Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [71]
The kisses kept the dreams at bay. Those dreams flitted through his consciousness like the taste of a forgotten food. There was an invisible boy in them, he remembered that much, and Jack felt bad for the boy. He did not like these dreams—even the memory made him feel like he was melting. He did not understand why he couldn’t dream of ice, where he belonged.
The witch came and asked him questions and pronounced him delightful, but he could see no delight in her eyes. Amusement, perhaps. Maybe even mirth. But never delight. He was failing her, and if he failed she would send him to the too-warm dream world. He would melt away.
She brought him things sometimes. She brought him a car made of wood, some playing cards, a schoolbook with math problems in it. He didn’t need those things, but he didn’t want to disappoint her. He pretended to enjoy them, but she saw right through him, as clearly as if she were looking through ice.
“We’ll find something you like,” she said.
And he wanted to explain that he wanted nothing but her approval, but he was afraid. So he only nodded and thanked her, and she smiled, and the smile made him feel starved.
“You are such a delight!” she said.
He was not. There was a hole at his center, and she could see right into it.
And then one day she brought him something new. She appeared on his ice floe like the sun.
“It’s a puzzle,” she said, unfolding her hands. “Do you like puzzles?”
He did. He knew he did. Puzzles fit together. He smiled up at her.
She bent down and placed a pile of small ice shards in front of him. “Good. These are the puzzle pieces. You can spell words with them. If you spell the right one, I will give you your heart’s desire.”
He picked up a shard and looked it. It felt good in his hands. Right. He held it up, and a sunbeam shone through it as if it was reaching for him.
“What is the right word?” he asked. He could not take back the words once they came out. He was such a small, shriveled-up thing.
She smiled and brushed his cheek with her ice hands. “You have to figure that out on your own.”
Eternity. The word popped into his head. Maybe the sun had taken pity on him.
“Aren’t you a delight?” she said. He looked down at the puzzle shards. They were made of odd, jagged angles. He reached a finger out to touch one of the points. He felt nothing, but a small dome of red blood rose out of his finger pad. He eyed it curiously, then put his hands on the shards and began to move them around the ice. He let out a breath he did not know he was holding. Manipulating the ice shards felt like coming home. His heart stirred, and he looked up at the witch.
“You like that?” she said.
He nodded, a smile on his face.
“You are fascinating,” she said, cold eyes sparkling.
And he knew that she meant it, and he despaired, for he might never feel this way again. “Do you want me to solve it?” he asked, nodding toward the puzzle.
“Of course,” she said. “I want you to be happy.”
Then he would solve it. He put his head down and lost himself to the ice.
Chapter Twenty-two
The Snow Queen
Hazel could not see a path ahead of her, but still she moved forward into the great seething nothing—for she had put her faith in the cold now, as it was all she had left. The nothing greeted her hungrily—swirling around her, pulling at her, whipping at her skin. It would soon devour her. Or it already had.
Hazel hunched over and threw her hands in front of her face, as if there was any protection to be had. The air crackled and pushed her forward as her feet tried to make sense of the ground. They couldn’t, and she slipped, and then tumbled down the hill like a flake in the wind. Hazel skidded and rolled, the snow clinging to her, until the incline eased and released her. She lay in the snow, a pile of bones, feeling the air whip around her. She could stay like this. She could stay like this.
But she didn’t. The cold pulled her forward, still, and so she picked herself up.
She thrust her arms above her head again and then eased herself down the hill, one slippery step at a time.