5

Rosen ranted and raved. How could a lord behave in such a way? “Even street children have better manners! I won’t stand for being treated like this—debts to be paid or not. They’re not my debts, anyway. I’ll run away and become a nun!” She huffed and puffed. “And what’s he mean by human? Isn’t he human, too?” she snapped at the air.

“You didn’t tell her that part, either?” Licht eyed the butler, who gave a grin that lacked several teeth. “What did you tell her?” He tossed his arms in exasperation. Without waiting for an answer, the nymiad turned back to Rosen. “Let me explain, fraulein. Varick isn’t human. He’s—now, don’t be alarmed when I say this—but he’s…”

“Throwing another fit again?” a new voice interrupted.

Something shifted at the base of the staircase near Rosen, and she spun toward the voice, ready with a karate-chop hand raised.

A purple smile glowed and hovered in the air. “Master is the King of Fits. I doubt there’s a soul in the world who could outdo him. If only it was something they gave medals for.”

Licht came down the stairs to Rosen’s side, and the light of his flames made the shadow nymiad visible. The purple smile was attached to an angular face with long, pointed purple ears and a head of wispy black hair that moved as if underwater. Where Licht seemed to be made of solidified fog, this nymiad was made of dark shadows; thicker layers molded to resemble an old-style suit.

“This is Schatten,” introduced Licht. “The other nymiad servant, besides myself, and quite the trickster.”

“Gasp, I am an honest soul!” said Schatten, mock offended, but then he snickered. He took Rosen’s hand, standing no taller than Licht. “A pleasure to have a new face around. I do hope you stay and don’t let Lord Tantrum scare you away.” He lifted off the ground, floating slowly up to better meet her height. Rosen realized Licht had been doing the same.

“If he’s going to treat me like a splat of mud on his fine shoe, then I’m not hanging around,” Rosen said, lifting her chin high.

“Oh don’t be rash, young human.” Worry flashed across Schatten’s face briefly before he could hide it. “I’ll go and have a chat with him. It could be that he’s just in a rotten mood over something,” he suggested. “Communication has always been a challenge for the young lord. He wasn’t raised around people, you know.” He floated up the stairs.

“Communication?” Rosen snorted. “More like common decency and manners.”

Licht moved to hover in front of her, as if afraid she might bolt for the exit doors. “Those things must be learned, fraulein—they are not present in anyone at birth,” he told her. “Varick may be rough and unpolished on the outside,” he gestured with his hands, wrist flames flickering, “But there’s a soft spot inside him, I’m sure. He just needs…” Licht searched for the word, rolling his shoulders, and glanced to the butler for help, “…someone to bring that side out of him.” He added a glowing smile, as if that could convince her.

“Not buying it,” Rosen stated flatly.

“No compromise at all?” Licht struggled to keep ahead of her as she marched across the entry room toward the grand, rotting doors.

“Surely being a nun is a far worse fate?” The nymiad sounded desperate; in fact, they all seemed desperate for her to stay. But why?

“All right,” she said and stomped her boots to a halt. “If Lord Baby apologizes to me, then I’ll stay.”

Licht winced, and Butler Sterbetod sucked in a breath before coughing it out.

“I…” Licht held up a finger and paused. “I’ll discuss it with him.”

Shoulders bent inward and tense, he floated back up to the second floor.

***

“Master, you cannot live inside this bubble forever.” Schatten gestured to the flaking walls surrounding the drawing room.

“I can do what I want. Shut up,” said Varick.

“I don’t mean you should leave the castle, Master, but getting out and meeting new people would do you good. You might even make some friends!” encouraged Schatten.

“Friends. Why would I want those?”

“It could give you something fun to do—and teach you how to behave like a respectable person,” Schatten muttered the last bit.

“What did you say?”

Schatten cleared his throat. “That girl, Rosenrot, why don’t you start by befriending her?”

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“She’s a girl.” Varick’s fingernails dug into the wood of the table before him, its surface dusty and cluttered. “You know I can’t have anything to do with a girl! This curse is…” He trailed off, and raised his fingers to look at them, then he gingerly touched the silver band encircling his neck. “Are you trying to ruin me?”

The accusation shot at Schatten like an invisible arrow.

“O-of course not, Master!” The shadow nymiad bumbled, trying to pacify his wrath. But Varick’s wrath was not something to be so easily pacified. “We only want you to find some happiness and grow out of your shell. It’s not like the girl is some poison you cannot go near.”

“She is exactly that!” Varick slammed both palms on the table, rattling strewn bottles and books.

Schatten inhaled and clasped his shadowy palms together. “Deep calming breaths, Master—in and out.” He motioned the breathing pattern, but Varick folded his arms and plopped down into his favorite princely plush chair, instead.

“Now,” the nymiad continued, “nobody is saying you should like her, or fall in love or anything heinous—none of us wants that. We are well aware of your curse, Master. We know how much you would miss your handsome appearance should any…romantic feelings take hold and activate said curse.”

Varick tilted his chin to a small wall mirror. “Yes, I would miss it sorely.” He brushed his finger down his jawline. “What would be the point of living if I was ugly? Beauty has meaning, ugly does not.” His long fingers snatched a pumpkin crumpet from one of the bowls on the table and popped it into his mouth. “That girl, for example,” he continued. “How does she live with herself? She’s a weak human, to begin with.” He shuddered in disgust. “And that hair is so…frizzy.” He wiggled his fingers in the air to demonstrate. “But lacking a hand—a hand!—if that doesn’t spell ugly, then I don’t know what does.” He munched a second sweet crumpet. “How does she find the will to live?”

Schatten tensed. “Perhaps you should ask her, yourself?”

In that moment Licht strode into the room, his manner hovering between pleading and demanding. “Master, that was no way to treat a lady. If you don’t apologize soon, she’ll leave!”

“Lady? If persons like that can be considered a lady, then I’m glad for this curse.” Varick crossed a leg over his knee. “Let her leave. Such unsightly features put a smudge on my castle. And why is she so chubby in the chest? It’s weird.”

Schatten looked toward Licht, who face-palmed. “I suppose this is your first time seeing a female other than your mother,” Licht said quietly. “You do remember those anatomy books I had you read, yes?”

“No. Nor do I care to.”

Licht paused for a second, then pushed the matter aside. “Well, we can have a talk about that later. But for right now, go apologize to her. We need her here. You need her here. Another person who’s your age, and who at least resembles your race better than we nymiads do.”

“If a friend is what you wanted to get me, then why wasn’t it a male?” Varick snapped bitterly, crumbs spilling over his lips.

“Sterbetod tried his best. And anyway, it’s too late to change things now,” Schatten reasoned. “You don’t want 17,000 marks to go to waste, do you?”

“Seventeen-thou—!” Varick’s eyebrows contorted. “He spent that much?”

“Apologize, and put Rosenrot to work, or all of that will have been wasted,” Licht finished.

There was a vile taste in Varick’s mouth, and he reached for a glass of pumpkin-flavored water. “Seventeen-thousand…fine! Bring the human here.”

***

Rosenrot crossed her arms—well, one and a half arm—but finally followed Licht back upstairs to the drawing room. This had better be a good apology, or it was off to the nuns for her!

The door opened, and as she stepped inside, a strong scent of pumpkin overwhelmed her senses. Hand to her nose, she scanned the drawing room and its dark furnishings, all the fabrics of orange hues. The princely chair Lord Varick reposed in was stark black wood and orange upholstery.

She didn’t want to look directly at the man, and focused instead on the bookcases and shelves, lined in cobwebs and holding strange collections of mushrooms growing in terrariums.

“Do you have a name, girl?”

She did her best not to throw the nearest bowl of crumpets at him. She snatched one and plopped it in her mouth. Pumpkin flavored? Was everything in here pumpkin?

“I should hope every person has a name. Mine is Rosenrot,” she replied.

Varick propped his elbow on the chair arm and touched his thumb to his chin and first two fingers to his temple—like a prince looking down on his subject. This time, she noticed a cape around his sharp shoulders.

“Rosenrot, Rrrosen rrrot…” He rolled the name about. “Miss Rot, I trust you understand the value of money and what it means when labor has been paid for? If you leave this castle, it will be as a thief, and I will have you hunted down and jailed for stealing from me.”

Licht sucked in his lips, and Schatten mumbled something to the air.

Was this supposed to be an apology? Rosen pressed her elbows against her sides.

“I am not a thief, Lord Vak. I came willingly to do the labor you paid for,” she said. “I can clean, trim the plants, wash windows, but what I will not do is let someone treat me as if I’m less of a person than they are.”

One of his perfect eyebrows lifted.

“I will work for you, but I will not be treated as a that,” Rosen finished.

“Vak?” The lord’s perfect lips pouted. Then his eyelids closed and his nose turned away. “Whatever. As long as you do your work, you can eat and wear what you like, and choose any bedroom. That should be enough for you, yes?” He twirled his fingers in the air, and plucked another pumpkin crumpet.

Rosen’s mouth twisted to the side. Did he understand a word of what she’d just said? His behavior was despicable!

The shadow nymiad did mention that Varick hadn’t been raised around people. Judging by the cobweb décor of this room, and no doubt every room, it did seem that he lived alone.

“You can start with the windows. Light doesn’t shine through them the same as it did before dust settled in.” Varick buffed his nails on his vest and inspected their shine. “Sterbetod’s too old for the job, now.”

Rosen didn’t bother to curtsy before she left. A flash of red caught her eye: Now that his gorgeous face was too aggravating to look at, she noticed a necklace wound tight around his neck: a gothic band of metal, with a rose at its center made of raw ruby petals. “Are those real rubies?” she murmured.

Varick’s eyelids popped open; the look he gave her was hunted and suspicious, his hand clutching the ruby rose from her sight.

The sudden change made her flinch, and she saw her way out the room.

How many windows did a castle have?

“I guess I’ll find out,” she mouthed.