Classics Mutilated Part 4

The Jabberwock struck her with its claws, slicing the witch into three slivers of human pulp. Alice knelt down and picked up the first piece, the center cut, and c.o.c.ked her head sideways. "Goodbye, stepmother," she said and tossed the flesh into the mirror, where it disappeared.

"You there," she said, motioning toward the darshve with a short blonde beard. "Help me, and I'll give you position and wealth in my new kingdom."

"I don't trust you," he said.

"Do you trust gold?" she asked.

"How much gold?"

"Newbeard!" her half-sister shouted.

"Enough." Alice stretched. "And human women, none so lovely as my sister, but the choicest females from lands far and near."

The little darshve stroked his beard for a moment, then looked at the old one, then at Snow, then back to Alice.

"And we'll be safe from those things?"

"Yes."

The creature looked at Snow again, then back to Alice.

"Make up your mind."

He nodded, and grabbed the left portion of the dead Queen. As he dragged it toward the mirror, the tallest of the darshve went over to help him. Alice watched as they lifted the flesh and tossed it into the mirror.

"Blood seals the magic."

She walked among the remaining darshve. "What of you, little ones? Would you prefer to live off the mountain dust or dine like princes in my palace with your beautiful wives from exotic lands?"

The others said nothing. But neither did they step forward to help dispose of the Queen's corpse.

d.a.m.n them, Alice though. Very well.

She locked eyes on the beast above her. Asked it for another favor, and instantly four of the little men lay dead, gutted at her feet.

"You chose poorly, little darshve." Alice looked at the dead darshve, then to Snow. "There's only one way to save this world, my sister."

The girl said nothing, only shuddered behind the old one.

"You can call them back to their own world, but only from inside the looking gla.s.s."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

"How many can enter?"

Alice took another deep breath. "I love this home air. Even filled with death, it calms me and helps me remember the way the land used to be."

"How many, Alice?" Snow tightened her gaze and it seemed to Alice that the girl had finally found some courage. Far too late, but an admirable discovery nonetheless.

"As many as who dare," Alice said. "So long as they go before you. Once you enter or I throw you in, the portal will close. Blood seals the bargain, not just my stepmother's blood but also the royal blood in your veins."

The girl knelt on her knees and called out, "Aspen! Come here, Aspen."

In a few moments, a dirty white dog ran from the edge of the forest to her and leaped against her chest to lick her face.

"Good dog, Aspen." The girl gathered the dog in her arms and carried it toward the mirror. "I'll join you in a moment." Then she set her pet on the mirror's face and it slid into the gla.s.s as though it were water.

Alice sighed. "Happy now, half-sister?"

"You'll die a normal death now."

Alice laughed and shook her head. "I've learned a lesson or two from the bo-" She stopped herself. "d.a.m.n! The book. I've left the book."

When she gathered her wits after a few seconds, she noticed the girl squatting down and whispering something in the old one's ear. He nodded. Then they clasped each other's hands and stepped onto the mirror.

In a moment, all Alice's allies began to moan in a low tone that shook the mountains. Then they simply faded away as if they had never been in the land at all.

"This isn't the end," the girl said.

"Wait!" Alice said, reaching for them too late as they disappeared through the gla.s.s. She turned to the two darshve who remained. "I want that d.a.m.ned mirror hidden in the mountains again and buried beneath a rockfall. No, two rockfalls. She is never to escape." She tightened her glare at the little men. "Never. Even if she learns the power contained in that volume." She bit down on her frown. "Do you understand me?"

She was certain they did.

Snow stared out the window of her chamber at the peaceful green and blue of the castle grounds.

The winters in the new kingdom were moderate, with little to no snow, and the temperatures remained just warm enough to enjoy the cold without freezing, but it wasn't home.

Back home, the trickster, the conniver, Alice, sat in her father's castle, entertained guests in her father's banquet hall. But that wouldn't last. It couldn't. She would see to that. The ancient leather book Alice had left behind would help her, even if she couldn't yet comprehend it. But she had time to learn.

Footsfalls thumped softly behind her.

"Snow?"

"Squash?" she asked. "How was the hunt?"

"Productive. I must admit that I enjoy this new land. And Aspen delights in the fields around the castle. He's like a pup again."

"But it's not home," she said.

"Alas. It is not."

"What did you bring us?"

"Four harts and a boar. Enough to feed all the castle servants well."

Snow nodded. "Tell the cook that I will prepare the stew tonight. I've missed cooking for someone all these years."

"I will," Squash said and turned to go.

But he stopped when she cried out.

"Again?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Don't fight it."

She shook her head. "I'll always fight her."

The pain in her gut twisted and burned, and her throat constricted.

The air above her rippled and spoke in the hateful voice of her half-sister. "Mirror, mirror on the wall...."

Little Women in Black.

By Louisa May Alcott and Rick Hautala.

Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, sitting on the rug before the fire. She had a ball of yarn in her lap and, like her sisters, was busily knitting socks to send to the soldiers. Her hands moved somewhat clumsily because of the linen gloves she wore to cover up the scars, scabs, and open wounds on her hands. Even now, a few of them were bleeding through the thin fabric, making random blossoms of bright scarlet.

"It's so dreadful to be poor," sighed Meg, looking down with frustration at her old dress.

"It's not fair for some girls to have pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured sniff.

"We've still got Father and Mother ... and each other," whispered Beth from her dark corner by the fireplace.

The three young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words so faint they could have been a thought in each one's mind, but their expressions darkened again when Meg said sadly, "But we haven't got Father ... and the other dear one we lost and miss so much."

"We haven't lost Father," remarked Jo. "He's just away at the war."

"But we shan't have him for a very long time," added Amy, staring at the fire wistfully.

She didn't have to add the phrase "perhaps never," but each girl silently did as they paused to think of Father, far away down South. He was serving as a chaplain in Mr. Lincoln's Army, so he wouldn't see battle directly, but there were many other dangers of war he must face daily. How, each of them wondered, would all of that have changed him when he returned? How could it not help but change him from the kind, loving father they all knew and loved so much?

n.o.body spoke for several minutes, the only sound the rhythmic clicking of knitting needles. Then Meg said, "You know the reason Mother proposed us not having any Christmas presents this year is because it is going to be a dreadfully hard winter for everyone, not just our troops. She thinks we ought not to spend any money for trinkets or silly pleasures when our soldiers are suffering so."

"We can't do much," added Jo, "but we can make little sacrifices and ought to do so gladly, I suppose." She paused, and then added sullenly, "But I'm afraid I don't do it gladly. I miss Father so."

Meg shook her head as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted and might never have.

"I don't think the little we would spend would do any good for the soldiers," said Amy. "We've each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our giving that away."

"I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you this season, but I so much want to buy Mr. Hawthorne's newest novel," Jo said.

"I had hoped to spend mine on some new sheet music," said Beth with a low, wistful sigh that no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle holder. Her pale face floated in the darkness like the moon, obscured by clouds, wavering and dimming. Meg cast a glance in Beth's direction and s.h.i.+vered as though she had caught a draft.

"Well, I shall get a nice new box of Faber's drawing pencils," declared Amy. "I really do need them."

"Mother didn't say anything about our money," cried Jo, "and she won't wish us to give up everything. Let us each buy what we want for ourselves and have a little fun. I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it."

"I know I certainly do, teaching those tiresome children all day when I'm longing to enjoy myself at home," said Meg.

"You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo. "How would you like to be cooped up for hours on end with a fussy old lady like Aunt March, who keeps me trotting back and forth, is never satisfied, and worries me till I'm ready to fly out the window or break down and cry?"

"Don't fret," said Beth with a deep sigh that, when it ended, filled the room with a hush.

"I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy, "for you don't have to go to school with impertinent girls who plague you if you don't know your lessons, and laugh at your simple dresses, and label your father as nothing but a poor minister."

"If you mean libel," said Jo, laughing, "I'd say so and not talk about labels as if Father were a pickle bottle."

"I say what I mean, and I mean what I say, and you needn't be satirical about it," said Amy, pouting with hurt dignity.

"Using that fine logic," said Meg, "you may as well say, 'I see what I eat, so I eat what I see.' "

"It's proper to use good words and improve your vocabulary," Amy replied with a huff.

"Don't peck at one another, children," said Meg, sounding more like Mother-their "Marmee"-than herself. "Don't you wish we had the money Father had when we were little, Jo? Dear me! How happy we were then, and how good we'd be now if we had no worries!"

"You said the other day that you thought we were a great deal happier than the Patterson children," Jo said, "for they are forever fighting and fretting in spite of their wealth."

"So I did." Beth said, s.h.i.+fting her gaze to the fire, sure she caught a gauzy flutter of motion in the darkest corner. "Well, I think we are happier, and all it will take to complete our happiness is for Father to return to us safely from the war. For though we do have to work, we are a jolly lot, all in all, as Jo would say."

"Jo does use such slang words," observed Amy, with a reproving look at the long figure now stretched on the rug. "At least I try to use a vocabulary."

Jo immediately sat up and, self-conscious of the scarlet splotches on her gloves, put her hands behind her back and began to whistle.

"Don't whistle like that, Jo. It's so ... boy-ish," advised Meg. "It irritates me so."

"That's why I do it."

"Well I, for one, detest rude, unladylike girls," said Amy.

"And I hate affected, niminy-piminy little chits!" Jo responded, her hands s.h.i.+fting from behind her back and clenching into knotted fists.

"Birds in their little nests should all agree," said Hannah, their faithful servant, from the kitchen. Although Hannah had been with the family since even Meg could remember, her austere presence impelled both sharp voices to soften to gentle laughs.

"Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg, lecturing in her elder-sisterly fas.h.i.+on. "You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks and playing with your pet rat. You should have learned by now how to behave better, Josephine."

"I don't like being called Josephine!"

"That's why I call you that," Meg replied. "Such manners didn't matter so much when you were a little girl, but now you are grown. You should remember that you are a young lady."

"I am not! I'll wear my hair in pigtails until I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off her hair net and shaking down a lengthy chestnut mane. "I hate to think I've got to grow up and be 'Miss March,' and wear gowns and always look prim and proper. If I must be a girl, I wish I had never been born."