The Twisted Fairy Tale Box Set

by Holly Hook

  “Don’t make my trip any more harsh than it has to be,” Annie said, fixing those dark, soulless eyes on me. Yeah. She was Alric’s sister, all right. Evil must run in the family. I didn’t want to imagine what her children would be like. They’d be my half siblings and nothing like my brothers. I could never love Annie’s children the way I did them.

  Annie settled back into her place, taking the knife with her. She'd want Mica to watch me die. It was the only reason she was keeping him alive. I wondered what the king of the Sun Kingdom had said to her when they met before.

  Holding Mica the best I could with my hand behind his back, I opened the back compartment and pulled the sack of flowers out the best I could. Thankfully Mica had tied it shut and they all remained inside. I pulled a muscle in my shoulder pulling the sack down between me and Mica, but I ignored the pain, closed the compartment up, and let Mica fall back to the seat. He didn't wake. The air in the car remained sharp. I hoped he would wake soon. Brie and I were alone here.

  The cold feeling wavered and Mica's eyelids fluttered, but then he was out again.

  Yes. Annie had to focus. I hoped it drained her by time we reached the camp.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” Brie begged me. “Just work on those shirts and be good. We don’t want to make Annie upset.”

  There was something more in her words, but I didn’t know what it was.

  “Yes,” Annie said. “Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t want to see this young king’s blood get all over the inside of this car.”

  I moved over and leaned across Mica, glaring at Annie. She wouldn’t kill me now. She wanted to deliver me to the village and watch me suffer. It was there in her eyes, in her sly little smile. Suffering was another specialty in that family.

  “How noble,” she said. “Always throwing yourself in front of the carriage for others. I’m sad to say that it gets you nowhere.”

  I glared at her. Annie didn’t know love. She didn’t know what it was like to have another person’s life in her hands or that weight on her shoulders. At last, she turned away and kept the knife pointed at Brie, arm raised a bit and shaking. Fatigue was creeping in. Annie would have to maintain that for the rest of the drive. If her magic drained enough, she might not be able to put the Macon disguise on again.

  But I might be hoping for be too much.

  The shirts.

  I opened the bag as Mica muttered something about his mother in his sleep. He was troubled. He had every right to be. I grabbed a handful of flowers and held my hands up, trying to calm the shaking. This might be my last chance. Annie had the book and we had no way to prove our case to the villagers. I didn’t even know if my story was supposed to end happily or what would happen when the time came.

  So I went to work, putting all my focus into the shirt.

  Annie watched every once in a while, snickering to herself each time, but I ignored her. I wove the stems and blossoms into Immanuel’s shirt and set it down on top of Irving's. I had to keep my legs together to make room for everything and they soon began to cramp, but I kept going. I couldn’t afford to stop.

  The cars around us got thinner. The night was getting late. It must be past midnight already. I wished someone would see us and stop us. But I was on my own. Mica slept next to me and I went to work making the next shirt, the one for eleven year old Ike. He was the same age now as I was when I found Immanuel by the river. If I died, at least I’d know that he would never have to bear the responsibility I had. Swans didn’t worry about their siblings.

  Did they?

  My hands cramped and screamed, but at last, I finished Ike's shirt. It was sloppier than the rest but it held together. I was getting much better at this. I grabbed another handful of the flowers and went to work on Isaac’s. This one would be smaller. He was just eight. That made it easier. I had gone through more than half of the flowers now.

  Brie stole a glance back at me, but Annie held the knife up higher and she returned to driving. I dared a look outside. Forest closed in on both sides. We were heading into the hills and the road was sloping into higher elevations. It was still completely dark, but dawn couldn’t be very far off.

  And with dawn came my fate.

  My brothers’ fate, too.

  I wove faster and faster, finishing Isaac's shirt and moving on to Ivan's.

  Brie pulled off the main road and onto a smaller one. She braked and turned us down another, narrower road without any cars. It was very, very dark out here.

  We were close to the camp.

  The car rolled uphill and I wove flower after flower into Ivan's shirt. I had only one more to go. Annie watched me again and laughed. It was a knowing laugh, like she knew something that I didn't.

  "You think I don't know the story?" she asked. "Do you know how useless those are going to be? Wait. You don't."

  I let out a breath. Blood rushed to my ears. Annie had an advantage. Everyone around me knew how the story was supposed to end. I was the only one in the dark.

  I put the finishing touches on Ivan's little shirt.

  The only one left with Isiah's.

  My smallest little brother. The baby.

  "Fifteen more minutes before we reach the camp," Annie said. "How fast can you weave that? Let me watch how fast you tie those knots."

  Brie shifted and kept driving. It wasn't that she had a choice. She was taking me to my death and she knew it. Her face was a blob in the rearview mirror, but even so I could tell her eyes were red. She hadn't spoken a word since we'd gotten into the car, locked in our dazes.

  Mica continued to sleep.

  Maybe he should stay asleep. Then he wouldn't have to watch me die. At least he would be spared the agony.

  I began Isiah's shirt.

  Maybe Mica could give these to them, now that he knew the truth. If he survived.

  Stilt sat up on the other side of Mica. "Where are we?"

  I couldn't answer. Annie gave him a silent look and he withered. His inner glow seemed to vanish. The car remained cold as ever.

  I wove.

  Tied knots.

  Prayed.

  Flowers fell from my hands as Mica kept breathing deeply. The cold weakened as Annie's power must have drained, but she kept staring at the king. She was focusing her energy on him, keeping him asleep. He was the strongest of us and the most fierce. Of course she'd want him to be out of the picture.

  But underneath that sly smile were nerves.

  Annie was worried about something and it had to do with Mica.

  He must have seen who murdered Mary in the story and Annie didn't want that out.

  But that wouldn't matter at sunrise.

  And the light was turning pink outside, peeking through shadowy pines and ancient forest like fire.

  Sunrise was almost here.

  Another knot.

  And another.

  I wasn't going to finish this in time. Brie slowed the car, but Annie raised the knife at her again and she sped up. Brie had no control of this.

  "Leave her alone," Stilt demanded.

  Annie whirled on him. She raised the knife and Stilt raised both hands, leaning as far back as he could into the seat.

  "All right. All right," he said. "Just don't hurt her."

  "Don't try to shapeshift on me," Annie told him. "It won't last long, I guarantee you." Then she turned around and kept the knife on her lap. "Oh, look. We're here."

  Ahead, the camp spread out behind the sign, which read Boy Scouts of America in big blue letters. Brie stomped on the brake and I went forward, bumping my head on the seat. She didn't react. Brie seemed transfixed by something inside the camp.

  Annie held up the red flower. In a blur, her form shifted and Macon sat there, complete with his serious, know-it-all face. He nodded to us. "Brie. Mica. Stilt. The three of you will not say a word about this. In fact, I'll make sure you join this girl here in her vow of silence."

  Mica opened his eyes and lunged at the Annie-Macon. The copy leaned back a
nd glared. Mica stopped as if he’d hit a wall and tried to shout something through closed lips. Stilt did the same. The car remained stopped and I couldn't see what lay in front of us over the fake Macon's head.

  “What did you do with the real Macon?” Stilt asked. “Not that I care all that much.”

  The fake Macon smiled. “He’s just lost,” he said. “I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t going to do any of you any favors.”

  “So you killed Mary as Macon,” Stilt said. He was getting braver.

  “No. I did not,” the fake Macon said, staring at Mica. I didn’t understand. Mica couldn’t have done it—unless he was really Alric in disguise? Then he turned to Brie. “Go on. Pull up into the camp.”

  Mica peered around the fake Macon’s head and then leaned close to me. “Weave, Ignacia. You have to weave.”

  I didn’t know why he was telling me that. Brie took the car forward. She was shaking. The early morning light was bathing the camp in a faint gray. No one was out but I knew that would change.

  And then I saw the fire pit.

  Or rather, where the fire pit used to be.

  While we were gone, the vilagers had assembled a bunch of sticks and lumber in a huge ring.

  And in the middle of it all rose a wooden stake.

  “See that?” Annie asked in Macon’s condescending voice.

  Mica leaned closer to me. He muttered something through his closed lips, over and over again.

  You deserve to live.

  My heart raced and I couldn’t think clearly. My brothers came first. Always had. Always would. With shaking hands I picked up another handful of flowers. Isiah’s shirt was the last. I went to work, doing the now-familiar movements of weaving the collar. Brie slowly pulled up beside the timber and I forced myself not to look at it. I had to free my brothers. Any good story would end with that.

  The fake Macon opened the passenger door of the car. “Don’t try to leave,” he said, holding up a finger. “You won’t be able to.”

  The air remained cold and he shut the front passenger door. Macon jogged over to the mens’ cabin and knocked on the closed door. No one answered.

  “I can talk,” Mica said. “Her magic. She can't do everything at once."

  Stilt tried the door. It refused to budge. Then he beat on the glass while Brie tried the same. The air in the car remained cold.

  My hands trembled and I tied more knots, struggling to finish the last shirt. If I had to die at least my brothers would be able to live.

  "We have to find a way to get you out of here," Mica said. "Your brothers. They're supposed to help you when you're about to be burned and then they're supposed to put on your shirts. It was in the story. But I think Annie has something planned for them. She knows the story, too. If you don't die, she gets burned instead."

  A shudder stole over me and I kept working. Isiah's shirt was the smallest but it was the hardest. I worked on the first sleeve and then moved down to the main part of the shirt. This was the sloppiest. The worst. I might not get it all the way done before they led me out.

  Someone finally opened the door for the fake Macon. He went into the mens’ cabin.

  "There's another thing, too, that was in the book," Mica said. The pain in his voice was heavy. Brie and Stilt watched him while he worked. "My mother. She's the killer. She's the one who framed you, not Annie."

  Chapter Twelve

  I had to stop and stare at Mica.

  He was pale. Almost green, like he was about to throw up.

  Then I remember the fake Macon and Mica's mother talking in the dining hall, speaking in low voices. If this was true, the two of them had been working together.

  Mica's mother might even be in league with Alric if she was working with Annie.

  "It's true," he said. "The mother of the king you love tries to frame you for murder."

  I went to weave another blossom. I was halfway done with the shirt and the stake and timber waited for a body and for flame. I didn’t have time to comfort Mica or reel at the revelation.

  "My mother never wanted anyone else to be in my life," Mica said, letting his face fall to his open palm. "I always knew she wanted to have the kingdom through me. She even tried to groom me as a child. I wanted to help the poor, of course, but there's more to Mother than that. She wants power. Always has since she married my father." He lets that hang in the car like there's more. “I don’t understand why she’s that way.”

  I had to stop weaving for a second. I wrapped my arm around Mica and hugged him from the side, pulling him closer. One sleeve remained unfinished on the final shirt, but hope was dying fast and I saw no swans in the sky, swooping down to save us. Annie must have done something to them already, like shot them with Macon's bow or cursed them to be stones instead.

  I let a tear fall out and Mica hugged me back.

  We were in pain together.

  I dropped the shirt. There was no way out.

  Brie picked it up. "I'll finish this for you."

  I shook my head. It was my job. My brothers said so. But this time I had gone weak. Broken. Used up. I was going to die in a few minutes and my brothers weren’t here. It didn't matter who finished the shirt.

  Brie grabbed some flowers and wove.

  Stilt sounded like he sat a hundred leagues away. "You can't turn things anymore. Or can you?"

  "I know a bit about weaving."

  I didn't know what they meant, so I closed my eyes.

  Only to hear a loud pounding on the glass.

  "Out," a man ordered. "Out. Now."

  It was the fake Macon, glaring in at us. Several of the village men stood behind him and even some of the village women had gathered around the car. Rae and Henry stood with them, watching in horror. They were powerless to act against the small crowd.

  The fake Macon opened the door and a sharp, cold energy flowed into the car. How could they not notice it?

  Mica tried to say something, but his lips had pursed together again. Annie's magic had silenced my companions. Brie continued to weave the starwort into Isiah's shirt. She moved fast, almost hypnotic with her motions. I could have just ruined the magic by letting her work on it.

  We still didn't have the magic touch my brothers needed.

  Mica screamed two words at me as I sat there, staring at the fake Macon. They were muffled and I had to guess the meaning.

  Save yourself.

  "Out," the fake Macon ordered, seizing my arm.

  His grip was cold and I slid across the seat. The world got too loud. Every sound popped out at me. Mica seized my other arm and I felt like a doll about to be ripped apart. The fabric hissed under me. One of the women muttered that she didn't want to watch this. I hooked my foot on the inside of the car and stopped Macon for a second, but another man--the old man minus his pitchfork--reached in and grabbed my arm too. I couldn't resist the combined strength of the two of them. Mica shouted through his closed mouth. Why couldn't these people see that there was dark magic? Why couldn't they feel it?

  Mica's grip broke and I went sprawling out of the car.

  I hit gravel. Dirt. Angry shouts surrounded me. Killer. Murderer. Alric's servant. These people were beyond reason. They had gone into hysterics.

  "Burn her!" a woman shouted above me. "This killer cannot be allowed to roam free."

  I looked up. An orange dress hung down to the ground.

  Mica's mother.

  The real killer, if the story was right.

  She glared down at me with a knowing look. The fake Macon stood next to her as hands grabbed me from every angle and Mica continued to shout through his closed mouth. Brie and Stilt remained in the car. What were they doing?

  Hands pulled me up. I was surrounded by angry men and women. I searched around for Rae and Henry. They might show me some compassion, but the crowd was too thick. The stake rose behind everyone and hands dragged me closer. Branches and twigs snapped under feet.

  Irving had told me once that no one could avoid screaming as
fire claimed their flesh.

  I closed my eyes. The crowd dragged me over timber. Someone made the sounds of kicking it out of the way. Everyone shouted. It all blended together. Someone wrenched my hands behind my back. I was caught in that raging river all over again and there was no fighting against it.

  These people would watch me die.

  The crowd whirled me around so fast my knee popped. Pain exloded for a second and faded. It would be nothing compared to what waited. Macon stood right in front of me, shoving me back against the pole.

  I was going to die here and my brothers would never be saved.

  "Why won't you speak?" the fake Macon yelled in my face. Someone bound my hands with rough rope. "Why won't you defend yourself? There must not be a defense. You know you're guilty."

  He stood back.

  So did everyone else.

  I was bound there, tied to the pole and surrounded by dry timber that was ready to blaze. It poked into my legs like a dozen angry claws.

  Brie and Stilt were still in the car. Several men stood around it, keeping it guard. Mica was still there, too. They were silenced, just like me. They might not get out of here alive, either.

  Macon stood up in front of the crowd. He raised his arm to silence the chatter. The red flower stuck out from his pocket and no one seemed to notice.

  And close to him stood Mica's mother. She smiled at me, giving me a knowing grin. She would enjoy watching me die. Would enjoy every second of it. I was determined not to scream. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

  And if I screamed, I would doom my brothers.

  Save yourself.

  Mica's words spun through my mind. What was the point of that when my brothers were still swans?

  Macon spoke. "We're gathered here to watch the execution of a known ally of Alric and the murderer of our beloved leader, Mary. This girl entered our village and destroyed our lives. She ruthlessly took away the life of Mary, and on the night she finally made it back to her own world, which she had been dreaming of for thirty years."