“I think you should all stay here tonight,” said Azalea. “This feels too odd. Let’s stay here. We already danced today, anyway.”
Everyone protested loudly at this. Gritting her teeth, Azalea clenched the lamp in her hand as they descended into the silver forest. Each silver-encrusted step she took made the feeling increase, and dread filled her at the thought of seeing Keeper again. It did not help that the girls were jumpy. Jessamine clung to Azalea’s skirts and whispered in a crystalline voice, “Someone’s here. I think someone is here!”
“Jess, will you shut up!” Bramble seethed, clutching Lily with shaking hands.
Hollyhock, at the end of the line, gave a shrill yelp.
“Someone stepped on my shawl!” she cried.
She dove into the center of girls, leaving the shawl strewn across the silver path. It was Clover’s and much too large for Hollyhock, who had been dragging it, leaving a trail of silver sparkles. Azalea pushed her way to the back.
“Nonsense,” she said, holding up a trembling lamp. The silver leaves glittered. “I’ll bet you just caught it on something. These branches, see?”
Azalea knelt on the path and brushed pine needles from the knit shawl. Shaking it and sending a puff of silver dust from it, she folded it, stood quickly—
And hit her head against something hard and solid.
“Ow!” she stammered.
“Oh, forgi—”
The man’s voice cut abruptly. Azalea blanched at the empty mist. No one was there! Behind her, the girls’ eyes grew as wide as tea saucers.
“It’s a ghost!” squeaked Flora.
The girls screamed. They clutched their skirts in both hands and kick footed it to the bridge.
Azalea was faster. She rounded them off at the arc of the bridge, grasping the handrail and blocking them.
“Go back,” she said. “Don’t you see? Keeper’s trying to scare us. I’ve had enough. We need to go back. Now.”
The girls stared at her, both frightened and sad. Jessamine’s bright blue eyes, Hollyhock’s muddy green, Eve’s dark blue, all of them blinking.
“But,” said Ivy, “we only have tomorrow left.”
“We never should have come here in the first place. It was stupid.”
“Calm down, Az,” said Bramble, shifting Lily in her arms. “We don’t like Keeper either, but why stop dancing? You don’t have to be a bully about it.”
Azalea’s fingers gripped the cold, sleek railings.
“Is there a problem?”
Keeper’s smooth voice sounded behind her. He leaned against the arched doorway, arms crossed, cloak dripping over his shoulders. He looked roguishly amused.
“’Zalea says we have to go home,” said Hollyhock.
“And she’s absolutely right,” said Keeper, straightening, cutting a fine, hard figure against the silver-white dance floor. “I hardly have enough time as it is, getting everything ready for the ball tomorrow night.”
The girls’ mouths formed perfect Os.
“A…real ball?” said Hollyhock.
“We’re not of age,” said Ivy.
“Ah! But you are invited to this ball. As princesses, it is your right. And I, your host.”
Keeper clapped his hands together, unfolded them, and blew. Like when they had first seen him, months ago, glittering brilliant snow whorled from his hands and swirled around them. They sparkled in pieces, bright flashes against the mist. For a moment Azalea was almost taken by it, feeling it brush past her face in a magical swirling breeze. She could see it, dancing in the pavilion with this magic snow as their partner, whirling about them in a flurried, glittering spin, the dessert table piled with caramels and chocolates, the ceiling dripping with arcs of white holly boughs and gleaming ornaments.
Flora gave a cry of delight and pulled a card from her black apron pocket. In simultaneous excitement, the rest of the girls produced cards, magically created in their pockets. They bounced with eagerness as they shared the stationery, silver embossed with their names, an invitation for the next evening. Azalea flicked her own into the lake. It floated for a moment and disappeared beneath the misty surface.
“So as you can see,” Keeper said, his voice lulling as the glimmering snow flurried into the lake around them, “you really should go back. I have quite a bit to do.”
“Naturally,” said Bramble in a half smile of awe. “That is—take all the time you need. Az hasn’t felt well anyway. We’ll nurse her up for tomorrow.” Bramble gave Azalea a wry smile of encouragement and prodded the girls to the willow branches.
“A moment,” said Keeper. “Miss Azalea.”
Azalea’s heart dropped. She turned against her will, and glared at Keeper’s dead eyes with all the strength she could muster.
“I ask a dance of you,” said Keeper. “I should very much like to dance the Entwine. We never finished the last.”
The girls nudged Azalea, smiling, their eyes alight. The Entwine was their favorite dance, too. Even Bramble perked up a touch. Clover, on the contrary, took Azalea’s hand.
“No…Mr. Keeper,” said Clover. “She’s ill, can’t you see?”
Keeper snapped out the crimson sash, burning color against the whites. Azalea cringed, thinking of the thread.
“No—no, it’s all right,” said Azalea, touching Clover on the shoulder and slipping her hand away. “I’ll dance.”