The Evil Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil)

by Gena Showalter

  He radiated abject disappointment. Too bad, so sad.

  Determined, I returned my gaze to Snow White, who regarded me with haughty disdain. “Come closer, child.”

  I made the vines push her forward. And okay, okay. Maybe I was showing off. But only a bit! I had a link to never-ending power; she did not.

  “Let’s forget the atrocities you’ve committed this day.” Do not choke on your hatred. Exhibit control. “You are also accused of selfishness, greed and rampant stupidity. Opening argument?”

  “You are guilty of being a plague upon humanity.” She struggled for freedom, a little crazed. “One day, one day soon, I will burn you alive, just as our fairy tale suggests.”

  I canted my head and met Prince Charming’s gaze. “Any admonishments for her?”

  “Right now, you are my primary concern.” He searched my eyes. Hoping to find a hint of the optimistic girl he’d first met? “You have never enjoyed harming others. Don’t start now.”

  “Don’t do this. Don’t do that,” I mocked. Inside, I commanded, Don’t soften. “You’re no fun anymore.”

  But then, I wasn’t fun anymore, either. Once, I’d been an innocent who’d thought I could have anything I wanted as long as I worked hard enough. Once, I’d chosen to believe the best of people. Once...but no longer. You could work yourself to death and gain nothing. And people, well, they would always put themselves first, no matter how many others got hurt in the process.

  To survive, I had to do the same. I had to be tougher, smarter, stronger.

  Everything always came back to strength.

  Finally, one of the protectors decided to speak up. The one I hated almost as much as Snow White. “If you do this,” she said, “if you step off this emotional cliff, you will fall.”

  “I guess you would know,” I snapped. “All of you fail to comprehend a single glaring fact.” I motioned to Snow White. “I will eagerly walk into a sword as long as I can impale her, too.”

  The members of my audience regarded me with horror and awe—the perfect combination.

  I stood and sauntered toward Prince Charming, the hem of my gown swishing at my feet. “Evil isn’t born, it’s made. One thought and action at a time.” I paused for effect. “Take a good look at what you’ve made.”

  Snow White spit curses at me.

  When I stopped a few feet away, Prince Charming swept his gaze over me, slowly, leisurely, devouring me one tasty bite at a time—and I liked it.

  “I’m looking,” he rasped. His irises flamed, every muscle in his body knotting with sudden tension. “Never want to stop.”

  New shivers almost knocked me down. Hide your vulnerabilities. Grin. Better. I traced a fingertip along the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw, then glided around him, scrutinizing him the way he’d so often scrutinized me. Could I truly destroy this beautiful warrior?

  He turned with me, twisting the vines that bound him. Fraying the vines. Soon, he would gain his freedom.

  “Want to know the difference between us?” I asked, unconcerned. “I admit I’m bad. You pretend you’re good.”

  The vines fell away, and he walked me backward. Soon was now. Got it. My heart raced. Eventually, a tree trunk halted my retreat.

  Prince Charming reached up, bracketing my temples with his hands, caging me in. At six-foot-four, he loomed over me, his gloriously broad shoulders seeming to surround me...and I loved it.

  When I inhaled, he exhaled and vice versa. We breathed for each other, agonizing awareness sizzling between us.

  “Once, I hurt you when I should have safeguarded you. Something I will forever regret. But I have learned from my mistakes.” He moved one of those big, calloused hands to my jaw and traced my cheekbone with his thumb. “Your happiness is my happiness.”

  Pull away. Pull away now! But my limbs had frozen and refused to obey my mind. I stood there, floundering, trapped by my own weaknesses. For him. For what he made me feel.

  And he wasn’t done! “Marry me, Everly. Become my wife. Let’s make each other smile and laugh for eternity.”

  I gulped. Technically, I could wed him. My so-called husband was dead. But...

  No! “You can’t be serious,” I said, my heart racing faster, thudding against my ribs.

  “This madness must cease.” Snow White yanked at her bonds. “Has she ensorcelled you?”

  The protectors issued protests of their own, until my tree limbs stuffed their mouths full of leaves.

  “Your thoughts and opinions are unwelcome,” Prince Charming told Snow White. His gaze never released mine. Those exquisite eyes, framed by the longest, thickest black lashes, created a beautiful portrait of fierce adoration. “Say yes, Everly.”

  Must stay strong. If I weakened, the vulnerability he oh so easily cultivated would cost me everything—again. I’d lost too much already. “I say...no. My vengeance will not be denied.”

  I twirled my finger, new vines wrenching Prince Charming back in line. Much better. I returned to my throne and sat with far less grace than before.

  “Do I have your full attention?” I asked.

  He remained unperturbed. “You’ve had my full attention since the moment we met.”

  Ignore the pleasure of his words. Forge ahead.

  “I declare everyone is guilty as charged.” I extended my arm to the side and slowly opened my fist. At the same time, a tree branch stretched out...out...to place a white apple in my palm. Prophecy proclaimed I would kill Snow White with poisoned fruit—for a time, at least—so I would. Only, hers would not be a restful sleep. “Now, for the sentencing portion of the trial.”

  Just as the Apple of New Beginnings had once granted me life, the Apple of Life and Death would grant me peace.

  “One bite,” I said, “and you will sleep for eternity.”

  Still not good enough. I raked my claws over my forearm. Skin tore, my venomous blood welling. I painted each claw crimson before I sank the metal tips into the apple.

  In seconds, one half of the fruit turned red.

  Fear shook Snow White when I added, “You will willingly eat this poisonous, poisonous apple, Princess, or you will watch me force-feed it to your friends. Decide.”

  Prince Charming jerked as if I’d struck him.

  Realization: yes, I could destroy him, as long as I destroyed Snow White, too. I might feel guilty for it, but I wouldn’t be swayed from my course. Not again. This is justified.

  She paled, her mouth floundering open and closed. “I won’t...you can’t...”

  She would. I could.

  Sounding resigned, Prince Charming said, “This is what you need, Everly? This will help you heal from the damage we’ve caused?”

  The questions surprised me.

  “Without a doubt,” I replied. Except, deep in my bones, I knew I couldn’t heal. Some wounds were permanent.

  “Very well. For you, my queen, I will do anything. Even this.” Somehow, he freed himself a second time, shot across the distance in a blink and snatched the apple from my grip.

  No! “Don’t you dare—” Too late.

  With his gaze still locked on mine, he bit into the poisoned fruit.

  1

  Listen well, and I’ll tell you a story.

  But take note, my darklings, it’s a wee bit gory.

  Present day

  Mortal world

  Students surrounded me, each one parked at a desk, listening as a guest professor explained quantum theory and Schrödinger’s cat.

  As he paced in front of the chalkboard, he said, “If we sealed a cat and a vial of poison inside a box, we could consider the cat both dead and alive. A fascinating paradox.”

  One student muttered something about the “tomcat” in his pants, and the kids closest to him snickered. Someone else joked about watching kitty porn, earning outright laughs, while a
third boy claimed he’d put his tomcat in the wrong kitten’s litter box last night.

  We were all (supposedly) gifted students who’d tested (remarkably) high in the sciences. I had to wonder about the validity of our scores.

  The visiting professor seemed to fight a smile before saying, “That’s inappropriate. Let’s remain on topic.”

  Underneath my desktop, I stealthily opened and closed a small compact mirror. No one looked my way. Not even Peter Kinds, the boy sitting at my right—my first, only and former boyfriend. We’d dated all summer, only to break up a week ago, the first day of our senior year. Although...

  If no one at school knows I dated him, did I ever really date him?

  Peter had demanded we keep our relationship a secret because we didn’t need “the whole school knowing our business.” Lie! I’d done an autopsy of our relationship. He’d wanted to be with me, yes, but he’d wanted the approval of our peers even more.

  I wasn’t popular. He was. I wasn’t well liked. I suspected I gave off some kind of a toxic vibe. I had one friend—my twin sister, Hartly—but she was better than a legion of admirers. She only ever saw the best in me. Meanwhile Peter, a football god, was universally adored.

  Once, I’d adored him, too.

  Open.

  Close.

  When he discovered my love for fiction, he’d decided to play the part of hero. Kind of. He’d brought me flowers, serenaded me outside my bedroom window, and delivered food from my favorite vegan restaurant. On the flip side, he’d refused to drive me to school, walk me to class, or sit beside me at lunch. Until we returned home, he wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence.

  If only I could kick my own butt for crushing on a shallow POS.

  The worst part? I couldn’t blame him. Facts were facts, and I was grade-A weird. A girl obsessed with mirrors and prone to daily delusions.

  Open.

  Close.

  Open.

  Don’t look down. Don’t you dare.

  People assumed I was vain. I wasn’t. For years, Mom had touted the dangers and absurdity of valuing appearance over inner substance. You have a pretty face. So what? You are not the architect of your DNA.

  I agreed 100 percent. Or rather, 90 percent. Okay, maybe closer to 80 percent. Loving yourself wasn’t a bad thing. But I didn’t stare into a mirror for hours at a time because I admired the view. Sometimes I thought I kinda sorta saw...someone else. A sweetheart I’d nicknamed Angel. She had pale white skin and long, dark hair. She always wore a ball gown, a thousand pounds of jewelry and a genuinely happy smile.

  For the past couple of months, I’d watched her life unfold in the glass. She gave baskets of food to the poor, visited orphanages and tirelessly cared for the sick.

  Too good to be true?

  If I was delusional, I’d deal. I didn’t want to take meds because I didn’t want to lose Angel. I liked keeping up with her activities—liked her. Though we’d never interacted, she had the number two spot on my roster of friends.

  How sad was that?

  Open. What would one glance hurt?

  No, no. Resist! I could lose track of my surroundings.

  Close.

  At least I wasn’t alone in my weirdness. Hartly drew animals in droves and had legit conversations with our dog, Thor, as if he spoke back. Mom obsessed about every version of “Snow White” in existence, and my stepdad, Nicolas, liked to dress up in wizard robes and attend sci-fi conventions.

  “Focus, Miss Morrow.”

  I jolted, tightening my hold on the compact. “Uh...”

  Mr. Wong—our regular physics teacher—peered at me from behind his desk. A total professional, he wore a white button-down and khaki slacks.

  In ripped jeans, combat boots and a black T-shirt that read An Apple A Day Will Keep People Away—If You Throw It Hard Enough, I looked better suited for a comfy night in.

  Mr. Wong had never before singled me out. Few ever had. Most people were afraid of me from moment one. The more they got to know me, the more the fear grew, no matter how nice I was. I’d never understood it, but I had accepted my inability to change it. What had changed?

  “Are you giving our guest your full attention?” he asked.

  “No, sir. I’m not.” According to Mom, lies were the language of villains, and truth was the language of heroes. So, I always opted for honesty. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve got the gist. But let’s be honest, I’m never going to use this information in real life.”

  Desks squeaked and clothing rustled as students turned to face me. Even Peter, whose gaze I avoided...whose gaze I felt like a live wire. Whispers erupted.

  Word about my “misbehavior” would spread through South Central High like an STD. This was a small school in small-town Oklahoma, where everyone’s life was fodder for debate.

  Mr. Wong flung an “I’m so sorry” glance at the visiting professor. “What do you plan to do with your real life, Miss Morrow?”

  “I’ll double major in business and economics, and start my own company.” I know, I know. I made it sound like I’d snap my fingers and poof, I’d have a billion-dollar empire. I understood I’d have to work for it, that there would be ups and downs.

  Hartly would get a degree in veterinary studies, and her practice would be next door to my office.

  “What kind of company?” Mr. Wong asked.

  I had yet to commit to a single idea. If I focused on the economics side of my degree, I could offer risk and reward assessments. I’d get to tell people everything they were doing wrong—and get paid for it. Fun!

  Over the summer, I’d taken every workshop and class available online and at a nearby community college.

  Plain and simple, I needed to be my own boss. That way, no one could fire me, dock my pay or demand I do something I didn’t want to do. I would be in total control. The one responsible for my success or failure.

  Before Mom had married Nicolas, she’d been dependent on the goodwill of her bosses. How many times had she sobbed because of something they’d done or said? How many times had she gotten fired unexpectedly, and we’d ended up on the streets?

  Never again would we suffer in such a way. One way or another, I would provide for my family. Yes, Nicolas supported us right now. But what would happen if he fell out of love with Mom or died?

  Better to be self-reliant.

  “Does it matter?” I would not discuss my plans with someone I didn’t know. Playing dumb, I fluffed my hair and added, “I’m a premillionaire.” Open, close.

  “Physics teaches us to think, Miss Morrow.” The visiting professor motioned to the formulas he’d written on the chalkboard. “Physics makes the impossible possible, and helps us find solutions for the smallest and biggest problems. Please, tell us how that isn’t helpful in real life.”

  Ready to shed all this unwanted interest, I said, “Please, tell me about the moral and ethical ramifications of Schrödinger’s cat. I mean, an animal might or might not have been murdered, dying a torturous death, simply to satisfy and dissatisfy one person’s curiosity about a question he both could and could not answer. In this case, curiosity literally did and did not kill the cat, but neither outcome justifies the means he employed to both discover and not discover the answer.”

  Gasps and giggles abounded, and he pursed his lips.

  To my relief, the end-of-day bell rang, putting an end to our debate. Kids gathered their belongings and stood. I did the same, stuffing the compact into my back pocket.

  What was Angel doing right this moment? Saving someone from misery, no doubt. Dang, I missed her.

  To my surprise, Peter approached, his gaze riveted on my birthmark—about the size of a quarter and shaped like an apple, the bright red mark occupied the center of my wrist. Hartly had one on the back of her neck.

  Mom often called us her sweet bonum et malum. Sh
e’d said the phrase meant “apple babies.” And maybe it did, where she was from. But I’d done a little research and discovered the phrase was Latin and literally translated to “good and evil.”

  Once, Peter had loved tracing the mark with his fingertips.

  “What?” I snapped now, as prickly as a rosebush.

  He paled, then stormed out of the classroom without saying a word. Like everyone else, Peter was afraid of me. He’d once told me, You scare me, but I like it.

  “Today’s homework is on my desk,” Mr. Wong called, and groans of disappointment sounded. “And, Miss Morrow? Think about what was said today.”

  “I will...and I won’t.” I hurried over, swiped up the assignment and darted out the door.

  Students flooded the hallway where myriad blue and gold posters decorated the walls, praising the mighty Sabercats. Lockers swung open and slammed shut. Hundreds of conversations took place at once, excitement palpable as kids grabbed their bags and raced to the parking lot, ready to enjoy the weekend.

  “Everly. Wait up.”

  Ugh. I recognized that “my kingdom, my peasants” tone. It belonged to one of Hartly’s legion of friends. The girl most likely to win prom queen.

  Yesterday, Prom Queen had posted, oh, about a thousand pictures of her and Peter with the caption “Best boyfriend ever!” I’d wanted to bleach my eyes and scrub my brain with sandpaper.

  Peter had moved on with lightning speed, and he had no problem going public with their relationship. What a shocker.

  Sighing, I turned. “Yeah?”

  PQ stood next to Peter, her back pressed against the bank of lockers. A dark braid hung over one shoulder, and a flirty baby-doll dress clung to her hourglass figure. Yellow ribbons criss-crossed down her lightly tanned calves, ending in a pair of ballet flats.

  My former boyfriend flicked me an uncomfortable glance before getting very busy, very fast, stuffing books into his backpack.

  Ignore the hurt. The way he treated me proved his worth, not mine.

  PQ took a moment to gather her courage before crossing the distance, giving me a thorough once-over and grimacing as if she’d spied something distasteful. Whatever. Her opinion meant nothing to me. Less than nothing.