The Evil Queen (The Forest of Good and Evil)

by Gena Showalter

  PQ made a shook motion. Slurring her words, she said, “Drinks are in back.” I’d go out on a limb and guess her parents weren’t here.

  I met her stare. “What is your name? No. Never mind. I still don’t care.”

  As she sputtered, I made my way to the back of the yard, where a foldable table displayed cans of pop and beer, as well as bottles of tequila and vodka. I overheard Hartly tell PQ, “Be nice to her, and she’ll be nice to you. Be mean to her, and we can’t be friends. It’s that simple.”

  No, no, no. I didn’t want her giving up her friends on my behalf.

  And, ugh, I really didn’t want to be here. I received sneers, leers and one-bird salutes, every breeze laden with a whispered insult. Why was no one else treated this way? How did I unearth everyone’s inner creeper?

  A usually shy boy stepped in front of me and grabbed his crotch. “Go ahead. Shout into my megaphone.”

  His friends guffawed.

  I winced as if embarrassed for him, saying, “Sorry, but it looks like you only brought your miniphone.” At least I’d get to leave these meat clowns in my rearview as soon as I graduated. Then I’d start and finish college, and finally open my business.

  I imagined rolling in my piles of money, and laughed.

  A new round of cheers rang out, some of the kids chanting Peter’s name. Fingers crossed he’d gotten a busted nut!

  After selecting a bottle of cranberry juice, I found an abandoned corner bathed in shadows and stood sentry near Hartly. When a bunny braved the crowd to approach her, she picked up the little fluff nugget and nuzzled his fur. I smiled, my heart warming. PQ and the others cooed.

  A hand shot from the darkness, snaked around my wrist and yanked me deeper into the shadows. I gasped, readying my fist.

  Peter stepped into a beam of moonlight, and my surprise morphed into fury.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded.

  “I need to talk to you.” He framed my face with his hands. “I miss you. I miss what you make me feel. I made a mistake when I let you go.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “You have a girlfriend,” I snapped, wrenching free. His willingness to cheat on PQ—whether I liked her or not—disgusted me.

  I couldn’t believe I’d wasted my first kiss on this POS. Part of me wanted to kiss someone else, anyone else, right here, right now. That way, Peter wouldn’t be my last kiss, as well. But no one at this party tempted me to forget my brand-new rule: a guy had to like me to date me.

  “Please, Everly.” Eyes wild, even feverish, he backed me into the fence. “I’m desperate for you.”

  My heart raced. Many South Central seniors congregated nearby, yet I’d never felt more isolated. “Let me go, Peter. Now.”

  “Please,” he repeated, gripping my waist. “I need it. I need you.”

  “Need?” I scoffed. “You need to back off.”

  Despite a new round of protests, he pressed his mouth against mine. Instant shock. My thoughts tangled as I turned my face away and balled my hand, planning to disable him with one of Nicolas’s dirty tricks. But I hesitated.

  Violence, twice in one day? The risk—Mom’s wrath. But the reward...

  This would stop. I wanted this to stop.

  Decision made. I swung, hammering my fist into his cheek. As his head whipped to the side, pain surged through my knuckles. I didn’t care. I struck again. The bridge of his nose cracked, blood spurting. Just like Red, he howled, agonized.

  I shouldn’t feel a rush of satisfaction right now. Should I? That would be...wrong?

  No! Defending yourself was never wrong. See Everly bask in satisfaction.

  “For the record,” I said, unveiling my most menacing grin for the second time that day. “I could have ripped off your balls and stuffed them down your throat. Come near me again, and I will.” Though I wanted to kick him, I walked away as if I hadn’t a care.

  I grimaced when I spotted a smear of blood on my hand. My trembling hand. If Hartly saw me like this, she’d worry. Drawing in a shaky breath, I cast her a parting glance—she was still holding the bunny and laughing with PQ. As stealthily as possible, I worked my way through the crowd and entered the house, a spacious two-story with brick walls and fancy furniture.

  A line stretched in front of the guest bathroom. Unwilling to wait, I climbed the stairs. A tabby cat jumped onto a side table and hissed when I passed.

  “You hate me. I get it,” I muttered, moving on. At last, I found a second bathroom, this one connected to the master bedroom, where a couple was making out on the bed. My poor eyes!

  I sealed myself in the bathroom, scrubbed my hands with soap, then splashed ice-cold water on my overheated face. Droplets cleaved to my lashes as I peered at my reflection, seeking comfort in the glass, a glimpse of Angel. Something!

  My eyes... I frowned. My eyes were lighter than usual, metallic and glittering wildly.

  “What is wrong with you?” I whispered, reaching out to trace my finger around my reflection’s face.

  In seconds, tingling heat ignited in my fingertips and spread up my arms. My jaw dropped. Ripples appeared in the glass, and I blinked, trying to focus.

  No way I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. No way my reflection had changed so drastically, so fast.

  Plaited snow-white hair twined around a crown of bloodred crystal roses. Thick slashes of kohl rimmed my eyelids, creating a smoky come-hither look. No sign of my freckles, my pale skin seemingly dusted with diamond powder. I—she—wore a skintight black corset embroidered with red roses, a perfect match to the crown. A deep V displayed her cleavage to its best advantage.

  I frowned, but my reflection grinned with cold calculation. This was no Angel.

  “You want to know what’s wrong?” she asked. Another shock. A voice had never before come from the glass. And this was not just any voice, but mine. “Look. See.”

  My chest clenched, flattening my lungs. New ripples appeared in the glass, a scene taking shape, like a movie playing on a TV screen, only brighter, more intense—more real—and chillingly familiar. I saw what looked to be Nicolas and Mom’s bedroom. Same chandelier. Same four-poster bed with a wispy, white canopy. Same nightstand, with the same three vases filled with dried roses. Same plush rug with a tree of life pattern. Same bay window with lace curtains.

  Cannot compute.

  Mom trembled as she cinched her robe and faced a girl I’d never met.

  The stranger seemed close to my age, with wavy brown hair, rich brown eyes and lovely brown skin. Multiple diamond chokers circled her neck. A golden breastplate carved with strange symbols protected her torso, metal cuffs adorned her wrists, and a thick leather belt looped around her hips, with a bejeweled dagger sheathed on each side. Underneath a mesh skirt was a pair of leather tights. On her feet, fur-lined boots.

  Who was she? Just a figment of my imagination?

  “—is dead, and the prophecy is demanding its due,” the girl was saying. “You and the princesses must return. I’ll give you a week to get your affairs in order. Be ready.” She waved her hand and vanished. Just. Like. That.

  My heart leaped into my throat, a terrible chill invading my bones. That had not just happened. Right?

  In the mirror, Mom whirled on Nicolas, appearing both horrified and terrified. “Learning I can take my girls home should be the happiest day of my life. But you...you...” A sob burst from her, and she wrapped her arms around her middle. “You are a monster.”

  Features twisting with regret and shame, he reached for her. “Give me a chance to explain, Princess.”

  She bounded out of range. “No! Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare. You need to leave. I don’t want you near my daughters. We will return to Enchantia without you.”

  Enchantia?

  Shocker of shockers, panic set his eyes ablaze. “Despite my origins, I have never hurt you
. I have only ever protected you and our family. From the very beginning, I wanted to tell the princesses about their parentage, their homeland, their exalted stations and their prophecy. You didn’t, so I kept quiet. Now they are using magic, Aubrey. I sensed it earlier today. You did, too. Don’t deny it. Everly needs to learn how to control her magic. She needs my help.”

  Breathe, just breathe. In, out. Had he just referred to me and my sister as literal princesses?

  “No,” Mom repeated. Disgust darkened her features. “You aren’t just sorcerian. You are the overlord.”

  Sorcerian...overlord? What the what?

  He made no denials, just took a step closer. “Listen to me. Please. Everly is a danger to you, and to Hartly.”

  Me, a danger to my family? Never.

  “You’re wrong,” Mom croaked. “The girls cannot wield magic here. Or anywhere! No witch has ever bestowed a power upon them.”

  His hard tone jagged at the edges, he said, “You ate of the Tree of New Beginnings, did you not?”

  She bristled. “You can’t prove that. No one can.”

  “My statement stands. The girls desperately need guidance. Especially Everly. Stronger magic requires more power—power she will syphon from you.”

  In, out. Bestow power? Magic? Syphon? Why me especially, and not Hartly, too? What was the Tree of New Beginnings?

  “If she does syphon from me,” Mom said, “my magic will replenish. But she won’t. You are sorcerian, Everly is not. For all I know, you are the one syphoning my power.”

  He went still. “She’s begun syphoning from you already, then?”

  “No, no, of course not.” Her gaze darted here, there, anywhere but Nicolas. “I’m done talking with you. Leave.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, the muscles in his biceps bulging. “You are right, my secret is out. Before I came here, I had two goals. Acquire more power and assume the role of the overlord. Then I met you, and those goals changed. I wanted only to make you happy. So, I need you to forget my past and listen in order to save your life. There is a sorcerer in Everly’s bloodline. And like all sorcerian children, she can and will steal power from family first, then others. If the family is not prepared.”

  “No,” Mom insisted. “Sorcerers trick. They lie.”

  He ran his tongue over his pearly whites. “You and Hartly will leave. I will stay here and watch over Everly. I will explain what is happening and teach her how to survive without harming others. You will return only when the witch does. Once we are in Enchantia, I will acquire an altilium for Everly so that she syphons only from its members.”

  Uh, what the heck was an altilium?

  As if Mom heard my thoughts, she said, “You want Everly to abduct magic wielders and syphon their magic continually? Never!” Mom tripped to the door. “Even if I believed you, your suggestion is despicable. You are a monster. The worst! I’m better off without you.”

  He flinched but didn’t try to change her mind. Meanwhile, my head spun. None of this made sense. No way this conversation was actually transpiring back at home. Or had transpired. Or would transpire.

  Oh, crap. So many options.

  Tears streamed down Mom’s cheeks. Head high, she stalked to the closet and fished out a travel bag. “Pack your things. Leave. Now.”

  Nicolas evinced no reaction, his expression blanking. For once, I had no trouble reading his poker face. Fisted hands gave him away. “Very well. I will leave, but I will also take measures to help Everly. Maybe then you’ll admit not all sorcerers are villains.”

  “Everly?” Hartly’s voice seeped through the bathroom door, jolting me back to reality. “Are you in there?”

  The bedroom disappeared, my reflection peering back at me. My normal reflection.

  Blood whooshed out of my head, and dizziness whooshed in. “Come back.” Leaning forward, I banged on the glass. If the mirror could show me a problem, the mirror could show me a freaking solution.

  Just one more peek...

  “Show me,” I commanded. Then I waited, tense. Tenser. “Please,” I beseeched. But again, nothing happened.

  Dang it! How had I galvanized the mirror the first time, if not by voice? Think, think! Had I galvanized the mirror, or had I hallucinated, as I’d previously feared?

  Nicolas’s claims drifted through my mind. Using magic...no idea how to control it...a danger.

  A humorless laugh escaped me. Magic was a fantasy, not a reality. Right?

  Knock, knock. “Everly,” Hartly said and moaned. “I need your help. Something happened. Something’s wrong.”

  What! I pulled my gaze from the pale, shaky girl projecting all kinds of strain from the glass and tripped to the door.

  4

  Who will survive, and who will fall?

  Who will shatter like a porcelain doll?

  I whisked Hartly to our SUV, throwing elbows and glaring at anyone foolish enough to approach us. Everyone slinked away.

  My sister’s ocean water blues were as wide as saucers, and her cheeks were as pale as snow. Sweat beaded on her brow and upper lip. Dried blood caked her nostrils.

  “I’m going to drive.” No need to dig the car key from her pocket; we had a keyless ignition. And no way I’d make her drive in this condition. I’d be extra careful, and I wouldn’t glance in the mirrors unless absolutely necessary.

  She muttered a halfhearted protest but allowed me to buckle her into the passenger seat.

  “Hey,” I said, settling behind the wheel. “Guess who I saw today? Everyone I looked at.”

  The barest smile bloomed, her color brightening. “What did the maid say when she couldn’t find her broom? Where’s my broom?”

  I chuckled, both amused and relieved. With the mood somewhat lightened, I lapsed into silence, giving her time to breathe. One minute passed. Two. Three.

  The side mirror called to me, whispery soft and seductive. Look...see...

  No. Focus! Should I tell Hartly what I’d seen? What if I’d somehow tapped into a real-life fight between our parents? She had a right to know, but oh, I despised the thought of upsetting her more.

  Still, I would do it, I would tell her...after she shared her troubles with me.

  Patience had never been a tool in my arsenal. I eased onto a main roadway, merging with traffic, and quietly prompted, “Tell me what happened.”

  Another minute passed before she sighed and said, “I was standing outside when I got super weak. Blood poured from my nose, and my knees buckled, but I knew I’d be okay if I found you.”

  Me, a cure-all? I clutched the steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles bleached. “Maybe you caught Mom’s bug?”

  “Maybe,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

  “How did you find me?”

  “The cat—” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I have a confession to make. Something very strange. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t want you upset.”

  Uh-oh. “Strange how?”

  “My headaches aren’t really headaches. Not the way you think. I’ve been hearing voices. So many voices. At first, I thought I was having some kind of psychotic break. Then I wondered if I could be a mutant or something, with an ability to hear other people’s thoughts. But no. Ever, I hear animal thoughts.”

  I had no idea how to respond, every new thought setting off a land mine of emotion. Mutants, another surreal possibility to explain the unexplainable, and just as unlikely as magic.

  As if we were part of an infomercial, Hartly added, “But wait, there’s more. I can also lull animals to sleep.”

  “I... You...”

  Groaning, she covered her face with her hands. “You think I’m losing my mind. You think I need medical help.”

  “Wrong! You surprised me, that’s all. I just need time to process.” Could I process this, on top of everything else
?

  Yes, of course. My sister didn’t have an overactive imagination, and she didn’t lie for attention. So, let’s say Hartly could hear animal thoughts and lull the creatures to sleep. Let’s say I hadn’t imagined the things I’d seen in the mirror. What were the odds that something strange and random would happen to us at the same time? Not good. There had to be a connection. Something deliberate.

  To figure this out, we needed to shine light on every available piece of the puzzle. My turn had come. “All right, I have a confession of my own.” I donned my big girl panties and detailed the fight I’d witnessed in the mirror.

  Hartly listened, rapt, her jaw nearly unhinging. “Magic...you, me...the timing... What are the odds?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  She palmed her cell phone, typed, then released a pft of air. “A search for Enchantia gives a list of fictional books and a video game.” Grimace. “We’re going to have to suck it up and talk to Mom, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah. We are.” Maybe Mom had answers. “Whatever she says, we’ll be okay. As long as we’re together.”

  We reached the house without incident, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Then I parked in the four-car garage and noted the absence of Nicolas’s truck. My blood flashed cold.

  Where had he gone, and why?

  You know why...

  Nope. No way. Only a coincidence. Yet tremors rocked me as we entered the house. Mom was pacing in the living room, her face red and puffy and stained with tears.

  I stopped abruptly, ready to vomit. She wore the same nightgown I’d seen in the mirror...in the vision. Magic. Mutant.

  Thor perched on the arm of the couch. He growled at me before jumping down to wind around my sister’s ankles.

  “Momma?” Hartly whimpered, dismayed, and rushed over to enfold Mom in her embrace.

  What a lovely picture they presented, alike in so many ways. Not just physically, with their dark hair and electric blues, but personality-wise, too. So kind. So caring.

  I was the oddball in every way.

  “Where’s Nicolas?” I croaked.

  Mom shifted, putting her body between me and my twin as if we needed to be shielded from each other. But why would—