“Cerené means cinder in Italian,” Cerené said. “I also dream sometimes that my name is Ember. I don’t know why, but I like Cerené best.”

“Ember is a derivative of cinder, ashes, and fire,” Shew commented. “So when did your mother die in Murano?”

“Sometime after she gave birth to me,” Cerené said. “I don’t remember much in Murano, just that that single image of the ship taking me away.”

“You have one hell of a story, Cerené,” Shew considered. “I’m sure there is so much more to it, if you could only remember. So how come you can’t make fire like your mother, don’t you think you should’ve inherited it?”

Cerené’s face reddened, out of fear, not shyness. She shook her head  ‘no’, eyes wider than usual, “I wish I did,” she said. “I tried to create fire with my mind many times, but failed.”

“With your mind?” Shew hadn’t imagined how Bianca created fire.

“That’s how I saw my mother do it in my dreams,” Cerené said. “She showed me how to make glass, and she made sure I got better. She tried to teach me how to create fire with the power of my mind, but I couldn’t do it. One time, she told me she’d never seen someone who could mold living glass like me, if I could only create fire like her.”

“How did she try to teach you to make fire? I mean, is there a process to it?”

“It’s actually a bit funny,” Cerené giggled. “I’m supposed to stretch the palms of my hands like this,” she held out her arms and almost face-palmed Shew. “Then I should focus my mind, thinking about fire, and say ‘Moutza!’”

Cerené repeated the word ‘Moutza’ a couple of times, and Shew looked around her to see if something burned around them. It was clear by now that Cerené wasn’t capable of creating fire. She couldn’t have burned the Wall of Thorns or Candy House.

“See? Nothing,” Cerené was disappointed, shrugging her shoulders. “I really wish I could make fire. Can you imagine how powerful I’d be?”

Shew thought she saw a golden tinge in Cerené’s eye when she said that. She knew she had that golden tinge in her own vampiric eyes when she killed in the Schloss.

“You don’t need the fire power, or the Art,” Shew said. “You’re very special the way you are, Cerené.”

“I am?” Cerené questioned, wondering if Shew meant it as a compliment. “I’d like to think so. The reason I want to acquire the power of creating fire is that Art is rarely respected or feared. Just look at me. I can create magic itself, but if I talk about it, I will get hurt. I’ve read about so many unappreciated artists in the world. A poet could write a mesmerizing poem, a singer could sing the most heartfelt song, and a painter could paint the most beautiful picture, but without power where would they be in this world?”

“You mean that having the Art without power is like clapping with one hand?” Shew nodded.

The most important things in the world come in pairs, Shew. Your mother might be the devil himself, but when she speaks, you should listen carefully.

“That’s right,” Cerené said. “Sometimes I wonder what will become of me if the Queen or this family I live with find out about my Art.”

“I imagine they’d sell you for the highest price,” Shew joked.

“Or worse,” Cerené said. “Torture me, trying to figure out how I do it. Not to mention that we both know that people kill for glass these days,” Cerené said. “Do you see now what I’m talking about? If I had power, I wouldn’t be feared, and I wouldn’t need the Art in the first place. I could have such a different life.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a great life,” Shew said, ruffling her ashen hair. “Moutza!” she tried her luck, stretching her five fingers in the air. Cerené put a hand on her heart and fell back; pretending Shew had killed her with a spear from her hands.

Shew laughed, “get up, silly.”

Cerené could not stop laughing. Shew had not laughed like that with a girlfriend for a long time, almost a hundred years, she guessed.

“Sometimes, when I say ‘Moutza’ over and over for hours trying to create fire, I think I’m going crazy. Seriously, who’d say something like that?”

“You have any idea what it even means?”

 “I don’t think it has a meaning,” Cerené said. “Moutza sounds funny. You notice how awkward your lips look like when you say ‘mou’ then when you say ‘za’ your eyes get bigger and your eyebrows act surprised,” Cerené propped herself up on her elbows, gazing at Shew again. Her gaze dimmed slowly and she scratched her temples.

“What now?” Shew was worried again.

“Can I tell you a secret, Shew?”

“We talked about this,” Shew said. “You can tell me anything,” it meant a lot to Shew that Cerené had asked her that. After being all secretive and vague, Cerené now asked her if she could tell a secret. It was interesting how some introverted people, opened up once they felt safe with someone.

“Bianca always assures me that I am important, that something big will happen in this world because of me,” Cerené said. “But once she told me I’m like Pandora’s Box.”

“What is that?”

“It’s a myth about a box where all the evil in the world had been imprisoned,” Cerené said. “One day, Pandora, a girl who had been given the box and warned not to free the evil inside, opened it out of curiosity, and darkness veiled the world.”

“Evil? You?” Shew inquired. “That doesn’t make sense—”

Suddenly, Cerené sat straight up with scared eyes. Something was wrong.

“What’s wrong, Cerené?” Shew was worried and too tired to face more dangers. She had had enough of this dream.

“Can you hear that?” She bent over and put one ear on the hill’s grass, listening to the earth.

“What is it?” Shew sprang up. “Has Baba Yaga found us?”

“I hear the hooves of a horse,” Cerené looked up at Shew. “Yes. I think it’s a horse.”

“You can hear it through the earth?

“It’s approaching us,” Cerené said.

“Where?” Shew looked around her. They were high enough they should be able to see anyone approaching. She squinted harder against the dark, and she only saw a faint fire in the distance. She knew what it was. The town of Furry Tell they’d passed by on their way from Candy House to Rainbow’s End. They’d been nice and peaceful people, who’d offered them food and shelter, only Cerené proffered to keep going.

Cerené stood up abruptly, locking eyes with Shew. The look she gave was a mix of fascination and horror, “It’s not a horse Shew.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s a three eyed unicorn. I can tell unicorns when I hear one. I used to wait for the three eyed unicorns for hours to see…”

“To see what, Cerené? You’re worrying me.”

“Remember when I told you there was someone else I like better than the prince?” Cerené held Shew by the shoulders.

Shew nodded, the puzzle slowly coming together.

“He is coming,” Cerené said. “I know I shouldn’t like him but I do. Maybe it’s because he’s powerful and everyone fears him.”

“Who is coming?” Shew shook Cerené. The thought of knowing what Cerené was talking about scared her.

“The Huntsman, Shew,” Cerené said. “I’m afraid he’s going to kill everyone in Furry Tell.”

20

Fable’s Charm

“Axel,” Fable said while her brother wasn’t paying attention. “Axel!” she shook him

“What is it?” Axel’s eyes were glued to Loki’s phone again. He’d decided to reread the Dreamhunters Guide in case he’d missed something. “I’m think I’ve figured out something.”

“Like what?” Fable asked.

“I think,” Axel raised his head, posing like a genius inventor, “that I know who Loki’s father is.”

“Really?” Fable said. “Who is it?”

“Let me just think about it for a minute,” Axel walked back and forth in the room. “It’s kinda impossible, but there is no other explanation.”

“Come on, Axel. Tell me,” Fable insisted.

“Not now,” Axel raised a finger. “I need to research something on the internet first. Then, if it all falls together, I swear I’ll dig Sherlock Holmes up from his grave so he and you will both know what a genius detective I am.”