Letters to Zell (26 page)

I
mportant Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White

Onyx Manor

West Road, Grimmland

Z,

It’s my first week back, but my new husband cannot wait to lecture me about moving forward, keeping up my momentum. He says I owe it to Rory to follow through.

Is that true, Zell? I don’t know what I owe anyone anymore. I used to know, but I’ve lost track. I feel like I’m moving at a gallop and then, all of a sudden, the horse throws me and I can’t get out of the fucking mud. It’s like everything is slow and cold and wrong. And yet, it’s less wrong than yesterday. And even that makes me feel guilty. I have to figure out a way to remember and keep living at the same time. Some way to let her know we never forgot her but still went on. Is that even realistic?

William reinstalls his tactical logistics chalkboard this morning. He sets arbitrary dates and tasks and checkboxes, dragging my moving trunks back in from wherever the servants had stashed them.

“So, what,” I say. “You’re kicking me out now?”

“You have to start living again. Your own dream, B. Go find your destiny. It’s still out there. It didn’t change just because Rory left. Go visit your friends in the Realm. Go watch the cows jump over the moon. Heckle Humpty. Whatever. But don’t sit here and brood.”

“Fuck off.” I stick up my middle finger.

He mirrors the gesture. “Same to you, I’m sure,” he says.

I pitch a loose throw pillow at him.

“Fine. Get pissed off. At least it’s something besides this incessant
malaise
.”

“Don’t judge me. I’m in pain, damn you.”

He takes me by the shoulders, and his face falls into seriousness. “I know. I do. But you don’t honor her memory by refusing to go on.”

I can’t argue with him. He’s right, and it’s all I can do to not start crying.

He points to the window. “Time is moving out there—fast. And without you.”

“Gee, thanks, pal. You sure know how to make a girl feel better.”

“You know I’m right. Hate me, scream at me, throw things at me—just do something. Anything.” He turns and storms out the door. I don’t even have a chance to argue.

So I go to see CeCi. I find her in the kitchens, instructing some of the younger village girls about quick breads. She looks good; the hard edges she had when I left for the preserve are gone. She seems a little tired, but her hair is shiny and her eyes are bright. She chatters away with her back to me about the Unicorn Café and its grand opening and everything she needs to do. Then she turns around and says, “Oh no, Bianca. Just look at you.”

First, she dismisses the wide-eyed girls and orders the servants to leave. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and slides onto the bench beside me, pushing a plate of warm scones in front of me.

“When’s the last time you slept? Ate?” She plunks a crock of fresh butter down next to the plate. We eat scones and stop to cry and then eat some more. By the time the cooks come in to start dinner service, we’ve almost emptied the little pot of strawberry preserves and are packing away the last of the scones.

“I think I’m going to go,” I say between mouthfuls.

“I know,” she says. “I’m glad.”

“You do?” I plop a spoonful of jam onto my scone. “You are?”

“I can’t see you like this. This isn’t you. I’ll miss you, but we’ll always have each other, won’t we?”

And it dawns on me, a wave of calm. “I’ll be immortal because you’ll always remember.”

“More like infamous,” she says. “Imagine the stories I’ll make up about you once you’re gone:
The Almost True Story of Snow White and the Poisonous Oyster Wedding
!”

I feel almost like a fog is clearing. Giddiness bubbles up, and I fight the urge to tamp it down, to tell it to come later. But sure enough, the dread comes. “What if there’s nothing out there for me anymore? I haven’t been able to write to Rachel. It’s been weeks now. She’ll have given up on me.”

CeCi stands up. “Nothing has changed, Bianca. You can’t go for any reason other than because you can’t imagine living another life. Maybe she’s in it, maybe she isn’t, but you have to make the decision because
you
want to go.”

“But the portal’s still broken. I can’t do anything, anyway.”

“Actually . . . you can. I need your help, and I’ve been waiting for you to be ready.”

“Okay.”

“If you really want to stay, I won’t make you help me. I can find someone else who wants to go Outside. Or wait until someone gets banished and make them assist—”

“I hate it when you do that.” I pound the butter knife on the table. “Please just explain yourself.”

“Repairing the portal so far has been a lot like a mending project, except we’re re-creating a tunnel made of both worlds. We’ve already cleared the debris and restored most of the tunnel to its original state. Solace has bound the tunnel together with strings of time magic. It’s a beautiful spell—the shimmering edges we see when we’re Outside are actually the places where all the strings are tied together.”

“Yeah, yeah. Neato. Can we get to the part where I help?”

“Fine. To finish, we need to place one last piece of stone in the middle of the clock face. It anchors the hands of the clock itself. The catch is, it needs to be a shared piece of stone.”

I am sure I’ve misheard. “You need me to get you a fucking rock? You’re stitching with threads of time, but you can’t bend over and pick one up?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. We’ll find a stone at the end of the tunnel, one on the border of Outside and the Realm, then we’ll split it with Solace’s time string. We place one piece in the portal clock and mount the other in your clock bracelet. When you go Outside, you’ll bury the bracelet wherever you deem the new portal to be safe. The binding magic will stay with the stone.

“The stone never ages and never loses its magic unless the portal is harmed. So unless another three idiots force their way through, that stone you drop will keep the portal anchored at the Magic Castle, the cooking school, Disneyland—wherever you want to place it.”

“What happened to the old stone?”

CeCi throws her hands up. “Poof.”

“So you’re telling me when we wrecked the portal, someone at the Magic Castle watched a rock go up in flames?” I ask.

“Pretty much.”

“Why can’t you bury the stone yourself?”

“The person who goes through has to abandon the magic that brought them through the portal. Besides, you’re our foremost expert at separating oneself from one’s bracelet.”

I try to say something, but nothing comes out. Permanence didn’t scare me before, but now it is sobering.

CeCi puts a hand on mine. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

“I didn’t say that. I want to go. More than anything. I’m just a little—”

“Scared? Of course you are. But I’ll be there to help. It’s all in my new Pages.” She fishes a couple of crumpled sheets from the pocket of her apron. “This time, all three Fairy Godmothers wrote it together. Read it.”

Once upon a time, there was a princess who yearned to cook. She was so enamored of learning, she went Outside, where the Masters of the realm of food plied their trade.

Returning, she and her friends caused a rip in the fabric between worlds. Tasked with repairing the tear, the princess carefully stitched the pieces together and, with help, anchored each side.

In return, The Fairy Godmother of Time asked that the princess continue to bring knowledge from the other world; The Fairy Godmother of Sorrow asked that the princess help someone in need each time she traveled; The Fairy Godmother of Fate asked that she adhere to these new Pages, as a good-faith gesture, so that future Pages may include the hopes and dreams of the characters within them.

“What kind of knowledge?” I ask, passing the Pages back to her.

“Like how to travel without getting stuck. How to get an ID. How to hail a taxi. Who to trust. That kind of stuff.”

“How did you convince Figgy?”

“Solace managed to change her mind, arguing that a lack of knowledge is what damaged the portal in the first place. Said that Rory taught us all that our lives have to be bigger, even in the confines of our Pages. Malice said we owed it to Rory to help others. I agreed to test their compromise. Living fully within my destiny.”

“So when are these Pages complete?”

“This is my Ever After. There
is
no end.”

“And you’re okay?”

“That’s just it, Bianca.
We changed everything
. This time my Pages include my own dreams, not someone else’s. Maybe this means that the daughters of our Realm will finally get to be who they want to be.”

I think maybe she’s right. But don’t tell her. She’d really be insufferable then.

Love,

B

F
rom the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming

Crystal Palace

North Road, Grimmland

Dear Zell,

How are you holding up? I suppose you’re missing Bianca by now—the way the sky misses a tornado, I’m sure. How did her good-bye dinner go? Did your roast turn out okay? She probably put loads of ketchup on it, so I guess it doesn’t matter.

It shouldn’t take but a few more days for the portal to be ready to anchor, and then Bianca will leave. The glass in the clock at Solace’s shop is whole again, though the clock face itself remains dark and still. It’s strange, and a little frightening, to work in the tunnel. But Solace insisted that Figgy start allowing travelers to be responsible for their own mistakes. And this time, I have Pages that I can’t wait to start.

Especially because there’s so much more to do than repair the portal. I worked all day prepping for our grand opening this coming weekend. Edmund and I painted the sign, and we put a bunch of your unicorn figurines on top. There’s more interior work to be done tomorrow and then food prep on Friday. I can’t believe it’s really happening. I can’t believe the place is all mine.

I had a dream last night. The colors of the dream were so vibrant, I could hardly breathe. I was dining in a beachfront restaurant in Los Angeles, and the waves were the most beautiful cerulean blue. They swelled and grew, coming nearer and nearer until they were cresting over the roof, crashing down against the windows.

I was sure we were about to float away.

There was an old man in a crimson jacket sitting beside me, and I asked him to tell me what it all meant, if the whole tableau was Rory’s doing. If the waves were good or bad omens. But he wouldn’t say a word.

It seemed so important when I woke up, but now it seems inconsequential—the opposite of real life.

When I finally woke up—throat parched and feet aching—I realized that I’d become the woman I wanted to be. Princess de Cuisine. Partner. Friend. It was genuine, heart-squeezing, grin-splitting elation. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it alone.

Love,

CeCi

T
he Journey Continues Ever After

Important Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White

Onyx Manor

West Road, Grimmland

Z,

Opening day at the Unicorn Café.

Edmund built CeCi a soft-grey building on the north edge of the square. It has high ceilings and windows that stretch from the floor to the top of the wall and look out on the wolf woods and the big blue sky. There are tables on the patio with umbrellas just like at Starbucks except that they’re yellow instead of green.

The lunch menu has six different kinds of salad. Goat cheese and candied nuts and vinaigrettes and fruit. There are soups and sandwiches and rolled pastries with greens and bacon. The dinner is even better, everything decorated with tiny sprigs of dill and flowers. Oh, and I can’t forget the signature dessert, G
â
teau Briar Rose, a chocolate cake served with a very large cup of coffee.

Hansel and Gretel are there to congratulate CeCi. Figgy and Solace arrive with a note from Malice and a lush bouquet of sea flowers. There is brandy from Toad Hollow and balloons from the Wizard (who everyone thought was on the lam). A woozy flamingo delivers a card from the Queen of Hearts.

And at the head of all of this wonderment is CeCi. CeCi in a yellow party dress, crinoline veritably exploding from underneath her chef’s jacket. Her stepsisters greet people at the door, using their deft hands to deliver menus to people patiently waiting in line. While William and I wait, they tell us all about their new favorite hobby, knitting, and how excited they are to have new jobs as hostesses. I introduce them to Snoozer, and they tell me how soft his ears are.

Snoozer’s wedding tux has been donned for the occasion. Ladies feed him the ends of their steaks, and men scratch his chin. He’s a restaurant celebrity, but ends up falling asleep halfway through dinner service.

There are no fires, no complaints, and there is enough wine to make a long night feel like a luxury instead of a chore. CeCi did it. And she’ll keep on doing it.

When everyone finally files out, William, Edmund, CeCi, and I all share a glass of champagne in the middle of a pile of dishes. DJ shows up with a second bottle and we drink it, too. CeCi’s almost falling asleep on her feet, but she exudes happiness. It’s as content as I’ve seen her since before.

There was a quiet moment when we all must have been thinking about Rory. She’s the one element that would’ve made the day perfect, but we all managed to get through it without breaking down. It’s time for all of us to move ahead. I’m proud of CeCi for taking the lead. Soon it will be my turn.

Love,

B

F
rom the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming

Crystal Palace

North Road, Grimmland

Dear Zell,

The opening was successful beyond my wildest dreams. Darling and Sweetie had come home much earlier, but they were still up when we got home, giggling in the company of the winsome Swan Prince, who waved his good arm at me as I passed their chambers. I love seeing them so happy.

Edmund halted in front of the closed door of our useless nursery.

“I know it’s been a long day.” He gave me a reassuring sort of kiss.

I leaned into him. “I’m ready for bed.”

“Just one more thing.” He gestured at the door.

“I really don’t want to talk about the nursery right now.” I felt the tenuous grip I had on wakefulness slipping away like the tail of a cloud.

“I have a quick surprise for you.” He opened the door, and inside was no longer a half-finished nursery. It was a library. In one corner, a small wine cabinet and a whole section of cookbooks—books he’d procured with the help of the Pigeon Post from every corner of the Realm and even a few from Outside. Edmund tells me that the room is his way of telling me that he trusts me, he believes in me, and he wants me to be happy. “I did it for us. I’m proud of what we are, who we are.”

I let the tears fall freely. “I am, too. I’m sorry I didn’t believe enough at first.”

“Forward, CeCi, forward.”

“Forward, Edmund.”

We shared a couple of glasses of champagne as I studied my new books, my treasures. He’d hung a painting of Rory, Bianca, you, and me posed in the meadow right before my wedding. On the large desk, I found his blueprints for the Unicorn Café.

“I have some news myself, CeCi. I’m thinking of returning to university to study architecture,” he said. “Just a regular Wonderland U, but still. There’s no reason not to. William’s doing the kinging for Grimmland, since Rory’s folks went back to sleep. And my parents left to sail around Narnia in their new yacht. Will says as soon as I come back, I can be Grimmland’s Chief Engineer. Since we’re living our dreams, I just thought
 . . .
”

I interrupted him with a kiss. I couldn’t be prouder.

I ran to get Darling and Sweetie and the Swan Prince, and all five of us ran our hands down the spines of the new books and bookmarked our favorite recipes and smelled the paper and the leather. I sent the three of them back to bed with more champagne and wishes for sweet dreams. I took Edmund back to our chambers and tried to tell him how much it all meant to me.

I wish I could show Rory, but it’s a bittersweet wish this time. I have to apologize to Malice because she was right—carrying a wound doesn’t heal it. I have a business to run and menus to plan. I need to hire servers and prep cooks and a dishwasher since Bianca’s taking Snoozer with her. (Just kidding. I haven’t really been letting him wash the dishes.) I have to take some more classes and make plans to visit Phil and Bianca and Rachel.

I’m so happy to hear how much the twins loved their birthday cake. Just think when they get older the stories we’ll be able to tell them about all the dreams we saw come true. We’ll say, “Once upon a time there were four friends who rewrote their Pages
 . . .
”

Love,

CeCi