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The mirror clouds over, gray and black fluff swirls on the glass, then dissipates. An image appears, starting from the bottom and slowly forming. I grit my teeth as I wait until the woman stands there in the mirror. Quickly, my heart racing, I memorize every part of the image. Her eyes remain endlessly black, her dress midnight with red trim. Her hair falls in gentle waves to her shoulders, dark with purple streaks.
“How do I find you?”
Her mouth opens, lips red as blood. “Find the queen—find me. Use the magic.”
The image disappears, leaving nothing in its wake. I try again, asking who I am this time, but the mirror shows nothing. My arms slacken, suddenly feeling exhausted. So far, it seems as if the mirror will answer me once before turning into a piece of trash. I sigh. That was harsh. The mirror did nothing wrong. I only wish I had magic of my own, rather than relying on my hair.
I run my thumb across the handle of the mirror, the ridges and bumps scraping across my skin. There has to be a way. If I learn magic, get my own magical store that Carmen was talking about, I bet I can find her. But how?
I walk to the base of the stairs leading up to Mother’s floor and fold my arms. Taking a deep breath, I walk up and push the door open. It is still and silent as ever, and I cross the threshold and place the mirror in its exact spot. With trembling hands, I walk farther in and put my hand on the door leading up to her working quarters.
I push the door open and walk up, my heart pounding with each step as the magic pricks my skin. I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt and look around. There is a bookshelf on the far wall, as well as three chests next to it. A giant black cauldron sits in the middle of the floor, with designs drawn on the tile.
Gingerly stepping around the drawings, I head to the bookshelf, determined. I know what I want. I read in one of Raúl’s books about witches having grimoires. Mother must have one somewhere.
I scan her shelf until I find a dusty leather-bound book. My fingers trembling, I slowly take it out. I know the risk I take. If I am caught with Mother’s book in hand, it would be… disastrous. Flipping open the cover, I navigate to the front, which lists the spells and page numbers. I run my finger down the list, stopping at one called “The True Companion.” That sounds interesting. No one could deny I need more friends.
My heart steadier now, I turn to the page and look at the spell. After the completion of this spell, your true companion will appear.
Perfect.
It does not require any ingredients, and is just a simple chant while walking in a counterclockwise circle around a lit black candle. Simple enough for my first attempt. I memorize the chant, then put the book away. Mother’s chests must have the black candle, and I open the first one to see. Inside is an assortment of different-sized boxes. One, labeled candles, contains the sole ingredient I need.
I head downstairs to the main level. If I drag the chair to the edge, there is just enough room for me to walk. I place the candle on the ground and take a knife from the kitchen.
With steady hands, I lay out a few strands of my hair at the end of a braid on the counter. In one swift movement, I slam the knife down, chopping the pieces off.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
At first, I feel nothing. Then slowly, a tingling in my chest. I begin the chant, walking around the candle as instructed. The sensation spreads to my hands, then disappears as I finish speaking the words.
I scratch my head. Nothing happens. No one is showing up anywhere. My shoulders slump. It must not have worked. I sigh, disappointed, but not surprised. Probably because I have no reserve, like Carmen was talking about. There has to be some type of spell to help me make it, then I will truly be able to use magic. I cross my arms, wondering if I should try again or find a new spell. In the middle of my internal debate, a voice calls up from the bottom of the tower.
“Rapunzel, let down your hair,” says Mother.
My breathing stops. Quickly, I throw my cut hair strands into the fire. I run and grab the candle, snuffing it out and throwing it into the cold box. I kick the chair back into place. Covered in sweat, I shove open the window, dropping my hair down.
“Here, Mother.”
I wince as my hair pulls at my scalp. After what seems like ages, Mother climbs in. Her green robes are dusty, with strange substances splattered on them. She steps into the room, sweeping her judgmental eyes across the floor. She walks to the middle of the room, where I had put the candle. Kneeling down, she places a palm flat on the floor, sniffing the air.
“What have you done?” she asks.
My mouth suddenly dry, I tilt my head and feign innocence. “What do you mean? I completed chores.”
She stands up and stalks closer to me, the smell of dust and sand clogging my nose. Grabbing me by the shoulders, she whips me around and grabs my hair, pulling on the braids. “You’ve cut your hair.”
“Why would I cut my hair?” I ask, wondering how long I could keep my mask of innocence on. “You’ve told me not to.”
She stalks around me and stares me in the eyes. I lift my chin slightly, an act of defiance, as if daring her to contradict me. “Hands,” she says.
My eyes widen, and quickly I hide them behind my dress. “There is no need. You were right. I had to cut the bottom strands after they snagged when I was cleaning. Then I braided my hair, to prevent it from happening again.”
“Hands,” she repeats.
Reluctantly, I hold them out. She grabs them in hers, and in an instant, fire surrounds our joined hands. Sweat pours down my neck and I try to hold back my screams. The fire licks my skin, leaving pain in its path. The nauseating smell of burned flesh fills the tower. Finally, I can hold it back no longer, and I let out a scream. Mother releases me and I collapse to the ground, holding my injured hands to my chest. “Why did you do that?” I ask, on the verge of sobbing.
“You know the rules. No lying. No cutting your hair. No leaving the castle.”
