“Oh, I quite understand.” Her tone turns acidic, blackly triumphant. “But then, I’m the villain.”
I don’t say anything in my defense, because there’s not much to say. Maybe I’m the villain too.
Eventually, I feel Eva’s bitterness drain away. “The mirror showed me you, out of all the possible people in all the universes.” It sounds almost like an apology. “Why?”
“Well, what were you doing at the time?”
“I was looking into the mirror, obviously.” She adds, far less sharply, “Wishing for a way out.”
“Well.” I remember standing in that hotel bathroom, on the run from another happily ever after that wasn’t mine. “So was I. As it happens.”
She meets my eyes then, and something passes soft and silent between us. A wordless understanding, a sympathy so profound it approaches symmetry. It makes me think I was wrong, and the mirror in the hotel bathroom showed me my own reflection, after all.
“When you kissed me—” Eva begins, and my heart does a maneuver that feels like jumping off a high dive. “It wasn’t desire. You were just trying to trigger this narrative resonance, weren’t you?”
My heart belly flops. “Yeah. It didn’t work.”
“So, without the mirror … we’re stuck here.” Her voice is ashen.
“Looks like it.”
Silence unfurls between us. I should be formulating unlikely escape plans, but all I can think about is the sight of Red with her parents, the love strung like a cat’s cradle between the three of them. They must have known since the day she was born what fate awaited her, and it didn’t stop them caring. It didn’t stop my stupid, stubborn parents, either, or my stupid, stubborn best friend. The last time I spoke to her she said we had to talk, and I could tell from her voice that it wasn’t about my share of the rent or the laundry I left in the washer until it got moldy. Sure, I said, and then I went to my room, pricked my finger, and peaced out without even leaving a note.
And if I die in this sick version of Snow White, I’ll never get to tell her how fucking sorry I am.
If Eva hears me crying, she has the decency not to say anything. “I really am sorry,” I say thickly. “I’m sorry you didn’t get out of your story, but if it helps—at least you’re not the villain anymore. If you ever were.”
She’s quiet so long I don’t think she’ll answer. And then, when I’m sunk deep in a stupor of regrets and should-haves and aching joints, she whispers, “Thank you.”
A few hours after that, they come for us.
I find, if I tilt my shoulders and wrench my arms to the side, that I can just reach Eva’s hand as they march us through the castle. Her fingers wrap tight around mine, and we’re dragged together toward the climax of our stories.
8
I ALWAYS IMAGINED dying in a hospital room, which is sort of funny because it means some treacherous part of my subconscious always wanted to go back home before the end. I pictured my mom and dad on one side of my bed, Prim and Charm on the other, and lots of really high-caliber drugs singing me to sleep.
I did not picture my bare feet on black stone. I didn’t picture an airless courtyard or a low, greasy bonfire. I sure as hell didn’t picture anyone walking beside me, her fingers biting into mine as if I am her last hope in the world, or she’s mine. My hands are numb and bloodless from hours hanging above my head, but I don’t let go.
The huntsmen unshackle our wrists and toss us to the ground before the fire. We crawl toward one another without speaking, our spines bumping as we turn to face the ringed huntsmen. The queen—or Snow White, or whatever twisted amalgamation she is in this world—comes sweeping through their ranks with a supervillain’s sense of timing. Her hair is still silky black and her skin is still that unsettling alabaster, but her cheeks seem a little less round this morning, her lips a shade less red.
It feels like a good moment to say something quippy and brave, demonstrating my cocky resilience in the face of certain death, but nothing comes to mind. If I had my phone, I would text Charm in all caps: NOW’S THE TIME BITCH
Snow White stops a few feet away from us. “I’m quite cross with you, you know. Children aren’t easy to catch.” She looks petulant, disturbingly babyish. “They were bound for such a glorious purpose.”
“What, dinner?”
Snow White’s petulance darkens. “They were meant to keep their queen in the eternal youth that suits her best.” Eva makes a small noise of understanding beside me, and Snow White’s long-lashed gaze transfers to her. “It was my mother—well, stepmother—who first learned the trick of it.” She says it like a secret, although there are huntsmen all around, their ivory necklaces chattering with every tiny movement. “I don’t know how old she really was when she married my father, but she looked only a year or two older than me. I think.” A doubtful look, as if it’s been so long that she can’t quite remember. “She might have carried on forever if she hadn’t tried to steal the wrong heart.” Snow White’s fingers tap the white hyphen of her clavicle.