Red

Chapter Seventeen: the Boogeyman

Skin like snow- witches had pale skin, and the killer had magic. And the birds. Controlled by the witch herself, at every crime scene. 

Snow White wasn't dead after all. But how had she survived?

"She's not dead, is she?" I asked. 

Imelda tilted her head. "I've said that for years. She didn't die. She's a witch, and you know you can only kill a witch by burning her... unless you're a witch killer. I've been tested. I'm not a witch killer. And Snow was allegedly poisoned." 

"But why didn't they believe you?" 

"She was one of the beloved princesses, and I was a country bumpkin who fell in love with a much older king. Saying she was a witch was such a cruel accusation... I wouldn't dare. But she did." 

"Where is she now?" I asked. 

My aunt raised an eyebrow. "Didn't I tell you to check White Manor?" 

I didn't make eye contact. "I do recall that, but-" 

"Let me guess, you forgot?" Her eyes softened. "It's all right, dear. Do you have any other questions?" 

"Why is she killing the others?" I asked. 

Imelda shrugged. "She's a psychopath. Does she need a reason?" 

"Well," I said, "I guess I'll have to ask her myself." 

Imelda stiffened. "Don't, Sorrell. You cannot go after her alone. You won't survive." 

Nobody had said my name in years besides Stiltskin and I nearly lost track of my argument. "But Auntie, she believes she's won. She won't see me coming. I have to go." 

"Darling-" 

"Auntie, if Arreus is executed, his blood will be on my hands. I have to stop the execution, and the only way to do that is to find the real killer." 

Imelda looked at the table, too. "It is truly horrible to be falsely accused. I want nothing more than justice, too, Sorrell. But not if it comes at the cost of your life." 

"Not going values my life over his and yours, and that's not right." 

Imelda stared at something only she could see in the distance, her eyes filled with memories. "I knew a man who said nearly the same thing, only about Snow and I. I never saw him again." 

"I'll come back," I promised. 

My aunt's smile was full of melancholy. "That's what he said too." 

After a long hug from Imelda, I left the penitentiary. White Manor was all the way across town, and I wanted to be in and out before sunrise. 

Still, hardly anyone was out at this time of the night, allowing me to speed slightly and make it to the Manor in record time. 

Basked in the moonlight, the marbled house glowed eerily. I could just make out the silhouettes of several crows sitting placidly atop the roof. 

The gate was unsurprisingly locked, a rusty chain preventing it from being opened. I resorted to climbing over. 

I landed softly in the bushes surrounding the property and crept up towards the entrance. Several of the windows were busted out, and old multicoloured graffiti staining the once-white walls. The whole house seemed to be holding its breath, seemed to be waiting. But for what? 

I ignored the spiders creeping up my spine and slid myself feet first through one of the broken windows, twisting past the tattered curtain.

It was the castle from my dream, I was sure of it. The realization made my heart pound harder until I could hear blood thudding in my ears.

Inside, a lone grand piano lay like a fallen soldier, a shorter fourth leg causing it to lean precariously. All other furniture seemed to have been removed. 

The floor was unusually clean in contrast to the piano, forcing me to accept the idea that someone was staying here. 

A light flickered from the top of the stairs. Someone was definitely here. 

After a moment's hesitation, I crept towards them. To stop my footsteps from echoing I slid off my shoes and walked up in my socks. 

Snow's father had been murdered on these steps by burglars. Later, many speculated that my aunt had been the one to kill him and blamed it on the burglars. I'd almost believed this theory, too.

Still, however he'd died, I could very nearly feel his ghost breathing on my neck. 

The light was coming from the master bedroom. I slipped the door open in stepped inside. The person inside didn't seem to notice me. 

She sat at a dresser, legs crossed elegantly, rifling through the doors and trying on my aunt's jewelry. Her hair was literally the colour of darkness, like a blackhole atop someone's head. Her skin was a smooth porcelain, unblemished. From this angle, I couldn't see her lips, but I was willing to bet they were bright red. 

She turned suddenly. "Well, if it isn't my favourite step-cousin, Red Benedict." Snow's ruby lips turned up into a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. "Are you ready to die?"