Lila, on the otherhand, was set on getting him back, even though the rest of the village had, within the hour, written him off as a lost cause. "No one who goes with her ever comes back," her mother had tried to reason, but for naught.
Once the rest of her family had fallen asleep that night, she threw a few things into a bag, cracked a window, and threw a leg over the casement.
She was gone before the family dog knew to start barking.
The only clue Lila had to go on was that the woman went "north." She had no plates to go on, no idea of where the woman lived, except that it was beyond the ten mile radius she and Mark had ever explored. But, there weren't that many roads heading out that way and not much traffic. So for a while, with the moon high and full, Lila was able to hike along the road.
But, the night grew colder and the trees began to close in and even though she'd grabbed a warm jacket, hat, and boots, she began to shiver in them. And it only got worse once the snow started. What had started as a clear night, by midnight, became a blizzard and Lila was lost in it.
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| A cold and lonely road (1) |
She remembered the old stories about how the woman in the car, the snow queen, had powers over the ice and snow and wondered as her fingers began to numb and her feet turned to blocks in her boots if this was the Snow Queen's doing or if Lila herself had just been stupid about heading off into the night on foot. Still, she trudged on, hoping to find somewhere to wait out the rest of the night, hopes sinking lower with each step that she'd find it before she froze.
***
Meanwhile, many miles from where Lila kept slogging through the cold, Mark himself was far from being cold and uncomfortable. The car, after passing iron gates and slithering along a stretch of driveway that could rightly be called a road in and of itself, pulled up to a grand mansion. "This is our stop," she told the gawping village boy. She didn't wait for him to collect himself.
She swanned out of the car and up the stairs, heels click-click-clicking along each step. The doors opened before her. She paused in the doorway and raised a single eyebrow in his direction. "Are you coming?"
Mindlessly, he lept from the car to follow, eyes fixed on her long, long legs and very, very short skirt.
He scrambled to catch up.
There was no one at the door when he crossed the threshold and still the doors closed on their own. But, he barely noticed. Instead, he struck shocked and amazed by the outright opulance of her foyer. The likes of which he'd never seen. He didn't know marble from alabaster, but everything looked rich and ... richer. And everything -- stone to crystal to paintings to rugs -- were done in shades of blue and white.
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| Think less black and more ice sculpture.... (2) |
"You live here?" He called out through the very empty foyer.
"Yes. And it's bad form to stand in the entryway gawking. Please, come this way."
Her voice lead him deeper into the house. He found her in the kitchen, ladling out some soup boiling away on the stove. "I'm afraid the staff is on holiday. Here. Have something to eat and we'll get you settled. I'll set you to work tomorrow."
He did as he was bade, sitting, eating silently, trying to keep from staring so hard that his eyes fell out of his head. His mother told him that it would happen once. He never forgot it. But, this was one of the times when the risk felt real. There was too much to take in and while a small part of his brain tried to remind him that there was something very wrong here, the rest was just overwhelmed. He forgot about his mother's warnings, he forgot about his friend and his home. Instead, he just stared.
And while he stared at the grandure around him (and occasionally at the woman who sat at the table with him), he didn't notice her returned gaze. She hadn't taken a bite of the soup before her. Instead, she sat watching her newest acquisition, as if he were another rug or lamp or sculpture.
When he finished all he could eat, she led him to another part of the mansion and got him settled into a room. "Consider it yours for your stay. Good night." She gave him a smile as she closed the door as thin as the fang moon of winter.
He barely saw it for the fur and the fireplace and the satin woods of the "guest" room she'd placed him in. He barely saw it or felt the creeping cold that had begun to fill his veins from the contents of his stomach. No, he didn't see the trap for what it was even as he slipped into unconsciousness and his body hit the fur rug square on....
(1) Many thanks to Brianna Asaro Photography for allowing me to use this image. Please check out her website. Her work is gorgeous. http://briannaasaro.com/
(2) via theenchantedhome.blogspot.com
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