A Rose by Any Other Name
Page 1
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Rose by Any Other Name
Copyright 2015 by Landra Graf
ISBN: 978-1-61333-901-5
Cover art by Tibbs Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
Look for us online at:
www.decadentpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Raven Pirate Assassin Spy by Landra Graf
Dear Readers,
Zombies are my greatest fear. Psychos and serial killers, I can handle. Insects or wild animals, I’ll find a way. Zombies… nope, I’m out of here. So when my close friend encouraged me to write a fairy-tale re-telling of Sleeping Beauty plus zombies, I knew this would be my greatest challenge yet. Throw a romance into the mix and I thought… impossible. In the end I found a way to make the whole story come together, and give Sleeping Beauty a different twist. At least, Beauty doesn’t get the prince this time.
I hope you enjoyed the story, and applaud you for being brave enough to read the book that put me on edge as I wrote in the quiet, night hours.
As always, I love to hear what my readers think. So, drop me a line at landra.graf7@gmail.com
Sincerely,
Landra
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Also by Landra Graf
What You Need
Raven Pirate Assassin Spy
A Rose by Any Other Name
Zombies don’t belong in fairy tales….at least not those with a good chance of a happily ever after…
Jason Prince, Charming's once-upon-a-time star jock, only attends his Charming high school reunion to find his way into the heart of a certain wallflower who had no date for the prom.
Shy, geeky, chemical engineer, Emma Fay has been keeping her love for Jason a secret because she knows Jason and Rose belong together. But, when Rose Briar pricks her finger, fulfilling a prophecy about death and a plague, she throws a wrench into the class reunion that not even the best planning committee can tackle.
Can Jason and Emma stop Zombie Beauty Rose before she turns their loved ones into her undead court and sends them forth to spread the infestation to the rest of the world? Or will human flesh become the daily special at diners everywhere? And will there be enough left of Jason and Emma for romance to blossom?
Dedication
To my critique partner, Lori, for pushing me to write outside of my comfort zone and always being there for me. Friend, I would’ve never made it this far with you. Thanks for the multiple years and I pray for a gazillion more.
A Rose by Any Other Name
By
Landra Graf
A Beyond Fairytales Retelling of Sleeping Beauty
Prologue
“Why, how now, good mother,” said the princess. “What are you doing there?”
Emmaline Fay sat down on a plywood bench in front of the Storytelling Spectacular stage and sighed. Draped and twirled around light posts, dozens of light strings lit up the high school parking lot. Vendor carts were positioned throughout, surrounded by a Ferris wheel, pendulum ride, and flying swings. Carousel music and squeals of delight rang out to her left as people young and old clung to painted horses or sat on dragon seats. Carnies yelled out invitations at the students milling around, and the sweet smell of funnel cakes filled the air.
She’d arrived early, and her best bet at being located by her friends involved staying in the center of the school fair. The May night ran a bit chilly, so she pulled on the edges of her jean jacket, the effort out of habit rather than actually generating warmth. Right then, the stage curtains parted, the bucket lights rimming the edge of the platform casting an eerie glow over the warped wood. An old, short, gnome-like man hobbled to a three-legged stool in the center of the elevated setting. He wore shabby clothes, and a long, silver beard flowed past his waist.
After a slow totter, he finally sat, stroking his beard and placing the barrel of a pipe between his lips. “Welcome, young and old. Sit and let me tell you a tale. For a small price, of course.”
Those words prompted a few of the folks at the front to drop coins into a glass jar poised on the edge of the stage. Emmaline didn’t hear them hit due to the noise from the fairway behind her, but the money put a smile on the man’s face. “Thank ye kindly. My name be Nicodemus, and I have a tale of woe to share. Once upon a time—”
“Emma, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” The words, uttered by her best friend in the whole world, were paired with two hands gripping the back of her jacket and tugging hard. She went with the motion, rotating her body to the left and bringing her legs over the bench to stand.
“He just got started. We should stay for the story.”
Rose, all five foot three, long blonde locks, and pouty lips, grinned the big grin she used to try to convince and bargain with others. It worked nearly every time. “But Jason found a fortune teller, and he’s holding our spot in line. We have to go. Maybe she’ll tell us how many kids we’ll have.”
Before she could object, her friend took off, skipping through the throng of people, and Em followed like she always did. They both came to a stop in front of a six-foot-tall patched tent monstrosity with Tiki torches and a braided, multi-colored rug spread out in front of the entrance like a welcome mat.
“Why are we doing this?” She dug her heels into the ground, a last ditch attempt to avoid the tent.
Rose giggled, “For fun, silly.”
The whole event screamed fake and a waste of cash. Her mind desperately searched for an excuse to not participate when the smell of linen laundry soap, summer, and berries filled her nostrils—a unique scent known to haunt her dreams and waking hours, thanks to a flannel shirt Jason had left at her house a few weeks ago.
“Ladies, ready to discover our future? Or at least how many touchdowns I’ll score playing for Wisconsin?” Jason Prince, the most handsome guy in Charming, Iowa, stepped in front of them, smiling wide. He’d also become one of the most arrogant, but even a flaw like that didn’t make him unlovable. Treating her best friend and, by extension, her, like a queen also earned him brownie points.
“Wow, you sure know how to keep that ego in check,” said Rose. No response came from the jock beyond the waggling eyebrows and a female squeal as he pulled his girlfriend into a bear hug.
Emma did her best during displays of affection to remain neutral, but it still hurt in ways she’d never tell anyone. “All right, I’m in, but only if you two will quit the touchy-feely stuff until after the reading and no offers for godmothering are on the table.”
Rose broke away from her man and wrapped her arms around her. “Thank you, Em. We can keep it clean until after, but no promises on the godmother thing.”
“Next up,” a carnie called from the tent entrance.
As a group, they stepped forward past the beaded curtain and into a dimly lit area, their shadows casting strange shapes against the walls. The whole ambience called for slow and cautious movement. Then the voice…. “Come in, children.” The grandmother’s croak made Emma shiver. Her friends, on the other hand, continued forward, chuckling. They weren’t creeped out; if anything, the spooky atmosphere enhanced their excitement, but not her. No, she didn’t find humor in “scary.” “Guys, I’m going to—”
“You can’t back out now, scaredy cat,” Jason said, securing a hand around her wrist. “I already paid. Don’t worry. I can protect you both.”
She shook her head but didn’t resist. When it came to arguments, she didn’t put up much of a fight. Instead, she settled for insults. “Moron.”
Rickety chairs were positioned around a table covered in some silky red fabric. Rose sat down first. They flanked her, sitting on either side. Only then did Emmaline glance at the supposed fortune teller, who looked like Mrs. Wiggs, the high school janitor.
The woman was ready for a performance. A couple of long, stringy strands of gray hair were visible from beneath some sort of dark colored cloak, dozens of bangles dangled from her wrinkly arms, and she wore enough makeup to put a beauty shop out of business.
Ever the practical one, Emma decided to not waste any time. “My friend would like a reading, please.”
Stormy gray eyes met hers, and the old woman replied, “Certainly. Which one of you?”
“Me. I want the reading.” Rose bowed her head, hands on her purse. A shimmer of gold reflected in the light as she undid the clasp. “Do you need something personal?”
“No, my dear. Just a palm, preferably the one you write with.” Abandoning the purse at her side, the reigning prom queen extended her right hand.
Emmaline attempted to contain a laugh. Rose and Jason seemed completely enraptured by the sight of this woman’s liver-spotted and wrinkled fingers wrapped around her creamy white ones. As soon as the two hands met at the middle of the table, the old woman’s head pitched forward. The effect proved creepy as hell. Momentarily, Emma thought the woman was experiencing a seizure as her entire body shivered and shook.
They all let out a collective gasp, but she edged her chair back, one leg snagging in the carpet laid over the grass. “Guys, let’s get out of—”
“Ten years,” the woman’s voice rasped. Her head rose from the table, the hood of her cloak falling backward, eyes unfocused. “Ten years. Upon such time passing, you will find a prick to bring harm to the world.”
Immaturity reigned as the jock snorted. “I’ve never been known to do that.”
“Hush, you idiot. She’s not talking about that.” Emma reached behind her friend to swat him on the arm. “What do you mean prick?”
“A needle…and then a great sickness will be upon us. Beware! This path cannot be altered.”
The woman’s head pitched forward again, and Rose snatched her hand back. Jason cradled her against him, comforting her, and, just like that, the fun and games were over.
Emma dealt with the look of fear on her friend’s face in the best possible way—with humor. “Gotcha.”
“Baby, you okay?”
Instead of answering her boyfriend, Rose forced a chuckle. “Senior year practical joke…. Huh, Em?”
“Tricked you good, didn’t I?” Of course, she’d never do anything like that, but she’d protected her friend many times before, and another small lie made no difference.
“Yep, you got me. Let’s go ride the Ferris wheel.” Thank goodness she was a ray of sunshine and hope and could never stay down for long.
“All for it, babe.” Jason helped his girl out of her seat and through the hanging beads. He gave Emma a look implying they’d be talking later.
One last glance at Mrs. Wiggs. A chill stole over her as the woman pointed a bony finger at her friend’s retreating backside and hissed, “Sickness.”
She turned away with half a mind to tell her father about how his janitor had acted toward them. Fortunes weren’t supposed to give people nightmares. They were supposed to display happy expectations, or at least fake them.
Chapter One
“How prettily that little thing turns round!” said the princess, and took the spindle and began to spin.
Ten years later.
“When will you get here?”
The sound of excitement in Rose’s voice at the prospect of her coming home raised Emma’s spirits. She hadn’t gone back in three years, not since the factory shut down. “It’ll take about six hours, so maybe around six.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait. There’s a pre-reunion party at Sound Awake tonight.”
“That bar is still open?”
“Yes, can you believe it? Oh my gosh. You’re really coming,” Rose squealed.
Emma pulled the phone away from her ear about two inches, but echoed with a similar sentiment. “I’m coming for sure. Meet up at your place by six thirty?”
“Sure thing. This is going to be a weekend to remember, especially if Jason shows up. I’ll just finish my rounds and— Ow.”
A twinge of dread swept through Emma like a memory clamoring to break the surface. Concerned, she called out, “Rose? What happened?”
“I’m fine.” A sucking sound flitted through the phone. “Just jabbed myself with one of Mr. Delphi’s needles. Went straight through my glove. It’ll be fine with a Band-Aid. I’ve done worse.”
Only a needle. The town beauty queen was known for accidents. She never came away with any damages other than the occasional bandage or wrap, but whether it was falling into holes or colliding with objects directly in her path, she always needed a close eye and a hero.
“I’m going to get off the phone with you, so you can finish working without distractions.”
“All right, but one more question?”
“Shoot.”
A deep exhale came over the line, “Do you think Jason will be there?”
The breakup hadn’t been bitter, but she knew eight years had failed to change her friend’s feelings about the one who got away. The mention of his name even sent a little chill of excitement coursing through her own veins. She shook off the idea of her old high school crush. Jason and Rose belonged together. “If he is, I hope he’s prepared for you to knock him off his feet.”
“Aww, you’re the best. Well, I’ll get off the phone now, but you’d better call as soon as you hit city limits.”
“Will do.”
The hours rolled by, and the familiar giddin
ess at the idea of returning home became stronger with each passing mile marker. Some people said home was where your clothes were, but she knew home to be the place of all her memories. Driving the back roads far away from the cities and into the no man’s land of Iowa, she recalled the days when her ultimate goal involved getting as far away from small town life as possible. She wasn’t the prom queen or the smartest girl in school, but the daughter of the high school principal and best friend to the sweetest person who ever lived. Escaping the comforts of country life, she went running to the city two months into her last summer as a kid. Until this moment, she hadn’t looked back.
As she finally passed the Welcome to Charming sign, she rolled down the window, taking in the sweet scent of sunflowers growing in the big beds around the town marker.
Set on either side of the road, a row of once cherry-red, white roofed cottages—now weathered with age, their paint faded and peeling—always reminded her of big barns and served as tribute to farm country. The four houses were once rented out to tourists with the exception of the first one, which belonged to the town gossip and gatekeeper. Emma stepped on the brakes, slowing down to talk with said gossip.
“Hi, Emmaline.” Mrs. Hopkins offered the greeting with a wave from her chair on the front porch. Not a single person could sneak into town without the obligatory wave since, like a castle village from olden times, there was only one way in and one way out of Charming.
“Hi. How’d you know it was me?”
“That hair is your mother’s, black as a raven. Since I saw her an hour ago, and we talked about your visit, it makes sense.”