WINDOWS: A BROKEN FAIRY TALE

by Bramble, Casey

  WINDOWS: A BROKEN FAIRY TALE

  By Casey Bramble

  Copyright 2013

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  To Sophie for keeping us safe, even when we didn’t know it.

  To Purity for being the most vile-tempered, evil, snot-nosed, bratty, annoying, pesky and wonderful big sister ever.

  And to her, for everything.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1: THE MEETING

  CHAPTER 2: A GAMBLE

  CHAPTER 3: RICH AND FAMOUS

  CHAPTER 4: FLAMINGOS AT A BALL

  CHAPTER 5: GOING HOME

  CHAPTER 6: WICKED SISTERS

  CHAPTER 7: WICKED STEP-MOTHER

  CHAPTER 8: WELCOME HOME

  CHAPTER 9: GRAND OPENING

  CHAPTER 10: SCHEMES

  CHAPTER 11: JUST A LIL’BIT

  CHAPTER 12: A SIMPLE NIGHT OUT

  CHAPTER 13: NIGHTMARES COME TRUE

  CHAPTER 14: NO GOOD-BYES

  CHAPTER 15: THE RESCUE

  CHAPTER 16: THE EYES HAVE IT

  CHAPTER 17: A TRIAL

  CHAPTER 18: AN UNBREACHABLE WALL

  CHAPTER 19: PUMPKINS AT A PARTY

  CHAPTER 20: CALM BEFORE THE STORM

  CHAPTER 21: TRAITORS

  CHAPTER 22: ESCAPE

  CHAPTER 23: THE RAGING STORM

  CHAPTER 24: NEVER AFTER

  CHAPTER 25: BEGINNING OF THE END

  CHAPTER 26: MATRICIDE

  CHAPTER 27: A LOSING BATTLE

  CHAPTER 28: DARKNESS FALLS

  CHAPTER 29: TRUE LOVES KISS

  CHAPTER 30: JUST THE BEGINNING

  PROLOGUE

  Once upon a time there lived a beautiful woman. Isn’t that how all great stories are supposed to start? Well there might have been a beautiful woman somewhere in the world then, odds are pretty good that there were, but they’re not part of this story.

  Once upon a time there lived an average looking woman; not ugly but she wouldn’t stop a carriage in its tracks. This woman had a child but no husband. The daughter, a precocious and temperamental sprite, had flaming red hair like her father and a knack for getting into trouble.

  The woman was very concerned. Despite all the doctors tried she didn’t have long to live and no idea who would look after her little girl. With great sadness she wrote a letter to the girl’s father, a man she’d not seen in almost three years. The child wasn’t chosen and he was a good, honest man by all accounts. He would not leave the poor thing alone.

  Her mind finally at ease, the woman fell asleep and never awoke. But she passed from the world secure in the belief that she had done the best she could.

  The sun crowned three mountains in flaming glory as a horse drawn carriage pulled to a stop in front of a looming castle. Summer dust stirred by passing wheels drifted lazily in the humid evening and insects strummed a twilight melody in shadowy woods a short distance away. The driver hopped down from his seat and swung open the passenger door. A girl, thin and redheaded, took the old man’s gnarled and wrinkled hand. Shuffling ungainly on arthritic hips, he marched his young ward up the steps and told her to stand still. She did as she was told, large green eyes glancing around with unabashed curiosity at the lengthening shadows.

  “I’ll never get home for supper now”, the old man groused as he banged impatiently on the door. Soon a bolt could be heard sliding open and a large figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, demanding to know what was so important.

  “I was told to deliver this to you.” The driver answered, trying his hardest not to stare at the scar across the other man’s cheek.

  The muscular man in a dark grey suit glanced over the driver’s shoulder and almost missed the girl at first. Her black dress blended with the deepening gloom; only a pale, oval face and letter stuck to her dress were visible.

  “We’re not an orphanage.” The Man said curtly.

  The driver shuffled his feet, trying to avoid the stern gaze. “Of course not, sir, of course not, but I was told to deliver this package to the estate of Thomas Chandlish. That’s what I’ve done.” With a deep bow he lurched back to his carriage. Before the large man could stop him, with the sharp crack of a whip the carriage faded into the gloom.

  The large man turned and looked down at the little girl. A pair of emerald eyes stared back with quizzical interest. Not seeing any other choice he brought her inside to stand in the hallway while he searched for some help.

  After he was gone, she studied her surroundings. Her mind couldn’t yet grasp the concept of expensive but she knew pretty when she saw it and decided that this place was very pretty. So pretty in fact, this was probably where they had brought Mama. Mama was sick but the people said Mama went to a place where she wouldn’t be sick anymore. Nobody could be sick in a place like this. The little girl’s eyes sparkled. The people had told her that she would see Mama some day so here she was. The child smiled happily. She would see Mama and they’d be together again.

  Soon she heard the big Man coming and saw a woman with him. Mama, she thought excitedly but the woman wasn’t Mama. Instead, a very pretty woman followed the man. The woman stopped in front of the child and unpinned the note from her chest and read it silently. As she finished, the Lady pressed a hand to her mouth.

  The Man took the note from the Lady’s and quickly scanned it. “What are we going to do with her?” He asked.

  “Put her in the servant’s quarters for the night. Have them feed her and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.” As the Lady turned to leave, the little girl saw two faces that had been peeking around the corner dart back into hiding.

  The Man rang a bell and almost immediately an old woman appeared at his side. The two spoke to quietly for the girl to hear but she wasn’t really interested anyway. She decided that Mama was playing the hidey game like they used to so she went looking. The child had made it into an open room-- it was dark so it seemed like a good hiding spot-- when the old woman swooped in and picked her up.

  “Mama?” The little girl asked, still looking around the dark room.

  The old woman told her that they would find her mama later but for now would the girl like to get something to eat? The girl nodded, rather unenthusiastically.

  The next day she was taken to another room, this one full of books. The big Man and pretty Lady were in there to and they were talking loudly while she stood between them calmly sucking her thumb. The two faces the little girl had seen last night were peeking around another corner, whispering to each other. The little girl wanted to wave but knew they were hiding from the big people.

  “You know what she is.” The Man was saying. The little girl didn’t like it when he sounded mad.

  “Yes, I know very well what she is. She is Thomas’s daughter.” The woman also sounded mad which the little girl liked even less.

  “Think rationally. We have to send her away.”

  The Lady nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “NO!” The scream startled the two big people and they turned as one of the faces came running into the room. This one had also had red hair and stood protectively in front of the little girl, arms stretched out wide.

  “Rebekah, what are you doing in here?” The Lady asked, not sounding mad anymore. She stared down at the two girls who had just rushed in. “And you too, Felicity?”

  “You can’t send her away. She’s my little sister!”

  “Rebekah, you have a little sister on the way.” The Lady patted her swollen stomach. “We won’t have room for another.”

  Rebeka
h was determined and stomped her foot to prove it. “She’s my little sister and she can stay in my room.”

  “Your mother said no, Rebekah.” The large Man bent over to grab the little girl but Rebekah screeched and kicked him in the shin. The little girl decided this looked like fun so she kicked the man too. Then the man grabbed Rebekah and she started crying. The little girl didn’t like that so she did what she could. Opening her mouth really wide, she bit down hard on the hand holding her. The big man yelled and tried to shake her off but the little girl held tight.

  The big man dropped the older girl and tried to pry the jaws of the smaller one open but before he could the now freed Rebekah dove into his knees, knocking him backwards onto a couch.

  The two girls darted behind the pretty Lady’s legs. They stuck their heads and their tongues out at the big man who was getting very red in the face.

  The Lady put a hand over her mouth to catch the laughter. “Very well, Rebekah, she may stay with us but don’t you want to know her name?”

  Rebekah nodded.

  “Her name is Branwyen.” The little girl looked up at the sound of her name, wondering how the pretty Lady knew it.

  Rebekah tried saying the name. “Bran-ween. Bra-neen. What does it mean?” She asked, giving up.

  “It means White Raven.”

  Rebekah turned to the little girl and stuck out her hand, “Hi, Raven, I’m your big sister Rebekah.”

  “Bekah!” Raven smiled happily, taking the offered hand.

  Bekah rolled her eyes with the annoyance only older siblings can feel and muttered, “You got slobber on me.”

  The other girl, this one with dark brown hair like the Lady, came over and tried to take Raven’s other hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Branwyen; I’m your oldest sister Felicity.”

  A look of pure bewilderment clouded Raven’s young features as she stared at the dark haired girl for a second before shaking her head, “Lizzy.” Then she hugged Bekah tightly, “Sissy!”

  “That’s right, Sis.” Bekah grinned. “Now let’s go to our room.”

  CHAPTER ONE: THE MEETING

  Light filtered through large stained glass windows, three on each side of the room, casting multicolored hues in the chamber. A collection of pictures adorned the stone walls and the largest, a portrait of a beautiful woman with auburn red hair, rested in a place of honor above the fireplace. A gilded plaque, reflecting the light of the windows, winked brightly from underneath. “Sis” read the inscription if anyone bothered to get close enough to look, though no one ever did. Two other pictures, one of a dark haired beauty and the other a cute redheaded girl sat on either side. “Liz” and “Mandy” read their name plates. Closer inspection showed similar plaques beneath the other paintings but some had been tarnished over, their names lost. Other portraits appeared smudged, a few almost unrecognizable.

  A woman in her early twenties, with flaming red hair a few shades lighter than the one in the portrait above the fire, bustled about the cheery room humming to herself. First she sat in a comfortable looking high back chair in front of the fire. Then she strolled over to a rather large book case on the right side of the room, selected a tome and tossed it aside after reading a few pages. Amazingly the book didn’t hit the floor but floated to its normal resting spot. The girl spun a few times, dancing to a song that started playing, the tune coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

  Abruptly she and the music stopped. Warily she kept an eye on a large, shapeless shadow in the back of the room as an inky tendril snaked along the floor. It wrapped itself around a dangling cord near the farthest window. A heavy shutter swung into place, dimming the light. The tendril hung suspended for a moment, twisting back and forth, searching for something. Reluctantly it coiled back into the darkness that spawned it as hollow laughter echoed from the walls.

  After a tense moment, the redhead turned her back on the shadow and stoked the fire. Heat warmed the chilly room but its light did nothing to penetrate the encroaching gloom. She knew what was back there hidden in the shadows. Years before there were eight windows in her solitary quarters. Eight brightly lit portals into the outside world that she could enjoy at leisure. Now there were six left; five if --like the first two-- she couldn’t get this one to open again.

  With a melancholy sigh the music started once more and the girl resumed her dance.

  Thunder crashed loud enough for the young woman to feel it in her bones as she bounded up the steps. Cold ran stung her exposed face like a hundred needles and the roaring wind nearly jerked the door out of her hand as she struggled to pull it open. She probably should have broken down and paid for a carriage but the storm hadn’t been this bad when she left the shop. Besides, that would cost money, something she was constantly short of these days. After tugging the door closed and peeling off the saturated jacket, she looked around. This was the place she was supposed to be meeting her perspective business partner; a regular tavern filled with loud men and painted ladies hanging on their every word hoping to find a warm bed for the night. The bar running along the right wall wore its deep gouges like a badge of honor; heavily lacquered wounds a testament to the violence seen throughout the many years. Lamps dangling from the ceiling cast an uneven, shaky glow over the interior. The dimness meant that the lights were candles, not magic and this particular business wasn’t under the thumb of the Protectorate, yet. Years ago the self-appointed guardians of Vestavia outlawed any use of magic by businesses they didn’t control.

  She barely paid attention to the details. Earlier in the week someone with an interest in her blacksmithing skills had contacted her; someone willing to pay top dollar for the swords and armor her smithy could provide. Finally she could make some real money, if the meeting went well.

  Scanning the room, slate colored eyes spotted the person they were searching for. Near the back, a ginger haired woman about the same age as herself sat alone. She was dressed entirely in purple and her head bopped up and down like she was listening to music.

  Putting on her most business like smile, she stepped forward to meet her prospective partner. Stopping just in front of the table she extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said in a firm but friendly tone, “I’m Sarah Petty.”

  The redhead grinned up, and Sarah used the moments pause to get a closer look. The first thing anybody would notice was the skin; pale, almost translucent, its clarity broken only by a smattering of freckles. Red hair fell to her shoulders in waves, framing a thin but very pretty face, with a straight nose and soft lips that turned up at the corners. Light green eyes sparkled with laughter at some private joke. Then the redhead reached her own hand out and clasped Sarah’s tightly. Despite her appearance, Sarah noted, this woman worked hard. Her hands were strong and not nearly as soft as one would expect at first glance.

  “Howdy Sarah, I’m Raven White. Have a seat and we’ll see about getting something in your stomach.” The woman greeted in return.

  Sarah took the offered chair and glanced over the menu. When she decided, she motioned the waitress over. “I’ll have the baked chicken with mashed potatoes and a glass of water to drink, please.”

  The waitress turned to Raven who ordered a burger and a side of fries. “And bring me another glass of milk too, please. Thanks.” Raven handed the waitress both menus with the same smile she had been wearing the whole time.

  After the waitress brought their drinks, Sarah wasted no time beginning the meeting. “Ms. White, you contacted me about possibly becoming partners in a new business. You were not very clear on exactly what you need or how you came to have an interest in my skills as a blacksmith.”

  Raven leaned back in her chair and studied Sarah’s face for a moment. Then she laughed, “First off, we’re pals so call me Raven. Secondly, I picked you because of this.” With deftness born of familiarity, the redhead drew a sword out of the scabbard beside the table. Sarah recognized it as one she made, a katana with a conspiracy of ravens intricately carved into th
e hilt guard. About three feet long and well balanced with some scratches on the blade. It was nice but hardly her best work.

  “Sis picked this up for me about a year ago. Some sort of flea market I recall.” Raven put the sword safely back in its resting place. Nobody in the bar paid any attention to the weapon being drawn. “Been trying like heck to find out who made it ever since.”

  “So you decided after seeing one sword I made that I was a good blacksmith?” Sarah inquired.

  Raven smirked, “Nah that would make me silly. I decided you were a good blacksmith after seeing this particular sword. It just happens to be my favorite.”

  Smiling despite herself, Sarah took a sip of water. “Raven,” she began, “I appreciate the compliment but have you thought this venture through? You mentioned that you live in Valentria and that is a five day ride by train. It would require a great deal of time and money just to transport my goods to your shop. Exactly how much will you be charging people for weapons and armor?”

  Leaning forward with her elbows on the table, Raven rested her chin on clasped hands. After looking Sarah over curiously, she clucked, “Tell me about your self.”

  “What is it you want to know, exactly?” Sarah felt somewhat annoyed that her questions were ignored.

  “How is it an attractive young lady finds herself working as a blacksmith? Not exactly a popular vocational choice among our gender.”

  A little unnerved with those dazzling emeralds that seemed to be staring through her, Sarah took another sip of water. “My mother died when I was six, then it was just dad and me. He was a blacksmith of some renown but his political views kept him from making much money.”

  “Political views?”

  Sarah nodded, “He was against the Protectorate forcing their ideas onto everybody else. He refused their offer for protection and since, according to the law, only Protectorate sponsored shops are allowed to sell merchandise within the city, he was forced to take menial task, like shoeing horses, to make ends meet. He couldn’t hire any help so I did what I could. He taught me the trade because we couldn’t afford college, and I just wound up doing what I know best.”