The Stepsister Scheme

Bethany Celeste O’Dette of Emrildale, once purchased the most elegant vase from a glassblower near here,” said Snow. “Do you know where I might find him?”
    Erik, Andrew’s older son, pushed the bangs from his eyes. “That would be Master de Glas next door. He’s been dead a little over ten years now.”
    “How unfortunate,” Snow said. She held the bracelet to the light, sniffed, and set it down again. “What of his widow or children? Is there anyone from whom I might still purchase one of his pieces? Preferably something larger and more expensive than Bethany’s vase.”
    “Sorry, m’lady,” said Erik. “His family lived there for a while, but lately it’s been as you see it, all locked up and empty.”
    “But what about—” Danielle bit her lip, remembering her place. Where were her stepsisters staying, if not here?
    Erik peered more closely at her, but then Snow leaned down to grab a silver rose brooch and he found more interesting things to study.
    “I’ll take this one.” Snow reached into her satchel and dug around until she pulled out a small gold coin. “I’ve always liked roses.” She turned the coin over in her hand. “You’re sure the family isn’t here?”
    Erik licked his lips. “They say Danielle married the prince, but I don’t know if I believe that. Folks like to tell stories, you know,” he added with all the wisdom of a thirteen-year-old boy. He hesitated. “It’s a strange place, that house. My uncle Cowen says the stepmother’s ghost is trapped up there in the attic, doomed to stay a year for every day of misery she put Danielle through. ’Course, Cowen also believes the fairies will steal his teeth if he sleeps with his mouth open.”
    He turned to scowl into the house. “Every night, he ties a bandage around his jaw before he goes to bed. The man isn’t right in the head, I’m telling you.”
    Snow slipped the coin into his hand. “Thank you, young sir.”
    Danielle glanced over her shoulder as she followed Snow away from the shop. So strange to be back, to see Erik selling silver and ogling the female customers, the same as ever. “He didn’t recognize me.” Had she changed so much?
    Talia cocked a thumb at Snow. “Don’t go anywhere with her if you want people to notice you.”
    They stopped at the home of Margaret Weaver, on the other side of Danielle’s old house. Margaret confirmed what Erik had said. The house was abandoned, and had been for at least a week, though she occasionally heard noises during the night. She assumed it was rats or other animals. “The younger girl, Stacia, tried to take care of the place for a while, but she knew nothing of housekeeping. Don’t know where they’ve moved on to now.”
    Margaret stared at Danielle. Though Danielle had spent much of the past years locked away, her stepmother had sent her out at least once a day to buy food and other necessities. These were still her friends and neighbors, far more than the people at the palace. She longed to pull off her cap and talk to Margaret, to feel like a real person again instead of a false princess.
    Margaret started to say something more, when Snow piped up, “Thank you so much.” Her mirrors flashed, and then Snow and Talia were hurrying Danielle away.
    “Disguise is more than clothes,” said Talia, her voice low. “You still move like a servant girl.” She studied Danielle’s old house. “Is there another way in?”
    “The servant’s entrance,” said Danielle. “On the other side of the house.”
    The narrow alley between the house and Andrew’s next door was damp and cool, and the fires of Andrew’s forge gave the air an acrid smell. The yellow paint on the servant’s door was dry and cracked. Yellow flakes floated on the puddle by the door.
    Talia tested the handle. “Locked.”
    “I don’t have a key,” said Danielle. “My stepmother never let me—”
    “Step aside.” Talia dropped to one knee. Twined into the laces of her boot were several long, jagged rods and wires. She slid two of these into the lock and adjusted her grip. Taking both rods in one hand, she turned the knob with her other and pushed.
    The door swung inward. Talia put the lockpicks away and drew a long, double-edged knife from her other boot. “Stay behind me.”
    The kitchen was a disaster. Bits of food littered the table and floor, unrecognizable from the mold. A line of ants scurried to and from the wall, bearing away stale crumbs. It was all Danielle could