Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  Knocking three times, I waited. Years of living here and being chastised any time I simply barged into my father’s inner sanctum prevented me from entering without permission. This was where he used to conduct business via phone and computer. This was where he talked to esteemed clients who had been invited to stay for the weekend. And this was where I always received the long lectures which made me cringe and want to run away. My father wasn’t a mean man by any stretch of the imagination, we were just oil and water, and I had always been a precocious child.

  “Come,” the deep voice of my father invited, filling the hall with its sound. As a swan, we could be loud when threatened or by choice, but we didn’t have the presence we did in our human forms…especially my father. When I was younger, before I resented what he had done to me, I thought he could be a god or the king of everyone. I’d put him on the pedestal, and when my eyes were opened, I pushed him off, and he plummeted many stories.

  I slid my hands down my shirt and slacks, wiping away the sweat while also smoothing out my clothes. I was presentable, but this gave me another whole second before I had to face my father.

  Slowly, I pushed open the door and took a few cautious steps inside.

  “Close the door,” he ordered from his seat behind his giant oak desk. From there, he appeared intimidating and powerful, as if one swipe of his hand could knock me to the ground or kill me.

  I cringed inwardly while I moved to do what he said. I was right, my mother wasn’t anywhere in the office—unless she was hiding behind the curtains, which I seriously doubted.

  Clearing my throat, I asked, “What did you need, Dad?” My voice sounded strained and tight as if I was trying to force the words out.

  “Sit.” He pointed to one of the chairs sitting in front of his desk. There were two, both antiques, made in the days of Henry VIII. Deep colored wooden arms with a seat that had been reupholstered more times than we’ve had presidents. Some of those times were my fault. Like I said, I was a precocious kid and seemed to find myself in trouble a lot. Those chairs were sturdy and massive, and yet, they fit this room and didn’t stand out too much.

  “I’ll stand,” I told him, forcing myself to remain calm. Whatever he had to say to me wasn’t good. “Are you dying?” I blurted, instantly regretting my loss of control.

  His jaw dropped open and his eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of his head like in the cartoons. Stammering for a moment, Dad finally regained his wits and snapped, “What in the world is going on in that fool head of yours?”

  “You retired early, you are acting strange, you call me in for a private discussion, you are checking up on me with Mrs. Harris.” I ticked off each statement on my fingers, sounding more nonchalant than I felt. I didn’t want something to be wrong with him, but at the same time, I was on edge having a discussion without Mom present.

  He didn’t move, didn’t blink. I fought the urge to check to see if he was still breathing or had a pulse.

  “Dad?” Leaning forward, I snapped my fingers in front of his face causing him to jump.

  Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze from me to the top of his desk and breathed deeply, releasing it slowly and did this twice more before he said anything else. “Love…” He stopped and sat there for a moment before he began again, “Life is too short to be worried about…not living. We have enough money to continue with our lifestyle for two lifetimes, and not spending the time with your mother—”

  “Is something wrong with her?”

  He chuckled softly, probably at my utter lack of patience. I’d never really been a patient man, and if I didn’t have to exercise that particular virtue, I wouldn’t. Holding up his hand, he met my worried stare. “No, son, nothing is wrong with her, but once you find that person who is your other half, nothing else matters. We may be human, but we are also swans, and swans mate for life…as do we.”

  Personally, I would never do what he or my grandfather had done: retire early to do whatever with my life with no real purpose. “Dad…” I didn’t know how to respond. My parents’ relationship, as well as that of my grandparents’, had always been something to strive for and envy. Many tried to come between them, to insert a wedge between the happy couple, but everyone failed. In this world, too many fed off drama or longed to see others suffer, and they tried to do what they could to create strife.

  “I know you think love doesn’t exist for you, but you never know what is going to come in life. You have to roll with whatever it throws at you.”

  “Any more clichés you want to throw at me?” I bit out sarcastically.

  His glare could melt a candle. “Maximillian…” I realized I screwed up when he basically growled my full name instead of my nickname, but I would not back down.

  “What did you need?”

  At that moment, I was surprised I hadn’t died. If looks could kill and all that. My father glowered at me, and I wanted to wiggle in my seat. I didn’t, but I wanted to.

  Finally, he released me from our staring contest and shifted to open a desk drawer. “Trouble is coming. I’m not sure who or what, but something is coming for you.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  He dropped an open envelope onto the desk in front of me and leaned back in his chair. “Nothing…”

  I noticed his hesitation and the way he suddenly appeared anxious and sad all at once. His fingers on one hand rubbed back and forth along the edge of his desk, and a line of sweat appeared on his forehead while his other hand pushed through his hair. What the hell was going on?

  “What?”

  His face flushed red, and he shifted in his chair, pushing away from his desk, only to pull back again and rest his elbows on top of it.

  “Dad?”

  Without waiting for him to say anything, I grabbed the envelope and ripped out the letter inside, uncaring if I was destroying something my father wanted to keep intact. “Tell Max to be careful. Something is blowing in, seeking out payment for old debts.” I frowned, my forehead creasing more than it ever had before. “Old debts? Payment? What the fuck is this?” Usually, I tried to refrain from cussing in front of my parents.

  He was digging at his cuticles, picking at the skin around his nailbed. A sure sign he was worried. “Dad?”

  Sighing, he stopped what he was doing and ran a hand through his hair again before clearing his throat. “It’s a warning.”

  “I get that,” I snapped, any patience I’d had, vanished.

  “We knew this day might come, but we hoped it never would, that both families would leave the past in the past.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” But maybe I did. My dream, that feeling I’d been carrying around with me since I’d woken up. Something was coming…either that or I was losing my mind, and my father had already done so.

  He breathed out long and loud. “You remember the story, right?”

  There was only one story he could be referring to. “About how we were cursed? Yes, of course, I do. I live it every day of my life!” I sniped, frustrated at my annoyance and his cryptic talking.

  “Someone survived.”

  “What are you talking about? The witch died, burned at the stake or something.”

  “One did.”

  I sucked in a breath. “What?”

  “The witch had a daughter. The family tried to find her and killed her relatives, but she never appeared. In addition, the king’s mother was related to them. It was her sister.”

  “I’m confused.” My head was swimming.

  Nodding once, he wiped his head with a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket. “I’ll start at the beginning.”

  “Yeah, that might help,” I groused, tired of the confusion. My father was talking in circles, and I didn’t understand anything. The more he spoke, the more pissed off I got.

  He lifted a glass of water to his lips with a shaky hand, the water sloshing a little, causing some to dribble down his chin. Whatever he had to say was bad. Real
ly bad. I braced myself.

  “You’ve been told about the witch, Mila, who turned the children into swans.”

  “Yeah, Dad, that’s even in the damn fairy tale.”

  My father rolled his eyes and grumbled something I couldn’t quite make out under his breath. “Please don’t interrupt,” he said aloud. I nodded, and he continued, “Mila had a daughter, and that little girl was left unharmed. After everyone killed the woman who cast the spell, they searched for the girl but could not find her. It is possible she saw what was done to her mother.”

  A chill crept up my spine. I was horrified. A daughter watching her own mother burn, regardless of the reason, was something no one should experience. I didn’t care if this did happen almost a millennia ago. “What else?” My voice, raspy and tight. I felt as if something was clawing at my throat, squeezing and cutting off the air.

  “It was later discovered the girl had been rescued by her aunt, who became the mother-in-law to the princess.”

  “This is getting confusing.” I was barely keeping up with the story.

  “The little girl, Gretchen, was rescued by her aunt, Isla, who happened to be the mother of King Ewald, the man Princess Kerstin wed. Isla is the woman who stole Kerstin’s babies, the woman who tried to get her burned at the stake. All of that was revenge for what happened to her sister.”

  Rubbing my forehead, I tried to stave off the headache I could feel gaining momentum. “She was burned, too. Isla was,” I mumbled. I’d known the story, known that once the sweaters were thrown over the princes, they were able to become human again. All except one. His sweater had not been finished and lived the rest of his life with one arm as a wing. That man chose to live a dangerous life, to do what he could to speed up his death. In the end, he lived another fifteen years, surviving longer than some of his siblings. The curse hadn’t been completely broken, though. All of the princes could turn into a swan at will, and sometimes, the call to shift became too great, and the swan took over, forcing them to shift no matter the time or place. One of my ancestors was labeled as a witch and hunted down while journeying through a country he was not familiar with.

  “She was,” he acknowledged softly.

  “And the girl?” I lifted my gaze to him, noticing shame and sorrow filling his eyes. These were not our crimes, but that did not mean we didn’t feel guilty for what happened to the innocents caught in the middle.

  “Isla put her with a family.”

  “How do you know this has anything to do with that?”

  My father scratched his neck and pulled at the collar of his polo shirt. “The letter also came with a swan feather. It was found on the porch, just outside the door.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. The most likely scenario is that this is someone who wants to scare us into giving them money. We have it; they want it.” The threat bothered me more than a little, but that was not something I was going to admit.

  “Max!” My dad growled.

  “What? It’s true.” I refused to give credence to something that seemed like nothing more than a scam…I hoped. If this had anything to do with the past, it meant someone was holding a grudge over centuries. This was bigger and more deeply rooted than the paltry Hatfield’s and McCoy’s feud, ours had had over a thousand years to build steam. Our enemies were prepared to punish and hurt those who had nothing to do with the past. Did we really have to pay for the perceived crimes of our ancestors? What about their punishment? I was willing to wave it. Was it not bad enough that I lived with the curse my family had been saddled with?

  “You need to be careful,” he insisted through clenched teeth.

  Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Fine. I will, but I’m certain this is nothing.” I had to blow it off because if I didn’t, I would drive myself crazy. This was my life, and I refused to live terrified of tomorrow.

  His fingers dug into his hair and pulled, messing up his typically neat appearance. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

  I swallowed any further argument. I could see the worry and fear on his face, the dark circles under his eyes. “When did you get this?” I held the letter up.

  “Two days ago. I tried to find out where it came from, but there are no fingerprints and no way to trace it.” His hands cupped the back of his head. “I tried.”

  “Nothing is going to happen. I’ll be fine and take extra precautions. I’m not sure what this letter is about, but I can promise that nothing will happen to me.” Mentally, I crossed my fingers.

  Chapter 6

  Lorde

  Monday morning, I sat at my aunt’s dining room table, staring at half a grapefruit without taking a bite. Normally, I enjoyed the fruit that had a mix of bitterness and sweetness. It was a flavor you either loved or hated, and it had been a favorite since I was a child.

  I dreamed of Max again, of his blue eyes, his bow lips, and his tanned skin, which is why I felt overly tired and couldn’t focus, not even on food. Well, that and I woke up with a hard prick, which needed relief this morning. It was all his fault.

  “Lorde, do you have a tux to wear to the party?” Pat asked.

  I frowned and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. I had no clue what she was talking about. “Tux?”

  “Tux. Tuxedo. Penguin suit. Formal attire.”

  “I know what a tuxedo is,” I griped, annoyed, although I couldn’t say if it was the twinkle in her eye or the fact that those eyes haunted me. Maybe both.

  “Bully for you. So, do you have one?” She rested her chin on her fist and batted her eyes. It felt as if she could see into my soul and knew my thoughts and dreams.

  When I packed, a tuxedo was not on my list of must-haves. I brought a nice suit, but something told me that would not work for what she had planned. “Why do I need one?” I hedged.

  “The party!” Her face lit up, and her smile grew.

  “Party?”

  Pat sat up straight with wide eyes. Now, she was the one gaping at me as if I was crazy. “Yes! Party! I told you about it the other day. You are going to accompany me to the party on Saturday. It’s a charity event and formal. Remember? Max Lux will be there. The person you’re searching for…does any of this sound familiar?”

  It did now, I thought to myself. “Right. The party.”

  Tilting her head to the side, she squinted and pursed her lips together. “Did you tell your mother about the party?”

  “No. I haven’t had the chance yet.” That wasn’t exactly true. I’d been avoiding her calls, not wanting to hear about my destiny, about what she expected of me. I knew what I had to do, and no matter how enthralled I may be, it would not deter me.

  “I see.” Her expression didn’t change.

  “I have a suit. Will that work for the party?” I inquired, attempting to change the subject, hating feeling as though I sat under a magnifying glass.

  It worked.

  Gasping, Pat shook her head back and forth vigorously. “No, no, no! You can’t wear a suit. I will not have you looking shabby.”

  “It’s Gucci. I don’t think I will be ‘looking shabby,’” I grumbled.

  “Is it a tuxedo?” She grinned.

  “I just said I don’t have one.”

  “Then, there is your answer. It won’t do. It’s a formal affair, and there will be people who attend from all over the world. After you finish eating, we’ll go shopping,” she announced happily, dancing in her seat.

  I almost groaned because she scared me. She acted too giddy about this. “Do I have to? I mean, I’m sure I can—”

  “No,” she pouted, her bottom lip sticking out.

  Inwardly, I groaned and tried to think of a spell or something that would get me out of this shopping trip. I could just throw on a bow tie and wear my black suit. I doubted anyone would notice, but Pat would know. Did I have a spell I could use on her to dissuade her? Probably not. The woman was more talented than her sisters, and definitely more than me. That didn’t mean I couldn’t try. Under my br
eath, I whispered, “Winds of change, fires of—”

  “My boy, quit while you’re ahead. I know what you’re attempting to do, and it won’t work. Your mother may try to flaunt her power, I choose not to. Big difference.”

  I was stuck and gave in, “Fine. We’ll go shopping.”

  “Excellent,” she gushed, clapping ecstatically.

  I was doomed.

  Shopping with my aunt was a tiring ordeal. We went to the first store where she selected a tuxedo for me, but she wasn’t done with me. Instead of buying my shirt there—they had a whole wall of dress shirts—she decided to take me to another store. And another. And another. The cufflinks I brought with me to go with my suit were not good enough. Aunt Pat said I needed a new, more formal, pair. I didn’t know why she bothered. They were cufflinks. It wasn’t like anyone was going to see them, and if they did, they wouldn’t judge me for my choice in jewelry.

  From there, she decided we were going to eat out instead of going home. Aunt Pat claimed she didn’t want to cook, but her smile told me she was plotting something.

  “What are you up to?” I asked when we were seated.

  Her eyes widened, her smile grew, and she tilted her head to the side. Some may have said she appeared angelic, but they would have missed the devil horns holding up her halo. “What? Because I didn’t want to cook, I’m up to something? Rude much?”

  Chuckling, I shook my head at her audacity. “No, but we could have gone anywhere, including in the same mall where we bought the shirt.”

  “But I felt like coming here. It’s a wonderful place. Great food, the atmosphere, amazing wait staff, and the perfect place to people watch.” She bit her bottom lip coyly, and it made me laugh some more.

  “And who are we watching today?” I asked curiously.

  She winked. “No one, but you never know who will come through the door.”

  As I was about to say something, I heard, “This way, Mr. Lux.”