The castle was covered in dust and fire. I had an eerie feeling, like I'd been there sometime in the past or future, but I couldn't quite place it.
"You liar," the witch whispered, scuttling across the marble floors, clumps of her ebony hair raining down to the floor as she pointed a grizzled finger at me. "You liar!"
"What have I lied about?" I gasped, inching away from her. "I hardly know you, I swear!"
"You let your past blind you in the future. You let your old fears manifest in your work. You know what you have done, liar."
"I swear, I have no idea what you're talking about," I promised, even though I had a sinking feeling that I knew exactly what she meant.
"As witches burn, so do liars," the witch declared. She jerked her arms upwards, and hundreds of crows exploded from the ground, attacking me, pecking at me, eating my flesh. I fell to the floor. The dirt of the ground burned my skin, searing it.
"No!" I screamed. "I'm sorry! I'll fix it!"
The birds froze as the witch advanced to me. She grabbed my chin with her gnarled hand and yanked my head up, forcing me to look her in the eye. "Find me," she hissed, her lips the colour of blood, her skin waxen and pale like a corpse. Or like snow.
I remembered something and dizzily, I tried to stand.
"Find me!" The witch pushed me and I fell, landing on my back.
I woke up gasping and drenched in sweat. I wasn't fully certain of what the dream meant, but one thing was true: we'd arrested the wrong man. And if I didn't find the right one he'd be burned for his crimes.
I jumped out of bed and threw on leggings and an old sweatshirt. There was no time to waste.
After writing a letter to the kids that I set on the dining table, briefly explaining where I'd gone, I sent a text to Gran. I didn't expect him to wake up and help me. This was my mistake, and I had to fix it.
I straddled my bike and rode off to the penitentiary. I had a theory, and only Aunt Imelda could help me prove it.
Once arriving, the mirror guard greeted me again.
"The time is 2:37 a.m. Name and ID, please."
I took a breath. "I'm Sorrell Benedict. Here's my ID."
The guard let me through with no problems.
Aunt Imelda was not asleep like the rest of the world. Instead she sat, shafted in moonlight, her profile full of melancholy. She said nothing as we went to the visitor area.
"I heard about the arrest," she said quietly. "Congratulations."
I sighed. "Thank you, but-"
"You don't believe that man is the killer anymore, do you?" she said. Her voice was not accusatory or mocking, just curious.
I stared at the table. "I don't."
"You have come to ask about Snow," she said serenely. There was no malice in her face as she said the name, unlike last time.
Looking at her, all the pieces fit together. I could recall the old rhyme they said at her birth- Lips bloodred, hair like night, skin like snow, her name, Snow White.
Lips blood red- like the blood coloured lipstick signature.
Hair like night- like the hair we found in the tower.
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?"