13

Rosen lifted her head, squinting and blinking rapidly to clear the haze from her vision.

She lay on a sofa, and the wide window at her back showed the sun fading behind the mountain peaks. Before her a fireplace crackled, and seated there nervously in a plush chair was Gasto. He leaped to his feet when he saw her wake.

“Rosenrot, careful not to sit up too quickly. Here, I brought you some coffee and cookies.” He indicated the low marble table before her.

She rubbed at her forehead and shook herself awake, then peered at the coffee, tempted by the caffeine but wary.

“It’s not drugged,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “And I didn’t want to drug you earlier—really and truly. But there was no other way to get you here.” His tone pleaded, yet as if his actions were justified, and he kneeled beside the table, reaching for her hand, which she quickly moved.

“Do tell me what you hoped to accomplish by bringing me here?” she replied tartly.

Gasto’s eyes widened as if it were obvious. “Why, to save you from the fate of becoming that beast’s next meal! I couldn’t leave you in such a predicament, not my dear Rosenrot. I couldn’t let you become soup—though, I’m sure you would have made the best soup ever, since you’re so tenderly sweet.”

She gave him a weird look, and he cleared his throat.

“You must have been terrified, being kidnapped by that beast and forced to serve him.”

“The only one who’s kidnapped me is you,” she said flatly. Her head was spinning and she took a chance at the coffee, gulping it down.

“Perhaps now that things are settled, you can finally put this on.” Gasto opened a case, revealing a sapphire ring to her. “I know we will make the most beautiful couple in Freudendorf!”

Couple? Ring?

“Are—are you asking me to marry you?” Rosen spluttered.

“I will make you the happiest woman in the world, I promise. No price will be too much! You can have whatever your exquisite heart desires.” He moved to slip the ring on her finger, but she pulled her hand back, tucking it against her side.

“I’m sorry, Gasto, but I’m not in love with you. You deserve a girl who will adore you and your…wealthiness,” she said.

“Love?” He flapped his hand at that. “Who needs love to be married? As long as we can get along, that’s all that matters. Now here, put this on,” he tried again.

Rosen scooted to the farthest end of the sofa.

Gasto sighed. “My parents were perfectly happy together, and they weren’t in love. Can’t you give us a chance?”

“Where are your parents? I’ve never seen them,” she said, the fact suddenly striking her as odd.

“They’re…traveling on business.” Gasto tilted his head, as if unsure and trying to remember.

“What kind of business? Why would a wealthy family like yours move here, to such a remote town?”

Gasto seemed confused, his brow pinching together. “They…they…” He searched for an answer, finding nothing. He rubbed the sides of his head suddenly, as if fighting a bad headache. “I don’t remember why… Why don’t I remember why?”

Rosen’s stomach clenched. Gasto couldn’t remember because someone had affected his memory. Lord Kalt’s memory spell.

“Gasto, is it true that many years ago a group of humans from town stormed the castle and killed the Disteldorn family?” she asked.

Gasto looked up at her, even more confused. “I’ve never heard anything about that. On the contrary, the Disteldorns were the ones who attacked the town, threatening to kill people.”

Rosen got to her feet. “Does everybody in town believe that?” she asked, almost a whisper.

Gasto shrugged. “Of course, since it’s what many of them saw. The castle was abandoned after that, and the town strove to forget the Disteldorns ever existed.”

No, it wasn’t that simple, she realized. Kalt hadn’t just tampered with Gasto’s memory, but with everyone’s in town, and even Varick’s. And that meant no one knew the truth of what had happened that day long ago at the castle. No one really knew who Kalt was.

Rosen made for the door. Gasto quickly got up and blocked her path. “You can’t leave, Rosenrot. You must agree to marry me, first.”

“You cannot force me!”

“Rosenrot, you don’t understand. Kalt wants to execute you for thievery—”

Rosen dashed to the large window and slid it open, hurrying out onto a small balcony beyond.

“I’m trying to save your life!” Gasto came, reaching for her.

She jumped before his hand could grab, falling into a patch of evergreen bushes.

She hurried up, ignoring scratch marks, and bolted down the cobbled path into town.

Some of the autumn festivities were still going on as Rosen passed by the town square, but the streets beyond were quieter. An older man came out of the library and glanced her way: the library owner.

“Hello, Mr. Hans.” She waved as she jogged past.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Light of the streetlamps reflected across his glasses and made his skin glint as if wet.

“Are you all right?” she suddenly wondered, slowing.

He looked so pale, his skin slick as porcelain.

He straightened his shoulders, and something cracked—a chip fell off of his chin.

A chip of porcelain.

Rosen started backwards, in wide-eyed horror, as the librarian moved towards her—a stiff, porcelain-skin doll. Just like the strange servant she’d seen with Lord Kalt.

Another creaking announced a woman, a porcelain woman, who Rosen once knew as a prolific baker.

Both came at her, and she raced to get away, footfalls pounding the street.

More creaking, and more porcelain figures appeared from side streets and alleys, calling her name, beckoning her with hands that promised to rip her apart.

“Rosenrot…Rosenrot…”

They surrounded her on all sides. She halted as more appeared on the street up ahead. She looked to the nearest door—the church—and hurried for it, praying it was unlocked.

The door gave way to her, and she shut it behind her, searching for a lock but there was none. She pushed what chairs were nearby against the door handle as it began to shake, then rushed down the church’s center aisle.

Stained-glass windows shattered on either side as she ran; she covered her ears with elbow and hand. Porcelain heads and limbs reached over the windowsills, climbing like unsteady puppets into the church.

Rosen ran for the back, past a giant cross and rusty organ, to a back staircase, its steps spiraling upward. She could hear the golem creatures in pursuit, clacking feet echoing across the marble floor.

The spiral staircase led up onto the tower’s belfry, a space open to the cool air and one large dangling bell. She bit back a shiver and looked down. The church’s roofs were steep, and tendrils of fog made surfaces slick.

Golems continued up the stairs, calling her name through a ghostly moan.

There was no way out.

Rosen climbed onto the railing, clinging there, sweating, debating the drop to the roof below.

“Varick!” she tried calling out, knowing it would be in vain.

The first golem’s head peeked into the belfry.

“Please, God, let me live; or take my soul into Your arms,” Rosen whispered. And then, she let go.

The steep roof rushed to meet her. She braced herself, suddenly realizing that her aim was off and she was falling too far to the left to catch the roof.

She held her single hand out, hoping there would be something to grab onto and slow the fall.

There wasn’t.

And then, arms scooped her up and lifted her through the air.

She flailed, before seeing the ruby rose and Varick’s silver eyes in the twilight; she stilled. “Varick, you found me?”

“And just in time, it seems. What did you do to make the townspeople so mad?” he said.

“I didn’t! They’re golems.” She paused when he smirked.

“I’m trying to be funny. Is it working?”

“No,” she replied tartly. “But thanks for catching me.”

Varick landed on the edge of the church roof and leaped off: landing onto the roof of a shop, and leaping across onto the next.

Golems tried to follow from down below in the streets, their uneven gait unable to keep up.

“For future reference, jumping off of church towers isn’t going to make you grow wings,” he said.

She gave him a look that made him swallow his humor.

“I was heading to Pasto’s, when I heard your cry,” he told her.

“You heard my voice, above everything else?” She glanced back, taking in the aerial view of the town.

“I’ll always hear your voice,” he said, almost a whisper in her ear. He landed on the dirt path at the edge of town, the one that led up into the forest and western foothills.

She planted a light kiss on his cheek before she could think, then blushed bright red, berating herself in her mind.

But Varick was almost smiling, even when his expression winced in pain from something.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

The ruby rose around his neck didn’t shine as much as it used to. In fact, most of the petals had gone strangely dark. Why was that?

“It’s nothing.” He carried her up the path, barely making a sound, as if his footsteps glided over the leaves too quickly.

“There’s something I have to tell you. It’s urgent. But I’m not sure if you’ll believe me,” she said, arm around his neck.

He glanced down at her. “I know you’re not one to lie. I won’t doubt you.”

She sucked in a breath. “Remember that Memory Shift spell I found in Kalt’s secret room? I know now what he’s been using it for. Varick, the entire town believes it was the Disteldorns who attacked them. But you believe it was them who attacked and killed your family.”

Varick’s features frowned.

“Kalt has altered everyone’s memories of that day—including yours.”

Varick squinted, his eyebrows drawn down. “But…”

She turned her head away, watching the passing trees and night fog. “I knew some of those people, Varick. They’re dead—Kalt must have killed them and replaced them with those elaborate golems… And now he’s trying to kill me, too.”

Varick’s gaze lowered to her. “I won’t let that happen,” he stated firmly. “Do you think everyone in town is a golem by now?”

“No. Those still celebrating the festival ignored me,” she guessed.

They reached the castle gate and its blood red vines. “How is it that your memory wasn’t affected by the spell?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be like the other humans, and fear the Disteldorns?”

Rosen wondered. “I wasn’t born in Freudendorf. I must have moved here long after the spell was first cast. The later renewing spells would have nothing to renew in me… Varick, the book said that the spell had to be renewed monthly. Kalt must have had the page open because that time is drawing near. If we can stop him before he renews it again…”

“We’ll get our memories back,” he finished. “But how do we find where Kalt will cast the spell? It could be anywhere.” He crossed the front courtyard and carried her indoors.

Rosen thought over the book’s illustrations: star shapes that needed to be drawn in a circle around the intended target—in this case, the entire town and castle. The scope of the valley and foothills. There was only one way to manage something like that.

“The mountaintops,” she surmised, sliding to her feet. “They’re the only thing that surrounds us all.” She massaged her forehead. His arm around her shoulders kept her steady.

“I’ll have Mrs. Moos make you something to clear whatever it was that Pasto gave you,” he said, the hint of a protective growl in his undertone.

“You should eat something, Varick. You look pale—well, more than usual.”

Licht appeared, taking their cloaks, his foggy appearance somber. “I’ve searched everywhere for Schatten, Master, but there’s no sign of him. He did leave this note behind, though,” he said meekly, and flinched as if expecting Varick’s temper to erupt.

“…I see,” was all Varick said, taking the note.

Rosen pressed against his shoulder to read it with him:

My clan has served your family long, but it was never something that I wanted. I was simply born into the fate, and did as I was told, putting up with you. But my family died trying to protect you Disteldorns, and I can never forgive you for that. I’ve found a new residence to call my own, now, and so I leave your service.

—Schatten

Varick tossed the paper to the floor; it drifted slowly down. He took Rosen’s hand and led her into the kitchens.

Rosen tried to calm her stomach by eating the potato soup Mrs. Moos handed her, but the memory of people turning into golems wouldn’t leave her mind. Varick kept pressing his hand to his chest, as if fighting a phantom pain. She watched as he kept trying to shrug it off.

“I thought you had run off, at first. I’m sorry I doubted you,” he admitted to her, staring down at the hot soup mug in his hands.

A smile tugged at her lips. “Jealous a little?” she said with a smirk.

He chuckled. “A little.”

A sound rumbled beyond the kitchen window, though she didn’t remember seeing any heavy clouds.

“Dearie me, I hope the storm winds don’t ruin all your hard work in the gardens,” commented Mrs. Moos, stirring a hot cauldron.

Rosen almost laughed. That was the least of their worries, right now.

“Master! Master!!” Licht came running in, with a creaking, wheezing Sterbetod following.

“What?” Varick snapped, a hint of pain lining his tone.

“You—you won’t believe this, but it seems the entire town is marching up to the gate. Armed and carrying torches,” said Licht. “Master, they’re storming the castle!”