Kingdom of Villains and Vengeance: Fairytale retellings from the villain's perspective (Kingdom of Darkness and Light Book 2)

by Laura Greenwood

  I made a show of opening the bottle as I thought about what to ask him first. How did I ask my dad if my entire life was a lie in a way that didn't sound accusatory? I took a sip, placed my bottle in the holder and looked at him, really looked at him, this time as an equal instead of as my dad.

  He watched me calmly, his face the same laid-back, patient dad I'd always loved and trusted. It struck me then that nothing had changed.

  He hadn't lied to me because he was a liar; he'd omitted the truth simply because I hadn’t needed to know the truth before tonight. If I was honest with myself, I hadn't been ready until after the dream. The moment I had needed to know, he’d been completely honest and helped me with as much information as I required to save my friend.

  Taking a deep breath, I blurted the first thing I thought. "What are you? I mean, if I’m a finder, and Rob is...what is he? Telepathically strong?"

  A smile split my dad’s face and he shook his head, looking rueful. "Not easy questions to answer, but I'll do my best." He smiled again, then became serious. "Nothing about me has changed. I'm still your dad, I still love your mom, your brother, and you. I still want you to graduate with good marks and go to university."

  I laughed. "Yeah, I'm not doubting any of that stuff. But all this time, I thought you were a businessman in the tech industry. Then you pulled that gun out of your- what was it, your sock?" I shook my head, still floored by that discovery.

  He shrugged. "I am a businessman, and I do work with tech. I just also happen to work for an independent organization and contract my services out."

  "That’s what I mean. You always joked with us about how you had a Chandler job, and even showed me the episode of Friends to explain it. But this –" I waved my hand around vaguely to encompass his body. "You're like James Bond or something."

  He laughed. "Not quite James Bond, no. But I do work for many corporations and agencies, and I've had the same training that is provided to what you would call a secret agent. Have you heard of CSIS?"

  When I shook my head again, he sighed. Sitting down, he took a long pull from his beer then began to explain.

  “You could say that CSIS is the Canadian version of the CIA. They keep a lower profile and don’t show up in movies like the American alphabet organizations do, so it’s fair to say most of the world probably doesn't even know they exist."

  "That would explain why I've never heard of them. Canada has a secret service?"

  He shrugged one shoulder. "Pretty much every country does to a greater or lesser degree. We work a lot with intergovernmental agencies like the CIA, FBI, and MI-6, even what used to be the KGB." He wiggled his eyebrows in the style of old Groucho Marx films. "Not with them very often, of course."

  "Of course," I echoed dumbly, completely at a loss for what to say.

  My dad had always been a joker, and now part of me wondered if he was pulling a giant hoax on me for some reason. But then I thought of the gun again, and how smooth and unafraid he’d been in the basement of the bar. He’d never fake something so awful. He wasn’t playing me, and this wasn't a hoax.

  "What do you do for them as a contractor?" I asked, slowly piecing things together. "Do you have special abilities, too?"

  He took another sip of beer before answering, leaning closer and dropping his voice. "Rob has strength and the mind-reading thing. You understand how that works, right?"

  I didn't really but nodded anyway, not wanting to interrupt.

  "Well, my abilities involve things like the lock on that safe."

  I remembered how he’d just known how to open it and my eyes widened. "You mean you're like a safe breaker?"

  He wavered his hand in so-so gesture. "Kind of. It's more that I can feel things like puzzles and numbers. Anything that involves some sort of mechanism, particularly mechanical things. The same way you can find things without understanding why. Inside my head, it’s like I can see a map which leads me to the answer of anything involving a code or electronics."

  “So you’re like a hacker?”

  He winced. “Kind of, although I prefer not to use that particular word. But it doesn't need to just involve computer systems. Old style tumblers like the safe or even wood puzzles are my favorites. The same way you know where something is, I can get the answer to a puzzle by touch.”

  "That's so cool."

  He chuckled and took a sip of his beer then jumped up and flipped the steaks. "Well, these are done. Hand me that other batch of meat, would you?"

  I nodded and handed the plate of raw meat over, watching my dad set them to sizzle on the grill before he sat again.

  "We're doing one-beer steaks tonight. Well, only one beer per steak, instead of one beer per side like normal. We’ve got too much talking to do to be four beers in by the time Rob gets here, especially you."

  This time I laughed. I was only half-way through my beer and already feeling more relaxed and open to the bizarre occurrences of the last twelve hours.

  "Yeah, I want to be able to understand your answers and not have to decipher slurring." I raised an eyebrow. "On second thought, you’d likely be unable to lie if you were four beers in."

  He chuckled before gently punching my shoulder. "I'm always honest with you. But like any good parent, I'm not going to tell you everything when you ask, or let you do whatever you want.”

  I inclined my head in acknowledgement, conceding his point. Not that I remembered many times where he hadn’t let me do what I’d really wanted.

  “What kind of dad would I be if I’d let you watch horror movies at age five? Or stay up until three when you were ten and wanted to watch infomercials?" He sipped on his beer, watching me with his open, honest face. "I didn't tell you any of this stuff because you didn't need to know before. Let's face it, secret agents and guns are way too attractive for most teenagers. You're eighteen now and your friend was missing. For the first time since you were little, you had the urge to find someone. It was the right time, is the right time. No more secrets, okay? After today, you’re old enough to understand and appreciate how dangerous everything in our world can be."

  I sighed. "Yeah, it would be nice if I wasn't. I almost wish I'd never had that dream, but then Paul would be dead and I'd be stuck doing a law degree I wasn't interested in without him to bitch to about it."

  This time, my dad's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Go back a step. What do you mean, stuck in a law degree? You better still be planning to go to university in the fall. You've already paid your tuition. I’ve already paid your tuition."

  I lifted my hands in surrender. "Don't worry, I'm still going to university and planning on taking criminal studies. But after last night and this morning, I know going into law isn’t the right path, at least not exactly."

  He tilted his head, frowning. "Go on."

  His voice was wary, and I knew he was concerned about all the money that was going to get thrown away if I dropped out.

  "It came to me when we found Paul. I realized I don't want to be a lawyer watching Rob interact with everyone from my friend and the paramedics, to the other cops. It was the exact same feeling I got when I found Paul. Like something clicked. I just knew."

  His face fell and he exhaled. "I know that feeling. It’s the same thing I get when I know the answer to a puzzle."

  "Watching both of you help my friend helped me to see that I need to use my finding ability for something more than retrieving an occasional set of car keys. I can't be a lawyer in court and use it to find the right articles in a case—it’s a waste. I’m meant to use my finding ability to help people. Missing, kidnapped, or who knows? Maybe in some other way I don’t know of yet."

  We looked at each other in silence for a moment before my dad broke eye contact and took another sip of his beer. He stood, turning his back to flip the steaks. Deciding they were done, he lifted them off.

  Whirling to face me with the flipper in his hand, he shook it at me as if he didn’t realize it was still there. "You want to go into law enfo
rcement, don't you?"

  When I nodded, his shoulders slumped a little before straightening again. He gave me another smile, a strange mix of pride, sorrow, and loss.

  "It's what I thought you were going to say. I’ve always known, somewhere in the back my head, that law enforcement would end up being your calling. Forgive a dad for hoping it was from the safety of the crown prosecutor’s office or something else that didn't involve carrying a gun. Have you had a chance to think about the specifics?"

  I shook my head. "No. It came to me in a flash in the building. I think I’ll probably keep my courses for the fall, but after this semester start to gear things more toward joining the RCMP or Toronto PD."

  He shook his head, surprising me. "No. Those aren’t the right fit for you. Too limiting. The training is good, mind you, but I don't see you working a beat or ending up stationed in rural Manitoba or northern Québec." He worried his bottom lip for moment, then nodded. "Tell you what. Let me talk to my boss. I'll let you know what she says. I guarantee my organization will want you to have an undergrad degree first for a position with them. If nothing else, it gives you time to get a little older and less frontal, if you know what I mean."

  I laughed. My dad always joked we were frontal whenever my friends and I had grand ideas. Now that I was older and watching my little brother go through puberty, I knew exactly what he meant and was taking it less personally.

  "Sounds good."

  We sat and drank our beers as I asked my dad a few other, less earth-shaking questions. He couldn't tell me much about my ability to find, but it was okay. I knew I’d discover more about that as I went. Knowing my dad was able to do things others couldn't as well was enough for now. I knew I’d have other questions for him later but for now, enjoying the sun and the beers, it was nice hanging with my dad as if we were equals.

  I couldn't wait to find out where life took me next.

  Chapter 14

  Hanging out with my dad and Rob was eye-opening, and right up there with the best times I'd ever had. I felt as if I’d been inducted into some sort of secret society where my opinion was valued as an equal, even though it was clear to me how much more qualified they were than I was.

  When I told Rob my idea of a law enforcement career in order to use my finding ability and how it had come about, he’d reacted much the same way as my father – proud yet sad, with a side of already knowing I’d say that. It was obvious he loved his work but had hoped I would escape the problems their work brought along with it.

  Then, when he’d taken me aside later and told me if I needed a mentor he was applying, I’d been touched. How many people could say they knew someone as qualified as he was in their hoped-for profession who was willing to help them out at the beginning of their journey?

  When the whole godfather thing came up, they both agreed there was little point keeping Rob a family secret now, and we made arrangements for him to come over the next week for Sunday supper. Mom was excited but nervous. She'd known everything all along and always supported both men in their careers, but still worried Robbie would get enraptured by the ‘cool detective’ and act up.

  It made me see her in a different light as well. I didn't know many people who were comfortable with that kind of uncertainty, and she’d never let on she was worried about my dad beyond missing him when he traveled for work.

  But that was the bright spot of my weekend.

  I still had to have a conversation with Paul about everything. Due to his injuries, it meant we had to visit him in the hospital. As I’d been afraid when he’d tumbled out of the safe, the facial bruising had been the result of a serious head injury, and he was still under observation.

  On Sunday my dad had come with me for moral support. Thankfully, Paul was out of the ICU and being observed in the neurosurgery wing. I hated hospitals, let alone one as big as the General. He was in a semi-private with only one roommate, but it was odd having to walk past a frail older man in a hospital gown to get to my friend on the other side of the curtain.

  Odder still was seeing what the friend waiting for me looked like.

  His normally healthy tan-olive complexion was wan and sickly. His mother looked up from her magazine as we knocked on the wall.

  “Hello? Is now a good time for a visit?”

  I’d brought him some magazines and snacks, feeling awkward at the idea of the flowers one usually brought to visit someone in hospital. It didn’t feel right to bring them for a guy-friend, but I didn't know what he was able to handle yet and I hoped I wasn’t making him feel worse. To my disappointment, he was asleep.

  "Mark, Mr. Notting."

  Paul's mom was a tiny round woman with dark hair, which I noticed was streaked with white and grey for the first time. She looked much older than she had the last time I’d seen her, but maybe it was the pain in her face which aged her.

  She took off her reading glasses, placed them on top of the book she’d been reading and stood, crushing me in deceptively powerful arms. When she’d finished with me, she moved onto my dad, and I hid a smile at the yelp he let out. He hadn't been subjected to Paul’s mom's hugs before and they were surprisingly painful. The one she gave me today was stronger than usual, and when she pulled back from my dad, her eyes brimmed with tears.

  "I can never thank you enough. The detective I spoke with yesterday told me you helped find my Paulo." Her hand went to her mouth to hold back a sob.

  I shared an awkward glance with my dad before answering with something I hoped made sense.

  "It was nothing. Anyone would have done it. I'm just happy they found him."

  I had no idea what detective she was speaking of or what they’d told her, and I didn't want to say anything to the contrary. Were they Toronto police going with the cell phone story Rob had suggested? Or had it been Rob himself who’d spoken with her? Could she possibly know the truth? From what I knew of her, she was the kind of woman who believed in miracles, so she’d likely accept either explanation.

  She wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks before moving to Paul's bedside and tucking the sheets in briskly. She looked up, smiling with fatigue and happiness now.

  "He's just sleeping. He was awake earlier but gets tired quickly. The doctors say that's to be expected. There is swelling on the brain but it has already started to go down. They don’t think he’ll need surgery, which is a blessing. It was a little nerve-wracking yesterday when he first came in. I’ve been praying to St. Jude, and between you finding him so quickly and the last MRI, I’m certain he’ll be fine now."

  I nodded, having no idea what that saint was supposed to do or how he played in with MRI results, but was happy to hear he was improving nonetheless.

  "Do they have an estimate on how long he'll need to stay in hospital?"

  She gave an almost imperceptible shrug as she moved to the other side of his bed and stroked hair off his face. He looked even worse than he had yesterday. The bruising, which had worried me then, was now a massive purple-yellow island with hints of magenta, while the eye on the left side of his face was swollen completely shut, with ugly black sutures that reminded me of spiders running along his eyebrow and chin.

  One unaffected patch of skin on his cheek kept them from running the entire length of his face and I wondered if the dimple he’d used to his advantage with girls had somehow protected him. I shook the crazy thought off and realized Paul's mom was still speaking to me.

  "I'm sorry, I missed that last part. What did you say?" I gestured to his face in apology. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  She nodded as if my words made complete sense. "Of course. He doesn't look much like himself right now. The doctors are hopeful he'll be able to take exams on time. I’ll talk to the school on Monday. I'm hoping he'll just need a week or so to recover before he returns but…" she trailed off.

  I knew we were both worried about the same thing. Would he be able to write his exams? Would he even be the same when he woke up? The damage seemed extensive and considerin
g what had happened, I had my doubts.

  It had all happened so quickly. On Friday he’d been Paul, my best friend, but today...today he was a patient, a survivor of a terrible random act of violence.

  I hoped he was just sleeping and would wake up before we left, but at the same time, I almost didn't want to speak to him in case my worst fears were realized and it was no longer my friend underneath the bruises.

  "Visiting hours are from two until four. Would you like me to get you something from the cafeteria? Or I can sit with the boys while you go, if you prefer?"

  My dad’s tone was solicitous, and she gave him a watery smile at the offer.

  "No, thank you. His father will be here soon with food, and his sisters and I have been taking turns."

  "I can speak to the teachers tomorrow, if that would be easier for you?"

  She shook her head again, but this time her smile was brighter. "I'm sure you’d be happy to do that. As wonderful as the teachers at your school are, they'll be more likely to accept a fantastic story like this coming from his parents over his best friend. It may be in the news right now, but I’ll bet more than one grade twelve boy will be trying to use it as an excuse to delay exams. This sort of thing doesn't happen in Toronto every day. It might sound too close to a ‘dog ate my homework’ for them to believe you."

  My dad snorted and I laughed in spite of the bruised form on the bed.

  "You're probably right. In fact, I think I remember someone trying that a few weeks ago to get out of hockey practice. Do you want us to leave and let him sleep? I can come back tomorrow."

  I’d barely finished speaking when Paul’s good eye popped open. It was the usual warm brown it had always been, but the shadows beneath it told me he was going to be haunted by recent events for a long time.

  As our eyes met, a ghost of a smile curled the undamaged dimple up and so softly I almost couldn't hear him, he joked, "I told you I probably wouldn't be able to make it to hockey practice for the rest of the season."