by Laura Kenyon
Who is this tall, dark, and handsome stranger? And what can I do to knock him out of the picture?
TWELVE hundred fans went home disappointed when Ruby Welles’ tenth anniversary episode of “Ruby’s Road” was cancelled due to the host’s sudden illness. While program directors swear it was nothing more than “a 24-hour bug,” it marks the first cancellation in the daytime talk show’s history. Evidently, everyone’s favorite fairy godmother needs to conjure up some vitamin C.
*Just go with it
Chapter Eleven
CINDERELLA
Cindy crouched low in the front seat of her car while Gregory sang nursery rhymes in the back.
“Shh,” she repeated, to no avail. “We’re playing the quiet game, remember sweetie? You have to be quiet for mommy.”
Gregory just laughed and continued singing. He kicked the passenger seat a few times for good measure.
It had been a long week. Aaron had seemed even more preoccupied than usual, responding to all her questions with one-word answers and mmhmm-ing all her stories. He even bumped up against their three-week abstinence limit, but slipped a quickie in under the wire and then passed out. Even her kids, who were used to being his primary focus on weekends, noticed that their father seemed a bit off. As Sophie put it when he nearly missed her dance recital and forgot to reserve a table for their post-performance family dinner, “Daddy needs a check-up from the neck up.” Cindy agreed but still held out hope.
She still hoped the woman with the neck tattoos was a big misunderstanding. But when she began randomly inquiring about Aaron’s whereabouts, she got too many conflicting stories for comfort. Evidently, he had an amazing ability to supervise a budget meeting downtown, golf with Angus Kane, get his teeth cleaned, and attend a charity luncheon all at the same time.
Then this morning, while Aaron was in the shower, she found an envelope bearing his personal seal sitting atop his nightstand. Unlike his official correspondence, which changed hands in large black sheaths marked with the eagle crest, this was tucked into a small blue jacket no wider than an index card. Inspired by Belle’s recent show of strength, she got dressed at lightning speed, grabbed Gregory—whom she was supposed to drop off at nursery school at ten o’clock—and didn’t let the letter leave her sight.
Like a hawk with the nose of a bloodhound, she followed it from Aaron’s hand to a page’s bag, onto a messenger bike, and across town to a courier's office … where she waited in the parking lot for three hours, unsure what she was looking for and half-hoping she’d never find it.
Ten o’clock came and went. She called Gregory’s school and said he wasn’t feeling well. Eleven o’clock. She phoned the Carpale Women’s League and apologized for having to miss their brunch. She was beginning to lose hope—and to formulate an excuse for missing Sophie’s student council speech at two o’clock—when a slim brunette bounced across the parking lot wearing the sort of curve-hugging exercise clothes that only people who don’t need exercise can wear. Her dark hair was pulled high into a ponytail, giving Cindy a perfect view of the three stars tattooed on the back of her neck.
Cindy let out a stunned “Ah ha!” that started Gregory on the game of a thousand questions.
“What are we doing? Is there no school today? What’s this place? Are we getting ice cream?”
“Yes,” she said, smoothing his cheek but keeping her eyes glued to the courier’s door. “If you sit there and be good for a little longer, we can get ice cream.”
Gregory’s smile lit up from ear to ear and his blue eyes sparkled. Then he started singing. And singing. And singing.
Finally, the woman bounced back outside, holding Aaron’s letter and beaming. Cindy ducked deeper behind the wheel, then felt her heart stop. The letter wasn’t all she was holding. In her other hand, this woman was hanging on to a boy just a tad older than Gregory. He had dark hair like hers, crystal blue eyes like Aaron’s, and a smile that spread from ear to ear.
Her mind spun so fast she felt the world slipping away. She needed names, addresses, DNA samples. She needed to know exactly who this woman was and how long she’d known her husband. She needed—
“Hey what’s Jasper doing here?” Gregory’s voice pierced a million flinging thoughts. She watched them wither and fall to the ground. “Is he getting ice cream too?”
Cindy looked back at her son, then ahead at the boy, then back at her son again. “You know them?” Her voice was frail, desperate.
“Yeah.” Gregory giggled and took a sip of his juice box. He let out a refreshed sigh. “You’re silly, Mommy. Everyone knows Daddy’s friend Jasper.”
When her eyes stopped throbbing and the world looked a little less red, Jasper and the woman were gone. She’d lost the trail, but she’d uncovered a whole new one. Suddenly, Rapunzel’s cockamamie idea was a little less appalling. Suddenly, vengeance looked rather brilliant.
“Yay! Ice cream!” Gregory shouted as she put the car in gear and zoomed out of the parking lot.
“Yes, sweetheart. We’re going to get ice cream like I promised. Right after I get some clay at the art store. We’ll buy you a coloring book too.”
Chapter Twelve
BELLE
Three days after Belle’s big announcement, she cleared Rapunzel’s penthouse of every over-puffed ball gown, every skirt with more than five pounds of tulle, every heel that failed the thicker-than-a-pencil test, every piece of jewelry that ever left indentations in her skin, everything that even hinted at a corset, and every single blouse whose sleeves looked like they came with an air pump.
“I don’t think you need to maternity-ize your wardrobe just yet,” Rapunzel said when she walked in on the chaos. She was wearing an orange pencil skirt with a purple wrap top that matched her briefcase. Her hair, parted on one side, graduated from white to gold to red. “Pretty sure you won’t balloon for a month or two.”
Belle made a face and explained that she was donating everything to goodwill.
Rapunzel tilted her head to process. “You don’t think poor people have enough troubles? You really want to dress them up like dolls too?”
“Very funny.”
“I try.”
“I figure they can auction them off, use them as prom dresses, or turn them into blankets for all I care. I just don’t want them anymore. I’m going to drop them off and spend the next two days making my wardrobe stylish and comfortable. I’m so sick of feeling like a royal marionette.”
“Really?” Rapunzel leaned into the doorway and crossed her arms. “Are you sure you’re my roommate, or did someone make you a disguise curse to look like Belle?”
Belle didn’t know how to explain it, but something had changed since she stood her ground with the Mirror. It wasn’t just because of the bear hugs and thumbs up and back pats she’d received over the last two days. It wasn’t the attention and good wishes. It was something deeper. She’d fought back without fighting at all. She hadn’t lied. She hadn’t lashed out at her rival. She hadn’t stooped. She’d just told the truth (or part of it), and done so with confidence. Virtue and strength, she finally realized, were not mutually exclusive.
She pressed both hands into her knees and stood up. “I just decided that no matter where I end up, I want to be myself when I get there,” she said. “No more costumes to prove who I am or who I’m not.”
Rapunzel broke into applause. “Finally! Well said!”
“Plus, a little charity can’t hurt in the PR department, right? I learned that from you.”
Rapunzel froze for a moment, then shifted her weight. “That’s true, yes. But are you sure you don’t want to make some money off this stuff? There’s probably a couple hundred thousand dollars here and … well, who knows what—”
“Why go through the trouble?” Belle tossed another stiletto into the pile. “They need the money more than I do.”
Rapunzel panned the ceiling. She jingled her keys. Then she bounced up and let out a dismissive chuckle. “Yeah, you’re right. Of cou
rse. Donating looks better. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You’re probably thinking about that gorgeous mystery man I keep hearing about. I’m still kicking myself for going to bed early and missing him.”
“Maybe. Probably. Okay then, off to work.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Belle took a stroll through Capitol Park. The sun was bright, the air was warm, and the breeze carried the sounds of a thousand voices shouting “Bring back Belle!” and “Clear as a Belle!”
By now, strolls had become veritable parades. As Rapunzel put it, she was “a thousand times more important than that lady who broke Donner’s curse.” Belle thought she was right—especially if the Mirror’s mockery of her previous disguises was true. Perhaps everyone had always known who she was in public—they just didn’t care. Before, it seemed, she was cream at a dinner party; people liked it well enough, but no one was going to rush out to the market if they could just use milk instead. Now, she was the wine. There was no substitute.
She was watching a pair of teenagers throw a ball around, when something big and warm rammed into her leg. She jumped and dropped her bags.
“Beast!” someone shouted in the distance. “Beast no! Come! Beast, come!”
Belle saw his eyes first. Huge, brown, gentle. Then his nose—large and dark. Then his ears—one drooped and shiny, the other folded inside out. His head came up almost to her waist.
“Beast!”
A spritely woman sprinted over to her, a black leash tailing behind her. She clipped it into the dog’s collar and caught her breath. “I’m so sorry. He must—oh!”
The woman recognized Belle and shrunk back. She pulled on her t-shirt, which was three times too big and had a giant screen print of Belle’s face beneath the words “The True Queen.” A pearl bunny pin clipped the excess material at her hip.
“Well, this is embarrassing.” She shifted in place. “I volunteered for Canines in Need today.” She motioned back toward a folding table covered in blue plastic. “But I wanted to join the protestors too, so …” She tapped her shirt. “Two birds, one scone.”
Belle stared back in confusion. “Scone?”
The woman nodded matter-of-factly. “As an animal lover, that other bird saying just appalls me. I’m Emilia.”
“Belle.”
“Well, I’m sorry about Beast. He’s really a sweet dog, just not very focused.” She jerked forward as Beast lunged toward a poodle a few feet away. He slapped his front paws against the grass, thrust his butt into the air, and began waving his tail like a long, gray flag.
Belle laughed. “Is that a yoga stance?”
Emilia smiled. “He just wants to play. Alllllll the time.”
“How long have you had him?”
Now it was Emilia’s turn to look confused. “Oh. Oh, he’s not mine. He’s one of the shelter dogs. We’ve been hoping to find him a home for six months now.”
“Six months?” Belle looked at the dog. He must have sensed this, because he immediately sprung up to a regal sitting position and stared directly back at her. She didn’t know much about dogs—Donner had nixed the idea once, and that had been it—but she’d heard it wasn’t good if they looked you in the eye. Then again, if this was for the same reason Donner didn’t like the staff looking him in the eye, then Belle liked Beast more because he broke it. “But he’s so cute. Six months sounds like a long time.”
Emilia issued a wounded sigh. “It is. But most people want puppies. Beast still thinks he’s a puppy, as you can see. But no one else does.”
At this, Beast let out a loud bark and spun in a circle, trying to bite his tail. Then he plopped to the ground, satisfied at whatever he’d just accomplished, and began to smack his cheek with his foot.
“Someone found him by the side of the river with a scrubbed collar,” Emilia continued. “We think his owner couldn’t take care of him anymore, but figured if he had a collar he’d have a better chance of being taken in by a family. They’d know he wasn’t always wild.”
“Poor thing.” Belle leaned down and made a motion to scratch him, but the dog opened his mouth. She pulled her hand back. “Does he bite?”
“No, no. He just wants to check you out first.”
Belle floated her hand out again. He sniffed it with his cold, wet nose, then gave it a good lick. His tongue felt like soggy sandpaper against her skin. He looked at her for a moment, as if considering her taste, and finally dug his entire face into her arms. She laughed while struggling to keep her balance.
“He likes you,” Emilia said just as a man shouted to her from the Canines in Need table. “Yikes, I have to go. But take this.” She handed Belle a flyer. “We’re here almost every day. All our dogs are neutered or spayed and fully vaccinated.”
Emilia pulled on Beast’s leash, but he didn’t budge. His tongue dangled out like a giant soup ladle. He and Belle stared at each other again. Rather than all-black eyes with miniscule edges of white, Beast had full, bright irises and human-like pupils.
“He’s not one of those talking animals is he?” Belle asked, feeling like an idiot as soon as the words were out. “I mean, I don’t think they exist in Marestam, but—”
Emilia laughed. “I assure you he doesn’t talk.”
“And he’s not a—”
“A man cursed into the form of a dog?” Beast growled at a squirrel scurrying along the bike path. “Ha, I think you just insulted him. I understand your concern, under the circumstances, but definitely not. He’s way better than a man, in my opinion. Far more loyal.” The man by the table hollered again. Emilia hollered back and resumed pulling at Beast’s leash. “These guys have been through a lot of heartache. The older ones especially. I do this because I think everyone deserves a second—”
“What do I have to do?” Belle braced for the feeling of instant regret—or panic—but neither came. The logistics were all wrong. She didn’t even have her own place. But everything else about her and Beast felt right. “If I wanted to adopt him, I mean. What do I have to do?”
Emilia stopped walking and beamed at her. “How’d you like to pick him up Monday?”
THE MARESTAM MIRROR
Diamond Ropes and Velvet Cake
By Perrin Hildebrand, King of Gossip*
PANIC ensued when Dawn of Regian fainted during the groundbreaking ceremony of her husband’s latest luxury condominium complex yesterday. Sources say the “sleeping beauty” queen lost consciousness for at least ten minutes, during which time Hunter dragged up every available doctor by his collar. Some witnesses went so far as to fear her curse had returned, but most blame the sudden heat wave.
When ambulances arrived, the Queen’s eyes popped right open and she resumed pretending to be happy to be alive.
IN response to the unregistered fairy who tried to kill two youths in the woods last month, PM Angus Kane is calling for a crackdown against undeclared magic.
“All I am doing is making sure the measures that have been in place since I took office are strictly enforced,” says Kane. “Like it or not, it is my job to be tough when it’s in the interest of protecting my people. It’s a miracle that little Hansel and Gretel Hill were able to escape this witch’s grasp, but the next children might not be so lucky. For the next twenty days, Marestam Guard stations will be accepting undeclared magical objects and updating their registries, no questions asked. On day twenty-one, they’ll be knocking on doors. And then there will be questions.”
Shiver.
*Where there’s a will, there’s a way
Chapter Thirteen
CINDERELLA
Rapunzel prodded the dried hunk of clay with the eraser side of her pencil. The shaft was lumpy and short. One ball was half the size of the other. The head resembled a withered tulip that had been broken just above the stem. “Hmmm,” she murmured, adjusting a pair of reading glasses without lenses.
Cindy shifted uncomfortably as her friend examined her work. She’d been sculpting ever since her
stakeout. Bit by bit. Every time Aaron took a phone call and didn’t say who it was. Every time he was “too busy” with little explanation. Every time he sprayed cologne or whitened—heck, even so much as brushed—his teeth.
“Wow,” Rapunzel said, her chin hovering inches from the table. “I’m not entirely sure how to put this but …” She took a deep breath and proudly delivered her verdict. “This is the ugliest excuse for a penis I’ve ever seen.”
It was a strange compliment, but it would do. “Oh, how the mighty fall,” Cindy murmured, but Rapunzel was too busy scrutinizing the sad-looking hunk of manhood to do more than snort. “Am I the deranged one now?”
Her friend finally looked up. “Well, it’s far healthier than cutting the real one off, I’ll tell you that. Nonviolent and therapeutic. You should listen to me more often. Nice touch with the vein, by the way.” She made a dramatic shiver. “Gruesome.”
Cindy couldn’t help but allow her uneasy grin to expand a little at Rapunzel’s enthusiasm. Yes, her situation was painful and horrendous. But sculpting male body parts was kind of hilarious. A spec of light in the darkness.
“I only have one question. What are you planning on doing with it?”
“What do you mean?” Cindy tilted her head. She’d thought they were on the same page. “I’m going put it on a statue of Aaron like you said. Wasn’t that the idea?”
Rapunzel bit her lip. “Oh. Well, yes, but … I mean, I was somewhat joking. Making light of a shitty situation. Isn’t that what friends do?”
Cindy placed the crooked clay monstrosity into a shoebox and covered it with tissue paper. “Well, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.” She scooted into the closet with the box, but caught her mother’s old jewelry case with her foot. Bits of silver and gold scattered everywhere. She cursed and dropped to her knees, but continued talking.
