Then, all but the first creature were jumping out her window, smacking their lips like salivating dogs.
He stood waiting. With a self-satisfied smile, he pointed to the cracked mirror over her bureau. “Pretty.”
Slowly, Tanya got off the bed and walked to the mirror. Her skin was flawless, cheekbones outlined by soft shadows. She looked down at her body, hips rounded but not thick. She slid her hands over her skin: nerves tingled like she’d never felt before.
Mouth hanging open, Tanya gazed at the last creature. She fisted her hands and swallowed loudly. “I want to stay like this.”
He grinned. “No worry. Just let us fix when not pretty.”
Tanya turned back to the mirror, gazing at the sort of face that would attract the attention she needed. She glanced down at a body she hadn’t been able to have until now. She pushed down the memories of the screams she hadn’t been able to stop and the blood they’d licked away. The pain was horrible, but it was worth it.
She looked at the creature. “Yes,” she agreed. “I want you to come back.”
THE SLEEPING GIRL AND THE SUMMER KING
But Donnchadh, the Summer King, appeared. He clutched her hand. “Stay inside.”
“I can’t.” Aisling glanced out the frost-etched window. Outside, clouds of snow swirled like ethereal dervishes. It was time for Winter to reign, time for Summer to fade.
“You could try … just a few moments more.” He cupped her face, his touch like midsummer sun. “Your sisters fair did not go so eagerly. Bide with me awhile longer.”
Aisling glanced toward the door. The pressure to heed the summons grew like a weight in her lungs, making it difficult to focus on anything else. “It’s time. I need to go.”
“So you’ll abandon me?” He trailed a finger across her cheek. In his eyes were lush forests where they’d wandered along hidden paths.
“I will see you when I wake, Donnchadh.” She opened the door, feeling the release of the tension as she did so. It was harder every year to deny him.
For the first time, Donnchadh stepped in front of her. He leaned down and gently kissed her closed lips.
“Donnchadh?”
He sighed, his breath warm as the last rays of summer drifting over her, and stepped away. “Until you wake then, my foolish girl…”
Aisling stepped outside; frigid white spirals wrapped around her as she called out the same words she had spoken every year: “Have you come to fetch me, Cailleach?”
An old woman stepped from the maze of the ice-laden trees and parted pale lips in a smile. Her face was the clear blue of still skies; her eyes were the blinding white of untouched snow. Though she moved no closer, cold breath brushed Aisling’s cheek. “It is time for Winter, daughter.”
With her face tilted to the sky, Cailleach spun in the wildly blowing snow; her long white hair streamed out like mist. From her pale lips, the weight of winter escaped—sending the thick snows to blanket the earth, releasing the deep cold of true winter.
Then she paused in the storm she had set forth. Clutching her tall wooden staff, Cailleach whispered the dreaded words, “Sleep now.”
And as she had done since childhood, Aisling tumbled to the snow-covered ground to become the Sleeping Girl. For a moment, she resisted Sleep, clinging to the pleasure of winter’s beauty for a breath longer. Aisling turned her face to the ground, sighing at the rare joy of new-fallen snow against her skin.
Too soon, Cailleach was there, sweeping Aisling into her arms, carrying her to the door, where her sisters, those chosen once-mortal girls who had been Sleeping Girls, waited to watch over her during the sleeping months.
She felt herself being handed into strong arms, and then Sleep took her.
Blossoms would not unfold as long as she rested; life would still while Cailleach roamed with her icy breath. So, Aisling slept with the earth, as silent as the creatures hibernating in their dens, as changeless as the buds waiting to wake in the spring.
Months of storm and ice passed while Aisling slumbered.
Finally, in her sleeping world, she heard Donnchadh’s sibilant voice whispering her name; she felt his warm breath slide over her. “Aisling, dream the Spring for us. Awaken.”
So Aisling began to dream slender roots sinking into the soil and furred creatures stretching in their dens. She dreamt fish racing the currents, field mice weaving through the grasses, and serpents basking on the rocks. Then her dreaming body smiled at the new life she called to wake with her.
Thus Aisling woke, looking for him, for Summer.
He was not there.
She opened her door and stepped onto the porch. Sun-soaked wooden planks warmed her bare feet. The white willow beside the pond rustled in the breeze. With each breath, she drew in the fragile scent of spring flowers.
She turned her gaze to the budding trees, seeking Donnchadh in the wood where they would run with the creatures of the forest and seek out the fresh waters of hidden springs. With Donnchadh beside her, they would look on the waking world and rejoice. They would dance on the edge of the overflowing river in celebration. Sometimes her sisters would join them; more and more, though, she was alone with Donnchadh.
But for the first time, he was not there.
Instead, in a shadowed patch of snow—a last breath of winter—Cailleach waited. “Walk with me, daughter.”
As they followed the twisting path to Cailleach’s cabin, Aisling wondered if her sisters had felt relief or despair when they had become too old to be the Sleeping Girl. Did they lament the years of dreaming the world awake or did they rejoice that they were no longer children?
When she’d asked Donnchadh, he would only say, “It’s not for me to speak of.”
Aisling knew she must choose soon. Every Sleeping Girl had to make the choice between replacing the last Cailleach or joining Donnchadh as one of the many girls who frolicked in the sunlight. To be young with him forever or to be apart from him and age—neither answer made her happy. She thought of the beautiful things she would leave behind if she chose the Winter Path, and she thought of the beauty she might finally know if she carried winter’s kiss. And she knew not which answer to give.
Cailleach paused on a flagstone path leading up to a rough-hewn cabin. “We’re home.”
A dark wood porch curled around the small building; a single weathered rocker sat on the splintered planks. Hand on the heavy black door handle, Cailleach glanced at Aisling. “Are you ready?”
Mouth too dry to speak, Aisling nodded.
Cailleach pushed open the thick wooden door; its swollen wood creaked in objection. In silence, they crossed the threshold, and Cailleach went toward the single source of heat in the room, the cooking fire.
Although tiny, the main room was well-kept. Worn furs were folded in a corner; colorful rag rugs covered smooth floorboards. Across the back wall, a shelf overflowed with leather-bound books.
Aisling turned to follow Cailleach, but a massive gray wolf blocked her path—ears back, tail wagging.
“Faolan,” Aisling murmured. Though she’d seen him watch her from the distance over the years, this was the closest she’d ever been to Cailleach’s companion. She held out her hand, palm up. “Will you let me sit with your mistress?”
Faolan pressed his nose into her palm, breath warm on her skin. He opened his mouth wider, exposing the rest of his strong white teeth, and licked her hand.
Humming softly, Cailleach stirred the contents of an iron kettle over the fire. Pausing, she lifted the ladle to taste the spice-scented stew. “Not much longer.”
Aisling thought of the sweet berries she’d expected to have this day and said nothing.
Cailleach stepped closer. Steadying herself on the scarred wooden table that took up the bulk of the area, she
