Witchy Tales: A Wicked Witches of the Midwest Fairy Tale Read online

  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.”

  Reginald jerked me away from Landon forcefully. “She’s mine!”

  “That did it.” Landon cocked his fist back and slammed it into Reginald’s face. The force was enough to topple the puffed-up prince, and he crumpled to the floor at our feet. Landon barely glanced at him as he stepped over the prostrate prince and pulled me in for a hug. “I was really worried, Bay.”

  “I thought you were going to be the prince,” I admitted. “That’s the only reason I came to the ball.”

  “I am the prince,” Landon said, smiling as he ran his finger down my cheek. “You scared me.” He gave me a soft kiss.

  “Stop that right now,” Reginald howled. “This is not how this is supposed to go. I’m the prince! I am. I get to pick my princess. I want her.”

  “You’ll live,” Landon said. “Or … well … you’ll dissolve into a crying mess as soon as we’re out of here. Either way, you’ll be fine.”

  Reginald was desperate, and as Landon linked his fingers with mine and began to lead me from the dance floor he reacted in a completely dignified way (yes, I’m being sarcastic). He grabbed my leg under the dress, wrapping his fingers around my ankle, really digging in as he tried to hold on to me.

  “Guards! Guards! My princess is trying to leave me!”

  “That’s pathetic, man,” Landon said, wagging a finger in Reginald’s face. “Show some manliness. You’ve got hundreds of women here who are begging for you to dance with them. Let the one who doesn’t want you go and … suck it up. This one is mine.”

  “Guards! Guards!”

  Landon exhaled heavily as I tried to wrench my leg from Reginald’s tightening grip. “That’s starting to hurt,” I complained.

  Landon snagged me around the waist, forcefully lifting me in his arms and dragging me away from Reginald. “Try to chill, man,” Landon said. “She was never your princess to begin with.”

  “I got her shoe,” Reginald crowed, cradling to his chest the glass slipper he’d pulled from my foot. “I got her shoe! I win!”

  “Yeah, you’re a real winner,” Landon said. “Come on, princess. I have a few people who are anxious to see you.”

  If you see a beanstalk in the middle of a field, ask yourself an important question: If you have magic beans, why are you in the middle of a field? Go and sell them. Then you can go shopping. What good is a beanstalk?

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

  Fourteen

  “He found you!” Clove clapped excitedly as Landon carried me back to the yellow brick road.

  “We were worried,” Thistle admitted, her face relaxing when our eyes met. “You look … heavy.”

  “You can probably put me down now,” I said, sighing. She was right. The dress had to be heavy on Landon’s muscled arms. Notice I didn’t say I was heavy.

  “Sure,” Landon said, lowering both of us to the ground next to the road and then tightening his arms around me as he settled us into a comfortable sitting configuration.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, resting my forehead against his chin.

  “Just … give me a minute,” Landon murmured.

  “He was really worried,” Clove said, her eyes wide. “He almost had a meltdown.”

  “Almost?” Thistle arched a challenging eyebrow. “If that was almost a meltdown, I’d hate to see the actual thing.”

  Landon ignored them. “I walked out of the cottage thinking everything was fine. I thought you were right behind me. When I turned around, though, the cottage and you were gone.”

  “Sorry about eating the food, by the way,” Thistle said. “I should have listened to you.”

  Now I was the one challenging someone with a facial expression.

  “Landon kind of let her have it when we couldn’t find you,” Clove explained. “He blamed getting caught in the story on Marcus and Thistle.”

  “Which meant it was their fault I got zapped into Cinderella’s life,” I said.

  “How was it?” Clove asked, excited. “That dress is beautiful!”

  “It’s big and it’s itchy,” I said. “I don’t understand why I’m still wearing it. We finished the story.”

  “Maybe you didn’t learn the lesson you were supposed to,” Thistle suggested. “I had to wear that pink thing for hours after my story was done.”

  “What lesson was I supposed to learn from this? By the way, my stepsisters were Lila and Rosemary.”

  “Gross,” Thistle said, wrinkling her nose. “Who was your stepmother?”

  “Edith.”

  “That’s weird,” Clove said.

  “It kind of makes sense,” Thistle said. “Aunt Tillie has always had a bug up her butt where Edith is concerned.”

  “Do you want to hear the craziest part?”

  “It gets crazier?”

  “Guess who my fairy godmother was.”

  Thistle pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “Mom?”

  I shook my head.

 
“Your mom?”

  “No. It was Aunt Tillie.” Landon stirred next to me, lifting his head so he could meet my worried gaze. “Are you okay? You seem a little … worn down.”

  “I thought I lost you,” Landon said. “I’m fine now. Go back to the part about Aunt Tillie being your fairy godmother. Was it really her?”

  “No.”

  “Was she self-aware, like the wolf?” Thistle asked.

  “Not really,” I said. “She didn’t have a lot of information, and she kept telling me to shut up because she had six other girls to dress before she could watch Fairy Tale Jeopardy, but she didn’t seem especially aware.”

  Landon snorted. “Fairy Tale Jeopardy? That’s just … great.”

  “She did say one interesting thing,” I said. “I asked her whether we died in the real world if we died here. She kept saying this was the real world, but she added an interesting caveat. She said that it depended on what we believed.”

  “Does that mean if we don’t believe we’re going to die, we won’t die?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Landon brushed his lips against my forehead. “Well, I choose to believe we’re not going to die here. I won’t let it happen. We’re going to work our way through the rest of this – and it had better not take too long – and then I’m going to kill Aunt Tillie.”

  “I’ll hold her down,” Thistle grumbled.

  “Did you guys come across any other stories while I was locked in a closet?”

  Landon furrowed his forehead. “Why were you locked in a closet?”

  I told him the story, and when I was done the laugh escaping his mouth shook his whole body. “Well, that sounds fun!”

  “Then I’m telling it wrong,” I said.

  “We did have one story while you were gone,” Clove said. “It wasn’t a long one, though.”

  “What was it?”

  “Something about goats on a bridge with an ogre under it,” Thistle said.

  I couldn’t help but smile at the visual. “How did you get out of it?”

  “Thistle was really agitated so she kicked the ogre in his special place,” Clove said. “It was a short story.”

  “I was aiming for his knee,” Thistle said. “Who knew an ogre’s equipment worked differently?”