Rumpelstiltskin: a short story (Not quite the Fairy Tale Book 7)

by May Sage

  Rumpelstiltskin

  May Sage

  Illustrated by

  Addendum Designs

  Madam’s Books

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Note from May

  Shy Girls do it Better

  Otherwise…

  Chapter 1

  Like many women had asked before and after, Rum grumbled, “How difficult can it be to find a partner with whom I can conceive a child?”

  Except, it really was quite difficult, because Rum wasn’t exactly human; or a woman, for that matter.

  He was a Fay – no, not a Fay descendent, but a one hundred percent Fay, born over three thousand years ago in the golden days of the Seelie Court.

  If anyone had told him, then, that he would be muttering about longing for fatherhood, he would have laughed out loud, for surely, no Fay of his rank had need to worry about such a thing?

  In those days, he only had to whisper that he was seeking a partner to have thousands of females, human and fay alike, lining up at his door.

  He was The Rumpelstiltskin, and silly as his name was, that made him the Seelie Heir. A wave of his hand could wield fire or turn just about anything into gold, which even in those days, had been pretty damn impressive. Moreover, he looked like every single fantasy females whispered of when no male could hear them, all rolled into one.

  But the Seelie Court fell, just like the elven kingdoms had fallen before, when the Gods decided they were tired of them.

  The Old Tales recounted a noble fight on either side, but in truth, it had been nothing but a blood bath – those who survived, like him, did so because they had the sense to hide.

  He hadn’t wanted to, of course – he had been a hundred-year-old hot headed, warm blooded male with his fair share of testosterone – but being born of the Seelie Queen meant that when your mother said, “stay in the fucking tree for a decade,” you stayed in the fucking tree.

  He was bound, the branches holding him in place, and wrapping around his limbs every time he tried to move.

  And he – unlike his mother, unlike his people – lived.

  It had only been ten years, but Rum awakened to a world were Gods were already fading into distant memory, something children were warned about in their sleep.

  They had been chased from their lands, supposedly forever, by the grace of four Goddesses, if the rumors he heard during his travels were true.

  They’d saved Gaia, but not in time to save the Seelie Court.

  Most Fays, Seelie or Unseelie, died during the purge; those who survived had stories quite similar to his – they’d hidden themselves. Some had been forced to do so, others not so much. It didn’t matter; in the end, the hundred males and females he found were the remainder of their species, he had to learn to get along with them, even if some had been selfish cowards.

  Three thousand years later, Rum was the only one of that lot still breathing – but that wouldn’t last long.

  Unless he got a damn child; back to grumbling.

  Fays were born with the potential ability to live forever – yet with every spell they cast, they lost one day of life – Rum had felt it, when his body had warned him he was on his last run. At the time, he hadn’t worried; he had one thousand spells. Plenty of Fays he knew went a year without casting so much as one. That left him plenty of time, right?

  Seven hundred spell later, he knew he was screwed.

  There was only one light, one faint possibility: if he had a child, every spell would be erased, his slate wiped clean, but achieving that feat was more complex than these things normally were, because unlike humans who were akin to bunnies in that respect, Rum could only reproduce with a certain kind of female.

  He had a strong bond with fire, and there was only one female fay who also did: Maleficent.

  Enough said; moving on.

  His human options were as limited: it was well known that the Cinders had all but perished, and the only one alive was well and truly taken – married, with a newborn and another one on the way.

  He didn’t need a fay descent, just a compatible female. In the old days, Rum had met plenty of those, so he knew just what he was looking for – that spark, that little flicker of possessiveness that told him he should own her body.

  But he’d paid attention to his surroundings for over two years, and not once had he felt even a little bit drawn to anyone.

  He had two months – or just under three – to find and impregnate a suitable woman. Then, he had to pray that his seed took hold and maybe, just maybe, he might survive the year.

  Aria had read the theory of reincarnation of the Eastern Kingdoms, and she wondered what kind of a lowly, despicable fiend she might have been in her previous life. A wasp. She must have been a wasp: useless, vindictive, pretty damn painful.

  Why, otherwise, would the universe punish her quite so much?

  Only one thought crossed her mind when the two muscleheads cornered her, gagged her, and threw her at the back of their van.

  What had her parents done, now?

  It hadn’t been a random attack, she’d quite obviously been a target: why, otherwise, would they choose her?

  She wasn’t blind to the reflection the mirror threw at her; she was pretty. If she hadn’t been, her parents wouldn’t have managed to make their fortune by making her model at the tender age of four; but it had been seven years since the last time her face had appeared on any billboard, and now she hid behind a pair of useless glasses and loose clothing. Life was generally easier that way.

  At the time of the kidnapping, she’d been flanked by Sheila Vaneer who had been voted Miss Universe twice and Lucinda Claw, a vain, but strikingly beautiful actress at the highest point of her career.

  So yep: if they’d just stopped by after thinking “hey, let’s kidnapped a girl for fun today,” they would not have gone for her.

  Of course, they could have been hired by just about anyone – a crazed fan, an angry ex, a model she’d rejected for her latest shoot…

  Okay, no, let’s be realistic: the problem was her parents.

  They weren’t exactly the stereotype: sure, they had been when they’d been fifteen and nineteen, and they both quit school, but there had been no trailer park for them.

  No, the Trends were above all that. Instead, they’d somehow talked their way to renting a penthouse in the city – a place neither of them should have afforded to pay for. But manage, they did – in fact, they still lived there.

  Aria had been twelve when she’d understood the source of their wealth; they conned, they sold drugs, and occasionally, when she wanted some pretty shiny rock, her mother whored herself. Her father encouraged it.

  By fifteen, she’d heard enough whispered words behind closed doors to understand that both parents were talking about when they could finally auction her off to pack a bag and bugger off.

  The decision had been impulsive, rash, irrational – everything she wasn’t. She spent the entire night crying in the rain, wondering if she needed to go back, until it hit her.

  She really, really didn’t need to.

  She had a job. Sure, she didn’t do it frequently, because her school had threatened to kick her out if her attendance didn’t improve, and when she got to work she wasn’t sure how much she made – would it be enough to support herself?

  Aria was a model. The diaper commercials had changed to doll adverts, first, then there had been the zit cream videos. Now, she was tall
and feminine enough to do jeans, high street catalogues, and the occasional catwalk.

  The morning after she left, she walked across town to her agency, instead of going to school.

  She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but she just opened her mouth and told her whole story to Steffie Clark, her manager, who listened without a word until she was done.

  “Well, darlin’,” the woman said, talking around her bubbling gum, with her thick New World accent, “I’m surprised. Always thought you were pretty, meek and dumb. Looks like I only got two right.”

  Aria considered asking which two, but thought better of it.

  “You should have left yea’s ago, sweetpea. They emancipated you for you to be able to sign your own contracts, remember?”

  She did, in fact, remember that. It hadn’t meant very much at the time, she’d barely understood it. She still didn’t.

  “What does it mean, though?”

  “That legally, you’re pretty much an adult. Let me go speak to the boss, I’ll beg off from the handful of meetings scheduled this morning. We can go get breakfast, then I’ll sort you out.”

  She did that, and then some. The first stop was at a bank, where she’d opened her own account – Steffie loaned her a hundred marks, and arranged it so that she would directly receive her money from that day onward. Then, they went to the police, enquired about filing for a restraining order – which they had no grounds to file at that point – and finally, she took her to her own home, the small apartment she shared with her ugly, hairless cat.

  By the following week, Aria was registered at a new school, and starting a new life.

  Yet every now and then, her perfect world collapsed. Each time, it had something to do with her damn parents.

  Chapter 2

  Rum wasn’t exactly what one would call altruistic. He’d seen too many people die, too many worlds collapse, to give a damn about just about anything.

  He liked Cinderella, and she came with a network of interesting people; he had to admit his life had become marginally more interesting since he’d met her.

  But he wasn’t one to actually give a damn about anyone, which was why he was frowning right now.

  The cry for help had taken him by surprise. Whenever a living creature was distressed, every Fay out there could hear it – occasionally, they decided to do something about it.

  But the girl who – if the glimpse he saw in her mind were accurate – had just been kidnapped shocked the heck out of him, because unlike just about anyone else in her situation, Rum included, she wasn’t desperate about the potential probability of her upcoming rape, murder, or dismemberment.

  No, she was worried about her cat.

  Her. Damn. Cat.

  Rum thought it out for one full minute, weighing the pros and the cons, before sighing, and casting a damn spell.

  It meant he had two hundred and ninety nine days left now.

  “Shit,” the girl was thinking, quite clearly now he’d tuned in to her mind, “Steffie isn’t back for seven days. Princess Momo might die of thirst! No, wait, she can drink toilet water. But she might starve! And her little box will be quite dirty…”

  She was going about the litter? Seriously? Someone had to go tell that girl that, you know, she’d been kidnapped.

  Rum sighed. Admittedly, the situation was rather alarming, but at the same time, it happened about one thousand times per day across the globe; if he intervened each time human beings decided to demonstrate how cruel their inherent nature was, he wouldn’t ever be at leisure to scratch his ass.

  He tuned the girl out, quite resigned to do absolutely nothing. In fact, he rolled a cigarette and leaned on a tree, determined to enjoy his day – which was why he had zero explanation as to why five seconds later, he found himself in a smelly deserted alley, thousands of miles away from his domain.

  Two hundred and ninety-eight days.

  He had no issue finding the building he’d caught a glimpse of in the girl’s mind, but while she’d distinctly thought of her home, and her stupid cat, Rum had no clue what floor she occupied.

  If he’d met her, he could have followed a trace of her energy, her aura, but he knew nothing of the girl, save for the fact that she was out of the ordinary. Entertaining.

  He couldn’t resist entertaining.

  “Cat Lady?” he called, although he knew her name. It was the very first thing he sought out whenever he entered a mind – names held power, which was why no one actually knew his.

  Rumpelstiltskin. He smirked every time he reminded himself that people actually bought that he was really called that.

  Come on. What parent is that nasty?

  Rumpelstiltskin meant something along the line of “you little shit,” and he’d totally lived up to the nickname. In his youth, he’d been fond of mind games, and often inclined to teach a lesson to those who were foolish enough to piss him off.

  No, his name was safe – it hadn’t been said or even thought in so long that he sometimes forgot it.

  The girl had heard, and the tone of her mind changed, rattling him.

  She’d believed that her kidnappers were talking to her, and for one instant, she was afraid.

  It bothered him. It bothered him a lot, which surprised him.

  “Chill, Aria,” she admonished herself. “They won’t hurt you – they want something, probably money or leverage. You can talk your way out of this.”

  Rum smiled his approval; she was strong minded – and yes, a little bit crazy, too.

  “Aria, I’m not one of those guys, I’m just a voice in your head.”

  There was a long pause, followed by a chuckle.

  “Yeah, because that’s reassuring. Not only have I been kidnapped when I was supposed to be cat watching, but I also am clinically insane. Great.”

  “It’s not even your damn cat,” he grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Might as well be – I’ve lived in the same flat for… Wait a minute, why am I discussing my roommate’s cat with a voice in my head.”

  “That would be because the guy speaking to you is currently waiting in front of your building, and wondering what floor that damn pussy is on.”

  Aria considered insanity again, before wondering whether she was in the middle of a weird-ass nightmare – but she dismissed that idea, figuring that she just didn’t have the imagination to come up with something nearly as weird.

  “You’re in front of my building to take care of the cat.”

  “I believe I just said so.”

  “And you’re also talking to me right now, which means you’re something weird. A witch, a psychic, a goblin…”

  “Goblin!” Rum growled. The nerves on that girl! Goblins were, like, three foot tall, and just plain ugly.

  “What? You’re gonna tell me you’re prince charming?”

  Rum tilted his head. It had been a long, long time since he’d cared for that kind of label. Now, he was quite content to forget it altogether; princes were supposed to be helpful, interested in people, and pretty much the very opposite of him.

  But he was rescuing a damn cat for a girl he knew squat about. Then, he had every intention to catch her trail and get her out of that van, if only to add a face to the crazy thought.

  He really liked interesting people and they were hard to come by. The last one he’d met had been Cinderella, a girl he’d had to let go of before he’d had enough of her sass.

  He was bored, tired, and angry at the world right now – the knowledge that his life was going to end so soon was eating away at his mind.

  He needed a distraction and Aria was it.

  “Yes. Yes, that’s quite exactly what I am. Prince of the Seelie court, at your service.”

  Well, she might have completely lost her damn mind, but at least it had come up with something entertaining. Priceless, in fact. She should probably take notes and write a book about it when she got out of there.

  “Sure. Because fay looove to help people,” she told t
he potentially imaginary weirdo who talked directly in her mind.

  “Not usually, no. Floor?”

  “Fourteenth. So, assuming that I actually believe a word of what you’re saying…”

  “Which you do.”

  Goddammit, he was annoying. And also, right.

  Aria had to grow up pretty damn quick, considering whom her parents were – she’d never had anything as exotic as an imaginary friend, even in her youth.

  Even her creativity was concrete. After spending so much time around cool clothing, she caught a bug and took a few design classes. One semester in, it was clear to anyone that she’d found her vocation – some of the pieces she put together at college were exhibited during Fashion Week and promptly bought by a crowd of hungry socialites.

  She believed in real, tangible things. Fays were the very opposite of that. Sure they existed, but they didn’t interact with anyone, reluctant to give the time of the day to just about anyone save for Kings and Queens.

  But regardless, she believed the guy. There was something in his tone, a detachment, a complete lack of empathy, that was just not normal. She was in the back of a van which was taking her god knows where, and the guy had gone for Steffie’s cat, for Heaven’s sake! Who did that?

  “Touché. However, given the inner ramble that has disturbed my peaceful day, I’d assumed that you would have appreciated feeding the damn thing.”

  That made her stop, completely lost for words, this time. What the hell? He was a fay. If some Fays made a habit of going around saving damsel in distress, people would know.

  “You’re coming for me?” she asked out loud, numbly, trying to crack the code. She couldn’t compute that equation.

  “I am, but don’t expect a freebie. This is going to cost me quite a bit of magic, I’ll expect compensation.”

  That made her widen her eyes in shock because when a man – or male, or whatever he was – with a voice like his, slow, suave and sensual, asked for compensation, there was only one thing anyone with working female bits could think of.