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  Praise for As Red As Blood by Salla Simukka

  “Limned in stark red, white, and black, this cold, delicate snowflake of a tale sparkles with icy magic.”

  —Kirkus Reviews (Starred Review)

  “Simukka creates a tough, self-sufficient heroine in 17-year-old Lumikki Andersson in this first book in the Snow White Trilogy . . . Fans of Nesbø and Larsson won’t be disappointed.”

  —Publishers Weekly (Starred Review)

  “[A] YA novel in the tradition of Nordic noir—edgy crime novels set in frigid lands.”

  —Booklist (Starred Review)

  “A compelling start, a strong female character, the rich background setting of Finland, and a hint of a Snow White retelling are highlights of this work.”

  —School Library Journal

  “The Arctic setting of this import is used to full advantage, evoking a chilling mood and strewing genuine frigid weather obstacles in Lumikki’s way . . . The first entry in Simukka’s Snow White trilogy will tempt mystery readers back for more.”

  —The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books

  ALSO BY SALLA SIMUKKA

  As Red as Blood

  As White as Snow

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Salla Simukka

  Translation © 2015 Owen F. Witesman

  Published by agreement with Tammi Publishers and Elina Ahlbäck Literary Agency, Helsinki, Finland.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Skyscape, New York

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477829950

  ISBN-10: 1477829954

  Cover design by Jennifer Wang

  Book design by Susan Gerber

  For everyone who loves. For everyone who is alone.

  CONTENTS

  I’ve been watching…

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 8

  1

  2

  3

  4

  I love you…

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 9

  5

  6

  7

  I’ve seen so…

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 10

  8

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 11

  9

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 12, EARLY MORNING

  10

  People are so…

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 12

  11

  Your touching makes…

  WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 13

  12

  13

  Knowledge is beautiful…

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 14

  14

  Often, I watch…

  15

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 15, EARLY MORNING

  16

  Perhaps you’re wondering…

  17

  18

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 28, TWO WEEKS LATER

  19

  CHRISTMAS EVE, FOUR DAYS EARLIER

  Lumikki sat on…

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  I’ve been watching you.

  I’ve been watching you when you didn’t know. I’ve been watching every move you make and every expression of your face. You thought you were invisible and unremarkable, but I have seen everything you do.

  I know you better than anyone else. I know you better than yourself.

  I know everything about you.

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 8

  Lumikki awoke to a gaze.

  A gaze aglow with warmth. It was hot, burning her skin and mind. The eyes were as familiar to Lumikki as her own. Light blue, the hue of ice and water and sky and light. Right now the eyes were smiling, although the gaze was steady and firm. A hand rose to stroke her hair and then continued in a light caress along the edge of her cheek to her neck. Lumikki felt a shudder of desire first in her belly and then below. Its grasp was so strong that she wasn’t sure whether it felt dizzyingly good or agonizingly painful. She was ready in a heartbeat. Blaze could have done anything to her. She was open to everything, absolutely everything. She trusted Blaze and knew that whatever he did would bring pure pleasure. They made each other feel good because they only wanted the best for each other. Nothing less would do.

  Blaze held his hand lightly on her neck and continued gazing. Lumikki could already feel herself throbbing and slick. Her breathing sped up. Her pulse pounded against Blaze’s fingers. Leaning in, Blaze grazed her mouth with his, drawing his tongue teasingly along her lower lip, not kissing in earnest yet. Lumikki had to work to keep herself from grabbing Blaze with both hands and sucking his lips greedily. Finally, Blaze pressed his mouth gently against Lumikki’s and began to kiss her just as irresistibly as he could. Lumikki would have groaned if she could make any sound. She closed her eyes and abandoned herself without reservation.

  Suddenly, the kissing changed, becoming softer, tender, more tentative. It wasn’t Blaze kissing her anymore. Lumikki opened her eyes, and the person kissing her drew away slightly. Lumikki looked him straight in the eyes.

  Brown, friendly, happy eyes.

  Sampsa’s eyes.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sampsa said and bent down to kiss Lumikki again.

  “How old is that joke even?” Lumikki muttered as she stretched her arms, which felt numb.

  “At least a hundred years.”

  Sampsa’s laughter buzzed on Lumikki’s neck. It tickled. It felt nice.

  “Actually, it’s much older than that. Perrault wrote down his version in the 1600s and the Grimms did theirs in the 1800s. But the story was being told a long time before then. Did you know that, in one of the older versions, the prince didn’t wake Sleeping Beauty up with a gentle kiss at all? He raped her. And even that didn’t wake her up until she gave birth to twins that . . .”

  Sampsa had slipped his hand under the blanket and was caressing Lumikki’s thighs, gradually moving toward her crotch. Lumikki was starting to have a hard time talking. The desire her dream had awoken was still pressing.

  “Save the lectures for school,” Sampsa whispered and then kissed her more insistently.

  Lumikki stopped thinking about anything but Sampsa’s lips and fingers. She didn’t have a reason to think of anything else. Or anyone.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, Lumikki looked at Sampsa’s back as he brewed her espresso in a Moka Express and heated water for cocoa on another burner for himself. Sampsa had a nicely muscled, confident back. His plaid flannel pajama pants hung down just enough on his hips to show the two depressions between his buttocks and lower back. Lumikki restrained her desire to go rub her thumbs into them.

  Sampsa’s dark brown hair was mussed, and he was humming a folk song his group was practicing. They played modern folk music, and Sampsa was the group’s violinist and lead singer. Lumikki had heard them play a couple of times at school assemblies. Not exactly her kind of music, but it was fast, happy, and energetic. For their genre, they were obviously quite good.

  Early December sleet splashed against the kitchen windowpanes. Lumikki pulled her feet up onto her chair, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on her knees. At what point had it become perfectly normal to have a sweet, half-naked boy bustling about in the kitchen of her pathetic little studio apartment every morning?

  It had all started at the beginning of the fall term, in mid-Augu
st. Maybe not right at the beginning, since for the first few days everyone in the school had wanted to talk to Lumikki and hear about the fire in Prague and how she saved the cult members who set it from committing suicide. How did it feel to be a hero? How did it feel to be famous? How did it feel to see her picture in all the magazines? Of course, the media in Finland had covered the story, and practically every newspaper wanted to interview Lumikki after she got home. But she had declined. And she’d handled her inquisitive schoolmates’ questions by responding so briefly they grew bored with how little they were getting out of her.

  Then Sampsa came. He had been in the same high school as Lumikki all along. Walked the same halls, sat in the same classrooms. Lumikki had known his name, but Sampsa had never been anything more than another face in the crowd.

  One day, Sampsa sat down next to Lumikki in the cafeteria. He sought her out to chat before class and then walked her home as far as the square downtown. And he did it all as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sampsa didn’t pressure her or force himself into Lumikki’s life. When a casual conversation reached a natural conclusion, he didn’t try to drag it out. He never took offense at Lumikki’s occasional, rather unfriendly rebuffs. Sampsa simply talked to her, looking at her with that friendly, open gaze of his, being present but knowing when to leave before the mood turned awkward.

  Sampsa’s every action said: “I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t hope for anything from you. I don’t demand anything from you. You can be just how you are. I just think it’s nice to spend time with you. My self-respect doesn’t depend on you smiling at me, but I sure wouldn’t mind if you did.”

  Gradually, Lumikki found herself looking forward to seeing Sampsa. She felt warm when he sat next to her and looked her straight in the eyes, sincerely and happily. Tiny butterflies began flitting around Lumikki’s stomach when Sampsa’s hand grazed hers.

  They started getting together outside of school. To go on long walks, to drink coffee, to go to concerts. Lumikki felt like a feather carried by a gentle breeze into moments and situations that felt utterly natural and right. Hand in hand with Sampsa. The slightly fumbling yet warm first kiss one dark November evening. The hand that stroked her hair and back the first time he slept at her place. Sampsa was patient. He didn’t try to lead Lumikki into doing anything she wasn’t ready for.

  Then, one night, Lumikki was ready. And she wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that physical intimacy with Sampsa was just as good and safe and right as everything else with him.

  By December, they were an official couple. Lumikki felt like things were the way they were supposed to be. She had finally fallen in love with someone new. She had gotten over Blaze and their breakup, even though it had taken a long time—more than a year. Blaze had disappeared completely from Lumikki’s life when his gender reassignment process from physical girl to physical boy was at its most difficult. Blaze thought he couldn’t be with anyone then, not even his beloved Lumikki, and he hadn’t given her any option other than to accept that decision, even though she could never completely understand it.

  But now, Sampsa was in her kitchen, brewing coffee and humming and generally making Lumikki want to kiss every vertebra in his spine.

  This was life. Life was good.

  It didn’t even matter that sleet was buffeting the window so hard now that it almost sounded like someone was clawing the glass trying to get in.

  Once upon a time, there was a key.

  The key was metal, perfectly palm sized. On its head was a skillfully cast image of a heart. The key was forged in 1898. The same year a small chest was made, with a lock that fit the key. Over the decades, the surface of the key was burnished by the touch of human hands. The first person who held it was the metal smith who forged it. Then it made its way to the hands of the chest’s first owner. He had seven children, all of whom held the key in turn. At that point, the key had been touched so many times already that identifying individual fingerprints was impossible.

  The last time the key had been touched was more than fifteen years ago. Then, two people had held it, several times in turn. In their hands, the key had felt much heavier than it really was. And when they turned the key in the lock of the chest, they felt as if someone had twisted a sharp, serrated knife in their hearts. The last time the key had been touched, salty droplets fell on it.

  Then the key was hidden. And it lay hidden, alone, abandoned year after year.

  But not forgotten. There were two people in the world who thought of the key every day. It was forged into their minds and still burned like glowing iron. If their thoughts could have made the key shine, its scintillating light would have revealed its hiding place from miles away.

  Once upon a time, there was a key that was hidden.

  In stories, like in real life, everything hidden wants eventually to be found.

  The key waited to be touched again and to open the chest. The key waited patiently, immobile and mute.

  Its time would soon come.

  This was Lumikki’s forest. The branches were black shadows; the black shadows were branches. Tree roots coiled along the ground like snakes before diving underground to form a wide, thick network curling around each other, the veins of different trees uniting beneath the soil, drinking from the same life force. The branches up above traced their own map between the trees and toward the sky with so many lines that light struggled to find a route through. The branches were arms, brush strokes, and hair. Some thin, some delicate. Some thick, some strong. All beautiful.

  The forest was a game of shadows, a dance of dim light and mist, hushed whispers and sighs, passing currents of air that gave her goose bumps. All of the shadow creatures, dream animals, sneaking beasts, and darkness dwellers bade Lumikki welcome. She was with her kind again.

  The blackness settled around and inside Lumikki, at once familiar and foreign. She ran more freely in the forest. She breathed deeper. The ribbons holding her hair came undone and her braids fell out with the sylvan wind seizing her hair and doing with it what it would. Twigs and leaves clung to her locks. The fabric of Lumikki’s silk dress ripped. Branches scratched her arms. She smelled the soil and decomposing leaves. Lumikki’s eyes focused, and she saw the smallest movements of the shadows. There was blood on her hands, drying quickly and turning black like the soil. Trying to wash it away would be futile. It would stay on her hands always, because Lumikki was a killer, a predator.

  This was Lumikki’s forest. In its darkness was room for passion and fear, despair and joy. The air that filled her lungs was heady. In the embrace of the forest, she grew into something whole. She became more than herself, more free. Lumikki settled down to lie on the roots, pressing her palm against the damp earth and wishing that she could become part of the roots, merging with them and penetrating the earth to find the heart spring.

  The forest sighed and throbbed around Lumikki as if it had one single pulse. Her pulse.

  “Okay, good! That bit about the heart is a perfect way to end the scene.”

  Tinka’s voice snapped Lumikki out of whatever state she had been in and she sat up on the stage. She felt like she had just woken up from a deep sleep. This scene in the play always affected her that way. She got so into it that, for a moment, she forgot that she was in the high school’s small auditorium rehearsing a play. They were calling it The Black Apple.

  Lumikki still wasn’t sure whether agreeing to act in the play had been a good idea. Sampsa was the one who talked her into it.

  “Hey, it’s a new take on ‘Snow White.’ With a name like yours, how could you pass that up? The Snow White role was practically written for you,” Sampsa had said, smiling that happy, encouraging smile that Lumikki’d do just about anything to see.

  She had been ready to take part in a play, although the thought of playing her kinda-sorta namesake felt a bit self-aggrandizing. It was bad enough that half the people she met felt compelled to make dumb jokes about her fairy-tale first name. Tink
a, who had written the play and was also directing it, only needed a couple of rehearsals to convince Lumikki that the script was actually pretty great and the production was going to be fantastic. Tinka had just started at the arts high school that fall, but she had enough chutzpah to direct students two years older than her.

  On the outside, Tinka was a stereotypical artsy student with her eclectic, constantly changing clothing and hairstyles. One day she might come to school in a tutu with her red hair braided in a bun; the next day in boots, ripped jeans, and an oversized hoodie with her hair in a rat’s nest; then a third day in a three-piece suit and a bowler hat. Variety and fickleness weren’t an attempt to get attention for Tinka, though, and she wasn’t putting on an act. She was direct, down-to-earth, and determined in a way that Lumikki admired.

  The Black Apple opened with the prince gazing at Snow White lying in her glass casket, burning with love for the beautiful, motionless maid. Then they began transporting the casket to the prince’s castle and, on the way, one of the bearers tripped, jostling the casket, which made the piece of poisoned apple dislodge from Snow White’s throat, allowing her to wake up. So, up to this point, the plot followed the classic fairy tale. However, in Tinka’s play, when Snow White awoke from her poison coma, she wasn’t thrilled about her role as the prince’s bride-to-be. She was used to the forest, to its shadows and beasts. She didn’t want to move to a golden castle to have servants wait on her hand and foot. A queen had too little freedom to do as she pleased. Besides, the prince only worshiped Snow White’s beauty and wasn’t interested in her mind.

  Tinka’s play had strong feminist overtones, but it wasn’t preachy or didactic. It was just intense and disturbing. None of the characters in The Black Apple was purely virtuous. Not even the Huntsman, who did try to save Snow White, but was motivated by his own desires and aspirations too.

  Sense by sense, Lumikki returned to the ordinary, real world surrounding her. Recovering from the last act always took some time. It was a powerful, hypnotic scene: Lumikki lay on the ground. The lights went dark. For a moment, the stage and house were in perfect blackness with the sound a heartbeat echoing louder and louder. Just before this, Lumikki had learned of the Huntsman’s death and killed the prince with a sharp silver hair comb. Then she fled the castle back to her beloved forest, to the company of the darkness and shadows and beasts.