Dark and Deepest Red(24)

The priests plead with them, begging them to heed the blessing of Saint Vitus. Or so Lala guesses; the saint’s name is all she can catch of their shouting.

Lala stands on her toes, trying to recognize the women.

Cateline, the book binder’s wife.

Frederuna, the barber surgeon’s sister.

And the miller’s younger daughter, the afflicted one, leaping from the cart and toward the great dance.

The music rises to a great shriek of strings and drums, frightening the horses. They rear and startle back. Their terror is so fine-edged Lala can feel it in the air, their nervous reaction not just to the noise but to the trouble that builds in this city and the sky above.

It is into their path that the miller’s daughter crosses before anyone can grab hold of her.

No, worse than into their path.

If she were going into their path, she would miss them, their alarm throwing them backward.

Lala tries to call out to her, warning her. But the noise of the instruments swallows her voice.

The miller’s daughter, in as much confused terror as the horses, ends up between them and the cart.

Another strike of noises rattles the horses further, and one kicks backward.

The force catches the miller’s daughter in the chest, and the life in her ceases, as quickly as her dance.





Rosella


My body felt wrung out, my ankles stretched and sore. But I shoved myself out of bed and into jeans and my coat. I needed to know if any of my friends had some twist of dangerous magic in their own red shoes.

I found them at the drugstore trying out lipsticks. Aubrey and Graham were drawing on each other’s arms with the testers, laughing and shrieking as they went back and forth between evading each other and retaliating.

“These would look perfect on you,” Piper said by way of greeting, and drew comet trails of plum eyeliner and gold shimmer on the back of my hand.

“Piper,” I said.

She set her green eyes on me. By now I had learned not to wither under that stare, or at the sight of her birthday-cake-golden hair that seemed impossibly shiny.

“Is anything”—I glanced at the cinnamon-candy-red pair she wore on her feet—“weird happening with your shoes?”

“Other than me getting along with Mrs. Tamsin?” she asked.

I tried to smile. Even in Piper’s most affectionate moments, her mother was always Mrs. Tamsin or the lady of the house. Never Mom or even Mother.

“Do they”—I grasped for the words—“you know, come off okay?”

“Are we about to have another conversation about arch support?” Piper ruffled my hair, already messier than hers. Always messier than hers. “Because I’ve heard this lecture from Sylvie.”

Aubrey craned her neck around the aisle, her red hair brushing the endcap. “What are you two whispering about?”

“She made out with Emil last night,” Sylvie said, holding a nail polish bottle up to the fluorescents.

Graham snapped her head toward me. “You made out with Hot Pocket?”

“I’m sorry, what?” I said.

“Hot Pocket,” Graham said. “He’s the hottest of the pocket-protector guys.”

“He does not wear a pocket protector,” I said.

“It’s implied.”

“And also,” I said, “worst nickname ever.”

“Um, no.” Aubrey tried a tester lipstick in the mounted mirror. “WD-40? That was the worst.”

“Oh, you earned that one, and you know it,” Graham said. “You squeak whenever you get excited about something.”

Aubrey swiped moss-green eyeshadow onto Graham’s arm. Graham got her back with mustard-blossom yellow.

The overhead lights caught both their red shoes, and they laughed in a way that made me realize, all at once, that they’d be kissing by the end of the week, if they weren’t already.

“Are they…” I whispered to Piper.

“Oh, yeah,” Piper mouthed at me. She bent down a little to whisper, the way she and Graham always did with girls as short as me and Aubrey. “Took them long enough, right?” She straightened up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her fingernails flashing purple polish. “What were you talking about before?”

“The shoes,” I said. “Have they”—I hesitated—“done anything to you?”

“They’re doing things to everyone.” Piper tried a shimmer powder on her cheekbone. “You should know that better than anyone after last night.” She grinned.

“I mean,” I tried again. “Does it seem like there’s anything wrong with them?”

Her stare caught me, like the shock of finding my mother’s glass measuring cup hot. Hot glass looks like cold glass, our science teachers were forever warning us.

“Why?” Piper eyed my shoes. “Should it?”

The distance opened between me and these girls I called my friends. Yes, Sylvie had gotten me to stop buying flower-patterned underwear in packs of five at this very drugstore. Yes, Graham had stared enough at me sprinkling chili powder on oranges that I didn’t do it at lunch anymore. Yes, Aubrey had taught me how to take off wine-dark lipstick a minute before getting home. And yes, Piper had made me into a girl who would take a swallow of vanilla extract on a dare, laughing no matter how much it tasted like lighter fluid smelled.