“We didn’t think we could still do it,” chimes in Flossie.
“Dear, it saved your life,” adds Fairweather.
“How long have I been asleep?”
In unison: “Three weeks.”
I gasp again. So, I’ve been in a deep sleep. Like Snow White. Except I woke up by myself. What happened to the handsome prince who was supposed to wake me with a kiss? Then it hits me like a stoning. My Prince is dead! Killed by Marcella! My mother! The monster! Sorrow, deep, raw, and ruthless, rocks my body. Gallant is gone forever!
“Dear, don’t cry,” says Fanta, dabbing my tears with her apron.
“We understand it’s been a very emotional experience,” says Flossie.
“You’ll feel better after you meet with Shrinkerbell,” says Fairweather.
Shrink. I so desperately need to talk to her. The Evil Queen who had no heart now has a heart that’s broken.
***
I’m lying on the tattered velvet chaise lounge, the same place where I’ve spent countless hours revealing my fears, my secrets, and my sorrows. How many tears have I shed on it? Only a few compared to what I’ve just shed waiting for Shrink. Gallant’s beautiful face fills my head. But his piercing blue eyes stab my heart. I keep bleeding tears.
Shrink, at last, comes buzzing in, sprinkling her fairy dust all over me. It was magical enough to transport me to another world, but it doesn’t numb my pain. I’m afraid there’s no magic in the universe that can do that. Like my mirror that shattered into a million little pieces, my splintered heart can never be mended.
Through my tears, I notice that Shrink’s blond hair hangs loose, and she’s not wearing those ridiculous bug-eyed glasses. Her tiny arms are stretched around a thick, hardcover book.
“What’s that?” I sniffle, doubtful that it’s some kind of cure.
“It’s my new book--The Peter Pan Complex: Why Some Men Never Grow Up. Tink gave me the idea.”
I half-heartedly listen. My mind is already back on Gallant.
“I begin my book signing tour tomorrow,” she continues. “But enough about me; we’re here to talk about you.” She pauses. “Jane, why are you crying?”
Drowning in my tears, I manage three words. “I lost someone.”
“Ah, yes, I heard,” she says in surprisingly matter-of-fact voice. “We’ll get to that later. Right now, let’s talk about something else.”
I’m taken aback. I so need to talk about Gallant. Isn’t she here to help me? Truthfully, I don’t know how much longer I can bear the pain. The heartbreaking, gut-wrenching pain.
Shrink grows impatient. “Jane, surely, there must be something else. So much has happened to you since we last met.”
Yes, so much. Yet, all I can think about is Gallant. My beautiful Prince.
“Well, Jane, we don’t have all day.”
My tears have wiped out everything else, except my dream. Somehow, I find the strength to relay it. I ask her what it means.
“The dance could symbolize your relationship with evil,” Shrink says in an analytical tone. “The man you unmasked was likely your mother.”
“My mother?” I shudder. “Where is she?”
“Your mother is dead.”
I’m confused. “Did I kill my own mother?” I cry out.
Shrink’s silence answers my question. A deep, unexpected sadness, one that has nothing to do with Gallant, sweeps over me. I bury my head in my hands.
“Jane, look at me.”
Slowly, I lift my head. Shrink is in my face, a blur from all my tears.
“Jane, you did not kill your mother.”
“But I must have!”
“No, Jane. The Huntsman shot her.”
The Huntsman? His gunfire must have created that explosion I heard.
“And I suppose he brought me her heart as a souvenir?” I ask with sudden bitterness.
“Your mother had no heart. She was a monster.”
I force myself to ask, “Was she born that way?”
“We’ll never know. Perhaps, she was the victim of some evil sorcerer’s spell.”
I’m overwhelmed with emotion. Sorrow. Remorse. Confusion. Relief. Maybe once my mother was a decent person. Shrink lets me collect myself and remains silent.
“Jane, you’re finally free of evil,” she says at last.
I’m free of evil? I’m speechless. I don’t know what to say.
“Come, Jane. I want you to take a look at yourself.” She whizzes over to a standing object at the far end of the room. It’s covered with a sheet.
Of course, it must be a full-length mirror. I dread seeing myself. After my ordeal and all this crying, I must look beyond terrible. The large scab on my face won’t help.
Hesitantly, I get up from the chaise and make my way over to it.
Shrink carefully pulls off the cloth, letting it slide to the floor. I gasp. It’s not a mirror. Before me is a large painting on an easel. A portrait of me holding Calla in my arms. Gallant’s last painting--the one he was working on in his studio. He must have completed it before the ball.
A rush of fresh tears cascades down my face as Gallant’s words from that extraordinary day float in my head. “You are meant to be painted.” All too sadly, My Prince will never paint me again.
“What do you think?” asks Shrink.
“It’s magnificent,” I choke.
“I’ve heard you’ve become quite an art critic.”
I wonder how she knows that.
“Tell me,” she continues, “what is the artist trying to communicate about the woman in the painting?”
My weeping eyes study the painting. I look closely at the woman’s radiant face and tender hands. A mirror might bare your face, but a work of art will bare your soul. My throat thickens.
“That she is warm and caring and loving,” I say slowly.
“I agree,” says Shrink. “Can you elaborate more on the relationship between the woman and the child?”
“The little girl is a bright light in the woman’s heart.” My words surprise me.
“Again, I agree with you.” Shrink smiles. “Now, can you infer from the painting how the artist feels about his subjects?”
My moist eyes stay glued on the painting. In the lower right corner, there’s an inscription, painted in red. Bleary-eyed, I move in closer to make out the words. I hear myself say them aloud. “Forever in my heart.”
The words echo in my head. Oh, my beautiful Prince, you will never leave me. I will love you forever. Yes, forever.
“Well, Jane,” says Shrink, with a hint of impatience, “I’m waiting for your answer.”
“I…believe…he…loves…them.” I squeeze out the word between sobs.
“Yes, he does,” says Shrink, using the present tense. Doesn’t she know Gallant is dead?
A too familiar chime sounds. Time’s up. Our session is over.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time,” says Shrink.
Tomorrow? They must be readmitting me. No more second chances! I’ll be here for the rest of my life. And never see Calla again!
“Where?” I sniffle. My brain is mush. I’m not thinking straight.
“At my first book signing. At some bookstore called Barons & Nobles. I’ll be disappointed if you’re not there.”
What? I’m going back to the land of fairy tales? Before I can say anything, Shrink disappears behind the painting. She reappears, hiding something behind her back.
“I believe this is yours.” She hands the object to me.
My mirrored locket! I slip it over my head.
There’s no time to thank her. At lightning speed, Shrink spins around me, creating a whirling dervish of fairy dust. Magically, I’m gone. Far, far away.
CHAPTER 37
One minute, I’m in Shrink’s office; the next, I’m in a cavernous room somewhere in Lalaland, sitting next to Elz and Winnie. Hugs all around. It’s so good to see them again. The compassionate look on their faces tells me they know about the r
ecent tragic events in my life. What they can’t possibly know is the depth of my pain--a fiery, bottomless pit.
I learn from Winnie that I’m attending my first EPA meeting--Evil People Anonymous. It’s a mandatory weekly support group for Faraway alumni who’ve recovered from their addiction to evil.
I’m shocked by how many people are here. And by who’s here. Not surprisingly, I see Hook, Rump, The Wizard, and my sweet Pinocchio. But sitting in the front row are King Midas and his wife, The Queen of Hearts. To the right of them is The Emperor, who blows me a kiss. I also see my old buddy, that green ogre from the dungeon, and my roommate Gothel, who, seated next to Hook, eyes me with distrust. And lastly, Urma the masseuse, who waves to me with all eight arms.
I’m anxious, not knowing what to expect. And then, I get another shock when familiar, heavy footsteps drum in my ears. The Huntsman! What is he doing here? My eyes follow him as he heads toward the podium.
“Welcome,” he says. “Who would like to begin today and share their story?”
The King rises and marches up to the podium.
“My name is Midas, and I’m addicted to evil. My first wife was a social climber. To make her happy, I let a fairy grant me a wish: everything I touched would turn into gold. My wife was thrilled; she couldn’t spend the gold fast enough. Meanwhile, I began to throw my power around, hurting people around me. And then something terrible happened.”
He takes in a deep breath, wiping off a patch of sweat above his brow. I’ve never seen him like this. I’m not sure if he’ll continue. He inhales one more time and, on the exhale, picks up where he left off in a voice that’s now soft and wistful.
“I had a daughter. A beautiful bambina named Marigold whom I loved more than anything or anyone. Every morning, I would start my day by giving her kiss. And then one morning when I kissed her, my bambina turned into gold.”
Bambina. The word echoes in my head as the group gasps. Midas must have been the man who gave me that gold coin. I’m certain now. I’m all ears as he continues.
“I was devastated. I hated myself. I begged the fairy to break the spell. She granted me my wish and Marigold became a little girl again…”
The group cheers.
“But my angry wife ran away with her.”
The group quiets. What a tragic story!
“Did you ever see them again?” asks Winnie.
“No,” says Midas, his voice cracking. “I wanted to end my life when I heard about Faraway. I checked myself in and had the good fortune to learn how destructive my greed was. And to meet my lovely second wife who bore me two wonderful sons.
Only one son now. Fighting back tears, I wonder how The King and Queen have dealt with their loss and pain. I’m sure they’re taking care of Calla. Thank goodness. When I’m ready, I will ask them if I can visit my sweet little girl.
Midas, composing himself, continues. “While I have been blessed with success, I learned at Faraway that the power of giving is mightier than the power of gold.”
The Queen beams at her husband. Now, I understand why the ball was a fundraiser for Faraway.
“Dear, tell everyone about your latest project,” urges The Queen.
“Yes, I almost forgot. In lieu of building a luxury hotel on a site occupied by a former castle, I have chosen to build a school for boys and girls.”
I can’t believe my ears. He’s turning my former residence into a public school. Calla will have a place to learn and be with other children. Maybe they’ll dedicate it to Gallant. The Gallant School for Boys and Girls. His spirit will live in both my heart and my home.
Fraught with emotion, I stand up and applaud Midas. So do the others.
The Emperor volunteers next. Flamboyantly dressed as usual, he sashays up to the podium.
“Hello, dahlings. My name is Armando, and I’m addicted to evil.”
How could my darling fairy godmother be addicted to evil? I find out as he tells his story of how his addiction to clothes caused him to ignore his kingdom.
“I’m the original shopaholic. I changed my clothes every hour of the day. And I wouldn’t be caught dead in the same outfit twice. My palace was my closet.”
He confesses that an embarrassing incident led him to Faraway.
“What happened?” asks Elz.
Armando blushes. “Dahling, let’s not go there.”
He continues. At Faraway, he took a class that changed his life--Flossie’s sewing workshop. He discovered he enjoyed making clothes more than buying them. When he was sent back to Lalaland, he apprenticed as a tailor and worked his way up to being every princess’s favorite designer. The former shopaholic is now a workaholic.
“Remember, dahlings,” he concludes, “clothes don’t make the person; it’s the person that makes the clothes.”
A vision of myself in Armando’s magnificent black gown, floating in Gallant’s arms, fills my head as the room echoes with more cheers and claps. The Huntsman takes the podium again. He casts his eyes in my direction, bringing my fantasy to an abrupt end. I look away.
“I’d like to welcome two new Faraway graduates, Rumpelstiltskin and…
Here it comes. He’s going to say it. The Evil Queen.
“Jane.” I take a deep breath. My real name.
“Who would like to go first?” asks The Huntsman, still staring at me.
I don’t think I can do this. To my relief, Rump stands up and teeter-totters to the podium.
“R-Rumpelstiltskin is my n-name,” he stutters. And I-I’m addicted to evil.” The stuttering stops. “I threatened to take away a queen’s firstborn child.”
My heart jumps with shock as the group gasps. Rump used an innocent baby as a means of extortion? What dark demons inside him would drive him to do such a terrible thing? Pity, not anger, fills me. My poor little man! How much pain and guilt he’s had to endure!
Red in the face, he limps off the stage.
Silence. Until Hook gives him an ear-piercing whistle.
“Way to go, matey!” He leaps to his feet and mimics an applause with his good hand and hook. I follow him, clapping my hands zealously. One by one, the others join in.
Rump, overwhelmed, breaks into a toothy grin. Lifting his stumpy arms above his head, he does a happy little jig.
“Isn’t he adorable?” Elz whispers in my ear. Her face flushes. She’s clearly got a crush on him.
My throat tightens. It’s my turn to talk. Winnie gives my hand a gentle squeeze as I rise. The walk up to the podium feels like an eternity.
Facing my Faraway friends, I’m helplessly, hopelessly sad. Memories of Gallant dance in my head. I still don’t know if I can go through with this. Battling tears, please no more tears, I begin.
“My name is Jane, and I’m addicted to evil.”
And then the words ebb and flow out of my mouth. I talk about my love-hate affair with my mirror and how it drove me to evil. How it made me hate Snow White and want to destroy her. I also share what I learned about friendship at Faraway and how another beautiful little girl named Calla changed my life. But I deliberately stay away from talking about Gallant. I’m not ready to go there.
The group is mesmerized by my story. Throughout, The Huntsman’s eyes stay glued on me.
“What did you learn from the little girl?” asks Urma.
There’s one answer. One word. “Love.”
The true meaning of beauty. I step down from the podium, feeling strangely exhilarated.
Everyone cheers. Elz and Winnie jump to their feet. The others follow.
“Way to go, babe!” whistles Hook. Gothel elbows him. We could become fast friends.
“Time’s almost up for today’s meeting,” announces The Huntsman, returning to the podium.
I guess the others will tell their stories in the weeks to come. The Huntsman remains at the podium. His eyes, still locked on me, grow misty.
“My name is Beau, and I’m addicted to evil. Many years ago, I fell prey to a beautiful, bewitching woman. I concei
ved a child with her--a beautiful daughter. I made a terrible mistake and was forced to abandon this little girl. I know this caused her great suffering. But she’s always been there in my heart. I’m sorry for what I did and pray she can forgive me.”
His words move me like a tremor in the earth. Our eyes connect. His, green and wide-set like mine. Oh my God! Can it be? In a heartbeat, he vanishes.
Holding a torch, I follow the group through a dark, damp underground passageway. Pinocchio clasps my hand as we march in silence. I shiver. I can’t stop thinking about what The Huntsman said. Too much has happened in one day.
We tread up a steep flight of steps, and one by one exit through a trapped door. I’m surprised to find myself at the entrance to The Trove.
A harvest moon lights up the night sky. It does little to brighten my spirits. Realizing I have no place to go, I ask Winnie if I can stay with her.
“I don’t think you’ll need to,” she smiles.
My eyes look up, and my heart almost stops. Heading toward me on a majestic white stallion is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s alive! Gallant’s alive!
He swoops me up and we gallop away.
It’s not a dream.
My Prince has come.
CHAPTER 38
“Dahling, it’s so beyond,” gushes my fairy godmother Armando, wearing a gold brocade caftan and matching beret.
He fluffs the fountain of sequin encrusted ivory tulle that pours down from my waist to my ankles. I look down. He’s right. My wedding gown is a work of art. And so are my matching shoes, custom made by Elz. Believe me, it wasn’t easy convincing her to keep the heel size down to three inches.
Armando stands back and admires his creation. “When the Fairytale Tattler gets wind of this gown, knockoffs will be showing up everywhere.”
Holding a large straw basket full of fragrant petals that surround Lady Jane, Calla, my flower girl, gazes up at me. “You look like a Princess Bride,” she beams, referring to “Uncle Occhio’s” new blockbuster doll line.
Bending down, I kiss her in the center of the floral garland that circles her golden curls. A few tendrils of my hair, now several inches longer, escape my matching garland and fall into my face. My stomach bunches up with nerves. It all seems so unreal. I’m about to marry My Prince.
1 Dewitched Page 29
