About an hour after midnight, my feet about danced off from my many partners, my yawns made me decide to collect my girls from the children’s party and return home. All the children had been bedded down on thick woolen blankets on the floor hours earlier, so two footmen obligingly carried the sleepy Drussella and Anastaizella to my carriage for me.
The next morning I woke up long past dawn. And not to my bedroom door being slammed open like it had been for the last six months, either. It was, instead, to another hunting horn being sounded outside the manor’s front door. I grabbed my wrap from under my bed covers and flung it about me as I rushed my feet into velvet slippers and hurried down the main stairs.
The housemaid was just opening the door, and I recognized the Arch Duke Francis outside on the broad top step. He was bearing what looked like a slipper made of glass on a red velvet pillow. I looked at it, confused, as I went to greet him. What on earth was he doing at my front door with something so unwearable? I motioned to the housemaid that I would take it from here, and she silently withdrew.
The horn sounded again, and a herald dressed in red and white royal livery came into view unrolling an official looking scroll.
“Hear ye, Hear ye! It is so demanded by his Royal Majesty, through the person of the Arch Duke Francis, that all women who attended the ball last night must try on this slipper that was left behind to see if it fits! If it does fit, the wearer is then pleaded, through the Arch Duke, to accept Prince Albert’s hand in marriage!” he loudly intoned before stepping back out of sight.
The Arch Duke made a suitable bow.
I felt faint. A brief fantasy swept through my head of living in the palace married to the Prince and being happy, the three girls living with us and treated like royalty.
I came to my senses and addressed the Arch Duke. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but there is no one here who could have worn that. I and my two younger daughters did go to the ball, but I can assure you that that is not my slipper. And since I know my daughters’ clothes, I can also assure you that it is neither of theirs, either.”
“My orders, Madam, are to try it on every one who went,” he said with polite inflexibility, stroking his bushy black mustache.
I shrugged and moved to let him come in.
“Oh, very well, but you will soon see I am right.” I called up the stairs. “Drussella! Anastaizella! Come here, please!”
The two girls came scampering down the stairs in their dressing gowns. I thought I saw Cindiella lurking at the top in the shadows, but I had my hands full with Drussella and Anastaizella barreling into me for hugs to concern myself over her lurking.
Duke Francis, seeing how young they were, realized that what I had said to be true. But he still went through the motions of having all three of us sit down on a foyer chair and trying the slipper on. As expected, it didn’t properly fit any of our feet.
“Wait!” cried a voice up the stairs. “May I try it on?”
I frowned, and then turned to the Arch Duke. “That is my other stepdaughter, Your Grace, but she did not go to the ball last night. She has no need to try the slipper on.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong, stepmother dear!” Cindiella said gaily, almost dancing down the stairs into the front hall.
I stared. She must have been up for hours. Her hair was done up in an elegant swirl, she had applied makeup, her pretty violet dress was clean and fresh, and she smelled faintly of perfumed soap as she sashayed past me and sat down in the chair Anastaizella had just vacated. I was speechless.
Cindiella kicked off a house slipper and held out her admittedly dainty foot to the Arch Duke. He tried it on her—and to everyone’s surprise but hers, it fit!
Cindiella turned triumphantly on me. “See! I told you I would go to the ball! And I did, even after you told me I couldn’t—my fairy godmother came to me, and gave me a dress and a carriage and everything!”
I narrowed my eyes. A fairy godmother? A mischievous trickster, more like, who’d probably come with cheap tricks and catches after I’d left the premises. But it was too late to warn Cindiella about taking magic from strangers; the damage had been done.
She stood up, and then withdrew from a hidden pocket in her dress a matching glass slipper and put it on as well. A swirl of silvery wisps rose up out of nowhere and engulfed her, and suddenly she was dressed in the beautiful gown, gloves, and hair ribbon I’d admired last night. She preened before us.
“Magic!” whispered the Arch Duke in horror. “You have bewitched the Prince!”
Cindiella laughed while smoothing out her full skirts. “No, I haven’t—other than with my looks and my boobs, that is. It’s amazing what a guy will give you if you promise him that you will let him touch ….” Her eyes drifted to her sisters, and amazingly she didn’t finish what I suspected would have been a crude statement.
“Anyhow, Your Grace,” she continued, “I believe you have something to ask me?”
The Arch Duke looked reluctant, but he got down on one knee.
“Will you marry Prince Albert, my lady?” he asked her.
It looked like it hurt him to say it.
Cindiella threw her arms up in the air and did a happy twirl, skirts flying. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!”
He looked at me, and I gave a tiny half-shrug. If she had the chance to marry Prince Albert, I would not stand in her way.
“Then let us go,” he said to her. “Please head out to the carriage, my lady. I will join you in a minute.”
Cindiella ran out to the carriage without so much as a backwards look at her two sisters or me.
“Madame Trelainne?” he said, taking my hand and bowing over it.
I finally found my voice. “I … have no words. She didn’t come with us to the ball last night, I swear to you. I don’t know how this happened. I am so sorry.”
He sighed. “What’s done is done. The shoe fits, so she must wear it. His Majesty will, of course, settle a generous bridal price on your household. May it allow you to fill her place with someone who can help you in her stead.”
Then his eyes twinkled as he looked me up and down. “Of course, I would be honored to bring it myself and assist you in any way I could.”
A smile crept to my lips as I assessed him in return. He seemed fit and healthy, was well dressed, and was certainly much younger than my dear, departed Stepfen.
“I would like that, Your Grace. I do promise I will be more suitably attired next time.”
He laughed, kissed my hand, and then went out to the carriage that held an impatient Cindiella.
We went out to the front steps and called out good wishes to her as the royal carriage rolled off down the drive.
I ushered Drussella and Anastaizella back inside after the noble party was out of sight, and smiled to myself as I directed the girls down to breakfast. I had slept past dawn for the first time in months, Cindiella was to be suitably married off, we were to get a gift of money for the estate because of her, and the Arch Duke Francis had indicated an interest in me.
Not a bad beginning for a morning at all.
Susan Bianculli. a happily married mother of two living in Georgia, has loved to read all her life. A graduate of Emerson College with a Minor in Writing, she hopes through her stories to share and inspire in young readers the same love of reading that she had at their age, and still has now. You can learn more about her work at susanbianculli.wix.com/home.
“Who’s afraid?” Chuck called.
“Not me,” Willie laughed.
“Or me,” Ron grinned.
“Then it’s you, Wolf,” Chuck yelled.
Wolf knew better than to argue. He couldn’t win, not three-to-one. But he could run. And he did.
Over the fence, through Perkin’s garden, and into the graveyard was the safest route. He’d done it before.
Slim enough to push through the gate, Wolf slid under the chain, tearing his sleeve, before he sprinted to the crypt. Wolf cowered, but not from fear. He was safe; and, if his p
lan worked, he’d get revenge.
“So who’s afraid?” whispered the wind.
“Not me,” howled Wolf.
“Home early,” whispered the wind.
“Too early for my liking,” croaked the oak, branches swaying wild, tossing leaves like rain.
But Wolf ignored their banter. Nothing was new in their words. Nothing worth hearing as he pried open the crypt. Cool darkness was safe. With only tombs as company, no arguments would haunt his dreams.
“No one sleeps tonight,” whispered the wind.
“Then I’ll sleep well.” Wolf shrugged. “For others think I am no one.”
“A diversion,” croaked the oak, limbs dipping so low that they brushed against Wolf’s cheek. “You’re little more than a diversion in the scheme of things.”
One limb snapped like thunder, while the wind whispered, “They’re near.”
Wolf braced. They followed, but they shouldn’t have been able to get in. Without a key, the gate protected, kept out intruders. Wolf waited in the shadows, close enough to hear their shrieks.
“Hide,” whispered the wind, as Wolf pushed into the crypt and slid between two coffins.
“We know you’re in there, Wolf,” called Chuck, scraping the door with jagged nails.
“Or is it Chicken?” laughed Ron, as his fist banged against the open door.
As Ron slipped inside, his shadow stretched across the crypt. Wolf choked back excitement as the shadow touched his arm. Cold. Too cold.
“Ghost step on your tomb,” Willie laughed, slamming the door behind him.
“Too late,” whispered the wind, sending an icy breeze under the door.
Willie pushed, but the door held tight. Wolf knew it would. He set the trap.
“Who’s got a flashlight?” called Chuck. “I told you idiots to bring a flashlight.”
“I got a match,” Ron said, choking a little with fear, as the wind screamed outside.
Wind and darkness gave an eerie life to the tomb, one known to Wolf, who welcomed its safety, as he slipped deeper within the shadows.
Wolf hid in the crypt to control his rage. He was an easy target to push down stairs and into lockers at school. But not here, not today.
Willie reached out, shrieked, as his hand slipped through a cobweb.
“Get it off! Get it off!” Willie screamed, too late, as a spider crawled into his sleeve, and with a single bite silenced Willie.
“Where are you, Willie?” Chuck called. “Where’s that match, Ron?”
With a snap, light flickered, then sizzled in the cool damp of the crypt.
“Light another one,” Chuck called, his rage warming with his fear.
“Nooooo!” screamed Ron as he fell across Willie, match singeing the other boy’s shirt.
Burnt cloth and flesh merged as Ron swatted the rising smoke. Willie yawned, choked, then lay silent.
“What now?” called Chuck. “You guys are a couple of wimps. You make Wolf look brave.”
Wolf slid deeper into the shadows.
“I think Willie’s dead,” Ron groaned. “He’s not moving.”
“He fainted, fool,” Chuck snorted, stepping over Willie.
Wolf edged toward the door, unseen, until Chuck scraped a match across the stone.
“He’s there,” Chuck screamed, pushing Ron ahead. “Get him!”
And in that moment, Wolf pressed the hinge and sprinted out the door, pulling it closed after him. He set the bolt in a single snap.
“Who’s afraid now?” called Wolf, teeth bared.
But sealed within the crypt, no sound entered, nor was heard, save the wind and scraping branches.
Wolf leaped high, feet planted precariously on the arch as he laughed, “Three.”
“Not enough,” whispered the wind.
“Never enough,” croaked the oak. “You owe us a debt for your safety.”
“But the night is young,” Wolf howled, and in two leaps, he was over the fence, on the prowl.
Takes just a limp to look helpless, and that last leap had Wolf favoring his left leg.
But where should he start? Ron, Willie, and Chuck had chased him from school, just like they did every day. But school was out, even after-school sports.
Maybe the mall. Kids usually hung out there, especially the popular ones. Wolf would be easy prey, as would anyone who followed.
Wolf loped along the street, reaching the entrance just as Maggie and Francie shoved past him and giggled through the doors.
“Give me a hand?” Wolf asked, limping behind.
“Looks more like you need a foot,” giggled Chelsea, as she pushed past Wolf, knocking him off balance.
Wolf braced, excited with the hunt, then followed them through two candy stores, to the food court, staying just far enough behind to escape their notice. Not that they would have looked for him, or at him. At school, he was little more than a pawn, an easy target. But tonight the game was his, played by his rules.
Phone out, Maggie dialed, but snapped, “No answer,” after the third try, adding, “Chuck knows better than to keep me waiting.”
“Maybe he’s seeing someone else,” Chelsea laughed. “I saw him eyeing that new girl in English.”
Maggie’s sneer stopped Chelsea.
But Francie picked up with, “The blue-eyed blond? Willie’s been talking about her all week.”
Wolf settled two tables away, lifting his sore leg to a chair. But no one noticed. No one ever noticed. If they only knew what he’d done, what he could do. But that didn’t matter. He could wait. He knew how to wait.
Wolf coughed back a howl, then said, “I saw Chuck just a while ago. He was with Ron, Willie, and someone else.”
“Who?” Maggie sneered, charging to his table, kicking the chair from under his foot.
Wolf shrugged, rubbing his leg, yellow eyes closed to hide his glee, as he said, “I don’t know. But I can show you where they are.”
Too easy, Wolf thought. But jealousy was all he needed to set his game in motion.
“Forget Chuck,” Chelsea mumbled through a mouthful of fudge. “He’s a loser.”
“You forget him,” Maggie shot back. “He’s not your boyfriend.”
Wolf stood, stretching his left leg, before taking a tentative step.
“Where you going?” snapped Maggie.
“Home,” said Wolf, his back to the girls, a smile so wide that he dug his nails into his palms to hold in the joy.
Out the door, Wolf did not look back. He didn’t have to. They were easy prey.
Maggie’s, “Wait! I told you to wait, stupid,” told Wolf that she was near, with Chelsea and Francie close behind. They were never far apart.
“Too easy,” whispered the wind.
“Not as easy as you think,” whispered Wolf, rounding a corner, gaining speed despite his limp.
“Oak will know,” the wind whispered. “He won’t be pleased.”
“He never is,” Wolf mumbled.
“What are you talking about, stupid?” Maggie sneered, closing in on him.
“Just talking to myself,” Wolf called back, yellow eyes alight.
“’Cause no one would talk to you, loser,” Chelsea laughed, tossing another piece of fudge in her mouth.
Wolf caught his breath, bit back a curse.
“Not so fast,” Maggie called, struggling after him.
But Wolf only limped faster, reaching the cemetery in minutes.
“He’s going through the cemetery,” said Chelsea. “No way I’m going in there.”
“I told them you wouldn’t come in,” Wolf said, pushing the gate wide enough to slip through, then pulling it closed behind him.
“You saying we’re scared?” Maggie challenged, still not moving toward the gate. No need to get too close. She’d heard tales about blood-sucking bats and knew the boys might be waiting just inside to scare her.
“No,” Wolf said, eyes wide. “Chuck said it. Willie and Ron agreed. But only Chuck said it.”
&nbs
p; “He’s a fine one to talk,” Maggie said, still not moving. “Can’t sleep in the dark. Needs a light, even at the movies.”
Wolf shrugged before he limped into the shadows.
“You just leaving us out here?” Maggie yelled.
“Of course, not,” Wolf called back. ”I’m going to tell the guys you’re here. Have them come out.”
“And leave us here alone,” Chelsea called. “It’s dark and cold. You can’t just leave us!”
“It’s the only way I can get them to come out,” Wolf called.
“Not working,” whispered the wind. “They’re not coming in.”
“He doesn’t know how to make it work,” croaked the oak, tossing leaves at Wolf’s face.
“You think you’re big,” Maggie sneered at Wolf. “You think you’re bad. You think you’re the big, bad ….”
“Wolf,” Chelsea cackled, tumbling against the fence. “You think you’re the big bad ….”
“Wolf,” said Wolf, yellow eyes barely open. “My name is Wolf.”
“But you’re so big, so brave,” Maggie mocked, staring into the darkness.
But Wolf didn’t answer, as he disappeared into the evening mist.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Maggie shouted, pushing through the gate with Francie close behind. “No one turns his back on me! No one, especially a nobody like you!”
“Trapped,” whispered the wind.
“You got her,” croaked the oak. “And the others will follow. Maybe there is hope for you.”
“Don’t leave me out here,” Chelsea whined, pushing through the gate after Francie.
“Not so easy for that one,” whispered the wind.
“Almost plump enough to fill a tree,” croaked the oak.
But Wolf never turned as he trotted toward the crypt with the three girls, breathless, stumbling behind.
Wolf’s keen ears heard Chuck scratching at the door, with Ron screaming, “Let us out! Let us out, or else! Wolf, let us out or you’ll pay!”
Stepmothers and the Big Bad Wolf eARC Page 7
