Red

Chapter Nine: Mirror, Mirror

The next morning, Gran picked me up bright an early at seven-thirty in the morning, which, in my opinion, is an ungodly hour not meant to be seen by mortals, but Gran insisted that we arrive at the Greater Grimmsville Penitentiary before the lunch rush.

After careful consideration, we deemed it inappropriate to take Hansel and Gretel to visit a stepdaughter-killing witch and decided to drop them off at the precinct with Pinnochio and Dorothy, who promised to give them a tour.

"Ugh, and we only have until ten thirty to talk to Imelda White," I muttered as we pulled away from the precinct.

"What? Why?" Gran asked.

"I made an appointment for the kids at the bureau. They're witch-killers, Gran. I have to get that checked out."

Gran's lips twitched like he was trying to hide a smile.

I stared at him. "What?"

"Well... you always said you don't want kids. But here you are, making appointments for these two... making them soup..."

"Hey, no. I'm not attached to them whatsoever. We just... we went through similar stuff and I'm just doing what I'd want someone to do for me," I protested.

Gran kept his eyes trained on the road. "You never told me what really happened in the woods," he noted quietly.

"Really? That's weird," I mused, fully aware that I'd never told him. I'd never told anyone and I didn't plan to.

Gran was silent, perhaps waiting for me to talk. I crossed my arms and made it obvious I wasn't going to talk.

"Did you kill him?" Gran asked.

"Who?" I said absently, scrolling through my phone.

"The werewolf, Red," he clarified.

"Do you really think I'm capable of killing a werewolf?" I laughed awkwardly.

"You're sidestepping."

"Oh, look, we're here," I pointed out. "Let's go."

Gran rolled his eyes.

We walked into the Penitentiary and up to the check-in desk.

"Name and ID," the bored guard muttered.

"Uh, Red Benedict," I said, "and here's my-"

"Real name," the guard interrupted.

I froze. "Real name?"

The guard shifted like a mirage.

"Red, it's a magic mirror," Gran explained. "It can tell if you're lying."

"But I haven't- can I just show him my ID?"

"Listen, I'll try," Gran said, stepping in front of me. "Grayden Vega, here's my ID." He flashed his driver's licence.

The mirror allowed him through.

"Red Benedict, here's my ID," I held up my driver's licence.

The mirror paused, as if thinking, and finally allowed me through.

"Have your real name for next time," it spat. "A guard will take you to Miss White's cell."

As if on command, another image appeared, this time of a female guard with a flaxen hair in a low ponytail. "Follow me," she instructed in a voice devoid of emotion.

She lead us through the dismal winding corridors, the only light coming from snatches from windows by the ceiling.

Finally, at the end of the hall in cell one-oh-seven-eight sat Imelda White, just as glamorous and beautiful as she was on the outside.

Her long wavy dark hair flowed over her shoulder, a single lily tucked behind her ear. Her caramel skin was flawless as always, smooth without a hint of a wrinkle. Her eyes were dark and mournful, and she batted her long lashes at us.

"Look who it is," she trilled, her voice a rich alto. "My favourite niece."

I inclined my head. "Hello, auntie," I murmured. "May we come in?"

Gran looked at me in surprise. "Red. You didn't mention Imelda White is your aunt."

"My family doesn't ever talk about it," I hissed. "so don't make a big deal about it."

Imelda was fairly young, just about thirty. She was the third wife of the real estate king Charles White, at which point she ditched her entire family and eventually killed her stepdaughter.

"My darling!" Imelda beamed, grabbing my wrists and stepping back. "Oh, look, you're so tall and beautiful."

Gran snorted. He was six-three. I was five-four. He would never call me tall.

"And you, Auntie, look beautiful, too," I replied.

She shrugged. "Let's not talk about me. What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?" Her eyes flickered to Gran.

"Oh. Nope. But this is my best friend, Gran Vega."

Gran shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Miss White."

Imelda briefly shook her head. "Call me Imelda." She gestured for us to sit on the metal chairs around the metal table. "Now, I assume you're not just here on a social call. What's the matter?"

Gran leaned forward. "Rosamund Briar, Merra D'Ocean, and Rapunzel Moore were murdered yesterday. Cyanide poisoning."

Imelda's eyes tightened, and her lips thinned. She, for the first time that day, looked her age. "And naturally you think I did it. Because of Snow." She spat the name out like a curse.

"Or perhaps you know something? Or you've heard something?" Gran continued.

Imelda's eyes seemed far away. "I never even killed Snow. They didn't have enough evidence to convict me. But here I am." She rested her hands on the table. "How do you propose I killed these girls? After all, I'm in here."

"I mean- Aren't you a wi-"

"I am not a witch. That's a rumour," Imelda snapped.

"Sorry, Auntie, he meant no offence," I interjected calmly, stepping on Gran's foot hard.

Gran winced. "Of course not."

"I also have heard nothing about these murders. Whoever it is, they aren't known criminals," Imelda explained. "I believe the two of you should check the Castle," she added, referring to her old home.

"Do you know anything else? Anything at all?"

Imelda looked off into the distance. "I have a fear of who it might be, although I truly doubt I'm right," she sighed. "I won't bore you with a crazy lady's conspiracy theories. Now tell me, what else have you found?"

Gran was telling her about Charming's party when my phone buzzed, reminding me of the alarm I'd set for ten-thirty. "Auntie, I'm sorry, but I have to take the kids-"

"The kids? You have children?"

My face felt like it was on fire. "I- no. I'm just fostering these kids for a week, but I have to take them to the Bureau so-"

Imelda grabbed my hands. "Please, come back and visit, darling. I cannot bear to be alone much longer." Her eyes had a crazy light I'd never noticed before, and it was all I could do not to jerk away.

"I will, Auntie," I promised.

"And, Gran," she called, as we were walking away, "make sure they don't falsely accuse me of this crime again. I don't think I could take it."