Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  "This is the safest place for us right now," Wendy whispered back. "Wait until I find another Door to--"

  "So I'm supposed to sleep with--"

  "No!"

  "Because if he touches me I'm going to--"

  "No violence, either," Wendy said. "I'll figure something out."

  Alice didn't know whether or not to believe her, but the knowledge that Wendy wasn't expecting her to sleep with that pompous blowhard to buy them time was reassuring. And she knew that Wendy had said no violence, but that depended on him.

  She followed him down a hall that was wider than three of her home streets put together, looking at the extravagant portraits on the walls. The carvings were something she could've studied for hours, but at the moment she didn't have time. Maybe staying around here wouldn't be so bad, provided she could get things straightened out with this guy.

  He walked into what was apparently his room and she followed, closing the door behind her but keeping one hand on the knob.

  "Why do you look so nervous?" he asked. "Even if my mother does interrogate you, I've already decided to keep you, so--"

  "Again. Not a dog."

  "I didn't say you were. You're not from Faerietale, are you?"

  "No."

  "I knew it!" he said, his voice as gleeful as a child's. "Your clothes were very strange. Snow will be so jealous."

  "Snow?"

  "Snow White. My sister."

  "Oh, of course. And I suppose that makes you Prince Charming?"

  He grinned. "If that's what you want to call me."

  Oh god, she thought. Did lines like that actually work here? "Look, I hate to tell you this, but you're not my type."

  He stared at her blankly. Guy was probably certain he was everyone's type.

  "I'm not?" he finally asked.

  "No."

  "So saying you came here to join the harem was just a ruse."

  The impulse to say, 'brilliant, Einstein' was one that shouldn't be followed, Alice told herself. "You're right. It was. We just needed to get Sayvi out of the world he was trapped in. His-- his parents abandoned him in the middle of the forest."

  "Well. Glad he's safe here, then," he said. "So where are you from? Snow is going to die from envy. She's always going on about laws and Doors and alternate worlds and such. Never talked to someone from another world, though. Well, except the White Rabbit, but he's not much for logical conversation so I don't know if he counts. Now you're here and I get to talk to you first! So tell me about yourself. I need details for when she asks."

  When she just stared at him, he waved his hand impatiently. "Come on-- if you like you can pretend I'm honestly interested. I have a very good interested face. See? Gotten a lot of practice at formal dinners."

  He looked right at her, earnest-eyed and curly-haired, and she thought he must've been impossible to say no to when he was a child. Which might explain a lot of his behavior now. "You're incredible."

  "Thank you! Far from the first time I've heard it, but the words are always nice. Here, since I guess you're shy or something I'll start you off. Why am I not your type?"

  "Well. You said you have a sister?"

  "Yes?"

  "She's more my type."

  He frowned at her for a couple of seconds, and then it sunk in. "Ohh! I don't think I've ever met one of you before!"

  "Yeah, well, this is the last day I'm on a freebie display. Tomorrow I start charging admission."

  "You're quite odd," he said. "What's your name again?"

  "Alice."

  "Alice. Okay. And where exactly are you from?"

  "Oklahoma."

  "Interesting! Never heard of that kingdom. You can sit down, you know."

  "That's all right."

  "Why not?"

  "Because they think-- because I'm supposedly a member of your harem now and--"

  "No, you're not. Now Wendy might be. Unless you and she. . ."

  "Yeah," Alice said quickly. "That's right. Neither of us are your type."

  "Too bad." Again, the cocky smile. "Sure I can't change your mind?"

  "Positive," she said, eyeing the sword on the wall and deciding that everyone in this palace must have endless patience; otherwise someone surely would've used that thing on him by now.

  ***

  It was the eyes that tipped him off. The Prince had never forgotten those eyes – the clear, sharp olive green of them, warm in some lights, cold in others.

  If not for the eyes, though, he would never have recognized Little Red. She had grown, sometime when he had been busy trying on clothes or playing in his harem, into a tall and striking woman – strong cheekbones; perfect jaw; dark, straight hair.

  Her expression was perfectly blank when she was reintroduced to him. He couldn't read her – couldn't read her chameleon eyes, changing in the light; couldn't read her lips, the set of her jaw, the way in which she held her body. She was a blank stone wall, a canvas on which he could paint whatever perception he wished, and still have it be wrong.

  But there was, for a moment, a smile, small and half-formed, that caused her lips to twitch as she bowed to him.

  “Prince,” she murmured, in a voice husky and gentle. “It has been an awfully long time.”

  The Prince swallowed. Stared at the shadows playing on her collar bone. Swallowed again. “Little Red?” he managed.

  She quirked her lips again, that strange half-smile that almost betrayed her. Almost. “Not so little these days, my Prince,” she quipped. “But yes. The very same.”

  “Well.” The Prince paused, cleared his throat, tried to look elsewhere for a moment – and found his eyes unable to move. Shifting his stance, drawing his royal haughtiness about him like a cloak, he straightened and stared down his nose at her. “What brings you to the castle?”

  “My grandmother's orders,” said Red, straightening and meeting his gaze head-on. It was a boldness quite unfamiliar to him. “I'm to be the Queen's servant in all things, and her eyes and ears during her absence.”

  “Ah, so you're a spy then,” said the Prince, smiling. “Come to check on me, have you?”

  Red laughed softly. “Not as such,” she said, “But I can certainly report your doings to her.”

  “And whatever shall you tell her?” the Prince asked, his smile widening. “Do you promise to tell her I'm being a very good boy?”

  “That depends,” said Red, eyes flicking over him. “Are you being a good boy?”

  The Prince laughed. “Never,” he said. “But she doesn't need to know that.”

  Red clicked her tongue in disapproval, but the half-smile was there, mischievous and promising. “I'm afraid I must be loyal and truthful to Her Majesty in all things,” she said. “Even concerning you.”

  “Oh dear,” said the Prince, in mock solemnity. “And I'd hoped we wouldn't have to be enemies. Is there any way I can convince you not to tell her if I misbehave?”

  Red arched her brows. “I know that you're not asking me to accept a bribe, my Prince.”

  The Prince took a step closer. “And if I was?”

  Red left one eyebrow raised, and gently leaned forward. It was a flirtatious gesture, sweet, promising.

  And then she had hold of his hand.

  “I'm afraid,” she said, eyes locked on his, “That I'd have to break your poor fingers again. And I just know you wouldn't want that.”

  The Prince swallowed, this time in genuine fear. He could nearly feel the bones cracking. “N-no,” he stuttered. “No, I'd prefer they stayed whole, thank you.”

  Red smiled. It was a full smile, but it held none of the appeal of her half-quirked lips. Her real smile was cold. “Then we understand each other.” She stepped back, releasing his hand. She looked him up and down again, then met his eyes with a warm gaze. “It was good to see you again, my Prince,” she said.

  And just like that, she was gone, a specter in a red cape floating away down the corridor.

  ***

  "-- so are you seeing any D
oors at all in here? Because if we have to go back through the harem Door and into my world again--"

  "There are many Doors in Faerietale," Wendy said, a bit of an edge to her voice. "There must be one in here for us."

  "Good. Let's just hope it's not in the Queen's bedroom or something because from the sound of it if you tried to sneak in there that'd get us beheaded faster than--"

  She stopped mid-step and mid-sentence, her gaze locked on an enormous portrait on the wall.

  She remembered her mother watching Somewhere in Time religiously every New Year's Eve, and she would scoff at the idea of someone being so entranced by a photograph, and her mother would roll her eyes and call her 'my little cynic' and they'd keep on eating popcorn.

  She'd liked the ritual, if not the movie itself-- always thought the premise was silly. Now she knew better.

  "Alice?"

  She blinked, looked quickly over at Wendy, but soon enough found her attention drawn back to the portrait. "Hm? What?"

  Wendy looked up at the portrait of the Queen's daughter and sighed. "And here you're worried about me getting us beheaded."

  ***

  A part of her knew that this was stupid and reckless—Wendy called them Doors, but who was to say they’d actually look like doors? She didn’t even know what to look for! Or if she could even see them by herself; she'd only seen the one in the forest when Wendy had hold of her hand. And if one of the myriad guards found her creeping around, no doubt she’d be facing some prickly questions on the end of a sword. But sitting put in the harem felt counterproductive, and Alice was determined to find a way out before this place sucked her in any further. She didn’t belong here; she kept telling herself that. And for all that this place had its attractions, she couldn’t feel safe here. Not with magic and armed guards around every corner. Better to find a way back home and get Wendy out of here and to safety, and fast.

  She didn’t like the soft slippers Cybele had picked out for her, but they did offer a slight advantage: they made far less noise against the polished marble floors than her sneakers would have. The dress, however, was all annoyance with no benefits, no matter how much Cybele had cooed about it being “perfect!” and “the loveliest shade of green to compliment” her hair. There was a reason why she preferred jeans. She just hoped she wouldn’t have a need to run in this getup.

  Keeping close to the wall, she walked as quickly as she dared, holding her skirts up to keep her feet free. There was a doorway just ahead to her right, the door cracked open. She hesitated, listening for any voices, before daring a quick peek around the doorjamb.

  It was a library, far grander than the harem’s. The bookshelves stretched so high the top rows were invisible—the ceiling was so vaulted, there might as well be clouds gathering up there. There were several chairs and desks, a massive fireplace, rows and rows of windows. And not a soul in sight.

  Alice stepped inside cautiously, her slippers sinking into thick red carpet. This place was too good to be true. It was something out of a dream. And just glancing at those shelves, with their neat lines of leather spines, bewitched her. This was the sort of library bibliophiles would kill to see just once; the most jaded professors would weep at the possibilities; starry-eyed girls would fall into these books and never surface, wasting away on the window seats. Even Alice felt the pull, the yearning of the stories bound and waiting.

  And then the silliest thing popped into her head: Scooby-Doo. She bit down on the laugh before it could escape, and then looked over the cases again. Secret passages, she thought. There are always secret passages in libraries, with levers hidden behind ornate books. It never failed in Scooby-Doo, or Young Frankenstein, or Batman. There’d be a cobwebby staircase leading down to a laboratory or dungeon or—a Door? If they were so important and so dangerous, perhaps it would be hidden rather than simply guarded?

  It would be within easy reach, probably at eye-level. Perhaps the title of the book would be significant? Alice peered at the often-faded legends, some painted, others golden gilt, a few inked on with a scholarly hand. Several were in a language she wasn’t familiar with—possibly Latin? This was another world, though, so maybe it was some language totally foreign to Earth. Faerie or Trollish or something.

  She bit her lip, shrugged, and started to pull out random, likely-looking tomes. Fat, squashy things. Tall and stately volumes. She let her eyes wander as she grabbed, hoping she’d hear a tell-tale creak or squeak or snap to warn her before the whole shelf slid away—

  The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe: Being the Second Adventure in the Land of

  Narnia.

  There it sat, three shelves up, just out of arm’s reach. It looked like the same edition she remembered from all those years ago, powder blue with gold lettering. She found she couldn’t take her eyes away from it. The ladder stood just a few feet away, and she grabbed for it blindly, yanking it over with the faintest squeak of wheels. It suddenly felt very important, to take that book off the shelf, so she started to climb.

  Her fingertips had just touched the top of the spine, had just begin to pull, when she realized she wasn’t alone. Muffled footsteps were approaching her. Fabric was swishing against the thick carpet.

  Alice looked over her shoulder with an inaudible gasp of fear, eyes wide and face blanched. When she realized just who was looking up at her, her eyes widened further. And breathing? That was impossible.

  It was the woman from the portrait. And if the painting had been mesmerizing, that was nothing compared to seeing her in the flesh. Alice usually hated the typical descriptors used on women—skin like porcelain, rosy cheeks, raven-wing tresses—but they were apt here. She looked more like a figure from a dream than a solid woman, though perhaps that was due to her sparkling white dress and pearls; she was ethereal against the dark red of the carpet and gold of the walls. And she was looking up at her with the oddest expression, a mixture of amusement and curious surprise. Her pink lips had quirked up in a half-smile, and Alice’s eyes followed the slim, pale hand as it moved up to brush back a stray lock of black hair.

  Snow had been halfway to her usual desk, focused on the book she’d left beside the inkwell and eager to resume her studies, when she had abruptly realized the library was not deserted as usual. She had watched as this strange newcomer pulled over the ladder and started to climb, emerald skirts rustling against her legs, her entire being locked on a single book. Snow had frozen and stared: at the shimmer of light across the fabric, at the play of the fiery curls that fell over milk-white shoulders, at the rounded curves of the freckled face as it turned in a profile.

  Now the stranger was looking at her with a great deal of fear in her face, and an odd longing was welling up in her breast. This singular moment of silent staring felt inexplicably important. Snow had never believed much in Fate or Destiny, but this moment could change all that. It all depended on what came next…

  “I’m not a thief,” Alice blurted loudly, and immediately regretted it. She squeezed her eyes closed and slapped a hand to her forehead, rocking the ladder and nearly slipping off.

  “Careful!” Snow said, closing the distance in order to put a steadying hand against her back. She touched nothing but satin, but her fingertips still tingled with the lightning’s zap, and when she met Alice’s eyes it was clear she wasn’t the only one who felt it.

  “What’s your name?” the Princess asked, a tad breathlessly.

  “Alice. Alice Lewis. I know who you are. I mean, I saw your portrait in the main hall. You’re, you’re the Princess, right? Snow White?” It spilled out in a nervous rush, and Alice felt the flush of embarrassment burn across her cheeks.

  But to her further surprise, the Princess only smiled. It was a warm smile that reached her dark eyes and made tiny crinkles at their corners. She liked that smile—liked it an awful lot.

  “You can call me Snow.”

  “It’s a nice name,” Alice said. “Very unusual. I’ve never met a Snow before.”

  “Than
k you?” Snow said, smile widening. “Perhaps you’d better come down before you fall. We can talk better eye-to-eye.”

  “Oh, yes, good idea,” said Alice, stepping down the rungs. She smoothed her dress and straightened the shoulder straps self-consciously. “Should I curtsy? I mean, you’re a Princess—it’s just that I’ve never really practiced, and I might fall over, I’m not the most graceful of people.” Unlike you, she added silently, admiring the way she held herself in that elegant dress.

  “No, no, please don’t curtsy,” Snow White said quickly. “I don’t really stand on ceremony. So, what brought you to my library?”

  “Is this your private library?” Alice asked, mortified. “I am so, so sorry, I was just exploring—”

  “It’s open to everyone in the palace, never fear,” Snow reassured. “I call it mine because I seem to be the only one who spends much time here, besides Bartleby the wizard. Mother used to come here regularly, but lately . . . not as much. Please, feel free to take down any books you fancy.”

  Alice looked down at her hands and swallowed audibly. She wondered if she dared to trust the way her heart skipped and her immediate urge to tell Snow everything: about Wendy and the Doors and about herself. Especially herself. She wanted to sit and talk with this woman until the sun went down and the fireplace was lit, about everything and nothing. Likes and dislikes and aspirations and dreams.

  But that was mad. Wasn’t it? She’d only just met her. And Alice wasn’t the type to just

  immediately open her heart and soul to a pretty face . . . was she? She flashed back to her first glimpse of the portrait, her memories of Somewhere in Time with her mother on New Year’s Eve, and wondered if “love at first sight” wasn’t such a silly concept after all.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before, Alice,” Snow said, and hearing her say her name made her feel fuzzy inside. “Have you just arrived?”

  “Uh. Yes. I was . . . traveling. With a friend. And we took a wrong turn and got sorta lost. Found ourselves stumbling into the harem.”