The Evil Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil)

by Gena Showalter

  Security was everything.

  “What if the boy had fought back?” She stirred the broth again, splattering droplets over the stove top. “You could have died. You still could! What if you’re bleeding internally?”

  See? Irrational fear. “Spoiler alert. Nine out of ten doctors agree—none of us are getting out of here alive. But I’m not going anytime soon, and I promise I’m not bleeding internally.”

  Mom slanted me the look. A regal expression that projected a thousand reprisals, deeper disappointment and more gut-wrenching fear. I shrank into my seat.

  “You take death so lightly,” she said. “I know you think my concerns are unfounded, but I see the whole picture. You do not.”

  “What is the whole picture, then?” The scent of leek and fennel made my mouth water. Because of Hartly’s affinity for animals, we’d all become hardcore vegans. The diet suited me well.

  “To begin with, you are a prin—” She pressed her lips together. “You are destined for—” Again, she pressed her lips together, going quiet.

  I was what? A principled girl? “Please tell me you didn’t visit another psychic.”

  She’d always referred to psychics as “oracles,” and more than once she’d forked over huge hunks of cash for “a way to change fate itself.” A couple of times, she’d even paid a “witch” for a “protection spell.”

  The first time, she’d been so excited, muttering, At home, readings and spells are too expensive, even for royalty, a true sacrifice necessary. Here, readings and spells are so cheap. I must only part with stacks of green paper. I don’t understand why every peasant from every land doesn’t seek mystical aid.

  The last time, she’d wilted, saying, Oracles are descended from the fae and cannot lie. But...I think this one did. She knew nothing about the fairy tale.

  She’d been talking to herself, unaware that I’d been absorbing every word and worried about her mental health.

  “You are destined for...” Once again, the color in Mom’s cheeks faded. For a brief moment, she met my gaze. The fear had returned and redoubled, causing a small corner of my heart to wither. “You are my daughter, Everly, and I will love you forever, no matter what you do. I just hope you’ve learned a valuable truth this day. Revenge is poison—for you. Revenge is evil.”

  All my life I’d heard a million variations of evil is this, and evil is that. The one I’d internalized: evil is knowing what’s right and doing what’s wrong anyway.

  Now shame coursed through me in one sizzling wave after another.

  And Mom wasn’t even done! “Evil wears many faces. Today it wore yours, eh?”

  A new pang cut through my chest, courtesy of an invisible dagger.

  “I did my best to provide you with a normal childhood, and safeguard you from others,” she said. “Must I now safeguard others from you?”

  The invisible dagger twisted. “No. I’ll do better. I’ll be better.”

  This time, Hartly reached over to squeeze my hand, a simple touch that conveyed an avalanche of love and support. I’d always looked out for her physically, yes, but she’d always looked out for me emotionally.

  “I’m glad you’ll do better,” Mom said, “but you are not going to enjoy your suspension from school. You will spend the next two weeks doing everyone’s chores. You will clean the house from top to bottom, do all the dishes, dust every surface, mow the yard and pull weeds in the garden.”

  “Okay. Yes, I will.” I traced my thumb over the rim of the compact. “Like a true Disney princess, I’ll do everything with a smile and a song.”

  Hartly put the few drama classes she’d taken to good use, pretending I’d stabbed her in the heart. “If you start singing, Thor will start howling and the neighbors will call the cops, claiming someone is being murdered.”

  Mom bobbed her head in agreement, until she noticed the compact I’d inadvertently lifted. She stilled, frowned.

  “Okay, no singing,” I said, hoping to get her mind back on track.

  Hartly blew me a kiss. “This is for your own good, Everly.” To Mom, she said, “I have an idea. A friend of mine is hosting a party later tonight. Forget the chores. As part of Everly’s punishment, you should make her go with me.”

  I groaned. “I’d rather do the chores.”

  “Will the friend’s parents be home?” Mom asked.

  “Probably not,” I piped up. “I bet kids will be pounding beers, doing drugs and having sex.”

  Mom arched a brow, all Sherlock Holmes just found a clue. “Do you plan to drink or do drugs, Everly?”

  “No,” I grumbled. I’d gotten drunk once in my life. Over the summer, I’d gone to a party and had too many shots. I’d hated the loss of control.

  Before Mom rendered her verdict, hinges squeaked as a door snicked shut. Nicolas entered the kitchen, wearing his usual suit and tie, a briefcase in hand.

  Mom brightened at the sight of him. “May your star shine bright, my love.” Her standard greeting.

  “May your star shine brighter, Princess.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, before facing us and nodding. “Hello, girls.”

  “Hello,” we said in unison.

  Nicolas was tall, lean and golden from head to toe, with model-handsome looks that often left my mom sighing dreamily. Once I’d heard her say, Appearance never matters, but oh, Nicolas’s face...his body...they certainly do not hurt.

  Nicolas came from money. A lot of money. He didn’t have to work, but work he did, using his wealth to help others, running a shelter for refugees and immigrants. A place of hope. And yet, peopled tended to fear or hate him from moment one, too.

  Except Mom. She’d all but melted at moment one. Maybe that was why he enjoyed pampering her so much. Last year, he’d bought her this two-story farmhouse. Outside, blue shutters framed stained glass windows; inside, designer curtains accented every pane. Fancy wainscoting and gold-leaf paint adorned...everything. There was a crystal chandelier in each room, even the bathrooms. At the bottom of a winding staircase, carved lions stood sentry.

  “How was your day?” Mom asked.

  For a moment, he projected irritation, and I had to do a double take. That was a first. His day must have sucked the big one.

  Mom framed his face with her hands. “Tell me what’s wrong, love.”

  He brushed the tip of his nose against the tip of hers. “One of my projects met with...obstacles. Nothing I cannot handle. Now, tell me what has caused your strain, and I will move heaven and earth to fix it.”

  How I envied their connection. They built each other up, never tore each other down.

  After Mom explained the situation at school, Nicolas said, “We want the suspension lifted? Done. I will visit—”

  “No, no.” Mom shook her head. “We’re upset because Everly broke a boy’s nose, and violence is never the answer.”

  “Right. Yes. Of course.” He nodded, as if he’d known her meaning all along. “But she showed great restraint, did she not? The boy walked away. He did not have to be carried. Let us celebrate the victories, however they come.”

  Dang, I loved this man.

  He wasn’t just good for her. He was good for me. Every time he’d taught me self-defense, he’d focused on dirty, underhanded moves guaranteed to put an opponent in the hospital. (Mom had no idea.)

  “Go wash up, love.” She waved her husband away. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour.”

  “For Aubrey Standard Time, I must add an hour.” He kissed her brow, ruffled Hartly’s hair, then tweaked my nose.

  Hartly laughed. “He’s got you there, Mom. If you wore a watch, it would only ever need to read Late.”

  “I am not that bad,” she said.

  She was worse. “May I be excused until dinner, Mom?” Anything to escape her verdict about PQ’s party. Besides, I was ready to spend quality time wi
th Angel.

  “No, you may not.” She wagged a carrot in my direction. “You’re going to sit there and think about your actions.”

  Fine. I’d just sneak a quick peek at my compact.

  In stealth mode, I hid the mirror under the counter again, leaned to the side and adjusted the angle of my wrist. Finally, I had a clear view of the glass.

  I didn’t see Angel.

  I saw my mother.

  Horror stabbed me, and I had to swallow a cry. She looked haggard and sickly, as if she had one foot in the grave. Her dark hair hung in matted tangles, and her usually tanned skin was pale and waxen. Blood dripped from her nose, and a blue tinge shaded her chapped lips. She’d lost weight, pounds her small bone structure had needed.

  In real life, Thor barked and raced around my chair, foam collecting at the corners of his mouth. I barely heard him, my ears roaring with distress.

  Features taut with concern, Hartly gripped my shoulder and gave me a little shake. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  Nicolas returned in a rush, as if he’d sensed something amiss.

  Breathe, just breathe. Real-life Mom stood on the other side of the counter, just as before, just as beautiful as before. But she’d grown pale, a sheen of sweat slicking her brow.

  Frowning, she peered at her trembling hands before clutching the counter as if she feared she would fall.

  “Mom, are you okay?” I demanded.

  “A moment of weakness,” she muttered. “I’m fine. Or I will be fine.”

  Is she dying?

  My stomach churned. Our roles had just reversed. Something strange had happened, and I’d imagined her at death’s door, while she’d denied anything was wrong.

  I thought I understood the paradox of Schrödinger’s cat a bit better now. Not knowing what had happened, I could both believe I’d seen my mother in the glass, and that I hadn’t seen her in the glass. The choice belonged to me.

  What am I going to believe?

  Better question: What am I going to do about it?

  3

  In this tale of vengeance and woe,

  foe may be friend and friend may be foe.

  Dinner passed without a hitch, life returning to normal. Well, our version of normal, anyway.

  Between a lively chat about what we’d call milk if we couldn’t actually call it milk—I’d gone with udder juice—and which fictional characters we loved in books but might dislike in real life, Hartly tried to convince Mom I needed to attend PQ’s snookball party. Thankfully, a verdict still had not been rendered.

  After dinner, Mom and Nicolas retired to their bedroom—I did not want to know why—and I got busy on the dishes.

  Hartly helped out, drying after I washed.

  “Go to the party without me?” I pleaded when we finished. “Peter will be there, and I’d rather not see him.” Although, it might be kind of nice to show up and ruin his evening.

  I smiled. It’s the little things in life.

  No, no. I preferred to stay in tonight. “Besides, everyone at school hates me.” People hated what they feared, I guessed.

  “They don’t hate you,” she said, Thor dancing at her feet. “They just don’t know you. If you’d drop your force field, even for a second, they’d grow to love you.”

  “Doubtful. Underneath layers of vengeful crankiness are more layers of vengeful crankiness.” Maybe people sensed my negativity, and that was why they feared me on sight?

  “At least you have layers!”

  “Ha! If my layers are a raindrop, yours are an ocean.” Underneath her smiles and sweetness was a wild ferocity I admired. If someone hurt an animal or a child, she unleashed the kraken.

  “Please, Everly. Please, please, please.” She smashed her hands together, forming a steeple. “Go to the party. I’ll owe you so big. I’ll even play snookball with you, and I won’t tease you when you lose. Not at first, anyway. In case I wasn’t clear, you’re gonna lose.”

  How could I resist her? “Fine. If Mom agrees, I’ll go to the stupid party. But only because you won my lottery for a butt kickin’.”

  With a squeal of happiness, she threw her arms around me. “Thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

  I decided not to tell her about the image I’d seen in the compact, not until I knew what had happened. Had I hallucinated? Could I blame an overactive imagination? A medical condition, perhaps? Had I lost touch with reality for a split second? Deep down, I still felt like me.

  Was Mom sick? Was I? I felt normal.

  Normal...

  I gave you a normal childhood. As normal as possible, anyway.

  What did Mom consider an abnormal childhood? Was she going to get sick?

  Foreboding wrapped me in a cloak of ice. I wished I knew more about her. Where she came from, the identity of her parents, the identity of my father or any genetic medical conditions in our family line.

  “You’ll have fun.” Hartly hopped up and down and clapped. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Why do you like Prom Queen and her pack of wildebeests, anyway? They are emotional bullies, cruel to anyone they deem unworthy.”

  “Well, you know how wounded animals growl and snap at anyone who approaches? I’ve noticed the same behavior in humans. People who hurt deep inside often lash out at others, creating a toxic cycle. I just want to love them and help them heal.”

  Or maybe they used their internal hurts as an excuse? “That is very kind of you. And another layer.”

  Hartly kissed my cheek. “I’ll talk to Mom, change, and we’ll head out.”

  “So certain she’ll say yes?”

  “Name one time she’s ever told me no,” she said, her eyes gleaming with merriment.

  Good point.

  Hartly dashed off to our bedroom, our sanctuary. The cathedral ceiling boasted a mural of sunshine and clouds. We’d even adhered glow-in-the-dark stars. The walls were painted in different shades of green and brown to resemble a summer forest. A cluster of small potted lemon trees provided a clean, citrusy fragrance, adding to the outdoorsy effect.

  Footsteps sounded. Mom stepped into the kitchen while cinching the tie on her robe. Oh, good gracious, she had bedhead.

  “I have made a decision,” she said. “You may attend the party, but you must guard Hartly with your life. As part of your punishment, you are not to have any fun. That’s an order.”

  Ah. The real reason Mom had relented. To enlist my protection services.

  I offered a jaunty salute. “I won’t let anyone peer pressure me into laughing, Mom. Not even Hartly, who promised me tons of fun. You have my word.”

  Hartly joined us. She wore a pink T-shirt with lace trim, a pair of shorts and tennis shoes decorated with hearts. Around her neck, a small apple dangled from a silver chain. The only piece of jewelry she owned.

  Mom had often said, Greed is the beating heart of evil. Do not feed it, and it will not grow.

  “Be careful, girls,” Mom said now, already wringing her hands with worry.

  We muttered assurances and kissed her goodbye. As I walked away, she clung to my hand until the very last second.

  Hartly and I piled into our fully loaded SUV, with Hartly behind the wheel. I never drove, too afraid I’d see Angel in one of the mirrors and lose track of the road. Not that my sister knew the reason I refused.

  I should tell her, even though I didn’t know what, exactly, was going on, but I didn’t want the one person who loved me unconditionally, who never feared me, who only ever saw the best in me, to start wondering about my sanity.

  “Why did the boy cry?” Hartly asked as we motored down the road. “Because water leaked from his tear ducts.”

  Good one. “What do you call a fly with no wings? A fly with no wings.”

  She chuckled as she pulled into PQ’s neighborhood, where a mult
itude of vehicles littered the streets. Thankfully, acres of land separated the houses, so there was plenty of space to park.

  We emerged into cool night air fragrant with magnolias and car exhaust. I looked to the stars, the jewelry of the sky. Pinpricks of light scattered across the inky blackness; the beauty took my breath away. I frowned. Or maybe homesickness was responsible for my breathlessness? I felt the burn of it deep in my bones. Weird!

  “Come on.” My sister urged me forward.

  In PQ’s front yard, crowds of kids milled around a row of tiki torches.

  Hartly had a smile and word of encouragement for everyone, while the forced interactions frayed my nerves. I quickened my pace, all but dragging her into the backyard.

  Cheers resounded around the inflated pool table, where Peter and another boy were playing snookball. I stutter-stepped at the sight of him, my pulse points hammering.

  “Hartly!” PQ and three others rushed over to hug my sister, each girl accompanied by the sharp, pungent odor of alcohol. “I’m so glad you came.”

  She returned the hugs, offering each girl a compliment.

  “Oh, you two look so pretty!” Then “Your hair is gorgeous. You’ve got to teach me how to create those curls.” And “Do you even have pores? Your skin is flawless!”

  She threw her arm around my waist, adding, “You guys know my twin, Everly. The most amazing person in the whole world. I took a poll. It’s official.”

  PQ’s bright glow of happiness dimmed, and monotone greetings rang out.

  “Wow, I can really feel the love.” I kissed Hartly’s cheek, and told her, “You promised me fun, but Mom made me promise not to have any. So, I’m going to get something to drink and see if I can find trouble instead.” In actuality, I didn’t want her worrying about my ever-darkening mood. And though I’d played with the idea of ruining the party, I decided I’d keep myself entertained some other way. I’d hate ruining Hartly’s fun in the process.

  “You don’t want to play snookball with me?” Hartly asked with a pout.

  “And embarrass you in front of your friends? Nah.”