Page 51 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

“Here it is.” She knelt down next to him.

Kit’s eyes grew wide as he stared. “Gross,” he cooed in absolute awe.

Isobel glanced up at me and grinned. “And, ooh, you should see the picture of the woodcutter cutting open the stomach of the big bad wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.” She flipped a few more pages until they came to the one she was looking for.

“Awesome.” Kit seemed to vibrate with excitement as he asked, “Are there any more?”

“Well.” Isobel bit her lip before her eyes sparkled. “Yes. They have one of the witch burning in Hansel and Gretel just after Gretel pushed her into the stove.”

As she began to flip pages, Kit glanced up to study her face. “Did it hurt a lot?” he asked, sympathy clogging his voice. “When you burned in the fire?”

Isobel slowly stopped flipping pages. She turned to look at him before admitting, “It was the worst pain of my life.”

Kit nodded slowly, his eyes large but full of understanding. “Do you think my dad and your mom hurt a lot when they died?”

Shit. I hadn’t meant for things to take this turn. I’d only wanted the boy to stop treating her like a monster. But he was suddenly taking it somewhere I wasn’t sure Isobel could handle going. I started toward them, to stop the kid, even drag him away from her if I had to. But Isobel lifted her hand in my direction, asking me to stop as she kept her attention on Kit.

“I think it hurt, yes,” she admitted, her throat working through what had to be a difficult swallow. Then her chin lifted a fraction of an inch. “But then I think it stopped and was over quickly. For me, the pain lasted for months and months, because I survived. For them, it was only for a few moments. That’s the only consolation I can give myself when I think of them. At least their pain stopped.”

The kid watched her a moment longer before his head slowly moved up and down. “I think you’re right,” he agreed.

I drew out a long, relieved breath, glad the moment hadn’t ended as awfully as I had feared it might. Just as I set my hand against my heart and finished blowing out a breath, Mrs. Pan appeared in the library.

“Kit! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you, child. It’s time to…” Her words trailed off when she realized who was sitting next to her son. She blinked once, then twice. Suddenly, she flushed and began to stutter, “I…I’m so sorry, Miss Nash. Is he bothering you? I can—”

“No, no,” Isobel rushed to assure her, setting the book aside and pushing to her feet before brushing off her knees. “We were just looking at pictures in some old fairy tales.”

“They’re so cool, Mom. You should see what the wicked stepsisters did to their feet to fit into Cinderella’s slipper.”

“I…well…” Mrs. Pan shook her head and flushed before she seemed to remember why she’d originally come into the room, looking for him. “I will later, darling. For now, we need to get you down to the school and enrolled into third grade.”

“Oh man, really, Mom? Already? But summer break just started.”

“I’m afraid so. Then we’ll need to go shopping for school supplies and new shoes after that.”

“Can we get ice cream too?” the kid begged, a natural negotiator.

His mother squinted as if she had to think it through before saying, “Maybe.”

To Kit, I guessed that meant absolutely.

“Yes!” He fisted the air and started toward his mom, only to jerk to a halt and turn back to Isobel. “Thank you for showing me your book, Miss Isobel. Do you think I could come back later to look at more pictures and help you put the books back on the shelves?”

I swear Isobel’s bottom lip trembled before she gave a slow nod and smiled, her eyes glassy and emotional. “I’d like that very much,” she said, her voice so hoarse she nearly whispered the words.

“Cool.” Kit leapt forward and gave her a hug.

Mrs. Pan turned slightly to the side so she could discreetly wipe the corner of her eye, while the kid pulled away from Isobel, calling, “See you later.” Then he remembered to wave my way. “Bye, Shaw.”

“See you later, kid.”

And then he was gone, racing from the room at full bore.

“Kit!” his mother cried after him, chasing him into the hall. “Don’t run in the house.”

As their pounding footsteps faded from the room, I risked a glance toward the woman standing there, still staring at the doorway as if overcome.

“You okay?” I asked, edging closer to her.

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