That I could understand. After all, the idiot prince was annoying as that song that never ends, but still I felt sorry for him. I knew, perhaps better than anyone did, how painful loneliness could be to a child.
“Will you do this? For that little lonely prince?”
“But ... I ... shoot,” I said, feeling sorry for the kid and myself. I did owe the guy, after all. “I’ll throw him a party.”
The queen nodded, satisfied. I wanted to shoot her and then myself. What did I get myself into? I should’ve left Maledetto before any of this started. Asia sure as hell didn’t want me here.
So why was I hanging around? I didn’t even know Cinderella, and I doubt I would’ve liked her had I met her. So why was I sticking around, throwing His Annoyingness a bachelor party, in order to solve Cinderella’s murder? I pictured Asia’s face as we stood over the chalk outline of Cinderella’s flattened body. She had looked so sad, and so beautiful. My chest started to burn in the space just left of my sternum. Damn eggs.
“You’re a good man,” the queen said, breaking me from my memories. “Asia could do worse. I mean, with her problems a girl can’t be too choosy.”
“Ummm ... thanks,” I said. “I think.”
The queen was wrong. Asia could do a lot better than me, curse or not. She was perfection on the inside and out, even if she did want me dead. That reminded me of a question I wanted to ask the queen. “Why did you give the Devil’s Eye to Cinderella and not to your own cursed daughter?”
For the first time, real emotion, shock most likely, entered the queen’s eyes. “How’d you know about that?”
“Charming told me.” I paused, watching her unwrinkled face. “He said you gave it to Cinderella as a wedding gift.”
“I did.”
“But why? Asia was the one with the curse. You knew that. Why would you give it to someone else? Didn’t you want Asia to be free?”
A long sigh escaped the queen’s lips. “Free?” She gave a harsh laugh. “Do you know what it’s like to be married? Do you have any clue what it takes to be a wife? I spend my every waking hour caring for my family. Cooking, cleaning.” From behind the queen, Cook let out a loud snort. I grinned, but the queen ignored us.
The queen added, “It’s almost too much.”
Unfortunately I knew all about marriage. I also knew what it felt like to be handcuffed to a bedpost, dipped in Jell-O, and licked clean by angry nymphs.
We all had our crosses to bear.
“Cinderella wasn’t strong like Asia.” The queen wiped an affected tear from her eye. “I could only save one of them, so I made a choice ...” Her voice caught in Oscar-winning fashion.
I rolled my eyes, hating the queen almost as much as I hated Charming. Both thought only of themselves, sort of like Jack B. Nimble in bed. “So you ‘saved’ Cinderella? From what? Marrying your dear Prince Charming? I find that hard to believe.”
“They weren’t right for each other.” The queen’s face hardened, as much as it could. “It was obvious to everyone else. The Devil’s Eye merely showed Cinderella the truth.”
“You wanted Cinderella to dump the prince?”
The queen shook her head. “Not dump. I want him to be happy, which he could never be with someone like her ...”
“Like her?” What? Did Cinderella have fleas?
“Unstable,” she whispered, glancing around the kitchen as if spilling a kingdom secret. “Like her mother. Cinderella had some mental problems. Did you know that daft woman tried to kill me?”
“Cinderella?”
“No, no. The other one.” The queen motioned toward the library where the portrait of Cinderella’s mother sat. “The first Lady Maledetto. She was a piece of work... .”
Like the second Lady Maledetto was much of a prize. The king could sure pick them. “You knew Cinderella’s mother? I thought she died before you and the king ... hooked up.” I shivered at the thought of those two having sex. Bumping uglies was right.
“She did.”
“Okay,” I said. “So how’d she try to kill you?”
“Using the king, of course.”
I rose from the table and began to pace. I wondered if the Maledetto insanity was the catchy kind. “The king?” I exhaled loudly. “Fine. Cinderella’s dead mother tried to kill you with a king. It all makes sense now.”
“No need for sarcasm.” The queen rose as well. “I fell in love with the king as soon as our eyes met.”
Fell in love with his wealth sounded more like it.
“He felt the same, so we married. I gained a daughter and my daughters gained a father. We were so happy at the beginning. He’d buy me anything I wanted. Furs, jewels, henchmen named Tim to cater to my fondest wish.”
Tim? What self-respecting henchman went by Tim?
“We lived happily ever after ... until ...” The queen began to sniff, tears welling in her endless blue eyes like a shimmering pond. I half expected the Frog Prince to make an appearance. “Until the curse.”
“Asia’s curse?”
The queen shook her head. “No. The other one.”
There was another curse? Jesus, what did these people do, piss off every witch, fairy godmother, and troll in the land? Hell, I’d decapitated a witch once and the most I got was a case of Montezuma’s revenge. “What other curse?” I asked with a sigh even though I knew I’d regret it.
“On her deathbed, the first Lady Maledetto cursed the king.” The queen frowned, her eyes sparkling with pent-up rage. “By her word, he would never find happiness with the next Lady of Maledetto.”
“And?”
“So the king tried to smother me with a pillow.” She bit her lip. “He claims it was an ‘accident,’ but I know better.”
“Why would he kill you? He’s already cursed to live unhappily ever after.”
“No, you misunderstand.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “If he rids himself of me, he rids himself of the curse. Therefore the next woman he marries will be the next-next Lady of Maledetto. And he’ll live happily ever after. For real.”
I nodded. “That explains the poison and the bricks, I suppose. Instead of waiting around for the king to kill you, you’ve taken the high road and plan to kill him first.”
“Of course, dear.” The queen smiled. “That’s what marriage is all about.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Chapter 33
I watched Lady Maledetto walk out of the kitchen door as Dru ran down the staircase, her black eyebrow flapping in the breeze. She paused at the bottom step, her eyes met mine, and she let out a shriek.
“Dru?” I ran to the hallway. “Are you all right?”
“I’m getting married tomorrow.”
“Congratulations?”
“Is Winslow here?” She glanced down the corridor and frowned. “I need to talk to him ... about the wedding.”
“I haven’t seen him.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“I’ll go find him,” I said, and then without pausing to hear her response, I shoved the front door wide and ran down the steps. Last thing I needed was a weepy princess. It was bad enough I had to throw a bachelor party for a whiny prince.
I searched the palace grounds for Winslow without any luck. I did see the king, though. He was in the toolshed building what looked like a rocket. I motioned to the red and white striped weapon. “Rats again?”
The king nodded, looking overly pleased with himself. So pleased that I knew without a doubt this would not end well. I made a mental note to invest in “blown up by an idiot king” insurance.
“Good luck with that,” I said and slowly backed out of the shed. My quest for Winslow continued. I jogged down the palace path, careful to avoid a stream of workers preparing for the upcoming nuptials, and into the dense forest.
Overhead an owl hooted, sounding like a warning bell. Time was running out. I was in too deep and no closer to solving Cinderella’s murder. Even worse, I had started to care what happ
ened to the crazed Maledetto clan.
“Winslow?” I called into the thick underbrush.
No answer.
I walked farther into the darkness, pausing as I came upon a small wooden bridge, the perfect size for a moping troll-faced butler. I peeked underneath. “Aha!” I shouted.
No Winslow.
Damn. I straightened only to bash my noggin into the railing. I rubbed at the newest dent in my head, and then glared at the offending railing. Tiny letters floated in my vision. I blinked. Something was carved into the wooden bridge in a familiar scrawl. I peered closer. Yep, the same handwriting from the paper in Cinderella’s room sat scratched in the wood. It read: Star light, star bright, how I wish for a prince tonight.
Ew.
I frowned. Was the handwriting on the bridge also the same as the handwriting on the bluebird receipt? They seemed alike. But why would Cinderella buy a bluebird that eventually killed her? And if Cinderella was in fact my mysterious ornithologist, who was Hansel blackmailing?
Asia’s smiling face popped to mind. I quickly wiped it away. I needed more than a couple of scraps of paper and a vandal to believe Asia killed anyone, let alone her sister. She had it in her, no doubt, but it took real balls to stand there and lie to me, a villain trained in the art of deception.
From the direction of the palace, a loud wail erupted. Dru. Damn, I still needed to find Winslow for her. With one last glance at the bridge, I set out on my original quest for the troll-like butler.
An hour later I arrived at the pond where I first encountered the aforementioned ugliest stepsister, Dru. This time, though, the pond was empty. A few toads croaked at me looking lonely, a bit horny, and forlorn.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“I’ve lost her,” a voice croaked from behind a large oak tree. “Dru. My lovely Dru.”
“Winslow?” I asked, hoping it was him and not a suicidal toad bemoaning Dru’s upcoming nuptials. Taking a chance, I walked around the tree, shocked at the sight that greeted me. The normally well-dressed, perfect butler looked like death. His tailored suit hung in tatters off his body. Drips of snot leaked down his lapel. The Don King patch of hair on his head bent to the left, making him look like a lopsided elf.
Lost in his grief, he didn’t hear my approach. “Winslow,” I said again, careful not to startle him. “You okay, buddy?”
His bleak eyes met mine. I nodded with an understanding only a man who lost everything knew. Thankfully my grief was affected, since I held out hope Asia eventually would come around. I also had faith in the strength of duct tape if she didn’t.
“He said okay,” Winslow whispered through a mouthful of snot. “Why would he say okay?”
“Who?”
“Charming. Dru made her ridiculous demands and the bastard prince said yes. I don’t understand. He doesn’t love her. How could he?”
How could he was right, but now wasn’t the time to bring up Dru’s list of flaws. Mostly because I didn’t have the time and the list was so freaking long. But Winslow had a point.
Again I wondered why marrying a Maledetto princess was so bloody important to Prince Rotten. Sure, marrying Dru placed Charming a heartbeat from the throne, but so what? When Asia married, the fact was moot anyway. Her husband would be first in line for the throne. There had to be more to it.
“Why?” Winslow shouted to the sky. “My sweet, wonderful lady. I should’ve told her how I felt, but now it’s too late. I’ve lost her forever.”
I smacked Winslow in the forehead, to gain his attention, sure, but mostly because it felt damn good. “Knock it off.” I smacked him again. “Don’t be such a drama queen.”
“Ow!” he cried. So I hit him again.
“You haven’t lost yet.”
“But Dru’s marrying Charming in less than twenty-three hours.” Another volley of tears grew in his eyes. “It’s over.”
Poor Winslow would never make it as a villain. I lost all the time to lesser men, but I never gave up. The word “quit,” like the word “G-spot,” wasn’t in my vocabulary. I grabbed Winslow’s snot-covered lapel and shook him, hard. The back of his head smashed into the oak tree behind him again and again. I didn’t stop until his cries turned from grief to pain.
“Ouch. Ouch. Ouch,” he stammered, keeping the beat. I added a scat, “Booo ... ahhhh ... ooohhh ... aaahhhh ... ooooo.” All and all, we sounded pretty damn good. Sure, we were far from taking our act on the road, but practice made perfect, so I slammed his head into the tree some more.
“Stop,” he begged.
My impotent villainous self did just that. I released his lapel, and Winslow slid to the ground, rubbing at the back of his troll-like head.
“Where were we?” I straightened my sweatshirt. “Right. You’ve lost Dru and she’s gone forever.”
Winslow glared at me, showing a villainous spark for the first time. I grinned. “She’s not married yet,” he yelled, staggering to his feet. “Prince Charming hasn’t won. Not until the ring is on her finger.”
I nodded, satisfied that I’d done my part. As quickly as Winslow’s villainy came, it faded away. His shoulders began to shake with the weight of his unrequited love. “But what can I do? I’m merely a butler. An ugly one at that. I have nothing to offer my sweet princess. No money. No fine house. No jewels.”
At this point Charming didn’t either, since ... well, I burned his house down. I reached for Winslow’s lapel again, but he backed away in time.
“Dru doesn’t want or need fancy things.” I smiled. “She needs a man who loves her.”
“I do love her.”
“I know.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “So go tell her. Tell her how much she means to you. How you can’t face a day without her in your life. How the sun won’t shine as bright without her.” All the things I should’ve said to Asia, but didn’t. Some tough villain I was, afraid of one tiny princess with poor aim.
Winslow frowned. “When’d you turn all gay?”
My fists clenched.
“I’m kidding,” he said. “You’re right. I must confess my love for Dru. If I don’t, I’ll regret it for the rest of my days.”
“That a boy. Now go get your girl.” I smacked him on the shoulder. He fell backward, smashing his head into the tree. The tree shook from the impact, sending leaves and bird feathers raining down on us. I glanced up in time to spot a bluebird fly away.
Poor Winslow wasn’t so lucky. His gaze followed mine, but rather than watching a bluebird, he watched as a pinecone the size of a little pig tumbled toward him. It hit him square on the forehead. He let out a small squeak and his eyes rolled back as he slumped to the ground unconscious.
“Winslow?” I called. “Ummm ... buddy ...”
No response.
“Winslow?” I said again.
Nothing.
He’ll be fine, I thought, glancing around the deserted forest. I shrugged my shoulders and slowly crept away.
Chapter 34
Later that evening, in the back room of the Three Blind Mice Tavern, I raised my beer mug in salute. A splash of white foam dribbled down the side. “A toast. To the groom.”
“To the groom.” My fellow bachelor party compatriots, four in all, raised their own glasses with a loud “hear, hear.” I took a long drink, hoping to drown this charade in enough beer to forget the rest of the night. So far, it wasn’t working.
Prince Charming lifted his glass filled with a frothy pink mixture, and a little sloshed over the side, leaving a pink stain on Charming’s manicured nails. “Thank you all for coming.” He glanced around the small table and smiled. “This means so much to me. To have you all here. My dear friends. When I think of all we’ve meant to each other ...”
Friends? Not so much. Hell, the only person here who actually liked Charming was Charming. And maybe Bruce, the sheriff. Well, the king too, but he didn’t really count. After all, I bribed him with a turkey leg to join the festivities.
I snuck a glance at Winslow. He g
lared back, his eyes burning. Guess he still held a grudge. I’d apologized for leaving him unconscious in the forest, what more did he want? Blood? “Winslow,” I said. “Your forehead is bleeding again.”
Not my fault, I assured myself. After all, how was I to know that during his “nap” a gaggle of bluebirds would take advantage of the troll-like butler?
Charming staggered to his feet, swaying slightly like Miss Muffet after one too many bowls of whey. “Tomorrow I will be a married man.” He gave a small shiver. “But don’t cry for me, my friends, for I gain something far more important.”
A baboon-faced wife?
“Tomorrow I gain a family.” He saluted the king, and then me. The king beamed while I felt slightly nauseous.
Winslow, on the other hand, looked ready to commit prince-icide. His eyes flashed red, and his mouth moved, forming words incomprehensible to the human ear. Winslow pushed his stool back and rose to his feet. “You don’t deser—”
I cut him off. “Oh look. The stripper’s here.”
All heterosexual heads swiveled toward the door and the obese blonde shoving her way through it. She wore a tight black negligee that clung to her curves in an obscene manner. A cigarette jutted from her red, wrinkled lips. With a slight limp she sashayed to our table.
A villain at the bar let out a shrill whistle. “Hey, sexy grandmama.”
I winced. For one thing, the stripper was far from sexy. Why waste my dough on Charming? It would be like taking a supermodel to Denny’s.
The stripper arrived at our table. She was even worse-looking up close, sixty years old with stretch marks and an overbite that reminded me of Pinocchio’s girlfriend, Woodchuck Sally. The stripper’s eyes were much too close together, making her nose seem that much larger. That wasn’t the worst part. Besides her sagging breasts, her breath reminded me why necrophilia held little appeal.
“Money up front,” she said, exhaling putrid air.
“Here you go.” I crammed two tens into her meaty palm. She counted each one. That took about five minutes. Maledetto public schooling, I’d bet.
Curses! Page 17
