Beauty's Cursed Sleep

by Mary E. Twomey

  “Um, princes who value their privacy.”

  She squinted, her lips drawing to the side. “It looks like you redecorated.”

  “Did I? That’s probably true. I haven’t had all that much time to get out to the cabin. The last time I was there, I want to say I bought a giant bear rug. Thought it might scare away prowlers. Frightened me enough in the store. However, it doesn’t seem to be working on keeping you out, so perhaps I should ask for my money back.”

  “If the whole prince thing doesn’t work out for you, I don’t recommend a career in comedy.” She cast around for anything she could use to pry open the window. “How mad would you be if I broke the window?”

  “Somewhere between hopping and raging.”

  “Bill me. I’m not going back. Benjamin will be so mad when he realizes I ditched him. One week alone. That’s all I wanted.”

  “And you could’ve had that. With your guard.”

  “I feel like you don’t understand what ‘alone’ means.”

  “I feel like you don’t understand what ‘breaking and entering’ means.”

  A thrill raced through Rory’s veins, curving the corners of her mouth upward. “I’ve actually never committed a crime before. Breaking and entering? That seems like something I should do, being that it’s my last year on earth.”

  Henry’s voice grew grim. “I do wish you’d stop talking like that. Your curse probably won’t hold.”

  Rory was done listening. “Have to go. Committing a crime.” Then she ended the call, searching for the perfect rock that might prove most effective. She didn’t want to talk about what hope her few friends and family entertained. She didn’t want to weigh in on the gossip websites that kept a running tally of voters chiming in on whether or not Rory Johnstone would prick her finger on a sewing needle on her twenty-fifth birthday and go into a deep sleep, as predicted. True love’s kiss was the only antidote that would be able to wake her, but Rory knew that was as good as no cure at all, since she’d never been in love before. Though, her uncle had done his best to counter the curse Malaura had placed on her at birth. A coma was better than death, she supposed.

  Four months left, and she had so much more she wanted to experience, so much she wanted to accomplish. Breaking and entering hadn’t been on her list before that evening, but suddenly it made its way to top slot. She found a rock next to the deck, welcoming the adrenaline that excited her – made her feel alive. She relished those moments, and knew there wouldn’t be many left for her to enjoy.

  Rory cranked her arm back and launched the rock at the window, laughing in shock at her daring as the glass shattered. She covered her mouth, gleeful as she bobbed on her toes at the damage.

  It wasn’t until the alarm sounded that Rory realized what Henry was no doubt calling her back to warn her about. She jumped back from the cabin, fumbling with her phone and shouting into it. “I set off the alarm!”

  “You don’t say. It’s almost as if I don’t want people breaking into my homes.”

  Rory covered her ear, wincing at the sound that pierced the evening stillness. Birds flew away, making Rory feel the need to apologize to them. “What’s your alarm code?” When Henry rattled off six digits, she softened, despite the blaring noise. “That’s my birthday.”

  “It is? Well, I’ll be. Enjoy your contraband before you’re hauled off to my dungeon. I daresay the accommodations are slightly less comfortable there. Though, there’s no bearskin rug in the cells, so it’s probably not quite as scary.”

  Rory ended the call and reached her arm in, fumbling with the doorknob. Her fingers slipped twice before she finally turned the latch. She let out a hiss as the glass sliced through her arm. “Oh, ow! Yeah, that stings.” She ran into the cabin, trying to remember where the keypad was, finally locating it near the front door. She shrieked at the bearskin rug, but hopped over the head as the alarm blared through the house. It wasn’t until she keyed in her own birthday that her shoulders relaxed.

  “Oh, that’s much better. I can hear myself think.” She snatched up a rag from the cupboard in the kitchen and banded it around her forearm to stem the bleeding, looking away from the wound with a wince. She tried not to think about the blood, which always made her a little queasy. Fainting when Henry had cut himself on a can opener when she was eight years old was a thing she’d never lived down. Though she tried to roll her eyes at the teasing, the sight of blood still made her feel woozy.

  Once the blood was cleverly hidden beneath the rag, a gust of relief flew out of her. The lack of noise left room for her mind to process the semi-familiar surroundings. She hadn’t been to the secret cabin in years, but recalled many a fond memory that took place over the dinner table, on the couch, out by the lake, on the deck, and in the woods.

  The brown couch had the faint stink of cigars to it, bringing her back to Adam’s brief stint of smoking that her and Henry had protested with much dramatic gagging. Whenever things grew too serious or harrowing, they would retreat to Henry’s cabin that Adam had helped him secure. It was one of the perks of being close friends with the son of a real estate mogul. Adam had houses all over Avondale. As the years passed, though, Adam grew more and more agoraphobic, never leaving his castle. With Henry in his palace, Adam in his castle, and Rory in her mansion, luxuries like cabins fell to the wayside. The cabin had been largely untouched in the past few years.

  Rory had known the cabin where they’d spent much of their adolescence would be available and quiet. As she looked around, the lack of cameras made her shoulders loosen. There was no one shouting questions at her about things that just plain didn’t matter. Yes, she had less than a year left before her curse was due to set in. No, she hadn’t found anyone she was in love with. Part of that was due to the press. They wanted their future Chancellor to be healthy, whole and well, so each date she went on was surrounded by cameras, complete with a play-by-play recap of the date the next day online on Royal Watch. They meant well, she guessed, but it only made it harder for her to find anyone.

  She brought her backpack up to her bedroom and started putting her clothes in the musty drawers using her non-bloodied arm, wishing the reporters had hounded her to ask the truly important questions. How was her foundation doing? Did they need more volunteers?

  She’d made her peace with the impending pause on her life, but felt unrest only for the work that needed to be done for her charity that she wouldn’t be able to continue if she was in a coma. Magic was such a concentrated focus in Avondale, so all too often, formal education took a backseat. This made for accomplished Pulse-wielding, but there were large factions of the land that were nearly illiterate because of the lack of focus placed on traditional education. Rory’s foundation raised money and put programs in place to balance out the educational gap. Still, the reporters mainly wanted to talk about the superficial things, once again pushing education to the back burner.

  Rory tried to ignore the slice in her arm, hoping it would clot and clean and heal itself somehow without her having to look at the blood. Her knees felt weak at the mere thought of what lie beneath the rag, so she leaned back onto the bare mattress, feeling the creak of the springs as her slight body shifted. She stared up at the wooden slats in the ceiling, recalling the many games she’d played with Henry and Adam. Of course, that was years ago, back when Adam had been young and fun, and Henry had been less busy with trying to fill the very big shoes that would one day be handed to him.

  She’d been different back then, too. She’d always been driven to make the biggest impact with the limited time she knew she had, but in the past handful of years, that drive had spiked, pushing her schedule to a frenzied pace. Her uncle had teased her that if the curse failed at bringing her down on her twenty-fifth birthday, a heart attack was sure to do the job.

  They didn’t understand, though. They had their whole lives to make an impact. They had years to waste, time to indulge. She had twenty-five years. A quarter of a century, and that was it. Ever since she’d s
tarted the foundation, she was determined to make her light burn bright, no matter how short a time it had to blaze a path for Avondale to follow.

  Rory knew her arm would need to be dealt with; she could already feel the blood soaking through the rag. Her parents would need to be called and reassured that she was okay, even though she’d left them a note. They worried so much nowadays. She knew she’d have to deal with Benjamin, who would surely be angry she’d ditched him, making him look unsuitable to guard the Chancellor’s daughter.

  Rory didn’t hear the footsteps until they reached the stairs, creaking beneath the weight of someone who made a far bigger tread than she. She bolted up in the bed, scrambling off it as she clutched her forearm to her chest. Her eyes darted around the room, assessing with immediate despair the lack of items that could be used to fend off the errant attacker. Grabbing up the pillow, she wound back and readied herself to swing at the intruder when he rounded the corner. Fear clutched her around the throat, but she was determined not to panic.

  The man didn’t give her a chance to fight back before he lunged into the room, spun Rory around, and pinned her to the wooden wall, knocking the breath from her in a gust. “You picked the wrong house to break into. Whatever you think you’re about to steal, best put it back now. If you knew whose cabin this was, you wouldn’t be in here causing trouble.”

  Rory struggled fruitlessly against the man’s solid form. He was a few inches taller than her, his minty breath tickling her neck in bursts as they both dueled with their adrenaline. “I’m not stealing anything. This is my friend’s cabin! Let me go!”

  He twisted her good arm behind her, forcing her to drop the pillow. He didn’t jerk her around too much or inflict pain, but merely communicated the steadiness of a warning that shenanigans would not be tolerated. “Friends usually have a key if they’re invited to stay at someone’s home away from home. You wouldn’t have had to break in and set off the alarm if you were invited.”

  Rory harrumphed, giving another frustrated struggle before she growled out her anger. “Fine, call the police. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s really not necessary. We can wait it out, and you’ll see that everything’s fine.”

  “Sounds like a solid plan.”

  Rory felt him reach for his phone, which drew her eyes downward.

  She hadn’t been expecting the blood. Though she knew she’d been cut, she assumed enough time had passed that her arm would have clotted. The crimson goo dripped down her wrist and slipped between her fingers, turning them clammy as the image emblazoned itself in her brain. “Oh, no.” Her breathing grew shallow, and suddenly the man who was holding her against the wall wasn’t just keeping her in place. The stranger scrambled to hold Rory upright when her knees turned to jelly.

  She hadn’t fainted in so long. Each time brought about a panic from her parents, thinking she was slipping into her coma before the doomed time.

  But her parents weren’t there, only a stranger she didn’t know, whom she was trusting could catch her. She knew she should look away from the sight, but her eyes couldn’t tear themselves from the puddle that was gathering on the wood floor, marking this spot with her DNA. Her initials were carved into the bunk beds in the next room that Henry and Adam used to share, but this spot was now hers alone, stained with… with…

  Rory tried not to cry out when her legs collapsed beneath her. She tried not to give in to the darkness that hedged in the edges of her vision. “Don’t let me… I can’t… The blood…”

  The light faded from view, and finally Rory’s body gave in to the crash.

  3

  New Neighbor

  Rory awoke to a cold compress on her forehead, and a thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. “Henry?” She opened her eyes, but immediately regretted the feat of grandeur. Her vision swam, coaxing a groan from her lips.

  “Easy, now. It’s all fine.”

  She didn’t recognize the voice, but the low cadence soothed her. For the moment, she trusted in the sweetness that held onto her limp hand. She couldn’t feel skin, but realized the man was wearing gloves.

  Her second attempt at opening her eyes went slightly better, taking only a handful of blinks to bring the world into focus. The light was on in the bedroom, making up for the fact that the sun was setting outside, and filtering in a faint glow that touched on the man who was still holding onto her hand. “How did I…”

  “I didn’t mean to make you faint. I thought you were breaking and entering. Then when you passed out, I got a good look at you. I didn’t realize who you were.”

  Rory’s mouth was dry, her tongue working overtime to unstick itself from the roof of her mouth. “How’d you get in here?”

  He glanced right and then left, as if she’d asked him a trick question. “Um, through the window in the door you broke? The alarm went off, so I ran on over. I own the cabin next door.”

  Rory’s nose scrunched, trying to think of meeting any neighbors before, but none came to mind. “Next door?”

  The man jerked his gloved hand to the right. “I own the property that way. Met Prince Henry a couple times. He’s a nice enough guy, so I keep an eye on his cabin whenever something like this comes up.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you.” She meant to rub her forehead, but accidentally slapped herself across the face, groaning at the mess of it all.

  The man chuckled at her plight. “Is that what you meant to do, your grace?”

  Rory sighed, wishing she wasn’t making a complete fool of herself. “I forgot to get the key from Henry. I didn’t mean to set off the alarm. I just wanted some peace and quiet.”

  The man raised his eyebrow at her. He had dark skin that captivated Rory with its handsomeness. His long lashes and unassuming brown eyes drew her in as he spoke. “I’m not sure you’re nailing the ‘quiet’ part. That’s the loudest security alarm I’ve ever heard.”

  Rory laughed through her nose. “Yeah, our friend owns a security company on the side. I probably should’ve called him first to let him know I was breaking in.”

  “You really are just a terrible burglar.” Using a bit of magic, he levitated the cloth from her forehead, and moved it over to the nightstand. Then he coiled an arm under her shoulders, taking care to move her slowly to a sitting position. “Easy, now.” He leaned her up against the headboard, his gloved hands gentle with her body.

  It wasn’t until then that Rory realized her arm was bandaged up, concealing the cut from view. “Oh, you fixed my arm! Thank you. I cut it when I was breaking in. The sight of blood makes me queasy. That’s why I fainted.”

  His sculpted lips pulled to the side, making him look like he was trying to be diplomatic through her plight, holding back a laugh. “That’s quite the predicament. Here, drink some water.” He molded her fingers around a sealed bottle, unscrewing it for her before he helped her bring it to her lips.

  Rory swallowed down her chagrin, taking gulps that cleared her mind so she could fully appreciate the man’s kind eyes that were filled with humility. He was muscular, but not overly tall. He wore a gray long-sleeved shirt paired with jeans and sturdy boots. As he watched her fiddle with the label on the bottle, she noticed a few objects from her bag floating in the air behind him, as if he couldn’t help but levitate things when he was thinking about something. Her uncle sometimes did that without meaning to, but Remus Johnstone was one of the most powerful magic-wielders of their time.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Cord.” Then he cleared his throat, as if reminding himself of his manners. “Cordray Phillips. And you’re Aurora Johnstone.”

  “Rory,” she corrected him. “Aurora is what the papers call me. You’ve seen me pass out. I think we’re beyond formalities.”

  He ran his hands down the front of his shirt and glanced around the bedroom. “Should I call your fiancé? Let him know you’re alright?”

  Her nose scrunched as she set the closed water bottle on the mattress at her side.
“Who?”

  “Prince Henry. I saw the pictures of his proposal. Congratulations.”

  Rory’s eyes cast up to the ceiling, wishing she could shake her head at Henry in person. “He’s always doing that to get a rise out of me. We’re not engaged. We’ve never even dated. He just likes to put on a show for the reporters when they won’t leave us alone.”

  Cordray’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Well, that’s quite the show. I’ve never proposed to a woman as a joke before.”

  “Good. Women hate that. Can you hand me my phone?”

  He shook his head as if to teasingly scold her for the scandal. “Rory, Rory, what’s your story?”

  She leaned back against the headboard, flexing her fingers to make sure everything felt in good working order. “I was hoping my story would be absolutely nothing for the next week or so. It’s hard for me to get away, and then when I finally do, I scare all the woodland creatures for a mile.”

  He sniggered at the media circus that had delighted in their engagement. Though, there had been many tall tales of the two getting engaged, then breaking up, then getting engaged, then calling it off.

  Cordray scooped her phone up off the dresser and pressed it into her palm. “I admit, you two definitely put on a good show for the viewers. I’m pretty well tucked away from the hustle and bustle, but even I heard about that one.”

  “You live out here? Like, not just coming to the woods for an escape every now and then?”

  He leaned back in the wooden chair, balancing on two legs with his boots on the frame of her bed to keep himself steady. “Four years out here. I go into the city every now and then to get supplies and catch up on the latest ‘who’s marrying whom’ gossip, but maybe I should’ve just stuck to refilling my cupboards.”

  “Always a safe bet. It’s nice out here.”

  “Despite the occasional breaking and entering, yes. It’s quiet. Not a whole lot of nonsense. People tend to leave each other alone. I guess that’s probably why you came to stay here.”