1 Dewitched (33 page)

Urma tells me I look faint; she says many of her clients get lightheaded after her deep tissue massages. “You need restorative mineral bath--hydrotherapy.”  

Wrapping her eight strapping arms around me, she practically carries me to my next stop--a tropical lagoon. A dozen gorgeous twenty-something women are soaking in the hot, bubbly water--probably all rich, spoiled princesses wanting to be the fairest at the ball. One of them is a pretty redheaded mermaid who waves at Urma, then at me. I ignore her.

Holding onto Urma to steady myself, I glide into the bubbling bath. AAAHH! The warm, soothing water unlocks every muscle in my body. I feel wonderful again.

Closing my eyes, I let the therapeutic water wash away all my worries. At last, there’s no more Gallant, no more Marcella, and no more Snow White living in my head. I’m in a state of total nirvana. 

A cheery voice snaps me out of my mindlessness. 

 “Hello,” says a spa fairy, carrying a gilt tray. “Can I offer you a refreshing apple?

 
A refreshing apple!?
I almost vomit. The last thing I want to eat is an apple! Forget massage therapy, aromatherapy, or hydrotherapy. I need real therapy. I need Shrink! Help! Get me out of this place!

 But I can’t leave. I’m a prisoner! Two portly one-eyed ogres yank me out of the water and drag me to the sauna. One of them pours water over the hot rocks. The other adds a drop of eucalyptus, a scent I recognize from Faraway’s Enchanted Forest. An invigorating steam fills the chamber.

 Sitting on a cedar bench, I inhale deeply. On the exhale, I once again feel tension release from every part of my body. A woman, wearing a white towel, matching turban, and blue facial mask, sidles over to me. The steam clouds my vision, but I can tell she could stand to drop a few pounds. Or more.

Plopping down next to me, she says, “I bet you’re going to the ball tonight.”

That voice! I recognize it instantly. Oh no, no, no, no, no! It’s Marcella! What is she doing here? Then I remember. When we went shopping, I arranged a spa day for her--on the afternoon of the ball--just like she requested on her To-Do List.

In a panic, I bury my head between my sweaty knees so she doesn’t recognize me.

“It’s going to be divine. I planned the whole thing myself,” she continues.

You planned it? You didn’t do a damn thing, you lazy cow.

“What are you wearing?” she asks.

“Something plain and simple,” I mumble, masking my voice. “I’m actually a reporter covering the event for the
Fairytale Tattler
. What made me say that?

 “Perfection! Emperor Armando custom-designed my gown. You’re going to die when you see it.”

I have seen it. And you’re not going to be able to get your fat ass into it!

“Well, since you’re a reporter for the
Tattler
, I might as well give you the scoop since my waste-of-time assistant didn’t.” 

Her waste-of-time assistant!?
I want to drown her in her sweat.

“Tonight, Prince Gallant’s going to make a very important announcement.”

A very important announcement.
The exact words spoken earlier by The Queen of Hearts.

 “He’s going to say ‘I do’ in front of the entire kingdom. Well, at least, everyone who’s anything. We’re getting married!”

They’re getting married?
Her words hit me like a firing squad. I’m going to black out.

“You’re hyperventilating,” says Marcella. “You’ve probably been in here too long.”

Way too long. I can’t cope with this. Any of it! I’ve got to get out of here. Now!

  Dripping with sweat, I spring to my feet and sprint out of the sauna. Marcella’s shrill voice trails behind me. “See you at the wedding.” 

The spa
was
a bad idea. A really, really bad idea. 

CHAPTER 33

“Where have you been?” shrieks Marcella. “And why does your skin look better than mine?” 

I shuffle into her chamber, her red gown in its bag draped over my arm. I don’t know or care how she got back to the castle before me. My shock, rage, and despair have succumbed to numbness.

Clad in her feathered leopard negligee, she’s seated at her vanity, doing her makeup. I catch a glimpse of her face in the mirror. With her plaster-white skin,  blood-red lips, and serpentine brows, she looks more like a monster in the making than a bride-to-be.

“I spent a fortune at that ridiculous spa,” she hisses. “Why didn’t you make them throw in free makeup and hair?”

Choosing to ignore her, I silently hang the bag with her gown over her closet door. Her chamber is a pigsty. It’s as if never existed. Her bed’s a mess; clothes are strewn everywhere, and fairy-tale tabloids are scattered all over the floor. Straightening things up, I come across an old front-page story that makes my heart jump:

SNOW WHITE TESTIFIES: EVIL QUEEN DOOMED!

A Fairytale Tattler Exclusive by H.C. Anderson

The Evil Queen, charged as a possible suspect in the near-fatal poisoning of Snow White, was convicted today. Minutes before sentencing, Prince Gallant, who saved the beautiful princess--often thought to be the fairest in the land--told reporters, “I hope The Evil Queen gets what she deserves.”

Oh, God. I have gotten what I deserve. Death would have been a kind punishment compared to what I’m suffering now. I force myself to read on.

Medical tests have revealed that The Evil Queen poisoned Snow White with a rare snake venom, that caused her to go into a deadly, deep sleep.

Snake venom?
Wait a minute. This shoddy reporter got his facts all mixed up. My evil potion, the one I used for the apple, was made with powdered stinkweed, bulbadox juice, and dragonstone extract. I didn’t use any snake venom. Not a single drop!

Before I can read more, Marcella eyes me in the corner of her vanity mirror. “This is no time to be reading gossip magazines!” she snaps. “You’re supposed to be dressing me!”

I let go of the magazine and slump over to her gown. Carefully, I remove it from the garment bag. The long train puddles on the floor.

Marcella gives it the once-over. “Perfection! Now, get me into it.”

Ripping off her negligee, she exposes her corseted body. My eyes pop. Who knew what really lurked beneath that towel in the sauna. Her tummy bulges as if it’s hiding a loaf of bread; saddlebags line the sides of her cottage cheese thighs, and her cannonballs are the size of small planets. She’s easily gained fifteen pounds, thanks to my high caloric diet potion. Yet, another one of my brilliant plans gone bad. Getting the skank into her slinky gown is going to be a lot harder than I imagined. A contest of mind over matter. War.

Then,
ding
, a little bell goes off in my head as I’m undoing the fastenings. So what if it doesn’t fit her? She won’t have a wedding gown. No gown. No wedding. I’ll be the victor. And to the victor belongs the spoils. Could I…?

“What are you waiting for?” growls Marcella, cutting my tempting thoughts short. Impulsively, she grabs the gown out of my hands and steps into it, feet first. She slides it up her legs. Damn it. So far, so good. But once it gets to her hips, it won’t budge. Not even an inch.

“Do something!” she screams.

“Squeeze your butt. And suck in your gut,” I tell her.
Good luck.

Ha! No matter how hard she squeezes or sucks, the dress won’t give. Losing her patience, she begins to yank at it, stretching it in every direction. The taut sound of seams bursting sends a shiver down my spine.

No matter how much I hate her, no matter how much I cannot bear the thought of her marrying Gallant, I can’t let her destroy Armando’s masterpiece.
I can’t
. With both hands, I pull the dress down. It bunches on the floor like a red ball of fire.

 “What have you done?” she screeches. “I’m going to be late for the ball!”

 She splays her knuckly fingers across the bulges of her corseted hips. Eyeing her monstrous, flashy diamond, I get an idea. A brilliant one.

 “This is going to work.” I smile wickedly. With a single yank, I pull in the strings of her corset, so tightly that her eyes bulge out of their sockets.

“What are you doing?” she gasps.

 Isn’t it obvious? I’m suffocating you, wench!

Marcella moans. A memory of Snow White flickers in my head. This is exactly how I once tried to kill her. I tremble and quickly loosen Marcella’s corset.

She lets out a deep breath.

What’s wrong with me?
I just had the opportunity to kill the woman who’s made my life so miserable and is marrying the man I love. But I didn’t.

Marcella’s expression turns to rage. “Get the dress on me. Now!”

My eyes travel up and down her distorted body. It’s time for a new plan of attack. I tell her to step out of the gown that lies crumpled at her feet.

“Now what?” she snaps.

 I detach the long red satin train and lay it lengthwise on her bed. Then carefully, I slip the gown over Marcella’s head and gently pull it down.

“You’re going to ruin my hair and makeup!” she shrieks.

Truthfully, I’m much more concerned that her over-the-top makeup will ruin Armando’s work of art. I pass the first hurdle--getting the gown past her cannonballs. Very carefully, I edge it over her balloon of a belly. Success again. And then, the final challenge--getting it past her fat ass. Slowly, with little tugs, I manage to lower the gown to her feet. The feeling of victory eludes me as I reattach the twenty-foot train.

 Shoving me aside, she struts up to her vanity and admires herself in the mirror, oblivious to her rolls and bulges.

“Perfection!” She blows a kiss at her reflection. “Gallant will love it.”

The mention of Gallant’s name makes my heart ache. I fight back tears.
Why didn’t I pull those strings until she dropped? Why?

“Jane, I need my shoes!”

I should have killed her.

Reluctantly, I search her room-size closet. There must be over three hundred boxes of shoes, stacked helter-skelter plus another two hundred pairs scattered all over the floor. Thank goodness for Elz’s innovative glass coffin shoeboxes. I spot the ruby slippers right way.

Marcella snatches the shoes from me as I step out of the closet. She cuddles them, then tosses them onto the floor. I enjoy every grunt and groan as she tries to squeeze her big feet into the dainty shoes. No luck. She tries stretching them to make the fit. No luck.

“Jane!” she yells. “My feet are swollen. Why didn’t you get me a foot massage?”

Ha! She’ll never get her Size 9 feet into the Size 6 shoes.

“Don’t just stand there! Get me a bucket with hot water so I can soak my feet!”

Biting my lip to keep from laughing, I scurry to her powder room.

When I return with a bucket of water, Her Royal Skankiness is glued to her bed, massaging her red, swollen feet. I set the bucket on the rug. She plunks her feet inside.

 “AAAAGH! This water’s scalding hot.” She yanks her feet out of the bucket.

I deserve a big laugh after all I’ve been through today, but I refrain.

“Quick! Get me my
Miracle Foot Potion,
” she shouts. “It’s in the medicine cabinet.” 

I hurry back to the powder room. I search the cabinet above her sink but only find makeup. About to leave empty-handed, I notice that the large cabinet against the wall, which is usually locked, is ajar. Could her
Miracle Foot Potion
be inside?

Whoa! This is no ordinary medicine cabinet. It’s practically a factory of potions, lotions, and herbs. Crammed with my bogus
Lose Pounds Fast
diet potion is a slew of other magical potions. To name just a few:

Forever Young Youth Potion
: Knock years off your age. Use daily for best results.

I shake the bottle. There’s nothing left.

B-Cup No More Potion
: Rub gently on breasts and watch them grow before your eyes. CAUTION: DO NOT OVERUSE.

Obviously, the skank didn’t read the warning.

Smooth and Silky Skin Potion
: Apply liberally all over. Gets rid of dry scaly skin. Important! Use frequently to prevent scaly build up and recurrence.

Go-Blond and Beautiful Hair Potion
: Covers unsightly gray and leaves hair manageable. Blondes have more fun!

I knew it! She’s one big fake! Her hair, her skin, her boobs. And I’m sure that’s not all. I shudder. I bet her love for The Prince is fake too! But what does it matter? She’s marrying him in a matter of hours. Sadness and despair tear through me again. I clench my stomach.

 “Jane, what’s taking you so long?” I hear Marcella screech. “I need my
Miracle Foot Potion
!”

I try to focus. Randomly, I pick up another bottle

Love Potion #13
: Put magic into your relationship. Brew daily for long-lusting results. Expires 9/30

I wrench it open. The scent of the herbs rushes to my nose. I recognize it instantly--a blend of orange blossoms, rose petals, and lavender. The tea Gallant drinks for breakfast! Oh my God! Marcella
has
had him under a spell! What am I going to do? The effects wear off today, but it may be too late!