Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  He came back the next night. Far after sundown, when darkness created safety. Why she was still awake, she didn't know. It certainly wasn't as if she was waiting for him.

  Some nights she spoke. Other nights, he did. She preferred those nights. She would close her eyes and listen, sometimes not to the words, just to the sound of his voice, and she would pretend that he was speaking to her in the daylight. That he wouldn't turn and run if he ever got a good look at her.

  That she actually had some semblance of a friend out here in this gods-forsaken place.

  He didn't often say things that startled her. They kept to innocuous subjects, softly voiced, and things were perfectly fine that way. So when he told her one night that she'd been awfully quiet lately, it made her blink in surprise.

  "I've just spoken to you for several moments."

  "I know. I mean during the day."

  She sighed, understanding. Now that she knew he was out there somewhere, it made growling at a stubborn stain on her dress a trifle embarrassing. "Well, that's just how it is now, I suppose."

  "But if you aren't shrieking at inanimate objects, how am I supposed to know you're all right?"

  Beauty stared toward the doorway, strongly debating about the merits of heading out into the moonlight just long enough to give him a good swat. Then, reluctantly, she laughed.

  "You should do that more often. It sounds nice."

  And that was the second time he'd startled her tonight. She rarely laughed; the rough, throaty sound was so unlike her old laugh that it disturbed her to hear it. ". . . it does?"

  "Yes." He peered around the doorway as he said it, and though she knew it was impossible in the darkness, for a few seconds it seemed like he met her eyes.

  Then he leaned back out of sight, and asked, "Walk with me?"

  "I . . . well, I don't think that--"

  "I won't look at you, if that's your concern."

  She got to her feet and stepped outside. True to his word, he stood with his back to her.

  "Where are we going?" she asked quietly.

  "There's someplace I'd like you to see."

  "What is it?"

  "If I answered that, it'd spoil the surprise."

  Beauty followed happily after that, her mind lighting up will all sorts of possibilities in a way that it hadn't had a chance to in over a year. Michael had given her presents constantly, necklaces or earrings and once a highly expensive and beautiful dress. And the men who hoped that someday she would leave Michael for them had given her extravagant gifts-- one of them had found the most beautiful pair of gloves and. . .

  Then she realized that all of those gentlemen had been courting her, and she was in danger of thinking of this man in a highly inappropriate way.

  Still, even that realization couldn't dampen her mood.

  The dawn, however, could.

  Though he had walked ahead of her so far, and had not turned back to look at her, the harshness of daylight as opposed to what the moon allowed made her nervous. "Maybe-- maybe we should stop until it gets dark again."

  "Are you tired?"

  "Well, no, I just . . . it's--" Mistake, she thought. She should've just lied and said she was exhausted. "It's very . . . very bright out," she finally grumbled.

  "The house is only a few moments away," he said. "Though if you want to stop--"

  "House?" she asked, feeling panic take hold of her. "You're taking me to other people?"

  "No," he said quickly. "It's abandoned."

  "And you're sure?"

  "Yes. And I'll double-check when we get there."

  "All right." She stared at his back skeptically. "So you're taking me to see an abandoned house?"

  "Just trust me."

  Picturing a decrepit, terrifying place, she trailed after him and wondered exactly what she'd gotten herself into.

  "Wait here," he murmured a few moments later, and Beauty paused, trying to peer through the trees and see what their destination was. Maybe he'd only made up the story of an abandoned house to distract her from what they were really there for.

  "All right," he called, and she moved forward.

  Stopping at the edge of the trees, her mouth fell open. It was a house, yes, but unlike any she'd ever seen before. The walkway leading up to it was made of red-and-white swirled candies, and the windows were lined in thick frosting that looked like it had just been applied a few moments ago. And the house itself, instead of being made of stone or bricks, was made entirely out of gingerbread. The entire thing smelled wonderful.

  Beauty was so fascinated that she almost stepped out into the clearing before she remembered herself. "Is this something the Fae built?"

  "I think so," he said, the first lie he'd told her. The house had actually been built by the Forest Witch to lure in children, but they didn't need to get into that right now. He'd brought her here to try and cheer her up, not tell horrific stories of kids lured away from their homes and never seen again. Knowing that she would never come investigate further as long as he was standing right here, he moved around to the other side of the house.

  The instant he was out of sight, he heard her footsteps.

  "It's so beautiful," she said quietly. "Must've taken forever to build." And the urge to just break off a piece and eat was almost overwhelming.

  As if sensing her thoughts, he spoke. "Take what you like."

  "No, I--"

  "Just watch what happens."

  Beauty hesitated. She was already under one awful curse; she'd heard tales of what happened to people who irritated the Fae. But the smell was too much to resist, and she dipped her pinky finger into the frosting at the bottom corner of a windowsill, where hopefully it wouldn't be missed.

  Then she just stared, because though she'd taken a fingerful, it didn't look like anything was missing.

  Curious now, she reached up and broke off a gingerbread shingle. The newly-empty area shimmered for an instant, and then a shingle was back.

  "This is incredible," she laughed, quickly popping the frosting and a bite of gingerbread into her mouth. "I'm just going to move here."

  She'd sampled candies, more gingerbread, frosting, and even a piece of spun-sugar window before she heard a strange whumping noise, and then a dark shape hurtled through the sky and landed right next to the house. Beauty peeked around the corner-- she didn't remember darting around the other side of the house and huddling into a protective ball, but apparently she had-- and then frowned. "Is that a cannonball?"

  "I forgot they were close by. . ." he muttered, and they both waited a few moments for another odd missile before he picked up the heavy ball and walked off. She crept after him, making sure to stay in the shadows.

  He stopped next to a large, violet-leafed tree, leaning against the trunk as he called out to the nearby ship. "I believe this belongs to you?"

  "Ah! There it is!" yelled a man wearing a large black hat. "Be so kind as to just toss that back here, good sir?" Then he collapsed into a fit of giggles, the white feather in his hat bobbing crazily.

  "Really shouldn't play with fire," the bearded man beside him said.

  "Ezactly!" the Captain cried. "Burn the whole ship down! Then where'll we be?"

  "The Lagoon," the other man said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality.

  The Wolf didn't have to wonder long at the reason why; a young woman with dark skin and glittering deep green scales trailing up her body rose from the water, swimming lazily, flicking her tail just enough to splash at him. "We can send that back to the ship for you," she said sweetly.

  "No! No no no no," the Captain exclaimed. "Last time they gave one back they made a bloody hole in our ship! That was a bad night. Bad night."

  Wondering how exactly they still had a ship, he called out again. "You fly the skull and crossbones."

  "Aye!"

  "You ever actually do any pirating?"

  "You insa-- insree-- incinerating we can't pirate? How dare you. I demand your-- your shoes. How's that for pira
cy?"

  The Wolf grinned. "Come and get them."

  "Now that's just not fair." The Captain frowned, thinking it over, and then he clapped his hands. "Ah! If you don't give us your shoes, we'll fire a cannonball at you!"

  "May be he's kinda attached to those shoes, sir," the bearded man said. "And hey, hey! Howzabout, instead of wasting a cannonball, we ask him for the one he has? 'Sides, if we fire at him it'd just get the shoes dreadfully messy anyway."

  "That is a grand idea, Smee. Sir! Would you mind giving us that cannonball? I'm sure a civilian such as yourself has no use for one anyway."

  "Certainly, my good man." And he tossed the ball into the water. To his surprise, a blond-haired mermaid came up with it, tossing it from hand to hand like it was a child's toy. Then she glanced back toward the ship, a wide mischievous grin on her face.

  "Ohhh, not again," the Captain said. "Smee! Gather the crew! Ready the bailing buckets!"

  The sound of laughter had him turning away from the ship and the mermaid, looking toward the shadows where Beauty stood, giggling.

  He walked towards her and she retreated further into the shadows, her laughter fading. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, her voice abruptly serious.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You're normal."

  He chuckled. "Furthest thing from it, sweetheart."

  Beauty shook her head. "You can talk to people. You seem a good man. And you look . . . you look just fine," she said, looking away more to hide the reddish tint to her face than to hide the patches of fur that grew there. "Why don't you live in one of the Villages?"

  "Same reason as you," he finally said. "Curse."

  "What kind of curse?"

  "Used to live in the palace," he said. "Long time ago. Saw something I shouldn't have. And my mother, a very powerful witch, cursed me to only be able to live in this forest."

  "How awful of her!"

  He shrugged. "Cinderella . . . the Red Queen might well have been happy to kill me to keep me quiet. Mother made sure I could keep my life."

  Beauty just stared at him. She didn't understand how someone could be like that. If such a thing had been done to her, she'd be furious at them forever, would quite possibly go to the Fae to see about putting a curse on them right back. And he simply accepted it.

  "I don't understand you," she admitted.

  "Well then," he said. "Just have to give it a little more time."

  ***

  Alice scrambled to keep up with Wendy. She'd moved through this forest like a cat before, but after that weird guy with the black hair and dark green homespun clothes flew up to her-- flew!-- and whispered something, she'd seemed to have forgotten all about being quiet and was now stalking forward like the trees themselves could just get out of her way.

  "Wendy! Hey!" she said, finally catching up and grabbing her shoulder. "What the hell is going on?"

  "I just got some . . . some rather bad news from an old friend," Wendy said, her eyes darting to the boy. Or man. It was hard to tell-- he looked like he could conceivably be an adult, but something in his eyes and posture betrayed childishness. "Stay here."

  "Why?"

  "Because this is no longer going to be a friendly meeting."

  "Whoa, then I'm definitely going with you. I'm not going to let you face a pirate by yourself!" Wendy just glared at her, and she tried a smile. "C'mon, what kind of plucky sidekick would I be if I did that?"

  "A living one."

  "Ha ha. Seriously, you can't-- hey! Get back here!"

  "I'll be fine," she tossed over her shoulder. "Just stay here. Peter, you and Tink look after her?"

  "Of course."

  "I don't need 'looking after', I am not a child-- Wendy?"

  She was gone.

  Wendy went to the edge of the Lagoon and picked up her fallen bracelet, doing her best to look uncertain and vulnerable. Hopefully if the men saw that she was shaking as they approached, they'd think it was from nervousness instead of fury.

  She didn't have to wait long for the Captain and the bearded man to row up to her. With the proper amount of hesitancy, she got inside, staying silent as they rowed back toward the ship.

  When they were far enough from both the ship and the shore that neither could be reached safely without the rowboat, she drew her blade.

  She had it at the Captain's neck in an instant. He blinked slowly. "And what seems to be the matter?"

  "Cap'n, I--"

  "You be quiet," she snapped at the bearded man. "Don't move or I'll kill him."

  "Miss Wendy, killing him outright may be a kinder death than the one you deal by regarding him as a stranger."

  Her hand faltered slightly, and she narrowed her eyes. "Enough."

  "Okay. All right,” the other man said. “Not moving."

  "Good," she hissed. "And you. Give me one reason I shouldn't give you a good nick and then throw you to the mermaids."

  "Because if you were certain I'd done whatever you're thinking I might have done, you would've killed me already. So you're not sure. Just what is it I've been accused of doing, and by whom?"

  "Peter Pan claims you poisoned me. Left me for dead."

  His expression shifted instantly, from an affected disinterest to a rage that put her emotion of a moment before to shame. She pressed the knife a little closer into his skin, and he relaxed his body slightly, though his eyes still showed nothing but anger.

  "This is not aimed at you, lass," he whispered tightly. "The next time that cold-hearted lying child comes to my ship to cause trouble, I'll feed him to the crocodiles."

  "Let me guess. You say he was the one who poisoned me."

  "Yes, I do, because it's the truth."

  She stared at him for a long moment, trying to remember something, anything from her past that might let her know who to believe.

  But then she realized that she didn't need anything from her lost memories, not this time. On the day she'd dropped her bracelet, he'd seen that she was hurt and had gone into the waters of the Lagoon to reach her faster. Now perhaps he'd been in a hurry to get her back to the ship so he could finish what he'd started, but would a killer truly risk his life for such an opportunity?

  She slid her knife back into the scabbard at her waist. "Come. I may need your help."

  "As glad as I am for your change of heart, what--"

  "I left a friend with Peter while I came to confront you. We need to go find her."

  "Hide," Wendy hissed.

  Smee immediately dove into a nearby bush. Hook simply peered ahead. "Why?"

  "Listen."

  Both of them were silent, and heard a faint, melodic singing. Hook reached for his sword.

  Wendy grabbed his remaining hand. "Do you really wish to lose this one as well?"

  He held very still then, staring down at her. "You remember how I lost it, then?"

  "I . . ." She didn't, not truly, just remembered blood and terrified screaming-- her own?-- and though she couldn't recall him striking the blow, she somehow knew that Peter had done it. "I have no time for memories right now, or for quarrels between the two of you! Alice is my responsibility and I need to find her. Now hide!"

  He moved slowly, whether to avoid making undue noise or to continue watching her for as long as possible, she was unsure. But he did finally get out of sight, and she hoped he would stay that way.

  Then she strode forward, not bothering to try and hide her own presence. Peter didn't fly off, or even move from his perch, which made her feel like swearing at him. Far be it from him to feel guilty about what he'd done. He was alone. And Alice was impetuous, yes, but she wouldn't voluntarily wander by herself out here. Anyone who spoke to her for more than ten seconds could realize she was not from this realm; to abandon her of all people in this forest--

  "Peter!"

  "Hm?" He looked away from the fairy he was gripping in one hand. Not to be confused with the Faeries of Tinker Bell's size and intelligence, these were more like small birds-- less than three
inches tall, each a different bright monochrome color, their feet hooked into tiny talons to help them cling to branches.

  As she watched, Peter took the tiny creature's wings in his other hand and pulled them off with a quick jerk. The fairy couldn't speak, but it let out a sharp trilling noise and went limp.

  "Look at that," he said, fascination in his voice. "The wings glow for longer than it does after it's dead. Weird, huh?"

  That wasn't the first word to spring to Wendy's mind, and she swallowed hard. "Where's Alice?"

  "Oh, her? She was right over there."

  Wendy stared at the empty expanse of trees, and gritted her teeth. "Where is she now?"

  He shrugged. "Dunno. Wherever the Wolf took her, I guess."

  She felt some relief-- if Alice was with him, then at least she was safe-- and then she realized that given the situation, she really needed to double-check. She found Alice's footprints, following them until they joined up with another pair. The other's prints were larger than the ones she'd been dreading, thank Scheherazade.

  "I told you she went off with the Wolf!" Peter said, sounding put-out that she'd made sure to confirm his words. "I kept an eye on her 'til he came by. Just didn't want to listen to her anymore, is all. She's cranky."

  "And what if Red had been the one to happen by?"

  "If who?"

  "Little Red," Wendy told him. "She and the Wolf walk the same trails!"

  "Well, I've never seen her. And I know everyone in this forest!"

  "You don't see Little Red unless she wants to be seen," Wendy told him. And despite herself, she felt remnants of an old affection well up inside her. "You must be more careful, Peter."

  He chuckled, eyes bright as he dropped the dead fairy and jumped down from his branch to land in front of her. "Next you'll be telling me to wash my hands before I eat, Mother."

  The blithe action, coupled with a title that made her want to instinctively recoil, acted as a slap in the face to the fondness she'd just felt. "Peter. Were you the one who poisoned me?"

  He stepped back. "What? No! Why would you even ask that?"

  "Because I want to know the truth. A moment before you called me Mother. Don't you know that mothers can always tell when someone is lying?"