Fabled (24 page)

“Because we all need a little color.” I smiled and brushed the bristles across her hollow cheeks. “And nothing is more daring than red lipstick.” I dabbed it on her thin lips. She glanced in the mirror and smiled. I saw the life beneath the age. It was like looking at myself, or any young girl for that matter, that saw herself as something more in the mirror than she had before. It was like looking at hope, face to face. But masks only hide truth temporarily, and as she showed me that night, truth hits us in the face faster and harder the older we get.
 

She turned from me quietly and smeared the lipstick with her wrist.
 

“Enough. Let’s get you done,” she said and tugged at the clasps on the back of my dress. I drowned in a gold taffeta skirt. The bodice and sleeves were silk. The unforgiving material made my the little belly pooch more noticeable. I pinched, poked, and sucked in my stomach, making my boobs feel like they’d merge with my chin.

“You can’t hold your breath all night. You might as well get comfortable,” she said in a low voice. I let it out frumpily. That made two of us avoiding the mirror.
 

She pulled my arms in front of me, palms up, and buttoned eight or maybe ten buttons. The silk was cut in a V that rested on my middle finger. Lace tatting edged the sleeve. To be honest, I’d never seen something so elegant.
 

“Here. This should help,” she said pulling out an antique white shawl from the wardrobe. I gestured my appreciation, and wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and my insecurities.

“Thanks.”
 

“Follow me. Don’t even think about wandering off. They’ll find you, and it won’t be pretty. Trust me.”
 

We walked slowly down the stairs and into the darkness of another unknown night.

Chapter 26

We finally approached the main floor. The delicious aromas of decadent food filled the air, making my stomach rumble.

“Hurry up,” Nurse growled, still moving ahead.

She hadn’t once looked back to make sure I was following.
How did she know that I wouldn’t try anything? It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it, but the house and royals scared me
. “Safe people,” as Lil always classified me, “are as predictable as southern etiquette.”

We reached double doors. She turned to get one more look at me and fluffed my curls over my shoulders.
 

“Mind your manners, girl,” she snapped. I nodded. She slowly opened the doors, revealing a grand room. A twelve to fourteen foot table sat in the middle lit by three large candle chandeliers. The low light perfectly captured the brilliance of the sparkling plates, silverware, and adornments. The thick drapes were closed. The fabric on the chairs perfectly matched the tapestries on the windows. They wore a diamond black and white check pattern. The black walls and white washed wood floors and trim made for a unique scene. I felt like I’d stepped into a movie.
 

Even lovelier than the scenery was the picturesque company seated at the table. Dresdem sat at the head of the table, dressed in his finest, no doubt. Dekel, the man-child, sat at his right hand. A young girl at his left. A regal, elegant woman sat across the table — Dresdem’s wife. Two other men were sitting next to each other on one side of the table. I naturally found a seat across from the men, which allowed there to be several seats between me and everyone else.
 

“Miss Rowena,” Nurse stated. I politely nodded to them all as I took my seat.
 

“Dismissed,” Dresdem said.
 

She curtsied and disappeared. As soon as the door shut, I felt my stomach tie itself into knots. I looked down, pretending to admire the table’s elegant tapestry.
 

“Allow me to introduce you, Rowena. This is my wife Larelle.”
 

I forced a smile. Her long, perfectly postured back gave to a slight nod. “This is my daughter, Lauren. And my son… Well, you’ve met him already.” He grinned. Dekel gave me a lustful wink, which sent chills down my spine. “And this is Wilhelm and Jacob. They are…” He clearly did not know how to address them.
 

“We’re reporters,” they said in nearly perfect unison.
 

“Yes, reporters. Well, shall we eat?” Dresdem asked, but no one answered. He clapped his hands and a flood of servants and food trained in the room.
 

The enticing smell of food distracted me. I should have wondered why reporters were having dinner with us, but as almost always in Mezzanine, underlying motives didn’t occur to me.

We were served salad, vegetable soup, some sort of potato casserole, and banana bread for dessert. It was delicious, and I was relieved that no one spoke much during dinner. We all focused on our food. It was the best meal I’d had since I’d been in Mezzanine. It struck me as odd that the others were happily eating their food in silence too, though.

After I finished, I watched the others. The men in front of me finished before I did and our eyes kept awkwardly meeting. I sensed they thought the dinner strange too. The silence was thick and maddening. I nervously picked at a button on the sleeve of my dress.
 

I just want to go back to the room.
Then in a moment, I was there looking out of my room’s window. The darkness illuminated the town’s life. I stared at Mack’s house, like I’d been doing since I’d been there. I glanced around the dark room. It was exactly as we’d left it. The lipstick, my old clothes, everything was the same.
What is going on?

Then I was back at the table. I looked around to see if anyone noticed me in my absence, but no one did. They were finishing eating. The men in front of me didn’t even seem to notice.
 

What was that?

Daydream? You need to focus. There has to be some reason we were invited to dinner.

I nodded to myself.

I didn’t really know what they wanted from me, besides to open the portal, but if I knew how to do that I wouldn’t even be here.
 

Dresdem dabbed the cloth napkin on the corners of his mouth and said, “Shall we chat in the parlor? Larelle, Lauren, please take Rowena with you to the sitting room. I’ll send for her shortly,” he said with a forced smile.
 

The women stood, as if on command. Lauren walked towards me, gently took my hand and escorted me through the door, down the hall, and into the sitting room. The pastel blue walls and furniture were lovely, but they did nothing to calm my nerves.
 

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Larelle said in a velvet voice and patted the settee next to her. Lauren sat in an adjacent, armless chair. Her baby pink dress engulfed its wooden legs. She sat with her hands placed one on top of the other in perfect posture. Her blond ringlets mimicked her mothers and were stark contrasts to the men of their family.
 

Larelle snapped her fingers over the tufted ottoman that sat in front of us. A teakettle and cups appeared on a silver tray.
 

“Tea?” she asked. I nodded slowly, still in awe at the idea of magic. She poured Lauren and me a cup. We politely sipped and exchanged glances for minutes.

“I trust that your room is satisfactory?” she asked.
 

Relieved that the silence was broken, I gladly replied, “Yes. Thank you.”
 

Thank you? Are you kidding me?

“And the help?”
 

“Very… accom… accommodating,” I said.

“Good. I’m glad to hear.” She smiled.
 

More silence.
 

“Please excuse me,” Larelle finally said and walked out of the room.

“What’s it like? Outside?” Lauren asked after a moment.

“Outside of Royal Court?” I asked confused.

“Outside of Mezzanine.” Her eyes lit up and widened. I knew that face — that face when youth realizes that adventure really does exist, and if they can’t be the one to experience it, a good story is second best.
 

“It’s different,” I said, watching her fifteen-or-so-year old face illuminate at the thought of it. We all want to experience different, me included.
 

“Do you miss it?” I watched her smile downcast.
 

“I miss people. My parents, my sister.”
Dashielle,
I thought but didn’t say. Somehow his name didn’t belong in this world. It was like some sort of betrayal to Chester.
 

“You won’t have to miss them for long,” she said, leaning in and placing her hand on my arm.
 

“Rowena, would you mind joining us?” Dresdem asked as he appeared at the door. I looked back at Lauren wondering what she meant by “won’t miss them for long” wishing I could ask her. Reluctantly, I got up and followed Dresdem to the parlor. The two men from dinner and Dekel sat in leather chairs sipping brandy or some liquor that I imagined to be brandy. I was instructed to sit in an adjoining chair.
 

I nervously pleated my gown.
 

“These gentlemen have some questions they’d like to ask you. I’ve permitted them a few minutes with you. We’ll be back soon.” Dekel and Dresdem turned an hourglass upside down and exited.
 

Saying that I was anxious was a vast understatement. These guys didn’t look particularly scary, but I had no idea what sort of questions I was about to be asked or how they’d be used against me.

“First, let us introduce ourselves. I’m Wilhelm. This is my brother, Jacob,” he said while combing his fingers through his brown, wavy hair. They didn’t look like brothers. Jacob’s hair was dark, straight, and sloppily greased to his head. They were both dressed in seventeenth century clothing with vests, coats, and knee-high trousers. “Please know that we are not here to hurt you. We are not royals, just reporters, of sorts,” Wilhelm continued.
 

“What is there about me you want to report? As long as I’ve been in Mezzanine, I’ve never seen a newspaper. Not to say that the company I’ve been associating with would read one if there was such a thing,” I rambled nervously.

“What sort of company have you been keeping?” he asked. I looked at him. I knew I’d made a mistake as soon as he said that. My only option was to defer.

“Where will your report appear? And what will you be reporting?” I asked.

“We aren’t the sort of reporters you may be thinking…” he started. “We’re podcasters,” Jacob interrupted. I hesitated for a moment, confused.

“There’s no technology in Mezzanine. There’s not even running water, for God’s sake.”

“We’re not like the sort of people you may think,” Wilhelm answered with a smile. That’s when I remembered the podcast Lil always listened to. The one that the guy from the radio station was talking with Dashielle about.
 

“How?” I whispered.

“It’s… well, complicated. But we’ve been telling Mezzanine’s stories for decades in some form or another.” He gave me a warm smile.
 

“Fairy tales?” I questioned. My memory started to make a scrapbook of everything I knew about fairy tales. The brothers. This was them, but the books were from like the 1800s. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, my favorite of all Snow White, and somehow Mickey Mouse came to mind. I couldn’t make sense of it. “I don’t understand.”

“We’ve never liked the term ‘fairy tale.’ They are not fairy tales, and they were never meant for children. The stories we told are completely true, with only slight modifications,” he said, smiling again.

“Wilhelm came first,” Jacob said. He understood my confusion. “He was sick, you understand? He knew if he didn’t stay in Mezzanine permanently than he’d surely die.” Jacob looked over to Wilhelm, and I watched his smile fade. “I came along later when I felt my own imminent death. I wanted, we wanted, to share as much as we could with the world before we left it.”
 

“How did you get here?” I asked, now completely overcome with curiosity. They were northern dwellers too, and I was amazed to be sitting in front of two men who have shaped the lives of children for centuries.

“Same as you, only a different portal. Germany is a magical place, always has been. There are many there, and a family friend introduced us to one early in our young adulthood. At first we found it amusing — the idea that one could jump between worlds. We never tried it, you see. Not until college. We had a professor who enjoyed folklore and inspired us greatly. The genre was wildly popular at the time; we knew we’d have to find fresh tales to impress anyone. That’s when Jacob had the idea of trying to pass through the portal for the first time.” He gave a friendly tap on Jacob’s knee.
 

“We compiled as many stories as we could that trip from Mezzanine’s inhabitants. We went door-to-door taking notes and compiling tales from the true characters who live here. It was simple and marvelous, as all great things are,” Jacob said with a growing smile.
 

“So you returned to Germany and wrote the books?”
 

“Yes. We did so several times throughout the years, even though we knew each time there was a greater risk of being caught.”

“By the royals?”

“Yes. But we never were. And we’ve since kept the storytelling alive with the help of other jumpers through the years. A couple of Oxford fellows, an eccentric (no doubt substance abuser fellow), and a man by the name of Walt, which turned out to be an utter disaster. With the recent inventions in technology, we decided we’d take up the story telling ourselves again. With every contributor came new and sometimes creative renditions of the real stories, but ideally the stories would remain true. Sometimes life is odd, and there is no making sense of it. Yet people like to make sense of what simply can’t be made sense of. I suppose that’s been our problem with these contributors over the years. Writers tend to promote their own agendas, whether they intend to or not, through their work. We just wanted the truth to be told, simple as that,” Wilhelm explained.