As White as Snow (The Snow White Trilogy Book 2) Page 13

The princess awoke to someone singing the same sad song she had been singing for the past seven years. She looked up to the tower window and saw her friend. The princesses both cried for joy when they recognized each other. The princess who had arrived from afar shouted that she would save the prisoner. But the imprisoned princess replied that the time was not right because the dragon could appear at any moment and consume her with fire. Nevertheless, the princess knew that they had promised to always protect each other, and she set out to climb the tower.

  When she arrived at the high window, they hugged for a long time and smiled. Suddenly, though, the look in the imprisoned princess’s eyes shifted. Her eyes changed, and her arms changed. Her hair turned to scales, and the hem of her dress morphed into a long tail. The silk ribbons that adorned her head transformed into wings. After a moment, the princess from afar realized that she was staring into the eyes of the dragon.

  However, she did not fear. Lightly touching the dragon’s snout, she told her that she was still the princess inside. Or she was the princess with a dragon inside. The dragon looked at her friend and understood. Her eyes began to weep great black tears, which flowed down the walls of the tower and watered the scorched ground, making it bloom once again. The dragon princess cried because she knew that people would not accept her because she was a dragon. And dragons would not accept her because she was a person.

  Then the princess from afar wrapped her arms around the dragon’s neck and promised that the two of them would stay together, come what may. They didn’t need anyone else. They would look for a land where princesses and dragons could live in harmony, even if they were one and the same person.

  In the final scene, the dragon flew toward the full moon with the princess on its back.

  Lumikki realized her cheeks were wet. She wiped them in surprise. Had she been crying? Apparently so. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. She’d thought she had lost the ability to cry.

  The shadow theater story had sucked her in so thoroughly that she had forgotten herself and all her conscious thoughts. Her subconscious feelings had taken over. The story awoke images of many different things.

  Lumikki and Blaze.

  Lumikki and Lenka.

  Lumikki and someone she played with as a child, pretending to be two girls named Snow White and Rose Red. Suddenly, she remembered the story and the game perfectly. In the story, a prince who had been turned into a bear by enchantment helped the girls. She had loved the game even though she hadn’t entirely understood it. Her playmate had been a little older than she was and told her the story as they played. Snow White and Rose Red were always together and they always saved each other, just like the princesses in the shadow play.

  Lenka had saved Lumikki. No matter how much Lumikki detested her lie, she couldn’t deny that Lenka had saved her. Lenka had taken a risk and knowingly put herself in danger for Lumikki, helping her escape even though she knew that Lumikki wasn’t really her sister and even though helping could have meant disaster for her.

  The rest of the audience had already left the theater and the ticket seller came to the door and coughed pointedly. Lumikki stood up. She felt a little dizzy, but the feeling passed quickly when she gritted her teeth and started walking resolutely toward the door.

  Lumikki hated owing people, and now she felt like she owed Lenka her life.

  Outside, the evening sun slanted into Lumikki’s eyes and hot air assaulted her from every side. Lumikki checked her phone. Jiři had tried to call five times. The last time was just ten minutes earlier. He’d also left a message. Lumikki tried to call him back, but when he didn’t answer, she listened to the message. Jiři said he was going to the White Family’s house to do his story and that the mass suicide was planned for tonight. The police and rescue teams were supposed to be coming to help.

  Lumikki didn’t stop to think. She just took off running. She could still catch Jiři at the Super8 building and go with him.

  She arrived out of breath at 6:15 p.m. The receptionist looked her over from head to toe with pity in her eyes.

  “Hard day?”

  “And it might get worse. Is Jiři still here?”

  “No. He just left. He didn’t say where but—”

  Just then, a woman of about forty stepped out of the elevator and did a double take when she saw Lumikki. It was as if the woman recognized her, even though Lumikki couldn’t remember ever having seen her before. There was something in her gaze that was so frightening Lumikki felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The woman sped up, lifting her phone to her ear and taking one more sharp glance at Lumikki before stepping outside.

  “Who was that?” Lumikki asked the receptionist, who looked at her wide-eyed.

  “You don’t know? That’s Vera Sováková, Super8’s CEO.”

  Lumikki just waved her hand in thanks and ran out the door.

  She had to get to Lenka’s house before this tragedy could become real.

  The first thing Jiři noticed was the smell, which was acrid and nearly suffocating. For a moment, he couldn’t place it, until it triggered a memory from summer camp ten years earlier. They’d spent every night sitting around a fire. Because the summer was rainy, it was impossible to get the damp wood to light with just matches and newspaper. They went through lighter fluid by the gallon.

  Someone was using lighter fluid here too. But more. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of gallons. Jiři had to be careful not to trip on the bundles of fabric strewn on the floor. They were all soaked through.

  There was no one around. It was completely silent.

  Jiři didn’t think that was a good sign. In fact, it was a very bad sign. He didn’t believe for a second that the cult members had left or decided to abandon their plan. No one would waste this much time, energy, and lighter fluid just to burn down a dilapidated house. They were definitely still in the building. Somewhere deep inside.

  The ground floor seemed to be empty. The doors connecting the rooms were open. The pieces of fabric doused in lighter fluid were scattered everywhere, on the floors and draped over the sparse furnishings. One good spark would have set the whole place ablaze instantly. That was obviously the point.

  He lifted his camera and panned over the first floor, keeping his hand as steady as he could, and then set off up the stairs. It was still as quiet as the grave. Jiři desperately hoped he hadn’t come too late.

  Lenka thought of her mother.

  Her mother’s hands as she stroked and braided her hair. Their softness and power. Their strength, always present as determination, but never heavy-handedness. Her mother’s hands had been adept and nimble. They could just as easily form a perfectly curved croissant as clear a clogged drain or fix a door with a broken hinge.

  Her mother’s hair, which tickled her face when her mother bent down to give her a good-night kiss. Mother had insisted, even when Lenka thought she was too old for good-night kisses. As a teenager, she protested and pulled the covers over her head, hiding under them. Mother had patiently kissed her through the covers so that Lenka only felt it as a soft pressure. At some point, Lenka had started willingly offering her cheek or forehead or hair for a kiss again, secretly happy that Mother had turned a deaf ear to her objections.

  Lenka knew she wasn’t supposed to think about her mother. She was supposed to think about Jesus. She was supposed to think about the paradise they were about to travel to. The home where their family could finally be in direct communion with God. Mother didn’t belong to the family anymore. Mother had betrayed the family.

  Lenka could tell from her wooziness that the sleeping pills were starting to take effect. Soon, she would slip over the edge into unconsciousness. She wouldn’t smell the stench of the lighter fluid emanating from her white dress. She wouldn’t hear the murmured prayers of the people lying around her. Soon, they too would fall silent as they slept. Lenka didn’t pray. She didn’t need to. She believed that faith was enough to carry her past the dark emotion of fear. She only hoped
that, when the flames began to lick her skin, she would already be so asleep that she wouldn’t even realize. No pain, not even distantly felt through layers of sleep.

  Mother. Lenka’s thoughts stubbornly returned to her mother. Maybe it wasn’t unreasonable to think that she might see her again after she died. Lenka wanted to believe in a mercy and forgiveness that was stronger than what the family had taught her. She didn’t want to imagine a God who would cast aside her mother for her mistakes. Lenka’s God wouldn’t do that. The family didn’t know. They thought God was hard, merciless, and demanding, admitting into his presence only a select few. The chosen ones. Life in death.

  That’s what the family said. That in death they would find their new, real life.

  Lenka couldn’t feel her feet anymore. She couldn’t feel her hands. Her body had already fallen asleep, but her mind still hovered on the edge.

  Life.

  Had this been her life, like this, as a mortal? Nothing more than this? She had never visited any other countries. She had never kissed anyone. She had never stayed up all night talking to a friend. She had never been so furious that all she wanted to do was scream and cry. She had never been drunk. She had never been lost in a strange city. She had never laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe.

  Sleep dragged Lenka down even as her conscious mind, in panic, seized at one last thought.

  I don’t want to die yet. I want to live.

  I want to live.

  I want . . .

  Lumikki hauled herself up onto the high iron fence. Her legs were shaking with fatigue, and her hands were so sweaty she could barely grip the bars. Now wasn’t the time to worry, though. Now she had to be brave and get into the house as fast as possible.

  The spikes along the fence were sharp. Lumikki tried to grab them as high as she could and swing herself over once again in one fluid motion. However, one hand slipped at the decisive moment and she felt a spike dig a long scrape into her thigh, which immediately began oozing blood. The pain made her balance fail, and she crashed into the yard on her side, not on her feet as she’d intended. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to pull her elbows close in to her body and tuck her chin into her chest to guard her neck.

  Lumikki rolled a couple of times after the fall and lay still for a few seconds to catch her breath. Her ribs hurt, and the scrape on her leg stung, but otherwise she was fine. No broken bones or serious bruises. She had experienced much worse in her life. She had limped home from elementary school far more battered than this and pretended nothing had happened.

  Lumikki stood up. Her legs were weak, and she felt a little light-headed, but she could still walk. Dehydration was probably making her feel worse than any other single factor.

  No one was in the yard. Lumikki might make it in time.

  She wasn’t sure, but after seeing Vera Sováková, the strongest impression had come over her that this woman knew more about the suicide plan than anyone else. She might even be involved in it somehow. Because who was going to benefit from the plan? Of course Adam Havel/Smith, who would flee the cult because he had already pumped as much money out of them as he could and they were only a burden now. But also the media, who would feast on every last morsel of tragedy. It was Super8 who had an up-and-coming reporter investigating the cult. And it was that reporter’s boss who had sent him alone to cover a dangerous story. Wasn’t it a little too convenient that information about the exact timing of the suicide had come first to Super8 . . . ?

  Lumikki ran to the side door and found it already broken open. At the door, she caught a familiar scent. Jiři’s aftershave. That meant that Jiři was here too but hadn’t been for long. The thought gave Lumikki more confidence. They could do this together. Unless.

  That one nagging word. In Lumikki’s mind, it expanded into a full sentence. Unless Jiři was involved in the plot? It was perfectly possible. In fact, it was probable. What sense would there be sending a man to do a job who didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes?

  And if that was true, Lumikki didn’t know who she should be most afraid of meeting in the house. There wasn’t time to think. There wasn’t time to analyze. Lumikki stepped through the door into the overwhelming stench of lighter fluid.

  Vera Sováková took a few deep breaths and savored the moment. Now it would begin. She had been patiently preparing this media spectacle for a long time now. Adam Havel had approached her years earlier offering an exclusive on the White Family—for a price, of course. Vera thought the story needed something more, though. Together they began planning a tragedy large enough to capture the attention of the whole country.

  Vera imagined people falling silent one after another in the cafés and bistros of Prague. Someone tried to continue chatting, but he was shushed instantly. In homes, people watched in amazement as the live news broadcast interrupted their quiz show. Cell phones rang. “Turn on the TV. Something’s happening.”

  The screen, which displayed the Super8 logo in the bottom corner, was suddenly full of hand camera footage of an old, run-down house. A matter-of-fact female voice, which some, to their surprise, recognized as the head of Super8, longtime reporter turned chief executive Vera Sováková, related that one of their journalists, Jiři Hašek, had just gained entrance to the house of a dangerous cult, the White Family. His sources told him that the cult was planning a mass suicide, and it was set to happen at any moment. Jiři Hašek had been first on scene and gallantly, braving death, had entered the house in hopes of saving the victims.

  Vera felt shivers up her spine imagining all the people glued to their television sets. They would just now be realizing they were watching a true-life drama unfold before their eyes. An unscripted drama that could end in triumph or catastrophe.

  A single match would have been enough. Adam Havel wasn’t going to take any risks, though. He hefted the heavy Molotov cocktail in his hand and hurled it at the window. The glass shattered and the room burst into flames.

  Idiots. They believed Adam when he said he’d make sure they were all in a deep sleep before lighting the fire and shooting himself. He had fulfilled the first part of that promise. He did watch to make sure everyone was out cold. Then he locked the door and went outside. He waited until he saw the stupid reporter break in through the side door.

  Adam Havel would have preferred to stay and watch as the ugly old house went up like a torch. As it devoured these people’s stupidity and credulity. He felt a sort of satisfaction at being able to complete here what he had bungled in Nebraska. This time, he had built his community more patiently, until each and every member trusted him implicitly. Until his stories about cleansing fire lifting their souls directly to a heaven unbelievers could not attain were the truest thing in their lives.

  Adam had enjoyed the power he had over them. From time to time, he had even toyed with the idea of letting everything continue as it was. Adam had talked about faith and family so convincingly that sometimes he even started to believe it himself. But shepherding his flock had become increasingly tedious, and he was getting old. The deal with Vera Sováková was the perfect way for him to get out scot-free—and rich.

  Adam couldn’t stay to watch the conflagration he had set off. His flight was leaving soon to carry him far away from here with the money from Vera and a brand-new name and passport. It was time to start over with a clean slate. Clean and white as snow.

  Adam Havel turned his back to the house and locked the large iron gate behind him. That would slow down the police and fire department for a few seconds. Probably the crucial seconds.

  Shards of glass came flying at Lumikki and she dropped into a protective crouch. Then the heat from the bundles of fabric bursting into flames hit her. Lumikki dashed to the stairs. On the upper landing, she collided with Jiři and his camera.

  “What are you doing?” Lumikki hissed and put her hand over the lens.

  Jiři jerked the camera back.

  “I’m filming.”

  Lumikki swallowed. Ever
y last one of her muscles was tense.

  “Are you part of this plot?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jiři’s voice and eyes were sincerely confused. But if Lumikki had learned one thing on this hellish trip, it was that she wasn’t as good at spotting a lie as she thought.

  There wasn’t time for subtlety now. They needed all their cards on the table.

  Jiři began, “Vera gave me instructions to—”

  “I think Vera Sováková is partially behind this. I think she’s known for a long time what was going to happen. She was probably the one who sent the hit man after me. This whole mass suicide might even be her handiwork.”

  Lumikki spoke quickly in hushed tones. Hot, dark gray smoke rose from the ground floor, and flames crackled. They both started coughing. Lumikki could see Jiři weighing her words. He was going through each and every event and piece of information that had led them to this moment. Then his eyes went wide. He had clearly decided that Lumikki might be right. He shut off the camera.

  “They aren’t on the second or third floors. They must be in the basement,” Jiři said.

  Lumikki started down the stairs.

  “Wait! It isn’t safe here. You need to get out now. The fire department will be here soon. They were tipped off in advance,” Jiři said. “Vera said that . . .”

  Jiři trailed off when he understood.

  “They weren’t tipped off about anything,” Lumikki replied. “I stopped at the station, but no one had heard anything about a mass suicide. I don’t know if they believed me. They probably thought I was insane. I didn’t have time to stand around trying to convince them. They might be getting a call right now from one of the neighbors.”

  “I’ll call,” Jiři said and started pulling out his phone.

  The fire climbed the walls to the upper floors. Rags soaked in lighter fluid weren’t enough anymore. Now it was hungry for wood. The temperature was getting unbearable. The fire sank its burning teeth into the top of the stairs and the wood began to give way.