Page 57 of The Never Queen

“Then I know how we find Darling,” I say as my power lifts me from the porch and into the night air. “I’m going to find that son of a bitch and tear his limbs off one by one until he tells me where she is.”

28

WINNIE

When I come around, I’m lying on cold stone, my wrists and ankles tied.

I’m on my side, facing a doorway where soft, white light is stealing in through a crack in the doorway.

Everything hurts.

I don’t remember anything getting physical, but it feels like I just fought off a small army.

Or maybe it was whatever elixir they used to knock me out.

I cough, sending dirt and dust skittering across the floor.

Shimmying onto my back, I heft myself upright so I can see what I have to work with.

I notice, immediately, that the Shadow is inaccessible to me. I don’t see any glowing bone shards in the room, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one hanging from the neck of a nearby guard outside the door, which I’m sure is locked.

How big is the Witch Killers’ radius? How far away do I have to get before the Shadow can come to my rescue?

And then, deep down in the recess of my mind, that voice of doubt whispers:no one is coming to rescue you.

“Winnie?”

A voice murmurs from the dark corner of the room.

“Mom?”

“Is that really you?”

She leans forward, finding a slant of light from the small rectangular windows above us.

“Mom!” I get on my knees and crawl over the stone floor like a caterpillar, sinking against the wall beside her. “Are you okay? Have they hurt you?”

She’s crying, shaking her head. “How are you here?”

“Do you know who they are? How much do you know?”

“They won’t tell me anything.”

I give her the condensed version about the Myth Maker power passed down our line and the Witch Killers determined to fix the problem. She takes it all in, hardly surprised. She’s a Darling woman, after all. Our entire lives have been haunted by magic and extraordinary things.

When I finish, I reach over and take her hands in mine. We’re both tied with braided rope, but there’s just enough slack to give us use of our hands.

“I’m going to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth. No more lies.”

She nods. “Okay. Yes.”

“Do you know a man named Hansel?”

Her expression falls, as if a shutter has been yanked down.

“Mom. Please. Just tell me.”

“How do you know that name?” she asks.