Witchy Tales: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fairy Tale (13 page)

“Some of the other characters in this … book … have been self-aware,” I said. “Are you?”

“I’m a fairy godmother.”

I narrowed my eyes. “See, the problem is, you lie,” I said. “You’ve always lied. You tell us what you feel like telling us as if it’s truth, even though we all know it’s a load of crap. Is that what you’re doing now?”

“Do you want to find your prince or not?” Aunt Tillie was getting irritated. Some things never change. “I don’t have all day. I have six more downtrodden women to get to before I can have a bottle of wine and relax. You’re really slowing me down.”

I decided to try one more thing. “Are you aware of what’s going on in the real world?”

“This is the real world.”

“If we die here … do we die there?” It was an ominous question, but I needed to know.

Aunt Tillie shrugged, noncommittal. “It all depends on what you believe. Now … stand over there … I’m on a bit of a timetable and you need a coach and a footman before I can get out of here.
Fairy Tale Jeopardy
starts in two hours. I can’t miss it.”

One day your prince will come. He’s not going to put a glass slipper on your foot. He’s going to be bossy and willful. He’s also going to expect you to cook. Make sure you burn the first few dinners so you can keep his expectations low. If you’re lucky, though, he’ll also make you laugh. Make sure to keep him if he makes you laugh.

–
Aunt Tillie’s Wonderful World of Stories to Make Little Girls Shut Up

“How far is the palace?”

The footman who ushered me into my carriage – which left a little to be desired since it actually smelled like a rotting pumpkin – was the quiet sort. He hadn’t said a word since we left Edith’s manor. It had been only three minutes, but it was an uncomfortable three minutes.

“It’s right here.” The footman directed the horses to the side of the road and pulled to a stop.

“Where?”

The footman pointed, and after serious study a palace began to take shape in the mist. It was beautiful. It looked like it came straight out of a … well, a fairy tale … but I was still irritated. “Are you really telling me I couldn’t just walk the hundred and fifty feet here? This is ridiculous. Now I smell like pumpkin.”

The footman opened the carriage door and extended his hand to help me out. I gathered the wide skirt of the white dress, grimacing as I tried to keep the uncomfortable glass slippers on as I descended the slippery steps.

“Thanks,” I said, dropping the skirt and frowning. Now I understood how embarrassed Thistle was wearing a dress that constantly made noise. “Which way do I go?”

“I have no idea.”

“Are you going to sit here and wait for me to dance with the prince and then flee before midnight, leaving a glass shoe on the ground and a dumbfounded man in my wake? If so, you can go.”

“I have no intention of staying,” the footman said.

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, up until five minutes ago I was a dog,” the footman said. “I’d like to go back to playing with my bone.”

I was overwhelmed with the mad inclination to laugh, but refrained. “Knock yourself out,” I said, fighting the urge to grimace when the footman started scratching his head. Great. With my luck he was infested with fleas.

I followed the steady stream of excited guests, not missing the fact that women outnumbered men by a large margin. Most of the men were older, and I guessed they were expectant fathers trying to unload desperate daughters. The whole mating ritual was annoying.

I’ve never understood the Cinderella story. Don’t get me wrong, I like the talking mice. They’re fun. I just don’t get why Cinderella didn’t tell her stepmother and stepsisters to “suck it” and move out. I don’t get how a man spent one dance with a woman and thought he was in love with her. I never understood why a glass slipper was so cool because, let me tell you something, they’re uncomfortable and they pinch. I would trade these stupid glass slippers for a pair of Converse without thinking twice about it.

I tuned in to some of the conversation as I climbed the expansive front steps of the palace. It was mindless … and tedious. I wished Thistle was with me. Her snarky commentary would make all of this palatable. I realized it wasn’t only Landon I missed; I missed my cousins, too.

“Have you ever seen the prince in person? I hear he’s quite handsome.”

“I hear he has hair like a beautiful god.”

“I hear his teeth sparkle when he smiles.”

“I hear you can see everything when he wears his dress tights.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the visual. Were they talking about Landon? Had he been forced into tights? That might be kind of fun to see.

The walk to the ballroom was long, and since I wasn’t in the mood to get to know any of these women, I made it in silence. I was desperate for a friendly face – one that was real and not forced into a fairy tale role for a change would definitely be welcome.

Once I made it to the ballroom I scanned the sea of faces, hopeful. With each passing minute that hope faded. Clove and Thistle weren’t here. Maybe this was a story for Landon and me only. I couldn’t wait to see him.

“Do you see the prince?”

I arched an eyebrow as one of the other women approached me, her canary yellow dress nearly blinding me. “Um … no.”

“I’m Pumpernickel.”

“Bay.”

“That’s a strange name,” Pumpernickel said. “Were you embarrassed by it growing up?”

“Well, Pumpernickel, I’ve never really given it much thought,” I said, reaching for a finger sandwich. “So, what do you know about this prince? Is he supposed to be a good guy or a douche?”

Pumpernickel’s round face was bland as she regarded me. “He’s the prince.”

“I realize that,” I said. “I just want to know what his personality is like. Is he bossy? Does he have a hero complex? Does he have long black hair and a killer rear end … err, I mean smile?”

Pumpernickel was confused. “He’s the prince.”

Well, this conversation as going nowhere. “Okay.”

“What I’m saying is that it doesn’t matter what his personality is like,” she said. “He’s the prince. He’s going to be the king. That’s all the matters.”

“That’s not all that matters,” I countered. “That doesn’t matter at all. That’s the life he was born to lead. I want to know who he is.”

“He’s the prince.”

I was done here. “I … .”

“Excuse me. Am I interrupting?”

Pumpernickel’s face turned an unnatural shade of red. “Oh … my … .”

I pursed my lips and swiveled, expecting to find a waiter. If he happened to have some liquor on him I wasn’t going to turn up my nose. The man behind me was handsome but generic looking. He wore a white dress coat and black pants, and he stood as if he had Aunt Tillie’s wand shoved in a very uncomfortable orifice. “Oh, hey,” I said. “Does whiskey exist in this world? I could definitely use a double on the rocks. Throw a lime in there, too. I’m feeling a little peckish.”

The waiter smiled. “I see. You want whiskey?”

“What are you doing?” Pumpernickel hissed.

“I’m hoping to get a buzz on,” I said. “That’s the only thing that’s going to liven up this party.”

“I don’t believe we have whiskey for guests,” the waiter said. “It’s considered a … vagabond’s drink.”

“I just met her,” Pumpernickel said. “We’re not together.”

I rolled my eyes. “What do you have? Vodka? Gin? I would kill for a chocolate martini.”

“I can ask,” the waiter said. “Most guests don’t order off the menu at royal balls.” The smile he sent me was small but inquisitive. “What house are you from?”

“Oh, um, the one next door.”

“The Markham residence?”

I had no idea. “Sure.”

“Are you related to Rosemary and Lila?”

“Technically, Rosemary is a second cousin,” I said. “Lila is just a nightmare.”

Pumpernickel fanned herself worriedly, gesturing wildly with her other hand. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me.

“You speak very … frankly,” the waiter said.

“So I’ve been told,” I said. “You should meet my cousin Thistle. She’s a lot more frank than me.”

“And where is she this evening?”

“Probably bitterly bitching while walking down the yellow brick road,” I said.

“Is that in this kingdom?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure where anything is right now,” I said. “Speaking of that, where is this prince? We need to get this show on the road.”

The waiter smiled while Pumpernickel made mewling sounds in the back of her throat.

“You’ve never seen the prince?”

“Nope,” I said. “I hear he’s handsome, though.”

“I’ve heard that, too.”

“Shouldn’t he be here by now? Isn’t he supposed to dance with everyone and make his choice?”

“He is,” the waiter said.

As if on cue, the music started and I shifted my attention to the dance floor. Everyone retreated from it, creating a circle. It was more fun when they did it in
Footloose
.

“Where is he?” I asked. When I turned back to the waiter he was watching me with a wide smile and extended hand. “Shall we?”

“I thought only the prince was supposed to dance,” I said.

“He is.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Not if I’m the prince.”

Oh, holy crap. I’d been expecting Landon to be the prince. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. I ran my tongue over my teeth, embarrassed. “You’re the prince?”

“That’s what they tell me,” the man said. “You may call me Reginald.”

Of course. I shifted a look in Pumpernickel’s direction. “That’s what you were trying to tell me, wasn’t it?”

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” she said. “You’re extremely stupid.”

“That’s what I hear.” I had no idea what to do. For lack of a better idea, and because every eye on in the room was trained on me, I took Reginald’s hand and let him lead me to the dance floor.

Thankfully, because this was a fairy tale, Reginald was a perfect gentleman when he put his hand to the small of my back and began leading me around the dance floor. He seemed to be enjoying himself. I was thankful I could get this dance out of the way before slipping away.

“Are you visiting your cousin?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You don’t seem to like your family,” Reginald said, his eyes twinkling. “May I ask why?”

“I love my family,” I said. “I’m not particularly fond of one member of it right now, but in general I love them. Edith, Rosemary and Lila aren’t my family, though.”

“But you said … .”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “I can’t explain it.”

“I’m a good listener.”

“Um … that’s okay.”

Reginald spun me around the dance floor a few more times, the silence stifling as he wracked his brain for conversation. When the song ended, I expected him to release me and move on. Instead, he kept me close and immediately started dancing again when the new song started up.

“I thought you were only supposed to dance with each woman once?”

“Until I find the woman I like,” Reginald replied, grinning. “I’ve already found mine.”

Uh-oh. “You don’t even know me.”

“What do I need to know?” Reginald twirled me out wide and then pulled me back as I tried to escape. “You’re beautiful – the most beautiful woman in the room, in fact. You’re wise. You say odd things. You don’t fear me. You’re perky. You’re perfect.”

“I’m not perfect,” I said, my voice rising an octave. “I’m pretty far from perfect.”

“Not to me.”

“You have no idea how much work I am,” I said. “I’m insecure. I’m whiny. I hate mornings. I don’t like cleaning. In the mornings, my hair looks as if it had been through a wind tunnel. I snore. I get irritated for no particular reason. Oh, and three days out of every month I’m unbearable.”

Reginald smiled. He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off when another figure moved in behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “May I cut in?”

I almost cried in relief when I saw Landon. He was still dressed in his regular clothes, and even though he looked out of place at the ball I’d never been happier to see anyone in my entire life. “Landon!”

He shot me a reassuring smile and then focused back on Reginald. “I think you’re dancing with my date,” he said.

“Your date?” Reginald arched an eyebrow. “This is my ball. All of these women are my dates.”

“Well, that sounds … greedy,” Landon said. “How about we make a deal? You can have all the other women in the room and I’ll take only this one off your hands.”

“I want this woman,” Reginald countered. “You can have the rest of them.”

“I can only handle one,” Landon said. “This one.”

“She’s mine,” Reginald replied. “I’m the prince. I get to pick my princess. I want her.”

“She’s already my princess,” Landon said, gritting his teeth and forcing his face to remain placid. “I’ve already claimed her.”

“Then why is she here?” Reginald pressed.

“She didn’t have much of a choice,” Landon said. “I’m here to … rescue her.”

“But she’s mine,” Reginald said.

“Listen, pal, stop saying that,” Landon snapped. “She’s my princess. Mine.” He thumped his chest for emphasis. “We were separated a couple of hours ago, and I’ve been going crazy trying to find her. Now, I know this whole dog-and-pony show is important to you, but this princess already has a prince. Pick someone else.”

“I want this princess,” Reginald said, stubbornly pulling me closer to him. “She’s mine.”

“I’m going to have to punch him,” Landon warned. “I’m not joking. I don’t have much of a sense of humor right now. I almost freaked out when that cottage dissolved and you were gone. I … I thought I lost you.”

My heart rolled at the admission. “I had a minor freakout myself when I found myself in a dirty kitchen. You’ll never guess who my stepmother was.”

Landon waited, feigning patience.

“Edith. She was real. I could touch her. Rosemary and Lila were my stepsisters, too. It was awful.”

Landon made a face. “That sounds awful.”

“How did you know where to find me?” I asked, resisting Reginald as he tried to continue the dance.

“We were walking down the road because we didn’t know what else to do and then this castle … suddenly it was there and we knew,” Landon said. He reached out for me. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”