ll chase you. And when I catch you, we’ll dance.”

  “I have a better idea,” I said. “You give me back my fucking body, and I let you go back to the whiteout wood.”

  “Because otherwise you’re going to what, keep me here? Kill me? If you kill me, you kill yourself—the self you’ve always been, anyway.” Adrianna turned to face me. “Bold move for someone who’s always tried so hard to follow the rules. But I suppose you’ve already started breaking them, haven’t you? I never took you for a thief, niece. That face you’re wearing, do you even know the name of the girl who owns it? Did you ask permission, or did you just take what you wanted, and damn the consequences? Maybe we’re closer than you think.”

  “Or maybe I asked the wood to show me a body whose owner didn’t want it anymore,” I said. “Leave my team alone. Your fight isn’t with them.”

  “My fight is with anyone who would slave the story when it deserves to run free.” Adrianna took a step toward me. “We could have kings and queens and quests. Castles and dragons and mermaid lagoons. But you people, you insist it’s too dangerous. That a few deaths justify locking us all into lives that aren’t worth living. Let people eat the apples that are thrown to them. They’ll treasure the time they have much more than they do the pale shadows you allow them to enjoy.”

  “Oh, that’s your big problem with the way we do things
? We don’t break shit often enough for you? Well, I’ve got news for you, Adrianna: You’ve been in the mirrors for too long. You’ve lost touch with your own story.” I leaned forward and smiled. The air around me chilled. “I just talked to our story. She chose me. She’s helping me. So no matter what the mirrors told you, looks like you’re old news.”

  Adrianna couldn’t pale—my complexion didn’t allow it. Instead, her features contorted with rage, and she launched herself at me. I did the only sensible thing.

  I turned and ran.

  # # #

  The castle belonged to Adrianna; she had created it out of whole cloth, weaving it according to her ideas of what a castle should be. Birdie had probably helped her. Adrianna had the raw power, but Birdie had the experience. She knew about stories and how they built their foundations. What neither of them had counted on was the fact that it wasn’t really Adrianna’s castle; it was Snow White’s castle, which meant it was mine. It wanted me to be happy. It wanted me to have whatever my heart desired—and what my heart desired was Sloane.

  I ran, and doorways appeared before me. I flung myself through them and stairways blossomed out of walls, spiraling up, up, ever upward. My new body wasn’t used to this sort of exertion. My lungs burned and my legs ached, and all my flesh wanted to do was lay down and sleep. Comas are a hard habit to break. I kept going. I needed to find Sloane and lead Adrianna away from the rest of my team. That was all that mattered. After that it was all sort of fuzzy and hard to focus on.

  A door appeared in the wall. I grabbed the doorknob, twisting as I slammed my shoulder into the wood, and bounced off when it refused to yield. Something else was holding this door closed against me. I backed off a step, rubbing my bruised shoulder and glaring.

  “Open,” I commanded.

  The door didn’t open.

  Adrianna was close enough behind me that I didn’t really have time to waste arguing with the inanimate. I only hesitated for a second before retreating to the shadows formed where the stairwell emptied out into the hall. It was a little bit of architectural frippery, more for effect than practicality, and it concealed me nicely. I put a hand over my mouth to block the sound of my labored breathing, and I waited.