As White as Snow (19 page)

Then one day, the princess learned that far, far away, beyond seven mountains and seven seas, was a tower where a princess was imprisoned. A terrible dragon guarded the tower and no one could save the princess. After hearing this, the
first princess traveled past the seven mountains and seven seas to see whether this was her long-lost friend.

When she arrived at the tower, the dragon was perched upon its peak spouting white flames that had burned all the land around completely black. The princess decided to wait until the dragon fell asleep. Finally, the sky darkened and the stars appeared. The princess tried valiantly to keep her eyes open, but she fell asleep before the dragon did.

The princess awoke to someone singing the same sad song she had been singing for the past seven years. She looked up to the tower window and saw her friend. The princesses both cried for joy when they recognized each other. The princess who had arrived from afar shouted that she would save the prisoner. But the imprisoned princess replied that the time was not right because the dragon could appear at any moment and consume her with fire. Nevertheless, the princess knew that they had promised to always protect each other, and she set out to climb the tower.

When she arrived at the high window, they hugged for a long time and smiled. Suddenly, though, the look in the imprisoned princess’s eyes shifted. Her eyes changed, and her arms changed. Her hair turned to scales, and the hem of her dress morphed into a long tail. The silk ribbons that adorned her head transformed into wings. After a moment, the princess from afar realized that she was staring into the eyes of the dragon.

However, she did not fear. Lightly touching the dragon’s snout, she told her that she was still the princess inside. Or she was the princess with a dragon inside. The dragon looked
at her friend and understood. Her eyes began to weep great black tears, which flowed down the walls of the tower and watered the scorched ground, making it bloom once again. The dragon princess cried because she knew that people would not accept her because she was a dragon. And dragons would not accept her because she was a person.

Then the princess from afar wrapped her arms around the dragon’s neck and promised that the two of them would stay together, come what may. They didn’t need anyone else. They would look for a land where princesses and dragons could live in harmony, even if they were one and the same person.

In the final scene, the dragon flew toward the full moon with the princess on its back.

Lumikki realized her cheeks were wet. She wiped them in surprise. Had she been crying? Apparently so. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. She’d thought she had lost the ability to cry.

The shadow theater story had sucked her in so thoroughly that she had forgotten herself and all her conscious thoughts. Her subconscious feelings had taken over. The story awoke images of many different things.

Lumikki and Blaze.

Lumikki and Lenka.

Lumikki and someone she played with as a child, pretending to be two girls named Snow White and Rose Red. Suddenly, she remembered the story and the game perfectly. In the story, a prince who had been turned into a bear by enchantment helped the girls. She had loved the game even
though she hadn’t entirely understood it. Her playmate had been a little older than she was and told her the story as they played. Snow White and Rose Red were always together and they always saved each other, just like the princesses in the shadow play.

Lenka had saved Lumikki. No matter how much Lumikki detested her lie, she couldn’t deny that Lenka had saved her. Lenka had taken a risk and knowingly put herself in danger for Lumikki, helping her escape even though she knew that Lumikki wasn’t really her sister and even though helping could have meant disaster for her.

The rest of the audience had already left the theater and the ticket seller came to the door and coughed pointedly. Lumikki stood up. She felt a little dizzy, but the feeling passed quickly when she gritted her teeth and started walking resolutely toward the door.

Lumikki hated owing people, and now she felt like she owed Lenka her life.

Outside, the evening sun slanted into Lumikki’s eyes and hot air assaulted her from every side. Lumikki checked her phone. Jiři had tried to call five times. The last time was just ten minutes earlier. He’d also left a message. Lumikki tried to call him back, but when he didn’t answer, she listened to the message. Jiři said he was going to the White Family’s house to do his story and that the mass suicide was planned for tonight. The police and rescue teams were supposed to be coming to help.

Lumikki didn’t stop to think. She just took off running. She could still catch Jiři at the Super8 building and go with him.

She arrived out of breath at 6:15 p.m. The receptionist looked her over from head to toe with pity in her eyes.

“Hard day?”

“And it might get worse. Is Jiři still here?”

“No. He just left. He didn’t say where but—”

Just then, a woman of about forty stepped out of the elevator and did a double take when she saw Lumikki. It was as if the woman recognized her, even though Lumikki couldn’t remember ever having seen her before. There was something in her gaze that was so frightening Lumikki felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The woman sped up, lifting her phone to her ear and taking one more sharp glance at Lumikki before stepping outside.

“Who was that?” Lumikki asked the receptionist, who looked at her wide-eyed.

“You don’t know? That’s Vera Sováková, Super8’s CEO.”

Lumikki just waved her hand in thanks and ran out the door.

She had to get to Lenka’s house before this tragedy could become real.

The first thing Jiři noticed was the smell, which was acrid and nearly suffocating. For a moment, he couldn’t place it, until it triggered a memory from summer camp ten years earlier. They’d spent every night sitting around a fire. Because the summer was rainy, it was impossible to get the damp wood to light with just matches and newspaper. They went through lighter fluid by the gallon.

Someone was using lighter fluid here too. But more. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of gallons. Jiři had to be careful not to trip on the bundles of fabric strewn on the floor. They were all soaked through.

There was no one around. It was completely silent.

Jiři didn’t think that was a good sign. In fact, it was a very bad sign. He didn’t believe for a second that the cult
members had left or decided to abandon their plan. No one would waste this much time, energy, and lighter fluid just to burn down a dilapidated house. They were definitely still in the building. Somewhere deep inside.

The ground floor seemed to be empty. The doors connecting the rooms were open. The pieces of fabric doused in lighter fluid were scattered everywhere, on the floors and draped over the sparse furnishings. One good spark would have set the whole place ablaze instantly. That was obviously the point.

He lifted his camera and panned over the first floor, keeping his hand as steady as he could, and then set off up the stairs. It was still as quiet as the grave. Jiři desperately hoped he hadn’t come too late.

Lenka thought of her mother.

Her mother’s hands as she stroked and braided her hair. Their softness and power. Their strength, always present as determination, but never heavy-handedness. Her mother’s hands had been adept and nimble. They could just as easily form a perfectly curved croissant as clear a clogged drain or fix a door with a broken hinge.

Her mother’s hair, which tickled her face when her mother bent down to give her a good-night kiss. Mother had insisted, even when Lenka thought she was too old for good-night kisses. As a teenager, she protested and pulled the covers over her head, hiding under them. Mother had patiently kissed her through the covers so that Lenka only felt it as a soft pressure.
At some point, Lenka had started willingly offering her cheek or forehead or hair for a kiss again, secretly happy that Mother had turned a deaf ear to her objections.

Lenka knew she wasn’t supposed to think about her mother. She was supposed to think about Jesus. She was supposed to think about the paradise they were about to travel to. The home where their family could finally be in direct communion with God. Mother didn’t belong to the family anymore. Mother had betrayed the family.

Lenka could tell from her wooziness that the sleeping pills were starting to take effect. Soon, she would slip over the edge into unconsciousness. She wouldn’t smell the stench of the lighter fluid emanating from her white dress. She wouldn’t hear the murmured prayers of the people lying around her. Soon, they too would fall silent as they slept. Lenka didn’t pray. She didn’t need to. She believed that faith was enough to carry her past the dark emotion of fear. She only hoped that, when the flames began to lick her skin, she would already be so asleep that she wouldn’t even realize. No pain, not even distantly felt through layers of sleep.

Mother.
Lenka’s thoughts stubbornly returned to her mother. Maybe it wasn’t unreasonable to think that she might see her again after she died. Lenka wanted to believe in a mercy and forgiveness that was stronger than what the family had taught her. She didn’t want to imagine a God who would cast aside her mother for her mistakes. Lenka’s God wouldn’t do that. The family didn’t know. They thought God was hard, merciless, and demanding, admitting into his presence only a select few. The chosen ones. Life in death.

That’s what the family said. That in death they would find their new, real life.

Lenka couldn’t feel her feet anymore. She couldn’t feel her hands. Her body had already fallen asleep, but her mind still hovered on the edge.

Life.

Had this been her life, like this, as a mortal? Nothing more than this? She had never visited any other countries. She had never kissed anyone. She had never stayed up all night talking to a friend. She had never been so furious that all she wanted to do was scream and cry. She had never been drunk. She had never been lost in a strange city. She had never laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe.

Sleep dragged Lenka down even as her conscious mind, in panic, seized at one last thought.

I don’t want to die yet. I want to live.

I want to live.

I want . . .

Lumikki hauled herself up onto the high iron fence. Her legs were shaking with fatigue, and her hands were so sweaty she could barely grip the bars. Now wasn’t the time to worry, though. Now she had to be brave and get into the house as fast as possible.

The spikes along the fence were sharp. Lumikki tried to grab them as high as she could and swing herself over once again in one fluid motion. However, one hand slipped at the decisive moment and she felt a spike dig a long scrape into her thigh, which immediately began oozing blood. The pain
made her balance fail, and she crashed into the yard on her side, not on her feet as she’d intended. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to pull her elbows close in to her body and tuck her chin into her chest to guard her neck.

Lumikki rolled a couple of times after the fall and lay still for a few seconds to catch her breath. Her ribs hurt, and the scrape on her leg stung, but otherwise she was fine. No broken bones or serious bruises. She had experienced much worse in her life. She had limped home from elementary school far more battered than this and pretended nothing had happened.

Lumikki stood up. Her legs were weak, and she felt a little light-headed, but she could still walk. Dehydration was probably making her feel worse than any other single factor.

No one was in the yard. Lumikki might make it in time.

She wasn’t sure, but after seeing Vera Sováková, the strongest impression had come over her that this woman knew more about the suicide plan than anyone else. She might even be involved in it somehow. Because who was going to benefit from the plan? Of course Adam Havel/Smith, who would flee the cult because he had already pumped as much money out of them as he could and they were only a burden now. But also the media, who would feast on every last morsel of tragedy. It was Super8 who had an up-and-coming reporter investigating the cult. And it was that reporter’s boss who had sent him alone to cover a dangerous story. Wasn’t it a little too convenient that information about the exact timing of the suicide had come first to Super8 . . . ?

Lumikki ran to the side door and found it already broken open. At the door, she caught a familiar scent. Jiři’s aftershave.
That meant that Jiři was here too but hadn’t been for long. The thought gave Lumikki more confidence. They could do this together.
Unless.

That one nagging word. In Lumikki’s mind, it expanded into a full sentence. Unless Jiři was involved in the plot? It was perfectly possible. In fact, it was probable. What sense would there be sending a man to do a job who didn’t know what was going on behind the scenes?

And if that was true, Lumikki didn’t know who she should be most afraid of meeting in the house. There wasn’t time to think. There wasn’t time to analyze. Lumikki stepped through the door into the overwhelming stench of lighter fluid.