Letters to Zell

by Camille Griep

  She took off her sunglasses. “Are you having man troubles, my dear? You know, that’s not my specialty. I consult about therapy. You know, for legal cases.”

  “It’s my husband, Henry.”

  She pursed her lips for a moment, but then smiled, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, Rory. Tell me about Henry.”

  “I suppose he’s rather normal. Though I know that’s unkind to say. He’s not terribly tall or terribly thin. He likes to hunt and fish and play darts.”

  “Goodness, are you sure you’re from Los Angeles?” She laughed lightly.

  “He likes to drink, too,” I said. “Is that better?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m just joking,” she said, petting Jethro’s ears absentmindedly. “There’s nothing wrong with normal. Tell me about your relationship with him.”

  “Our courtship was quite rushed, see. He believes that he saved me . . . Maybe I should say, I let him think that, but it isn’t quite true. And his parents and my parents thought it would be best for us to marry immediately.”

  “Were you willing?” She leans forward. “Was it like an arranged marriage? In some places, that’s not even legal. What do you mean, saved you? Saved you from what?”

  “That’s just it. He didn’t save me, he just thinks he did.”

  She stopped a young servant in a green apron and ordered us two espressos. He began to protest about how it wasn’t the way they did things there and he just couldn’t, until she slipped him a piece of paper money. The servant dismissed, Patricia continued. “But when you say he thinks he saved you, was it from an accident or is it more of a metaphor—like he saved you from yourself or a bad situation?”

  “Neither. But it’s closer to the first one, I think. So he deserved to marry me, I guess.”

  “You aren’t property, for Christ’s sake.”

  I brushed some eucalyptus leaves from the edge of the table. “Which one is Christ, again?”

  “You’re not on drugs, are you? I don’t do people who are on drugs. Too complicated.”

  “You mean potions? No. Never. I haven’t had any potions. I’ve tried to get some to help from someone. I just . . . I can tell this isn’t making sense to you.”

  Patricia took off her sunglasses. “Would it help if I told you it’s not even the third strangest thing I’ve heard today?”

  I sat back, relieved. “Maybe it’s easier to say I’m from somewhere different and leave it at that. We have different customs. Things we have to do and things that we should do and then things that we can choose to do. The short of it is that we got married quickly and I’m not sure he ended up with what he wanted. I simply want to change that.”

  “So let me get this straight. You want to change what he wants.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “You can’t change what someone wants.”

  “Why not?”

  “Rory.” She pointed her sunglasses at me. “What do you want?”

  “Happily Ever After.”

  Patricia laughed low and long. “Don’t we all, honey.”

  “You don’t have any suggestions?”

  “I don’t have the kind of silver bullet you’re referring to.” She zipped Jethro into his tote bag. “The best I can do is take you shopping.”

  We went to a bunch of shops that sold tight black things, just like Patricia herself wore. We went to a salon specializing in hair. We went to a store that has a whole floor full of items to enhance your facial features. We went to a store that only sold undergarments. It was called Victoria’s Secret—a secret, I’d imagine, because you shouldn’t tell people that you’re going to such a place. I bought red brassieres and lace brassieres and striped pantaloons and perfume and little slippers with feathers on them. I’m sending you a box through the carriage post—a matching unicorn brassiere and pantaloon set. I got them for CeCi and Bianca, too. You are all going to love them.

  When Snoozer and I met CeCi at the door of the cooking school, she stared at me for several heartbeats, like she wasn’t quite sure who I was. “Rory?” she asked. “Is that you? Or did someone steal your dog?”

  “Don’t be daft, of course it’s me.”

  She reached up and touched my hair. I’ll admit it was a bit crunchy. “What have you done to yourself?”

  “What do you think? Do you love it? I had a makeover.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Hers was not the reaction I’d been hoping for. “You don’t like it.”

  “No. Yes! Yes, I do. It’s stunning. You’re stunning, just, wow. It’s different, that’s all.”

  “See, now Henry won’t be able to resist me.”

  “Oh, Rory. That’s not what I meant, either.” She twisted her fingers together, wincing.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re stunning when you’re not made over. Henry’s a fool if he can’t see it. He’s a fool to not love you. He’s a fool, period.”

  “That wasn’t very nice, CeCi,” I said, pulling Snoozer’s leash. “I don’t say unkind things about Edmund, now do I?”

  CeCi fell in behind me. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s only, I—”

  I felt very magnanimous with all my new accoutrements. “You’re forgiven. Now, it’s time to go home and change everything!” I grabbed her arm, and we hailed our taxi to the portal. It was just our luck one stopped immediately.

  See, I’m becoming my own woman. I’ll let you know how things go as soon as Henry gets back from his hunt. Patricia said it would be a long shot. Whatever that means.

  Love,

  Rory

  From the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming

  Crystal Palace

  North Road, Grimmland

  Dear Zell,

  Lucinda finally counted the tiaras today. I could hear her rummaging through the crown room across the hall. And her subsequent keening.

  “CeCi! Alert the guards. Someone has stolen a tiara!”

  I came into the room behind her. “No one stole anything.”

  “It’s that new maid. I told you I didn’t like the look of her.”

  “The maid is fine. No one took anything. Leave it alone.”

  “Then where is it?”

  I looked around my room. My room. My sanctuary. I looked at her standing in it. And my stomach began to burn. I could have had her thrown out. I could have had her punished. I could have told her the tiara’s value in worms.

  “Those tiaras are mine. Not yours. I didn’t ask you to inventory them. Furthermore, what I do with them and where I put them is my business. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this.”

  It took her a few seconds too long to put a wounded look on her face. “I’m only trying to help you. I’ve made my amends and now you’re choosing to shut me out.”

  “You made my life a living hell. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were still trying.”

  “That’s a bit drastic, don’t you think? You’re an achiever, thanks to me. And look what you’ve done. For yourself. For your family.”

  “None of this was for you. I took your daughters in because you forced them into hysterics over losing a future that was never attainable in the first place.”

  Lucinda stepped toward me, glowering. “So what, I encouraged them to dream big. They weren’t sturdy stock like you. They were delicate. They didn’t have any life skills. You just never know how girls will turn out.”

  “You told them to cut off their feet to fit in a goddamned pair of shoes,” I said. “I think it was safe to predict their resulting low self-esteem.”

  “You and that feckless Snow White run around perpetuating the myth that all stepmothers are like Valborg.”

  “No. At least Valborg didn’t want Bianca to stick around
and suffer. At least she tried to make it quick.”

  “So dramatic. You are certainly entitled to your royal opinion. But you’ll always be our Cinderella.”

  I leaned in very close to her. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

  “Family sticks together,” she said. “You’d do well to remember where you came from.”

  I almost had to laugh. I remember almost every minute of every day. I’m constantly trying to figure out what to keep and what to discard, what is me and what isn’t. “You are not my family. The only reason I let you tromp around like you own this castle is because it’s easier than fighting you. But I’m tired of the same thing over and over again. Aren’t you tired of it? I’m not having this discussion again.”

  She drew her lips tight. “I’m the only mother you’ve got.”

  “You may be right,” I said. “But CeCi, Bianca, Zell, Rosemount, DJ, those people are my family.”

  Her lips spread into a slick smile. “Aha. You didn’t say Edmund.”

  “What do you mean, aha? This isn’t a test. Edmund’s not family, either. He’s something else. Something even better. Something more. Something I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  She winced, almost imperceptibly, but winced all the same. “About love, you mean? Of course. What could I possibly understand about that?” The dark gleam in her eyes had returned, the one I remembered seeing before I hid in corners as a girl. “Darling and Sweetie’s father left me for a chambermaid, and your father left me because we were wallowing in debt. If you want to know, it was a relief when you banished him.”

  I tried to keep my face still as she studied me. My father was just the latest feature on her revolving carousel of excuses. But I let go of my feelings for him long ago.

  “I’ve always had to rely on myself,” she continued. “I’ve made the best of hard circumstances. What was I supposed to do? Give up? Let my daughters live in garbage or on the street? There was only going to be one queen in the house, if any. How could I know that you would take care of us if you were the chosen one? We weren’t your blood. Your father hadn’t paid a bill or graced our doorstep in years. I placed my bets. The cards did not fall in my favor.”

  “But you’re not apologizing.”

  “I can’t apologize for a choice I didn’t have. Besides, you can’t say things didn’t work out for the best.” She spread her hands wide around her.

  “I think we’re done here,” I said.

  “That prince loves you,” she said, backing away down the corridor. “You’re lucky and you don’t even know it. You’ll never have to make the choices I did. For your own sake, become whatever he wants.”

  It’s always been easier to think of Lucinda as simply evil, continually wanting the worst outcome for me, a misguided one for the girls. It’s even more horrifying to think that she believes she made the right choice. But of course she does.

  She turned her back to me, but I could imagine her face. She said, “I don’t know what it is that you’re up to, disappearing all the time. Even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find out and ensure it stops. I won’t have you throw everything we’ve got out the window.”

  I wished I could have thrown the other thirty-seven tiaras out the window. Or her. I don’t owe anyone an explanation about my belongings or my time or my marriage. Or anything else, for that matter.

  Love,

  CeCi

  She Sang Songs without End

  Important Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White

  Onyx Manor

  West Road, Grimmland

  Z,

  I spend all night in my father’s study. I reread every journal. I cross-fucking-reference dates with maps and satchels of money from more lands than I can count.

  I finally get to the point I can’t concentrate anymore, I’m so tired. I look out the window and the goddamned sun is coming up. In my mind, there’s a tiny fear, but I either can’t or maybe won’t let it grow into an actuality.

  I consider going to CeCi or Rory, but instead I head straight to Figgy’s. I gave them the time they asked for, and it’s time I had some answers, Fairy Godmother sanctioned or not.

  When I get there, Figgy sits me down in that damned calming chair with the canaries. “Bianca,” she says, expansively. “I suppose we owe you an explanation.”

  I try to start politely because Rory’s always saying how you can get more flies with honey than vinegar, and blah blah blah. I try to be honest about the information I put together in the study the night before.

  “Figs, I know my father’s been gone awhile, longer than even I care to admit. As far as I can tell, he left for the last time just before I woke up. But there were letters for a long time before that. I always knew he was somewhere, even if I wasn’t exactly sure where. So, all I’m asking for is some help narrowing down where he is right now, maybe where he has been over the last couple of years. You know, so I can send him a wedding invitation. See, nothing hard. Nothing scary. Nothing out of control.”

  “Oh, but it’s complicated, my dear,” says Figgy.

  I wave a tea-toting canary away.

  “Complicated how?”

  “I was so sure you knew, until Solace came and told me of the real purpose for your ventures Outside.”

  There it was, that speck of fear again. But this time, it was black and blooming like ink in water. “Real purpose? I thought your birds were omniscient?”

  “I thought you’d gone Outside to find your father, dear.”

  I bop myself on the forehead, and the canaries scatter. “Solace must have given him a dedicated portal. Of course. That must be why there’s so much money. But if he’s coming back and forth, why—”

  “A dedicated portal?” Figgy asks. And all of a sudden I’m more confused than I was when I came in. “For Cecilia’s classes? Oh, heavens, such frivolity. I thought the classes were simply a ruse for you to track him down.”

  A sickening cold spreads up my limbs. “Track him down? And do what? I love my father, Figgy, whatever mistakes he made. I don’t understand . . . If he’s Outside, why didn’t Solace tell me? How long has he been there?”

  “I worried you’d get caught up finding him, take too much time, and be trapped.”

  “How. Long. Ago. Figgy.”

  “He wanted to atone for leaving you in Valborg’s care. He punished himself for a long time, casting about and cutting ties before he decided to exile himself. He wanted to see you one last time, but he simply couldn’t conquer the fear that you wouldn’t forgive him.”

  “Wait. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to get up, but the birds have strategically pinned my shoulders.

  “Let me start from the beginning, or at least from after you ate the apple and the dwarves placed you in the glass coffin in the forest. Your father was summoned to Grimmland once Valborg was arrested. He was terribly distraught over what had happened, and he visited the coffin every night. I doubt anyone but Solace and I saw his comings and goings—he only came during our watches.”

  I couldn’t say anything. I opened my mouth but nothing would come out. My father had stayed with me. He was sorry. But then again, he didn’t help me, either. He didn’t break the glass. He didn’t even try to move me somewhere else, as William had so ham-handedly planned to do, to study the situation further. He stood and lamented, and wrung his hands. And to top it all off, he fled.

  I want to be anywhere but Figgy’s living room. Just when I think she can’t possibly tell me anything more painful, she keeps going.

  “When William dropped the coffin and the piece of apple dislodged itself, we Fairy Godmothers saw to your recovery. Your father came one last time, to say farewell. You wouldn’t remember, of course. Malice had given you a potion for the pain.”

  “So he knew I was awake and he still left?”

  “He rejoiced in y
our improvement. He said he’d bequeathed you money and maps for every Realm he’d visited, as well as his journals. He thought that was the man you’d wish to know. Not the man he had become. We begged him to stay and make things right, but he felt unworthy.”

  “But, how long has he been gone?”

  “It’s been almost two years since you woke up, my dear.”

  “He exiled himself that day.”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.” She makes a gesture to the canaries and they began to circle in formation.

  Instead of feeling calmer, I feel ripped in two. My beloved father, the coward. I want to find him and hug him and then punch him until he sees stars scouring the sky like Figgy’s canaries. And then it comes to me. “The birds! The birds can cross the Realms. Can’t the birds find him?”

  “Perhaps they might be able to locate him and deliver a letter using trial and error—the mail simply requires time and positive identification. But he no longer possesses enough magic from the Realm for us to track him directly. Certainly not enough to return.”

  “But he’s the only family I have.” I hear raindrops pattering on the roof above us. At least the drizzle feels appropriate.

  “That’s simply not true. You have Cecilia and Briar Rose and William and . . .”

  Lightning. “Stop it, Figgy. It’s not the same and you know it. Why wouldn’t he have waited until we could have had a real conversation? I would have forgiven him.”

  “He didn’t want your forgiveness, my dear. You can’t give people what they won’t accept.”

  “So he’s never coming back.”

  “No. I’m afraid not.”

  Soft thunder rolls outside. “And you and Solace knew the whole time.”

  “I feared you knowing his whereabouts would cause you to do something futile, at best, and dangerous, at worst. Solace and I had agreed on waiting for the right opportunity to give you the information.”

  “How about when William knocked the goddamned apple out of my throat? How about right after, when I still could have gone after him? Why wasn’t right then the appropriate time? No wonder Rory and CeCi have had it with you.”