Cinderella's Inferno Read online

  “I think a year,” he said after a time. “Yes, a year ago come July. I saw the lady ghost by the church steps and heard a whisper of my name. I followed the voice into the graveyard and there she was, by her tree.”

  A year. She had made herself known to him a year prior. “Why didn’t you say anything? How could you have kept this from me?” Hot tears welled in my eyes for the second time that night. I would not let them spill. I would not allow them to fall. “You know I miss her as much as you do.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when she first came to you?”

  He was much younger then. Ill. In grave danger. If he had spoken to Celia of my visits to the cemetery, I might have suffered worse—or he might have borne the brunt of my punishment. But I know these arguments have little meaning to a boy of eight who misses his mother, so I said nothing of it.

  Instead, I asked, “Did she give you a message? For me or Father?”

  He shook his head, folding his arms across his chest, mimicking my stance. “No. I didn’t not tell you on purpose, Ellison, but every time she appeared to me, you and Will were away together.”

  Without me, were his unspoken words.

  This is the truth of it: After Celia’s defeat, William and I were officially betrothed in a palace ceremony. I still don’t understand to what end such a ceremony is held, but many people gathered, and it was a time of great rejoicing. Evil had been banished, I vowed never to conjure from the great tome again, and I refused to call upon my dark talents for any purpose—I wished not to place myself at odds with William or his family, particularly the king. My father, with greater reluctance, took a similar vow—though I cannot imagine what desire might have stopped him from doing so, since he and my mother had already paid the ultimate price of The Book of Conjuring through their actions.

  This vow, in the king’s eyes, allowed that I be considered a suitable match for his son, a man who had taken upon himself a lifelong mantle, a devotion to upholding all that is good by protecting this world in the Almighty’s name from the evils that roam the earth.

  How foolish was I, were we, to think that Celia’s banishment back into the Abyss meant the banishment of all evils—spirits and demons, shifters and hordes—for where in the holy scriptures does it ever speak of eternal peace? Not until Judgment Day. Not until the Lord returns and this earth passes away, and we were mistaken to believe otherwise. Celia had not been the first, and she would surely not be the last. Thus, when a messenger arrived at the palace on a spent horse, racing inside to fall flat on his face upon exclaiming that a neighboring village had been massacred by black beasts that no one could kill by mortal means, we knew. I knew. I could not keep my vow to abstain, and I couldn’t stand idly by while I had the strength and power to assist my kingdom.

  William and I traveled to that village. Mutually agreed and willingly given, I drew his life into my conjurings. I spoke words that wove bindings, fueling my dark magic—for it could be called nothing else—with his essence. I willed it forth, called a spirit to my side, bound it with unseen chains, and held it fast to do my bidding until William’s spoken prayer and holy medallion dispersed the demonic beasts with the Almighty’s purest light.

  With blazing brilliance, we cast out the evil and rid the village of its oppression. Word traveled, as it always does. We were called upon again. And again. And yet again. And so we traveled for a time to the towns and villages that had need—we two, agents of opposing forces come together for a common cause, hunters of the dark, bringers of light.

  Back to back, we returned peace to the kingdoms, both ours and our allied neighbors. Our marriage could wait, for there were greater things at stake, and I believed our intent was to settle the world and wed during a time of peace.

  Three months ago, I believed this time had arrived. Not forever, of course—I am no longer so naïve—but long enough that we might become husband and wife and truly begin our lives together.

  I had not counted on the king’s delay.

  I had not believed that, despite all we had done, he would see me as no more than a breaker of vows.

  I worked alongside William and risked my own soul, time and time again, for the common good, but the king saw nothing but a girl who had violated a sworn oath and allied with dark forces diametrically opposed to his own.

  And so, I was not invited to sit by William’s side while the French dignitaries spoke to the palace at length about our intrusion. I couldn’t speak up to defend our contributions, and I worried that William’s voice would not be heard, as he often lacked the confidence to speak his piece against his father’s convictions.

  So, to be snubbed by my mother’s spirit, for my brother to have kept this secret, seemed too much to bear.

  My shoulders grew heavy and slumped forward, the fire in my belly from my father’s dismissal doused and smothered.

  Edward’s small hand gripped my elbow and I flinched at the unexpected touch.

  “Come with me,” he said. “Maybe she’ll visit today.”

  “Not if I’m there. I guarantee it.”

  “What if you stand at a distance? Outside the gate? Even then?”

  I did not know, and I was loath to hold out hope even if I tried.

  But if we don’t have hope, what do we have?

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll go with you, but I have little faith that she’ll appear in my presence. Even if my feet aren’t on sacred ground, she may sense that I’m near.”

  “I’m not sure it’s up to her,” Edward said, growing quiet as he pulled away from my arm. “I’m not certain she has a choice when to appear.”

  He began walking and I followed behind, step after step, closer to the place where our mother’s body lay. The dinner hour had only just finished, and few people strayed outdoors to see the evening through—though certain places, like the King’s Arm, drew a crowd regardless of day or night.

  A barkeep sweeping the steps of the tavern ignored our passing, entirely unconcerned with the early evening activities of youth, and even less so my brother and me. While most townsfolk were aware of my betrothal to Prince William, few bothered themselves with my affairs in general, being more fearful of my power than intrigued by my royal connection.

  Many had attended the false wedding of William and Victoria two years prior, after all, and those who had not but had attended the royal balls were able to join cause and effect in their minds. Townsfolk loved to talk, for good or for ill, it seemed.

  We emerged on the other side of town and I had to press my lips together to keep from groaning.

  The rubble. The half-standing walls, jagged and broken, pieces strewn about the lawn like so much refuse. The only clear path on the entire property led to the cemetery’s iron gate.

  “Come up to the gate,” Edward said, seeing me freeze at the edge of the path. “Surely you need not wait on the road.”

  I was not sure of that at all, but I allowed him to take my hand and lead me to the gate that separated the dead from the living. I placed my hands on the iron—perpetually cold, no matter the season—as Edward slipped through. He glanced over his shoulder at me but once, so I smiled to encourage him, though I now wonder if perhaps he was more afraid of being alone among the dead than concerned with my abandonment at the gate.

  He made his way to the hazel tree, a straight line without deviation, and knelt.

  And then, we waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  I wondered whether our father knew where we were, and if he might be concerned. How long were we to wait here? I hadn’t known Edward to have such patience, though I supposed that was a familial trait I didn’t share. How could I know of his patience if I had none of my own?

  Just when I thought I might call out to Edward and suggest we return another day, the air above our mother’s stone began to shimmer.

  The scent of hazel and lavender, even from where I stood at a distance, drifted lazily to in
trude upon my senses.

  My heart began to beat rapid and fluttering thumps inside my chest, and it felt as though the very earth shifted beneath my feet. But no—I simply wavered on my own unsteady footing, for above my mother’s stone, the shimmering air began to take shape.

  It was my mother’s spirit, and she had chosen Edward instead of me.

  4

  The Damning

  I resisted the urge to cry out, to demand an explanation why she had chosen to reject the very daughter she’d so lovingly assisted those years before but held my tongue when a strange sensation of wrongness brushed against my chest.

  Her form, in memory all shades of purest white and silver-gold, appeared gray and dulled in Edward’s presence. The wickedness within me dared to suggest that only I had the power to truly call her forth, but the shred of goodness I still carried worried that perhaps the being who appeared to my brother was not the spirit of my mother at all, but a demon in disguise.

  This, of course, could not be true, for the gravesite stood on hallowed ground. Regardless of Celia’s actions to desecrate the Lord’s earth, still it had burned her—still it had followed my command to open and swallow her whole.

  I crouched beside the iron gate, peering above the branches of a roughly trimmed hedge to watch Edward’s hand reach toward our mother as she, too, extended hers to him. I could not hear his words or if she spoke, though the distant ring of chimes—melodic and sweet—suggested that she had come to deliver a message. I hoped for a word of joy or encouragement that Edward might pass on to Father and me. Or, better still, a reason for her absence. I didn’t need to touch her, I would not inflict purposeful pain, but did she truly believe otherwise? Perhaps she recalled that moment two years prior when we’d reached for each other—how angry, black scabs had formed over her luminescent spirit flesh when we’d made contact. I still heard her cries of pain, recalling easily the way my skin had burned at her touch. Did she fear I would reach for her again, that I would cause her purity to fester? Was that why she’d stayed away?

  Anger flared in my belly and unbalanced my deep crouch. My toe caught on the front of my skirt as discomfort forced my body to reorient itself, and I toppled forward to land directly in front of the closed gate. No longer hidden by the hedge, I held a quiet hope that the fumble had gone unnoticed. But when I glanced up to regard my family, I received no such relief from embarrassment. Edward gaped as though he had forgotten my presence at all, and my mother—oh, my dear and most precious mother—regarded me as though I were naught but a mere insect to be trod upon.

  She was not pleased to see me. If she had any reaction at all, I might have called it … anger. Or was it blame?

  “Ella, go back,” Edward pleaded.

  “Mother, please,” I breathed. She didn’t speak to me but the air around her shimmering form darkened. The dulled brightness of her spirit dimmed further, and I stared in alarm as I rose to my feet.

  “No, Ella. Go.” Edward took a step toward me as I found myself pressed into the iron gate. My trembling fingers caught the latch and raised it. My mother’s spirit, faded and stark, lifted her palms toward me—not beckoning, but forbidding.

  “Why don’t you want me?” My voice cracked, and I choked on the words as I stepped through onto hallowed ground. “Why doesn’t anyone want me?”

  But my second question was directed to no one but myself, and I should have stilled my feet then and there upon realizing that my broken heart was not about my mother at all but about all of those who had seemingly swept me aside, despite everything I’d done for them. Even my father seemed distant these days, though I couldn’t fault him much. He had left to protect us and returned to a daughter who raised spirits and a demon wife who cracked the world.

  And as I stepped farther into the cemetery, taking small steps toward my mother’s stone, I did not see the way the earth decayed beneath me. Later, Edward would tell me how with every step the green grass shrivelled and blackened, the flowers wilted, and the weeds went to ruin as if the depth of my despair in that moment was so great—greater than ever before—that it poured from within to infect everything I touched.

  All I saw was the encroaching darkness around my mother. The fear in her eyes, a sudden flash of orange and red, a rush of heat that blasted through the yard and sent my long, dark hair swirling about my head. My mother opened her mouth in a silent scream as a serpent of fire slipped through the void, wound around her ankles and waist, then gripped her torso and smothered her face as I rushed forward with a scream. I itched to release power, but with William far from my person, I risked drawing life from my brother—my brother, who had fallen to his knees, weeping at the sight of our transcendent mother consumed by the fires of …

  Damnation.

  I found the strength to breathe but one word. “No.”

  And then the fiery serpent coiled tight to swallow her whole. I reached for her, another cry on my lips, but as I stumbled forward, reaching, grasping, the veil between the living and the dead fell back into place and I closed my fingers around nothing but air.

  I stood in disbelief, willing her to return, and desperately begging the Almighty to awaken me from what must surely be a dream, a nightmarish fever brought on by a bad bit of beef or moldy cheese.

  But poor Edward’s mournful lowing sliced through my frantic prayers, and I dropped to my knees beside him, taking him into my arms. He yelped at my touch and leaped to his feet, backing away.

  “What did you do?” Each word increased in importance, in emphasis, as his cheeks, already streaked with rivers of salted tears, reddened. “What have you done?”

  Truly, I didn’t know. I could do nothing but rise to my feet, stiff as a wooden board, fearful as a newborn fawn. I did not know what I had done, or if I had done anything at all.

  However, one thing had become clear.

  My mother was no longer in heaven, enjoying the blessings and eternal joy that she, above all others, deserved.

  My mother, somehow, had been banished to hell.

  And I might have sent her there.

  5

  The Stranger

  I did not wait. I did not hesitate. I flew from the gravesite, leaving my poor brother to his fate, but also knowing that even in fading daylight he could find his way home without my guidance. One of the townsfolk would undoubtedly offer to bring him back to my father, though Edward’s strong will would also undoubtedly compel him to thwart any efforts at adult interference in a display of independence.

  I wished my brother were not so grown up, at times. I wondered if my father thought the same thing about me.

  I kicked up my heels and flew down the road toward the palace, passing buggies and drivers and earning looks of surprise from the horses as I overtook their pace. More than a few travelers suggested I stop and accept a place in their carriage that I might not dirty my skirts, but I had given up the futile state of cleanliness a very long time ago.

  Upon reaching the palace, my face dusty and throat parched, I pounded on the closed door. A guard stationed at the entrance regarded me curiously, uncertain as to whether he should intervene or allow me to continue beating my fists upon the wooden door to no end.

  “Open this door at once,” I finally commanded, drawing myself up to my greatest height—which, truth be told, is not much greater than a young tree, too immature to bear fruit—and placed my hands on my hips in an effort to appear surer of myself than in actuality.

  The guard’s smile did not reassure me. Rather, he smirked, nudged the guard to his right, and gestured toward me as though I had provided a gawker’s spectacle. Were they so ignorant of the prince’s betrothed not to even recognize the girl, the woman, whose existence the entire palace claimed to fear?

  Or did I simply look so terrible that they didn’t recognize me?

  “I am Ellison, defender of the kingdom and betrothed of the crown prince, and you will allow me through these doors.”

  “
Go home, little girl,” said one, and he advanced as if to lay hands upon me.

  “Retrieve Prince William at once.” I infused my speech with force, but the guards merely laughed—and another, seeing that I would not be cowed by their taunts, lashed out with his pike to sweep my feet out from beneath me. I fell to the earth on my back, air rushing from my lungs at the force of impact. Unbidden tears welled on my lower lids. A visitor traveling the road to the palace abandoned his vehicle and rushed forth to offer a steady hand, helping me back to my feet.

  “Are you all right, dear lady?” He regarded me with concern, and it didn’t escape my notice that he was both a young man, not more than a decade my senior, and a not-unpleasant sight for my burning eyes. A rush of heat spread from the base of my spine up to my cheeks, assuredly sending a flush of redness to all exposed skin. Not since Charlotte and Victoria had torn my yellow dress to pieces while Celia watched had I been so humiliated.

  “I will be, thank you kindly,” I replied, dipping in a shallow curtsy of appreciation. Seeing his concern when no others had deigned to assist a young woman with dust on her face and tears in the hem of her dress recalled the parable of the Good Samaritan.

  “Their rudeness is surprising and inexcusable,” he murmured. “I’d heard the royal family here is benevolent and attuned to their people, but perhaps it doesn’t extend to all those employed by the crown. A mite concerning, that.”

  I did not disagree. “I’m as bewildered as you are. And thank you again for your assistance.”

  His smile was kind. He made motion to return to his carriage and, without thinking, I reached to touch his wrist—a forward and unusual gesture for a young lady such as myself. However, I had already well established my willingness to flout social convention, so why begin to follow accepted practice now?