Midnight Beauties (Grim Lovelies 2)

“Me? Never.”

They went downstairs. She opened the door. Little Beau followed at her heels, silent and loyal, as, for the first time in weeks, they both stepped beyond the protection spell and into the city.

Chapter 4

When it came to trains, the magic was the easy part for Anouk—?with a few whispers, she was able to cloak Little Beau in a shroud of shadows that let her get around the strict “no dogs” policy. Figuring out timetables and ticket booths wasn’t nearly as simple. By the time she’d found the right train and plunked down on a second-class seat across from two German tourists, she was frazzled.

The tourists were hunched over a guidebook with a castle on the cover. If they noticed the perpetual shadow at her side, they didn’t comment on it. The train carried them across countries that the Pretties called France and Germany (the Royals just called them “ours”). Fields bled into mountains with their heads in the clouds, and then the world turned dark as the stars

came out. The rumbling of the train took the edge off Anouk’s worries, even as she knew the calm would never last. She got off at a small station outside of Baiersbronn and was immediately glad she’d worn one of Mada Vittora’s fur coats over her jacket. It was past midnight and the promise of snow hung in the air. Wind bit at her cheeks as she turned down an alley and whispered into the shadows: “Egrex et forma veritum.”

Little Beau shook off the shadows cloaking him as if he were flicking off water. Anouk consulted her map. The chances of getting a ride by hitchhiking were slim so late at night, so they set out along the road on foot. Trees grew taller and houses became more spaced out, and soon there were no more homes or even roads, only forest.

Her feet ached by the time they reached the entrance marked on her map. Dawn was just breaking, and sunlight illuminated a well-trod path with a sign telling her she’d reached the Schwarzwald, the Black Forest.

But there were two Black Forests.

There was the one written about in guidebooks like the one the tourists had on the train, the Black Forest with quaint woodland trails and mountain lodges and squirrels and grouse—?that one was a pleasant illusion created for the Pretties.

The real Black Forest had no well-marked paths. It was a place of perpetual snow and eternal winter, where trees grew tall enough to block out the sun and where monstrously huge wolves and boar stalked smaller creatures in the murky dark.

Anouk took out the broken piece of antler and knelt down.

“Take us there, Beau,” she whispered.

Little Beau sniffed it thoroughly, then lifted his nose and bounded toward the untamed forest.

“Little Beau, wait!”

He’d taken off over tree roots and brambles. She scrambled to follow. There was nothing to indicate this was a path. No markings. No signs. The ground was damp with autumn leaves. Little Beau tracked the scent in short bursts—?pausing to sniff the air, bounding in a new direction, then doubling back and herding Anouk forward when she was too slow. After an hour of the two of them trudging through thick forest, the topography grew steeper. The temperature dropped as they entered a valley. The ground here was dusted with a light snow. More flakes floated amid the trees, growing heavier and thicker the farther they walked. Her boots started to sink into snowdrifts. When she turned around to check her footprints, they were already hidden by fresh snow.

The tips of the trees glistened like knife blades. Everything appeared in shades of white and green. The pine boughs were thick with ice. Except for the falling snow, it was perfectly still.

Too still.

She slipped on mittens and pulled up her hood. She couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere, someone was watching her.

“Luc told stories about these woods,” she said into the eerie quiet for the comfort of hearing her own voice. “Magic is concentrated here, which leads to strange things.”

The snow was so thick now that she couldn’t see more than ten feet on either side of her. The wind picked up, sending the snow flying diagonally into her face. The sky was only a smear of white. Little Beau tried to curl up in the lee of a stump, but she tugged on the scruff of his neck. “Come on,” she told him. “We have to keep moving.”

She offered him a sniff of the antler again and was relieved when he got back up and put his nose to the ground. She tromped behind him. Even though she had on mittens, her fingers were going numb. She’d prepared for snow, but not for a blizzard. What would happen if the storm got worse before they found the Cottage? How long could they go without stopping to make a fire? She trailed behind Little Beau on a path of dizzying switchbacks that made her feel as though they were hiking in circles. She could swear they’d passed by the same trees several times, but if their footsteps had ever been there, new snow had already hidden them.

As evening fell, the forest plunged into an even deeper cold, and she collapsed against a rocky outcropping that provided a windbreak from the storm. Her feet were rapidly turning numb. If she didn’t start a fire and warm them, she wouldn’t make it another mile. With frozen fingers, she hunted through the snow for branches and formed a small pile of kindling, but even with dry matches, she couldn’t get a spark going. The wood was too wet. She dug through her pockets and found a scarf and a fresh pair of socks, but they weren’t enough to keep her warm. She needed magic. With a swallow of powdered herbs, she cast a whisper to conjure an enchanted spark that would burn through damp wood. She added more wood onto the pile, whispering softly, and the fire grew. Her shoulders sagged in relief.

The snowdrifts around them began to melt. Water trickled down, forming a puddle in a bowl-shaped indentation in the rockface. She cupped the water in her hands and drank deep.

The dog, though, kept his distance from the flames.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you thirsty?”

She turned back to the snowdrift and let out a cry. The snow had melted away and now lifeless eyes looked back at her. Pale blue eyes, pale blond hair, skin the same sickeningly white color as the snow itself.

A corpse.

Anouk pressed a bare hand to her mouth. It was a girl. Younger than Anouk. Melting snow clumped in the girl’s hair. She’d been dead for, what, weeks? Months? A sickening bubble rose in Anouk’s throat.

A few broken twigs lay at the girl’s feet. She must have tried to make a fire too. Anouk started to notice other oddly shaped snowdrifts scattered on the ground throughout the woods. How many of them hid bodies? Was this a forest or a graveyard?