Rosa sighs in defeat, exactly the same way she does every time this conversation comes up. Nina, her daughter, drops the sieve she was using to dust sugar over the cookies her mother has finished decorating, making a loud clatter and reminding us of her presence.
The girl is so small and quiet it’s easy to forget she’s there. Has Rosa ever forgotten her somewhere? No, probably not. She wouldn’t do that.
“I’m sorry,” the big-eyed girl whispers, her face as red as a tomato. I smile at her and give her a little wink, trying to show her it’s okay—but for some reason, that only makes her blush harder, and I frown.
“Where’s Atlas?” Rosa asks after kissing her daughter’s head, tossing the dirty sieve into the sink, and grabbing another one. “By now, he should already be here begging me to let him eat other kids’ cookies besides his own.” Once again, my friends and I exchange looks.
“Locked in the third-floor bathroom,” Drako answers, his voice sharp with anger. Rosa’s mouth falls open in a perfect O as she blinks several times.
“But then he’ll miss the party,” she says softly, looking around at the massive amount of food. On Christmas day, there’s more food in the orphanage than we have during the rest of the year combined.
Maybe that’s why they keep us hungry all year—so there’s food for the fancy guests who come to buy children at Christmas. None of us answer her, because unlike Rosa, none of us actually care about attending that damn party.
Eating is nice, but we’re not toys to be displayed in shop windows. We don’t want parents—and even if we did, the witch isn’t willing to let us have them. We’re always kept hidden in the back so no one sees us anyway. Only the kids who do exactly what she wants all year long get placed up front. I shrug.
“Very well,” Rosa says as she stacks several undecorated cookies on a napkin. “Since he won’t be attending the party, he’ll get extra cookies.” She says it like it’s no big deal, but the wordsmake my friends and me exchange looks yet again—because we know how seriously she takes the rule ofone cookie per child. We’ve been here for years and never received more than one. Rosa finishes wrapping a truly large stack of cookies in the napkin, then pulls a plaid scarf from Nina’s neck. She wraps the bundle of treats in the colorful fabric and places it inside a tall tin alongside several others along the side of the kitchen. “When he gets out, you know where he should look,” she adds quietly when she returns to the counter.
We remain silent for a few seconds. Stunned.
Drako, once again, is the first to react. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Rosa’s waist. Small as he is, his head presses against her stomach, and the woman is clearly caught off guard by the gesture.
“Thank you,” he says, and I know he’s thanking her for Atlas. We all know.
“Yeah, Rosa. Thank you,” I add, and then Apollo follows.
“Thank you. Really.”
***
“So what do we do now?” Apollo asks, scratching the back of his neck. His frustration is clear enough for me to know he doesn’t think there’s still anything we can do for his brother. “This isn’t fair. Damn it.”
“Yeah, Nero! What do we do now?” Drako repeats, staring at me with question marks written all over his too-expressive face.
I bite my lip, thinking. The idea of leaving Atlas locked in the bathroom while the witch enjoys her perfect party makes my hands clench into fists. No. This isn’t fair. We have to do something.
“We could set the witch’s hair on fire while she’s sleeping,” Drako suggests—ridiculous, as always—and I end up laughing.
“We’re trying to free Atlas, Drako,” Apollo says. “Not get arrested.”
“Maybe we should try getting arrested,” I suggest.
“See?” Drako says, wearing a knowing expression. “I told you!” He boasts.
I reach out and smack him on the back of the neck.
“Not like that, idiot! ArrestedwithAtlas! We can’t free him, but that doesn’t mean he has to spend Christmas night alone.” Apollo narrows his eyes, following my line of thought.
“Orpheus won’t let us get anywhere near the third-floor bathroom,” he points out, and Drako’s eyes dart between us as if he’s struggling to catch up. I rub his half-shaved hair before smiling.
“Then we need to make him want to put us there.”
***
“Ready?” I ask, slipping along the wall to peek at Orpheus. Ridiculous. The caretaker looks ridiculous in a dusty suit far too large for his skeletal frame.
The corpse was definitely bigger, but the proud little smile on his face doesn’t seem to know that. I swallow the hiss trying to escape my throat.
“Ready,” Drako answers first.
