Cinderella Is Dead(54)

“Divination?” Constance asks. “Like fortune-telling?”

“It is a tool,” Amina says. “For looking ahead.”

“You can see the future?” I ask.

Amina sits back down and takes up her pipe. “In a way, yes. Don’t you think a little peek into the events to come might be helpful?”

“How do we do that?” I ask, intrigued.

Amina settles into her chair and crosses her legs. “After the harvest, on the full moon, we’ll see what can be seen.”

“Can you ever just give a straight answer?” Constance asks, throwing her head back and looking at the ceiling. “I’m exhausted trying to decipher your riddles. See what can be seen? What does that mean?”

“It means shut up and stop asking so many questions,” Amina snaps.

Constance sits forward and opens her mouth to speak, or more likely to share some choice words with Amina, when the winds whip themselves into a strong bluster.

The roof rattles, and the floorboards creak under Amina’s rocker. A stiff draft moves through the room, and the flames of the roaring fire lap at the blackened bricks of the fireplace. A noise is carried in on the wind.

“This place is going to get blown away with the next strong gust,” Constance says.

“And hopefully you with it,” Amina says without even looking up.

Constance raises an eyebrow. “Listen—”

“Shh!” I say, scrambling to my feet. “Did you hear that?”

“The wind, Sophia,” Constance says.

“No. No, there’s something else.”

There is another sound in the wind. The whinny of a horse. As the wind gusts again, we all hear it. Amina leaps from her chair and stands listening in the middle of the room. She goes to the threadbare rug that takes up most of the floor, grabbing it by its edge, revealing a small door underneath. When she lifts the hatch, I see the unmistakable glint of fear in her eyes. “Get inside. Now. Don’t say a word. Don’t even breathe if you can help it.”

Constance moves to my side, and we crowd into the little opening, which leads to a root cellar. With its low ceiling and dirt floor, it is nothing more than a hole in the ground. We crouch down while Amina drops the hatch and covers it with the rug, knocking a shower of dust onto us.

“What is it?” Constance asks. Her voice is magnified in the small space, and Amina stomps hard on the floor above.

“Shh,” I say. “Someone is coming.”

I still my breath and try to hear over the rush in my ears. Horses, men’s voices, and then a bang at the door. Amina’s boots knock against the floorboards as she makes her way to the front of the house. The groan of the rusted hinges rings out as she opens the door. A heavier set of steps enters the cottage and stops just over our heads.

“Still living in squalor, I see,” says a man’s voice. It’s familiar.

“It suits me,” says Amina.

“Indeed it does,” says the man. “And tell me again why you’ve chosen this life? You certainly aren’t out here on my orders.”

“I prefer it to the city or the palace.” Amina’s tone is condescending, and the man shifts from one foot to the other just above us. “Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here.”

Suddenly I recognize the voice, and fear washes over me. My heart sputters, and I hold my breath. King Manford.

“You haven’t set foot on my doorstep in years, and now you show up because you want something.”

“I’m hurt,” he says.

“Oh please,” Amina says. “We both know it would take more than that to hurt your feelings.”

“You know me too well,” he says. I hear him laugh. It’s the most grating, unnatural thing I’ve ever heard.

I search for Constance’s hand in the dark and find it clenched at her side. She takes a step closer to me.

“You are the fabled fairy godmother,” the king says in a mocking tone. “Making carriages out of pumpkins and shoes out of glass. You belong in the palace. It is you, after all, who has always been on this journey with me.”

“Our journey ended long ago,” Amina says.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” He sighs.

“Enough,” Amina says. “You need to leave and let me continue on as I have all these years, without your interference.”

Constance taps me on the shoulder and points down at her other hand. I’ve been squeezing it too tight. I let go immediately. As she readjusts herself she presses her chest so close to mine that I can feel her heartbeat. It is racing.

“I want the girl, and I want her now. Where is she?”

“Didn’t you invite her to the ball? That implies she had the right to leave if she wanted to.”

The king laughs heartily as more dust rains down on my head.

“You know better than that,” he says.

Constance presses her lips to my forehead, and I shut my eyes tight. I wait for Amina to open the hatch and turn us over. There is a rustling above us as Amina takes a step toward the king.

“Leave,” says Amina. “And do not come back.”

“I’d hoped that time away would have brought you some much-needed focus, but you are still utterly useless. Your magic is flawed, weak. Are you sure you can still call yourself a witch?”