Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella

by Megan Morrison

  Serge’s wings flickered. The one with the charred edge gave an extra beat. “You promised Opal you’d come home if she testified at the hearing,” he said. “You told her you’d stay in her realm until she fades. Didn’t you.”

  Jasper said nothing. He hadn’t wanted to answer that question, no matter how many times Serge had put it to him in letters. Answering meant admitting that he was back in Cliffhang for good.

  “I know you did,” said Serge. “So. If you’re allowed to give up your dream to save Ella and me, then surely I’m allowed to keep you company in return.”

  “It isn’t right. It isn’t fair.”

  Serge raised a pale eyebrow. “Why not? We can do our work here, can’t we? Start our own service like we talked about? From what I understand, Cliffhang is a nightmare for mortals. We’ll be busy for years and years.”

  “You don’t understand.” Jasper lifted off and flew to the peaked and sooty roof of one of the buildings. Serge followed him. “Look at this place.”

  At the western horizon, the great shadow of his grandmother’s castle loomed over the duchy from its perch upon a deadly cliff. Countless towers protruded like fangs into the crimson sky. Between them and the castle, the black city sprawled, dank and listing, half of it propped up at dangerous angles by whatever magic anyone bothered to spare, the other half falling to pieces. As Jasper gazed out at it, he felt again the whisper of something wrong in the air. Something unnatural.

  “There are no systems here,” he said. “No Assembly, no Guild, no House of Mortals. Quintessential is a haven of benevolence and mercy by comparison.”

  Serge surveyed Cliffhang, his expression grave.

  “I’d never want to be the reason you were miserable,” Jasper said. “Don’t stay unless you think you can be happy here.”

  Serge stared out at the derelict city, silent, but so full of emotion beneath the surface that Jasper could read him as easily as ever. The patter of Serge’s heart swept through him. Tense. Afraid.

  “We’ll never save them all,” Serge murmured. “It will be thankless. Heartbreaking.”

  “I know.” Jasper bit back a sigh. “So —”

  “So I’m where I ought to be.”

  Jasper looked up at him, startled, and Serge smiled just a touch.

  “Right where I’m most needed,” he said. “Shall we begin?”

  Thanks to the following people for their contributions and kindness:

  Ruth Virkus for challenging the clichés;

  Cheryl Klein for combing out the snarls;

  Kristin Brown for spinning and knitting instruction, and for cartography extraordinaire;

  Colin Flanigan for firefighting consultation;

  Heather Mbaye for sewing expertise;

  Sally Virkus for knowing that durability is the most important thing in life and sewing;

  Judy Brough and the gang for loving my children and making it possible for me to parent, teach, and write;

  Melissa Anelli, Maureen Berberian, Lisa Campos, David Carpman, Ben Layne, Jennie Levine-Knies, Kathy MacMillan, Geraldine Morrison, and Devin Smither, for providing critical feedback;

  My teaching colleagues, especially Christy Bowman-White and Claire Waistell, for unstinting enthusiasm and support;

  My students, past and present, for your energy and inspiration. You are lovable, you are capable, and you have the power to do great things.

  Megan Morrison is a middle-school drama and language arts teacher as well as a writer. She cofounded the Harry Potter fan fiction site the Sugar Quill, and has been developing the world of Tyme since 2003. She lives near Seattle, Washington, with her family. Please visit her website at www.meganmorrison.net and follow her on Twitter at @megtyme.

  Read on for more from the wonderful world of Tyme…

  Grounded: The Adventures of Rapunzel

  RAPUNZEL woke with a shout from a nightmare she could not remember.

  Her tower was cold and dark. The fire was dead. Her feet stuck out from under the blankets, freezing; the rest of her was slick with sweat. She curled into a ball and huddled beneath her blankets, disturbed beyond her experience. She thought of Witch climbing down into darkness, wrinkled and in pain, her hair shot through with white, and some of her nightmare came back to her in horrible snatches of color. Her braid severed like dry twigs. Jack’s sharp, gleaming grin. Witch sobbing, white-haired, her face gnarled beyond recognition.

  “Light!” Rapunzel commanded. The fire flickered awake, and its blue flames were a comfort, but they were not enough to make her feel safe. She pushed down her covers and ran to the window wheel, seized by a sudden, unreasonable panic. Her hair was wound neatly in its place.

  With sure, rapid turns of the wooden crank, Rapunzel unwound her hair from the wheel and hefted as much braid as she could carry into her arms. It was bulky and heavy, but she lugged it back to bed with her and yanked up the covers to hide herself, hair and all. She hugged her braid closer for comfort.

  A clang of metal on metal sounded just outside the balcony door. Rapunzel screamed and pulled her covers over her head. Jack had returned, and he wanted to help the fairies hurt Witch.

  She only cowered for a moment before she remembered: This was her tower. She didn’t have to be afraid here — he did.

  Rapunzel threw off her covers, jumped out of bed, and pointed to the fire. “Roar!” she commanded, and it did. “Get bubbling,” she shouted to the bathtub, and then she turned to the harp. “You heard me — play! Everything, get up!”

  She raced to her silver bell but stopped short, unwilling to ring it. Much as she wanted Witch to come, she couldn’t bear the idea of giving her more pain. She would handle this herself, for Witch’s sake.

  Rapunzel pulled on her robe and tied it tight. She shoved her feet into her slippers. “I know you’re there,” she shouted, stepping out onto the balcony, where, sure enough, a silver claw gripped the railing. She squinted toward the dark ground but saw no one. The long, slim rope was taut, but the climber was obscured by darkness. “Answer me!”

  “Hi there.” Jack’s disembodied voice floated up from below. “Nice weather we’re having.”

  “You!” cried Rapunzel. “I knew it! Get away from here!”

  Jack climbed into sight. He scaled the rope with terrifying ease, much faster than Witch ever had.

  “Vile peasant!” Rapunzel shouted.

  “Guess you remember me.” Jack hauled himself higher and reached up to grab the railing.

  The second his hand touched the silver rail, his rope vanished with a sizzling sound. Jack’s eyes widened; he flailed for a hold, but there was nothing to support him. “Help me!” he gasped.

  Rapunzel snatched up the slack of her braid and threw it to him. Jack grabbed it, and she squealed in pain as his weight yanked her halfway over the railing. She pressed hard against the stones with her feet and clung to the railing with both hands. Jack hung below the balcony, clutching her hair and staring up at her.

  Rapunzel stared back, her scalp throbbing. “Hurry,” she said when he didn’t move. “It hurts.”

  Jack scrambled up her braid and over the balcony railing. When his feet were on firm ground, he backed against the tower wall and wiped sweat out of his eyes.

  “Thought you didn’t want me here,” he said.

  “I don’t.”

  “Could’ve let me fall, then.”

  Rapunzel massaged her aching scalp. “Well,” she said, “I didn’t.” And since she didn’t know why she hadn’t, she said nothing else.

  Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. “I should’ve cracked a new rope,” he said. “That one was going for thirty hours, and they’re only supposed to last twenty-four. I’m usually lucky — sometimes they last for three days. Not this time, I guess.” He paused. “Thanks.”

  A warm wind picked up and blew across the dark balcony, and Rapunzel pulled her robe tighter. It gave her something to do, which was useful since she didn’t know what to say. Then she remembered. “I
know that you came back to get the cure, but you can’t have it.”

  Jack’s eyebrows lifted. “What cure?” he asked.

  “The cure for the sick fairy.” She folded her arms. “You want to help her. But if she gets better, she’ll come back and kill Witch!”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Jack. He looked honestly bewildered.

  Rapunzel studied him, frowning. “I’m talking about yesterday,” she said. “Do you not remember yesterday?”

  He scratched his head. “I remember visiting you,” he said. “But I’ve never met any fairies. I’m just a peasant.”

  “Then they took your memory too!” Rapunzel gasped. “Horrible fairies! If any of them ever comes back here, I’ll …” But she wasn’t sure what she would do.

  “Call your witch?” Jack suggested.

  She shook her head. “I can’t. Witch might get hurt. If the fairies come back, I’ll just take care of them myself.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You will, huh?”

  She nodded. “For Witch,” she said, “I’d do anything.”

  Jack glanced past her at the balcony door. “Mind if I go inside, then?” he asked.

  “What for?” said Rapunzel. “Since you don’t remember the fairies, why did you climb back up here?”

  Jack ducked his head. “ ’Cause it’s a beautiful tower,” he mumbled. “And I, uh … I wanted to see it one last time, before I go home.”

  Rapunzel felt a surge of pity for him. He had spent his whole life on the ground, dirty and unsafe. Of course he preferred her tower.

  “Go on, then,” she said indulgently, and she moved out of his way. “It’s all right if you want to look. But only for a minute. Then you have to go, all right?”

  Jack nodded. He pushed open the door and slipped into the firelit tower as Rapunzel pulled her braid back onto the balcony, amazed at herself. She had let a stranger climb her hair. Someone other than Witch had held it in his hands. As if that wasn’t odd enough, she had gone so far as to allow him into her tower without supervision. She hurried inside to make sure Jack hadn’t ransacked her belongings.

  He hadn’t. Her harp had not been worried; her dressing table stood undisturbed. Instead, Jack stood on the bathtub rim, reaching for the roses. Rapunzel marched up to the bathtub.

  “Get down.”

  Jack looked pleadingly at her. “Can’t I have one?” he asked.

  “One of my roses? Why?”

  He picked at a loose thread that hung from the cuff of his sleeve. “It’s just, I’ve never seen one,” he said. He glanced at her. “And they’re so … you know.”

  “Beautiful?”

  He nodded, looking pained, and Rapunzel felt another surge of pity.

  “Well,” she said, “I suppose it’s all right. You did ask. Get down, I’ll reach one for you.”

  Jack leapt to the floor, and Rapunzel climbed up the marble bathtub steps. At the top, she balanced on her tiptoes and snapped the stem of the nearest rose. She offered it to Jack, who cupped it and held it against him with one hand. With the other, he fished in one of his pockets.

  “They smell nice too,” said Rapunzel, hopping down to the floor. “Smell it. Go on.”

  Jack did not reply. From one of his vest pockets, he produced a small glass vial, which he used to collect dew from the center of the rose. He got only a few drops of the clear liquid, but it seemed to be all that he needed. He dropped the rose on the floor.

  “You said you wanted it!” Rapunzel cried. “Pick it up.”

  Jack capped the glass vial. He took a pink silk handkerchief from one of his pockets, and Rapunzel made a noise of surprise.

  “That handkerchief,” she said. “It’s mine.”

  “No, it’s not.” Jack wrapped the handkerchief around the glass vial several times. “You gave it to me the other day, to carry the fairy.”

  “But you — you said,” stammered Rapunzel, “you said you didn’t remember any fairies!”

  Jack tucked the silk-wrapped vial into his back pocket and strode onto the balcony. Rapunzel ran after him.

  “You lied to me!” she cried, but he didn’t answer. He yanked a small round object out of his pocket and slammed it against the silver railing. Just as it had before, a rope exploded from his fist, and a tripod of metal hooks burst from the top end of the rope. Jack hung the hooks from the railing and tossed the end of the rope to the ground, then turned and made his way into the tower once more. Rapunzel didn’t even have time to protest before he returned to the balcony, lugging nearly all of her braid in his arms.

  “What are you doing?” Rapunzel demanded. “Put down my hair!”

  “Whatever you say.” Jack dumped the braid over the side of the balcony, and the weight of her plummeting hair pulled at Rapunzel’s scalp and made her shout. Jack clapped his hand over her open mouth. “Keep quiet!” he hissed. “The fairies are waiting for me right outside this tower, understand?”

  Rapunzel’s stomach went cold. She stifled her screams, even when Jack grabbed her braid in his dirty hands and hurdled the silver railing. He planted his boot soles against the tower, and her head bent under his weight. She whimpered and clutched the railing pressing into her stomach. “Use your stupid rope!” she whispered. “It’s right there!”

  “Nah.” Jack shimmied down into the darkness. “This’ll work.”

  Rapunzel tried to yank her braid out of his hands, but his weight was too much for her. She stayed bent over the railing as the darkness swallowed him. Just before he disappeared, he turned up his face to look at her.

  “The fairies told me to thank you if you helped,” he said. “So thanks.” He waggled the little vial with the dew from the rose as his face split into the sharp, gleaming grin that Rapunzel recognized from her nightmare. She gasped.

  “If you want the fairy’s cure,” Jack taunted, “you better come and get it yourself. If you call that witch, you know she’ll get hurt….”

  He unhooked his wrist and slipped down into the darkness. Moments later, his weight vanished from Rapunzel’s braid, and she lifted her head, her heart thumping. She could barely breathe. She was such a fool.

  “LIAR!” she screamed. Witch had warned her. Ground people were liars. Rapunzel knew it — she had always known it. She should have guessed what Jack would do. Yet she had failed, and now the fairies would get their cure, and the powerful fairy would wake up again.

  And Witch would die.

  Panic seized Rapunzel. She clutched the railing and swung one leg over it, and then the other, until she was barely perched, by the toes of her slippers, on a tiny ledge of stone. She looked down and choked. The tower had never seemed so high. She could not think about what she was about to do. She couldn’t think or she would stop, and she couldn’t stop. Witch’s life depended on her.

  She released the railing with one hand and grabbed the rope that Jack had left behind. It was splintery and rough. She swallowed a cry of discomfort and made herself let go of the railing with her other hand, the soles of her feet pressed against the tower’s outer wall. She had seen Witch do this thousands of times, but that didn’t make it any easier. The whole weight of her braid hung down from her scalp, and her neck craned backward.

  Rapunzel put one hand under the other and made her way lower. Her arms ached, her neck throbbed, her fingers chafed — she tried to suck her burning fingers — her sweating palms slipped against the rope —

  Rapunzel lost her grip and her footing all at once and screamed as she slid uncontrollably downward. Her vision blurred; wind rushed in her ears. She was careening — she would crash — Witch had warned her to be careful —

  She clamped her legs together and caught the rope between them. As she skidded a few feet farther, the rope tore into her skin. The pain made her vision gray out, but she gripped the rope with all her might and hung there, trembling.

  When she could see clearly, she looked down. Her stomach dropped as though she’d just taken another skid down the rope. There was th
e ground, just feet away. She stretched down one shaking leg to get her final foothold against the tower, but the toe of her slipper scraped the dirt instead. Rapunzel lost her grip on the rope, tumbled to the ground, and lay there in a heap.

  “Great White skies,” she rasped, scrambling to her feet to get out of the dirt, which was probably full of poisonous snakes or something else equally dreadful. She stared up at the window from which she’d come, small and distant in the black night. The height of her tower was dizzying. She wanted to call out for Witch — she even opened her mouth to do it — but fear for Witch’s safety stopped her voice. Witch was in danger now, and in danger she would stay until Rapunzel could retrieve the cure that Jack had stolen for the fairies.

  There was only one thing to do.

  Rapunzel whirled toward the woods and ran after Jack.

  She plunged into the forest. Tree branches touched her, and she squealed in fear. Gossamer webs caught at her arms and her face, and many-legged things skittered around her, making her scream. She kept running, her torn skin burning with every step. There was no time to mind the pain, or to fear the beasts, or to notice the sensation of balmy, open air, or even to wonder whether she was going the right way. Jack had a mighty head start.

  “MISERABLE PEASANT!” she finally yelled, and then she yelped as she was brought to a painful halt. “My hair!” Her braid was caught somewhere back in the trees. She gripped it with both hands and yanked, but it was snagged, and every moment she was delayed, Jack was getting away.

  “COME BACK!” she shouted. “LIAR! BRUTE! EMISSARY!”

  Rapunzel tugged and pulled and began to cry. Humid air seeped through her nightgown and robe, and moist dirt filled the toes of her slippers. Through a blur of tears she saw just how big and frightening everything was — the endless space of the woods, the giant trees, the open air. And she was alone.

  “TROLL!” she shouted through furious sobs. “IMP! UGLY LITTLE GNOME!”