Ulrich slept well that evening, his capering complete and undetected. When he awoke, Magda was lying next to him, pale and moaning.
“Ulrich! I must have more rapunzel!”
“But obviously it’s made you ill.”
“Nonsense. I’ve never felt better than I did last night. But if I don’t have more, I’ll die!”
“It’s only lettuce, my love.”
“Exactly. Now hurry!”
Stealing lettuce in broad daylight was undeniably risky, so he sent the Zombunny to be a lookout. He gathered several handfuls of the rapunzel, placed it in a small basket and stood up to stretch his back.
“Enjoying my lettuce are you?” The grandmother’s voice came from every direction.
The Zombunny caromed around the corner. “Witch!”
“Don’t worry, grandmum,” said Ulrich. “I’ll protect you.”
“No!” panted the Zombunny. “She’s the witch!” The rabbit pulled his ears over his eyes.
Ulrich began to stammer. “I thought she’d flown to a far-off realm?”
“Don’t be stupid. Witches never go very far. Haven’t you read any books?” The Zombunny began to hop in a frenzied circle.
The grandmother discarded her shawl, morphing into a tall, wart-nosed cliché. She turned to Ulrich, “I told you to stay on your side of the fence.”
“Yes ma’am, you did. You did say that.”
“Did you not agree? Promise even?”
“We agreed. We promised.” Ulrich shivered, feeling even colder than usual. “It was a matter of life and death.”
“Death, eh?” She looked at the Zombunny, still turning in circles. “Knock it off,” she said, paralyzing him with a spritz of green sparks.
“My wife said she’d die if she didn’t have the rapunzel.”
“Bit melodramatic don’t you think? Besides, why not let her; turn her into your kind?”
“It’s no life for a girl,” said the Zombunny, still frozen mid-hop.
“Pish,” said the witch. “Enough of your faux-misogynist nonsense. What’s the real reason?”
“Don’t tell her anyth… mmphzzz,” said the Zombunny, as a blue sleeping mist settled over him.
“She’s pregnant, your witchiness. I’m afraid of what the bite might do to the child.”
“Ahh, I see. But your child is already part Zombunny.”
“I guess so… it would explain why Magda is eating all of our vegetables.” His stomach growled in agreement.
“I’ll make you a deal then,” said the witch. “You can have all the rapunzel you want, but you’ll turn over the child once she’s weaned.”
“She?”
“Just a guess.”
“I can’t give you my child. That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, if you don’t, then mother and child will both die for want of this precious lettuce.”
“That’s no choice at all!” Ulrich protested.
“What do you know about raising a Zombunny anyway,” the witch asked. “I’ll protect her from the outside world while I make her human again.”
“You can do that?”
“I certainly can. Now, such a spell wouldn’t do you or the rabbit any good, would it? The two of you would just keel over and die all over again. But an uninjured baby…”
“But she. Or he. Whatever. The baby. Would live?”
“I don’t see why not. There might be some complications. Vigorous hair growth. Perhaps a propensity toward skipping. Nothing permanent. Shouldn’t affect her singing voice, anyway.” The witch looked at him sideways as she rubbed a toe in the dirt.
“And my wife? What on earth will we tell her?”
“Doesn’t she have some other ambition?”
“She’ll head the Royal Kitchens, as soon as they taste her leg of mutton.”
“Well, I’ll give you a memory potion and you can forget this ever happened. Everyone gets what they want.”
The rabbit coughed, coming out of the sleeping spell. “She’s probably right, you know.”
Ulrich held out his hand to the witch. “The child should have the chance to be human. You have a deal.”
After the witch had gone, Ulrich tucked the listless rabbit into the crook of his left arm and studied the bottle in his free hand. A drop of potion might come in handy someday when he forgot to wipe his boots or left his black breeches in the white basket, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—use it to forget this. He slipped the potion inside the pocket of his vest.
Magda reacted to the true reason for Ulrich’s vegetarianism better than he had hoped. She hurled a moderate amount of kitchen crockery at him and the Zombunny and moved their bedding to the cart outside. But after a few days, she relented, calling them in for spinach buns and tea.
“Would it really be so bad if she stayed a Zombunny?” asked Magda. “You could make me one and we could travel the world selling salad spinners.”
“Aye,” said the Zombunny, “but what if she wanted a family of her own? How many Zombunnnies are we making here?”
Ulrich reached out and took her hand. “Would you really have her not ever taste your famous mutton?” He’d been joking, of course, trying to use one of those silly metaphors the Zombunny was always waxing poetic about, but Magda’s face went serious.
“Sorry,” he started.
“Shhh. I’m thinking.” She continued to think for some time. Finally, her eyes brightened. “I have an idea. It won’t make us miss her any less, but we can stay involved from afar.”
###
Magda and Ulrich and the Zombunny enjoyed the short time they had with the baby before she was weaned. On the day they were to deliver her to the witch, Magda loaded the wagon with small jars of preserved vegetables and a basket of spinach buns. The Zombunny stayed behind to console her.
Ulrich arrived at the tall tower in the woods, where the witch was waiting. “Goodbye, Rapunzel,” called Ulrich as the witch flew toward the tower window. He hoisted the gifts up to them on a pulley rope.
“You’ll have kept us in vegetables for years, Farmer,” she said from the window.
“You wouldn’t mind if we sent these spinach buns occasionally, would you?” He ran the basket up the line.
“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea,” she said, taking a bite of one. “On second thought… but send them by messenger. I don’t want you getting any ideas.”
###
As the palace chef, Magda had climbed the King’s culinary ranks with her ability to pair legendary vegetable creations with her delicious braised mutton. She was chosen over fat Pierre with his oily duck recipes and thin Luc who’d cooked without salt. The palace guests grew happier and healthier and Ulrich’s town market became the premier produce destination for hundreds of miles.
Early each Monday, before she left for the palace kitchens, Magda sent spinach buns to the witch’s tower in the woods. So after fifteen years of sending spinach buns without interruption, Magda was surprised when the delivery boy returned with the basket still full.
“What’s this?”
“Nobody’s home, mum,” he said. “I rang twice, just like the postman.”
“Hmph,” she said, wondering if she should box his ears. She put the basket over her arm, and set off for the palace.
Later that afternoon, Ulrich delivered an enormous order to the palace for the prince’s wedding. Magda quietly told him of the empty tower and they agreed to investigate that evening.
Ulrich and the Zombunny rested for a spell at the long kitchen table, sipping tea and exchanging gossip with the servants. The scullery maid was telling them rumors about a nudist emperor when she and the rest of the staff shot up, rattling the teacups in their saucers. Ulrich followed suit.
“Your Highness!” said Magda.
Prince Albert strode into the kitchen, crown atilt, holding the arm of a young woman.
“Oh my darling,” the young woman sang. “Are these the kitchens? How wonderful!” The young woman spun her full
skirts, and Ulrich dove for the teacups.
“Everyone,” said Prince Albert, looking sheepish, “This is my bride, Rapunzel. She likes to sing.”
Ulrich, Magda, and the Zombunny exchanged glances. Magda stuttered. “That’s a beautiful name, that is.”
“A bunny!” Rapunzel trilled. She scratched the Zombunny between his ears until his back leg began to thump. “What a handsome chap you are.”
“Might want to check your eyes, Miss,” Ulrich chuckled under his breath.
“Hey!” said the Zombunny.
Her laugh was like chimes. “I have perfect vision and hearing because I eat so many vegetables.” She took a sharp breath as her eyes fell on the basket in the middle of the table. “These spinach buns look exactly like the ones Auntie Witch fed me every Monday! I was afraid I’d never see one again. May I?”
Magda nodded, dabbing her eye with a hanky. “Anything you want. Anything at all.”
The kitchen door burst open with a shot of flame.
“Witch!” cried the Zombunny, leaping into Ulrich’s arms.
“You three again,” said the witch, disgusted.
“Onnie Itch!” cried Rapunzel, mouth still full of spinach bun. “Wha ar oo ooing eer?”
“You think you can just throw away your singing career? How am I supposed to get to the Royal Opera now?”
“I’m marrying Albert and I’m going to have a tiara and be a queen.”
“Not if I can help it.” The witch cracked her knuckles.
“You’ve tried imprisonment before and failed,” said Prince Albert, stepping in front of his bride, sword drawn.
“Quit that,” said Rapunzel, shouldering in front of him. “Violence doesn’t solve anything.”
“Right,” said the Zombunny. “Why don’t we all catch up first over a nice cup of tea. You must be exhausted from all of your stomping and spark-shooting.”
“Now that you mention it.” The witch sat heavily.
“How do you know these people, Auntie?” asked Rapunzel.
“These ridiculous people are your parents. And their rabbit.”
“I thought they lived in Timbuktu?”
“Don’t be stupid. Parents never go very far. Haven’t you read any books?” The witch sighed. “I suppose they’re to blame for all this.”
“Only indirectly,” said Rapunzel. “Once the prince stumbled upon our tower, he paid the spinach bun boy to beg off every week so he could have an excuse to visit me.”
“I knew I should have boxed his ears,” said Magda.
“I suppose as gift horses go,” said the witch, “you could have done worse than a prince. Still, I can’t let you stay here.”
“All right,” said Ulrich, setting a steaming mug in front of the witch. “You can leave just as soon as you finish your cuppa. You can’t refuse the prince’s tea service.”
The witch looked at the sulking prince and smirked. “Here’s to young love,” she said, taking a long sip. “Hmm,” she said. “This tastes like… it tastes like… what does it taste like?”
“Memory potion!” said the Zombunny, hopping in an elated circle.
“What was I saying?” asked the witch. “It was just on the tip of my tongue.
Magda smiled. “You were congratulating the bride and groom.”
Rapunzel whispered something in Prince Albert’s ear and he nodded. He said, “To thank you for your kind blessing, we were about to ask if you’d serve as Director of the Royal Opera.”
“An honor beyond my wildest dreams! Just imagine, I’ll be able to demand any opera I want! Unlimited protégés…”
“And you can try on all the costumes,” said Rapunzel.
“I guess I won’t need this old thing anymore.” The witch snapped her wand over her knee.
“No!” yelled Ulrich, covering his old wound. But oddly enough, the skin under his palm began to knit together. He looked at the Zombunny admiring his newly fat and shiny tail.
“Must’ve been all the carrots,” said the rabbit. “Looky here! My ears stand up again!”
With the witch’s spell lifted, old wounds healed and the family reunited. They all lived happily ever after, with lifetime box seats at the opera.
***
Camille Griep was born in Montana and made her way to the Pacific Northwest via Southern California. Her fiction has been featured in a number of online and print journals and anthologized most recently in Witches, Stitches, & Bitches (Evil Girlfriend Media) and The Sea (Dark Continents Press). She is a senior editor at The Lascaux Review and serves on the board of Cascade Writers. In her spare time, she enjoys drinking coffee and/or wine, armchair mountaineering, and avoiding trips to the grocery store. Find her at www.camillegriep.com or tweet to @camillethegriep.
Live at the Scene
Gini Koch
“We interrupt your regular programming with a breaking news story from the Tri-County’s favorite local news channel, K-STAR, where the news is the star. I’m Breaking News Anchor Jim Rock, here bringing you breaking news from the Breaking News Desk. Let’s go live at the scene with our Breaking News On-the-Scene Reporter, Tawny Jean Mountain. Tawny Jean, are you with us?”
“Yes, Jim, I am, and we have a breaking story. And K-STAR is the first Tri-County news team on the scene, so, as is the Breaking News Team’s motto, we’re bringing it to our Tri-County viewers first.”
“Excellent, Tawny Jean. At the Breaking News Desk we’ve heard that there were odd lights in the sky, is that right?”
“Yes, Jim, that’s right. If you and our viewers look behind me, you’ll see an odd pattern of lights in the night sky. It looks like three spotlights, hovering.”
“Hovering where, Tawny Jean?”
“They’re hovering over the back section of the hundred acre Jackson Farms complex, where all the cows are happy, and happy to serve all the Tri-County residents with a moo-moo here and a moo-moo there, Jim.”
“How are the animals from one of the Breaking News Team’s favorite sponsors handling this strange occurrence?”
“None of the happy cows are out at this time. We’re waiting to see if we can get an official reaction from Jackson Farms, but the workers on the night shift all ran away because of these weird hovering lights.”
“Amazing, Tawny Jean. From what we can see here, those are certainly strange lights. They look big and bright and it appears they’re just hanging there like super-sized Christmas, or other non-denominational holiday, lights. No human-made things could do that. What? Oh, Dusty Rivers, our weatherman, mentions that helicopters—like the K-STAR Breaking News Chopper—could hover in this way.”
“Dusty’s right, Jim. But here on the scene, as I am, and as the K-STAR Breaking News Chopper also is, we can confirm that these lights are not, I repeat not helicopters. Or planes. Ken ‘Whirly’ Bird, our Breaking News Chopper pilot, has already done a fly-by. To you, Whirly.”
“Thanks, Tawny Jean. Jim, Dusty, what I saw when I flew by the lights was nothing. Just the lights. Floating in the air. My In-the-Air Cameraman, Clint Clinton, got some great footage. Roll it, Clint.”
“Interesting. The lights appear to be about ten feet in diameter, is that right, Whirly?”
“That’s right, Jim, good eye.”
“That was Dusty’s guess, Whirly. He’s the one with the science background, ha ha ha.”
“From what we can see on the ground here, they’re very round. Are they round for you, Whirly?”
“They are, Tawny Jean.”
“Whirly, Dusty’s asking if there are any visible signs of propulsion?”
“Not that Clint or I can spot, Jim. Tell Dusty the weather’s clear, though, so he owes me another Budweiser, the official beverage sponsor of the Breaking News Team, since he was wrong again. Heh heh. There are no, repeat no, showers in the Tri-County area right now. Just these three weird floating lights.”
“Dusty says that he predicted meteor showers, Whirly. Not rain.”
“Heh heh. Nice try. I still want
my Budweiser, Dusty.”
“Dusty’s asking how, if there’s no visible sign of propulsion, it’s possible for the orbs to remain airborne, Whirly.”
“I have no idea, Jim, but I flew the Breaking News Chopper all over the sky near and around the lights. They’re big, and for those viewers who don’t have Dusty’s ‘science background’ these ‘orbs’ are about the size of the cabin of the Breaking News Chopper. But there’s nothing holding them up, no wires or anything similar.”
“Because if there were, the chopper blades would have gotten tangled up, right?”
“That’s right, Dusty. Nice of Jim to let you have a microphone.”
“We’re a team here, at the Breaking News Team, Whirly. And I got tired of repeating Dusty’s questions, ha ha ha. So, asking for me and Dusty, as a team, what’s your next move?”
“I’m going to take the Breaking News Chopper in closer, Jim.”
“You’re a wild man, Whirly! And, as the Breaking News Team member closest to the action, what do you think these things are?”
“Takes one to know one, Jim! But as for what these strange floating lights are, I’m going to go out on a wing here and say that I think they’re extraterrestrial in nature. Whoa!”
“Tawny Jean! We just lost communication with Whirly. What happened?”
“Well, Jim, here at the scene, I can tell you that the three giant, floating lights all just got much brighter. One of them moved closer to the Breaking News Chopper and started to glow even more brightly. And… excuse me… I’m sorry, but… it’s terrible, Jim.”
“What we’re seeing, Tawny Jean, aside from your tears of shock and horror, is what looks like the Breaking News Chopper on fire and plummeting out of the sky.”
“That’s right, Jim. I’m sorry I’m having to yell, but I’m not sure that you can hear me, due to the explosion. Poor Whirly.”
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