Once Upon the End (Half Upon a Time) (16 page)

CHAPTER 32

M
ay, now complete with blue streak in her hair, stumbled out of her front door looking bleary-eyed in the morning light. What felt like hours later, a beautiful woman with dark, slightly gray-streaked hair left as well, getting into one of the metal wagons waiting in front of their house.

And yes, they were wagons. Jack had realized that eventually. Embarrassingly eventually.

The wagon backed up into the road, then groaned much like May had as it rolled its way toward town.

Now was as good a time as any to steal the Queen’s wooden heart box.

Dressed in his Eye armor once more, Jack sized up the house. It’d taken him long enough to find. Just knowing the name of the street hadn’t helped as much as he’d have thought. How many streets did Punk need? Giant’s Hand, where he’d grown up, had
one
. . . and not even that in some places.

Even when he’d found the right street, he’d come across a worse problem. So many houses! And all looked exactly the same!

Part of him wondered if he should just walk down the street, knocking on every door until he found the right one.

A smarter part of him decided to use what little magic remained in his sword to sniff out the Wicked Queen like a bloodhound.

And so here he was. He hadn’t ever broken into a home before—just castles, really—but how hard could it be? There was bound to be an open door or window, after all. No one had the money to put locks on
every
way in or out, and who locked their doors anyway?

Apparently May and her grandmother, because both doors Jack found were locked tight. Not to mention the windows. All except one window left open on the second floor of the house (which in and of itself was insane . . . how much money did they have to be able to build an entire second story? Out of what looked like fake wood?! How could it even support itself?)

Second floors meant higher climbs, and climbing was the last thing Jack really felt like doing right now. Fortunately, a convenient tree rose near enough to the open window that one might climb it, shimmy out on a branch, then jump for one’s life and maybe, if one was lucky, grasp the windowsill with the edge of one’s fingers.

Jack, however, was not one to be lucky on any sort of regular basis.

“I just climbed a stupid beanstalk!” he said to no one in particular. “TWICE, really, if you count the last half a year!”

No one in particular responded, which didn’t entirely surprise him. In fact, if someone
had
responded, Jack might have jumped in surprise, then suggested that maybe that person climb the tree, jump to the window, then come downstairs and let Jack in.

Life was never easy.

Jack stared up at the tree, ready to go. That lasted a minute or two, after which he actually got his hands onto the tree and began to climb. That lasted another minute or two before he realized that climbing trees in Punk somehow seemed more difficult. Trees back home always seemed to have convenient hand- and footholds, and one could scurry up them like a squirrel. Here, though, Jack scraped his way up, then slid back down (also scraping) no less than five times before realizing he might need to think this through a bit.

Behind him in the yard, there was some sort of metal sculpture, rusted metal rods with chains hanging down from them, the chains holding some sort of odd-looking seat. He looked from the chained seats to the tree and back, and realized one of these might be just what he needed. Out came the sword, its remaining magic giving it just enough sharpness to slice through the chains, which was fortunate. If he’d had to cut through them without any magic, the Huntsman would be there and gone for a few weeks before he’d finish.

Back the sword went into its scabbard, and back Jack went to the tree. He wrapped the seat around the tree and grasped an end of chain in each hand, then, holding the chains as tightly as he could, used them as support to anchor himself as he walked slowly up the tree.

This, in a way, was magic too.

Unfortunately, this kind of magic took forever, so he grabbed a branch that looked sturdy enough to support him as soon as he could, then used that branch to climb to the one leading to the open window. Inside he could see a familiar scene, and he pulled out the Story Book pages to compare.

Walls white as clouds. An enormous bed covered with soft linens. A wooden desk with a now not-glowing square sitting on it.

Yup. This was May’s bedroom.

He got a chill out of nowhere and almost fell from the tree then and there. She may not have known who the unconscious person was on the ground beneath her tree, but May still would have laughed at him, he was sure.

The jump didn’t look quite so bad from closer up, so without thinking, Jack pushed off and went for it.

“Without thinking” was actually a very accurate description, for if he had thought, he might have realized that the branch, while sturdy enough to support him, would still flex a bit when he jumped.

As it was, his fingers passed through nothing, only to smack into the windowsill at the very last moment, catching him. His heart racing, he pulled himself up and into the house, deciding that this was the very last time he’d ever steal, no matter how many worlds needed saving.

May’s bedroom may have looked exactly like the painting in the Story Book, but stepping into that painting was even odder than seeing it in front of him. He looked around, drinking it in, trying not to think about what had happened to May back in the Wicked Queen’s castle . . . and then realized that being in her room was kinda creepy, and he shouldn’t just stand there not moving for any longer.

Besides, he had a house to search.

Flipping through his Story Book pages as he opened May’s door, he came to the picture of the wooden box that May’s grandmother had mentioned, or would mention later that night, when the Huntsman came. “Someone broke into the house, May,” the Story Book had the Queen saying. “Someone stole my heart box.”

The picture showed a mostly obscured box covered by books, clothes, and a bunch of unrecognizable things. Fortunately, he didn’t have to know what they were, he just had to . . . well, recognize them. How hard could that be?

An hour later, he knew exactly how hard that could be. How many things could two people actually own?! The entire house seemed filled with objects, as far as Jack was concerned. They lived like royalty (no surprise), with almost as many books as the school had!

Just then, a
thump
right outside the house made Jack’s heart stop, and he looked around frantically for somewhere to hide. The door he’d come in led to the front of the house, and from the sound of it, whoever had just returned was coming in that same direction. Behind him was nothing but wall, except for a small half door mostly covered in piles of books.

Well, he couldn’t replace the piles, but at least he’d be out of sight.

He pushed the piles out of the way quickly, then yanked on the door. It didn’t move, so he yanked harder and harder, and the door exploded open with a loud
creak
as he heard the footsteps outside stop.

Jack quickly pushed his way into a tiny alcove filled with more books, clothing, and a bunch of things he’d never seen, then pulled the door shut behind him. He pushed himself back, only to run up against something hard and . . . boxlike. . . .

Of course. He couldn’t have found this five minutes ago?!

The footsteps were in the house now, slowly walking from room to room. Whoever it was must have heard him and started looking for him.

Maybe it was time. It had to be the Queen herself, and now was as good a time as any. He felt around behind him in the darkness, moving more by memory of the Story Book picture than anything, until his hand felt the wood of the heart box. He quickly pulled it to him and opened it, reaching a hand inside to feel something . . . pretty disgusting.

Then the disgusting thing
ba-bumped
in his hand.

It was her heart.

The Wicked Queen’s heart.

HE HAD THE WICKED QUEEN’S HEART IN HIS HAND. AND IT WAS BEATING.

IN HIS
HAND
.

His mind couldn’t take this kind of crazy, but what choice did he have? The footsteps stopped right outside of the half door that hid him, and he knew that he might not ever have another chance.

He took out his knife and took a deep breath.

Then he stabbed his knife right into the Wicked Queen’s heart.

It didn’t even make a dent.

“Hello?” said a voice. “You called about a leaking sink? I’m here to fix it. . . .”

And just then, the door swung wide open.

An old man wearing rumpled gray clothes and holding a box of tools stared at Jack; and Jack, one hand holding a beating heart and the other clutching his knife, stared back.

The old man paused, then slowly closed the door.

Then the old man ran, screaming.

Well. Uh-oh.

CHAPTER 33

M
ay sat alone on her bed, knees pulled against her chest, staring at the dress made of gold that lay draped over a chair across from her. Goblin maids (still holding evil-looking axes and swords) had brought it earlier and taken her last one away. Apparently, becoming the Queen’s heir was more formal than being judged a traitor.

She would appear before the Queen, wearing the Queen’s dress, and pledge her eternal loyalty to her Majesty. And for that, she would get to live, and live well, as a Wicked Queen in training.

She stared at the dress, mentally running through the pledge the goblin maids had delivered on an elaborate scroll of linen. “I offer my loyalty and my love to Her Royal Majesty, for now and ever more,” it began, then went on for a few more pages, or turns of the scroll, or whatever they called it.

Six months ago, a gold dress would have been for a school dance. A pledge would have been of allegiance. And goblins would have been . . . well, nowhere. In books. If there. She didn’t read a lot of fantasy. Never found it believable.

And yet, there was another whole life that she had been meant to live, where a gold dress would have meant a royal ball, a glass slipper, and a fairy godmother.

Neither of those lives existed anymore, not really. She was never going to make it back to school, dance or no. She wasn’t ever going to live with her stepmother again and leave her slipper at the ball.

Now, she was either going to join the Queen, or she was going to die.

May hugged her knees tighter and went through the pledge again. “I offer my loyalty and my love to Her Royal Majesty, for now and ever more.” She had to do it. She couldn’t just die. To give up, to say no to the Wicked Queen . . . she couldn’t. She couldn’t! She wasn’t that person. She wasn’t a character in a story who could do the crazy thing, the life-ending thing, and be satisfied that she’d made the right choice.

But joining the Queen . . . could she really live with herself? She’d seen how the Queen’s subjects had lived, back in the safety of her stepmother’s home. Even there, even protected by the fairy queens, she’d known that taking one step outside would have meant capture or worse. Just like what everyone else still living in her town had to deal with on a daily basis.

Could she really say yes to the Queen, knowing those people still lived in fear for
their
lives?

Yes. Yes, she could. Those people had, hadn’t they? They weren’t rising up or anything. They weren’t protesting. They weren’t rebelling.

No, they weren’t, because they had more to worry about.

They had families and friends.

May had neither of those things. Not anymore.

This woman wasn’t related to her. There was no blood there. She had believed the Queen to be her grandmother, but that was just more lies. It wasn’t real. Or if it was, it wasn’t anymore. Now there were magical curses and shadows living in the place of people’s hearts.

All that mattered was that there wasn’t a heart there now, and the woman felt nothing for May. Even if May still felt something for her.

The gold dress just lay there staring at her, another Cinderella costume for her to wear, another act to put on.

Someone knocked on her door and said in a goblin’s guttural voice, “Ten minutes, Princess May.”

Princess. That’d been fun at the beginning. Everything had been happier back then, back at the beginning, with princes and houses made of candy and rescuing Snow White. Giants, talking wolves, and invisibility hoods. Then, they’d found her grandmother, and—

Not
her grandmother. The Wicked Queen.

May stood up and walked over to the dress, feeling it between her fingers. Gold wasn’t soft. How could anyone be comfortable in something like that? And where had it come from? Golden thread led to Rumplestiltskin in her head, and she smiled at the thought of Jack hanging upside down outside Malevolent’s castle.

What would Jack do here? He’d join the Queen . . . he already had. But he hadn’t meant it. He’d had a plan. He’d tried to rescue them after all. And after everything, he wouldn’t betray May. Phillip had, yes, but . . . there had to be a reason. But Jack hadn’t even done
that
. Jack would make the pledge, she knew. Because living another day meant another day to figure something out, a way to escape.

And somewhere, she knew, she
knew
he had done just that.

But for her, there was nowhere to escape to, nowhere to go.

Phillip wouldn’t give his oath without meaning it. He was such a fairy-tale prince . . . no lying, no trickery. He’d tell the Queen no, no matter the consequences.

“Five minutes, Princess,” said the goblin at the door. “Do you need help?”

“Not me,” May said, picking up the dress. “I’ve got this, all on my own.”

The throne room practically burst with people, goblins, trolls, ogres, and assorted shadows floating overhead, each one looking like a trick of the light when you stared right at it. May waited outside with her goblin guards, both of which were sweating and shaking as much or more than she was.

Someone was announcing several apparently important people in the throne room, and each time, someone moved to stand in front of the Queen on her throne, bowing low. The Queen would acknowledge each one with a nod, though every few people, she would gesture, and goblins would take the unlucky lord or lady away, their screams echoing through the silent hall.

“The Princess May, to declare her loyalty to Her Royal Majesty!” called the voice, and May’s guards started forward, almost stumbling over her feet. May followed a step behind, and gasps went through the crowd.

May smiled at the guests, the torches shining off the golden dress that May had ripped to ribbons, dropping the pieces like flowers as she walked through the throne room in her jeans and
punk princess
shirt.

“What is
this
?!” the Queen asked, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“Oh hey, Your Majesty,” May said, throwing another piece of dress into the air. “I thought I’d add some festiveness to this whole thing. It felt like it was getting a little depressing.”

The Queen looked to May’s left and right, and goblins grabbed her by the arms and dragged her forward, forcing her down to her knees before the throne. “I take it that this is your way of refusing to become my heir,” the Queen said quietly.

“I mean, I thought about it,” May said, the goblins shoving her head almost down to the ground. “I didn’t think I’d have the guts to do this, actually. But then I remembered something.” She pushed back against the goblins and looked the Queen right in the eye. “I remembered that I’ve got more heart in my little finger than you do in your whole body. Though, to be fair, who doesn’t?”

The crowd began to murmur, each of the assembled nobles looking at each other nervously. May couldn’t blame them. The heart she’d just bragged about was about to burst, it was beating so hard.

“You choose
death
, then?” the Queen asked, her eyes striking May’s like bolts of lightning.

“There’s a boy I know,” May told her, struggling against the goblins to stand up. The goblins, nervous about being killed in whatever magic destroyed May, released her almost thankfully, backing away slowly. “His name is Phillip, and he’s a prince, but that doesn’t really matter. Phillip taught me something a while ago, back on a pirate ship. He said that when you do something good and noble, you’ll win.”

The Queen stood up, lightning sizzling in the air.

“He was wrong,” May told her with a shrug. “You won’t always win. Sometimes you’ll lose, and sometimes . . . well, bad things happen. But not trying? Not standing up to people like you?” She smiled. “Then we all lose. So no, I don’t choose death, because that’s giving up too. But I’ll never join you, and I’ll keep trying to take you down for as long as I can.”

The room went absolutely silent for a moment.

Then someone, somewhere in the back, shouted, “Down with the Wicked Queen!”

And that’s when things got ugly.