Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [9]
He shrugged. “They’re from a tube.”
“Uncle Martin’s a screenwriter,” Adelaide said. “That means he writes movies. But he can’t sell them, so he’s freeloading on my parents.”
“That’s right,” her uncle said cheerfully. “But I make excellent tube cookies. I think it more than makes up for any freeloading.”
“We’re writing a story together,” Adelaide told Hazel, eyes serious.
“Yes,” said Uncle Martin. “Adie is going to make it up and then I am going to steal it and sell it for a jillion dollars and then who will be freeloading upon whom? But I will certainly put her name in the end credits. And yours, Ms. . . . ?
“Um . . . Hazel.”
“What a lovely name,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “Very heroic.”
“Really?” Hazel said.
He turned to Adelaide. “Isn’t that Lee Scoresby’s dæmon’s name?”
“No, that’s Hester!” Adelaide looked at Hazel. “Have you read The Golden Compass?”
Like a thousand times. “Yeah,” said Hazel.
“What do you think your dæmon would be?”
Hazel paused a moment, as if she hadn’t already thought about this very carefully. “A cat,” she said, because that was a normal thing to say.
“Really? I think it would be, like, an owl.”
“Really?” Hazel asked.
“Mine is a slug,” said Uncle Martin. “Now, Hazel, tell me your life story, from the beginning until you met me.”
“Hazel’s adopted,” offered Adelaide. “From India.”
Hazel blinked again, and looked from Adelaide to her wizard-school slug-dæmon uncle. It wasn’t the sort of thing people usually came out and said.
“Really!” Martin said. “I want to go there someday off my screenwriting riches. Do you remember it at all?”
Hazel bit her lip. She supposed this was the sort of thing people with decorative furniture did. They just said things, because their houses had enough room for all kinds of things, no matter how odd and funny-shaped they were.
“No,” she said. “I was just a baby.”
“You should go back when you’re older. It could be a quest, heroic Hazel.” He nodded at her. “Now, Adie, tell Hazel the story I’m going to steal.”
Adelaide nodded, her curls springing a little. “Okay,” she said, leaning against the table toward Hazel. “There’s a witch who lives wherever it’s winter.”
“We’re starting with the villain,” Martin interjected. “Because they are the most fun. Do you want to help, Hazel?”
She did. Adelaide looked at her expectantly. “The witch travels on a sleigh pulled by huge white wolves,” Hazel began. This was not original. She tried again. “The wolves have mouths as red as blood. The snowflakes follow her like bees.” She glanced at Adelaide, who nodded earnestly.
Uncle Martin smiled. “Like bees. Very evocative. Now, Adelaide, what does she wear?”
“A white dress and white furs,” Adelaide said. “And she has a crown. Made of the thinnest of ice.”
“Because she’s a queen,” Hazel said. “She’s the Snow Queen.”
“Yes, nice. Where does she live?”
“In a palace of ice,” said Hazel. “And she has a heart to match.”
“Very good.” He looked at the two of them seriously. “And what does she want?”
Hazel and Adelaide exchanged a confused look. “What do you mean?” Adelaide asked.
“Everyone in a story wants something,” he said. “Especially the villains. And the hero’s job is to stop them from getting it. So, what does she want?”
“Eternal winter?” said Adelaide.
“Kids,” said Hazel. “She wants kids. She wants to collect them. She puts them in snow globes. She traps them with promises, and if she can get them to agree to stay there forever, they’re hers.”
The words came tumbling out of her mouth, and once they were out there she could only look from Martin to Adelaide in horror. This was the sort of thing she was not supposed to say out loud.
But Martin just turned to Hazel and nodded slowly. “Very good,” he said. “You get a tube cookie. You, too, Adie.”
“But . . . why?” Adelaide asked, looking from her uncle to Hazel. “The kids. Why would they agree to stay? Why would anyone stay with her?”
Martin stopped and regarded Hazel and Adelaide. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Why. That’s the question.”
Hazel heard the sound of throat clearing. She had not noticed the two mothers