The Fairy Tale Trap
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Emily Casey
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Chapter 1
Mom lied. This isn’t anything like the last place we lived—or the place before that.
My old room wasn’t crowded with packing boxes, or ribbons of peeled-off tape. A full-length mirror leans against the back wall, still wrapped in brown paper. I’ll never unwrap it. Mom knows I hate mirrors. The bare mattress, with its smug little machine-sewn squiggles, mocks me from the corner. I’m unlivable, it says. You’ll never get to sleep.
It looks like a packing store puked all over somebody else’s room. No teenage girl should have to live like this.
I shove another half-unpacked box to the wall, leaving a path in the new carpet. Frustration gets the better of me. I lie flat on my back and press the inside of my elbow over my eyes. I can’t look at this place any more. It’s not a bedroom. It’s a storage closet. Complete with the stinging fumes of fresh paint.
“Mom, I need help!” I shout as pathetically as I can. Even without looking, I know as soon as Mom steps into the room. My whole body tenses up and the same thought keeps shooting across the room at her: You did this.
“What’s wrong, Ivy?” Mom’s voice sounds run-down. Moving always makes her tired. You’d think she’d learn.
“I can’t find my pictures,” I say without uncovering my eyes. Mom can always tell how upset I am by looking at my eyes, and I really don’t want to talk about it.
“You mean the one of Dad?”
I hate it when she reads my mind.
“It’s probably in one of these boxes.”
My trophies from track and cross-country click together as she rifles through the box labeled ‘MISC’. The box I’ve searched through eight times already.
“I already looked there.” I can’t keep the anger out of my voice. Does she think I haven’t checked it yet? I almost snap at her again, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. I really don’t want to yell at her. I just want my picture.
The shuffling of random objects stops. Mom wipes her hands on her jeans, making a light zipping sound. “He’ll be back in three weeks.”
“Three and a half.” And that’s if he’s not killed or captured. The nightmares can get bad sometimes. Seeing the picture of him smiling after his first marathon makes it feel like he’s that happy right now. Wherever he is.
Mom kneels beside me. “You want to talk about it?”
I press my face deeper into the crook of my arm. Sometimes I can’t hold the tears in, but I can hide them. “No, Mom. I just want my picture.”
There’s a long pause and I wonder if she’s going to stroke my hair like when I was little. “Please don’t. I love you and all, but I really can’t take it right now.”
“I’ll go look in the photo album box.” Mom’s soft footsteps trail away before I can say anything else.
Even though it’s still pretty early, I just want to curl up in a ball and not think about anything. I change into my favorite ducky pajamas and wrap myself in my grandmother’s quilt. It smells like my room. Well, my old room back in North Carolina. At least it’s something. I can’t wait until we get the computer set up and all my pictures are right there waiting for me.
I close my eyes and try to imagine the photo, every detail I can remember. A lanky Filipino man who looks like he was born to run. We used to joke that just the sight of him would give the Kenyans second thoughts. His race number--number 2504--curls at the corners. His clothes are dusty, but Dad’s eyes--chocolaty brown, like mine--shine with triumph and relief.
“What an accomplishment!” he told me after the race. “I can’t wait to run with you at your first marathon.”
I rolled my eyes at him, but he smiled and flexed his biceps. “If I can do it,” he said, slapping the narrow muscle, “you can do it with me strapped to your back. You’ll put those doubts to shame.”
When I’m sure Mom is on the other side of the house, I come out of my room. “Going to bed early is cool,” I mutter as I trudge to the bathroom.
Something about seeing my hair in dark tangles and my eyes all puffy makes me break down again. I know it’s not a big deal to move. I’ve done it my entire life, every two years or so, but I had friends in North Carolina. Friends I wanted to graduate high school with. Why bother making friends at all if your parents are just going to drag you away from them? Being a military brat isn’t as fun as it sounds. Everyone always looks at me with envy because I get to “see the world”, but mostly I get to see the moving company and their sagging pants when they come to haul away my stuff. Again.
I grab my hairbrush and pull it through the mess. Just as I start to make some progress, something in the mirror catches my eye. I turn my head, but nothing’s back there. I would have sworn I’d seen something move.
I inhale slowly and close my eyes. The doctor said it’s just stress. Nothing a little deep breathing can’t cure.
A squeaky little chuckle makes my spine jerk straight. I clutch my brush with both hands and open my eyes. In the mirror, a face smiles at me from over my shoulder.
I scream and spin around. No one is in the bathroom with me. The face, grinning broadly, is closer now, like it’s coming at me from the other side of the mirror.
With a shriek of panic, I hurl my brush at the mirror as hard as I can.
The glass breaks. The light goes out, and I’m suddenly very cold.
Chapter 2
I inhale chilly air.
It’s freezing. And I’m pretty sure I’m lying on something wet. Something hard, cold, and very, very wet.
My eyes fly open. I’m outside.
“What the-”
The whole backside of my ducky pajamas is muddy. I roll to my knees.
“Where am I?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret using the cliché. First off, I’m talking to myself. Second, this has to be some kind of joke and somebody’s probably getting video of this, laughing at how stupid I look.
But how is this possible? I was in my room just a few seconds ago. Have I been drugged? I do a quick assessment, but I feel fine.
Near the pool of mud I’m kneeling in, grow nasty-looking thorn bushes with absolutely no leaves or flowers. A gravel path separates me from a Stephen King-worthy forest. Dark, dense, and wildly overgrown. How charming.
If anyone’s watching me, I can’t see them. Of course, the sun isn’t even up yet, so I can’t see much. The sky glows a pearly grey, like it’s daring the sun to do anything about it. The overcast horizon rumbles, and I swear it’s talking to me.
“Rain is on its way, Ivy.”
I shiver and push muddy fists under my arms. I don’t sleep with my cell phone in my pocket (contrary to what Mom thinks), so I need to find a phone. My options are limited. There’s nothing but dark, scary forest at one end of the path, a castle at the other.
Holy crap! There’s a castle at the end of the path. What the heck is going on?
I turn in every direction, looking for another human being, anyone who can help me or tell me what’s happening. Another roar from the weather gods makes me jump. Maybe I should get inside and ask questions later.
Normally, I’d just sit in the rain until someone came and apologized for leaving me here. (Yes, I can be petty. Don’t judge me.) But I’m not sure if anyone’s even looking for me. And to be honest, I’m a little more freaked out than I usually am. And there’s something about this place…
I push myself out of the squishy mud so I can get up on my feet (my bare feet). At first, following the gravel path seems like a good idea. Paths are good. They’re meant to be walked on, right? Then my feet make contact with sharp little rocks. I hiss and scramble off the path. Yeah, not such a great plan. Instead, I walk in the freezing-cold mud. It sucks at my feet with every step. Whoever’s fault this is, they’re going to feel my wrath.
Over my shoulder, a flock of black birds (I think it’s called a murder, but honestly, who says that?) lifts out of the forest. Actually, it’s a small grove of orange trees in front of the forest. So I’m in Florida? I’m pretty sure the only castle in Florida has a mouse living in it, and this doesn’t feel like the happiest place on earth.
Ahead, the castle is one black, pointy shadow against the grey sky. Its spires shoot up into the air like angry smoke. That must be the vibe I’m picking up. I’m in the most depressing dream ever.
That makes me feel better, thinking this could be a dream. Deep down, I’m pretty sure my dreams have never hurt my feet before, but it’s the best explanation I’ve got.
A flash of purple light explodes right in front of me. I stop, completely blind, and use a few choice words to express myself.
I hear him before I can see him.
It’s like Darth Vader sucked helium and now he’s laughing at me. Dark, but so high-pitched it’s about as scary as devil’s food cake. It’s the same laugh I heard in the bathroom. When the yellow afterimage fades, there’s a little man floating a few feet in front of me. No, not floating. He’s flying, but at a slightly crooked angle like he’s disoriented. The little man has spiky green wings that look like they should be part of the scenery for a Jurassic Park movie. Well, at least that confirms the dream theory.
This guy’s hair (also green) stands up like a fat Hershey's Kiss. A dull ache forms in my chest as I remember another photo that got lost in the move. I was two and Mom had shampooed my hair and used the suds to make it all pointy. I rocked that ‘do. This guy, not so much.
The almost-evil-sounding laughter stops and he looks at me with this disturbing smile. Thin and unnaturally red, like he scrubbed his lips with a toothbrush. “You’re Ivy Thorn.”
He straightens himself out and watches me with narrowed eyes. I guess he thinks I should be impressed that he knows my name, but in my head, I’m picturing an Easter bunny in a Goth costume. He can try to be scary, but it just makes him more hilarious.
“That’s a neat trick. Who the heck are you?”
The pointy little wings chatter like a dragonfly’s, lifting him higher into the air. “You can think of me as a ringmaster. Your ringmaster.”
“I ain’t a circus act, buddy. And you’re in my way.”
He laughs again, but this time he only makes a breathy noise while his whole body shakes and his creepy red lips grow wider. “That’s why I picked you, Ivy. You never stick to the script. I like that.”
“I’m thrilled for you.” Thunder growls behind me. “Do you mind?”
He swings to the side, but hovers next to me as I walk. “Aren’t you curious?”
“About what? Your wings? I figured it was a dinner bell or something, but now I’m thinking you got them from some kid ringing the bell on her bike.” I flex my index finger twice and picture a pink bike with white training wheels.
“That’s angels,” he says, lifting an eyebrow like that was obvious.
My dreams aren’t usually so annoying. “So what, then? Are you supposed to be some kind of fairy?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “We prefer the term pixie.”
“Of course you do. Do you have a name?”
He bares his teeth, but I’m not sure if it’s a smile or a challenge. “Of course I do, but you won’t get it. Names have power.”
“I see.”
“And you’re a child.”
I keep marching through the mud as a drop of rain falls on my shoulder. “Your first trick was better.”
His smile fades, but only a little. I think I’m starting to get to him. Good.
“Pixies kidnap children.”
“No, fairies kidnap children. Pixies make birds sing and morning glories bloom. I think you’re confused.” Honestly, I have no idea what the difference is, but I couldn’t let him sound so smug without saying something.
He straightens his tunic. It sparkles like a sequined dance costume, but I don’t see how. There’s not a whole lot of light here in this pitiful dream.
“I’m not the one who’s confused, Ivy. Never before have I seen anyone so calm in one of my stories. You still think this is a dream, don’t you?”
“No. Well, maybe.” My face gets hot. The rain droplets seem to evaporate as soon as they hit my cheeks. “I don’t know. What else could this be? I’m talking to a freakin’ fairy!”
“Pixie.”
“Whatever. We don’t have sparkly little creepers where I’m from.”
His smile curls up so much, I swear he looks just like the Grinch. “And were you dreaming when you destroyed the mirror in your bathroom?”
Ooh, I really don’t like this guy. “If this isn’t a dream, then where am I?”
He waves a hand toward the pitch-black castle ahead. Even though it’s closer, I still can’t make out any details. It’s just a castle-shaped black hole. “You’re in one of my fairy tales.”
I smile. “You mean pixie tale, right?”
“You’re going to entertain me as you play out the tale.” He brings his hands together in front of him, like he’s trying to imitate a Bond villain. “Whether you like it or not.”
That’s when I stop walking. “You may not know this about me, fairy, but I’m nobody’s monkey. I don’t do tricks, dream or no. Especially not for an Oompa Loompa with wings.”
I take off running.
Chapter 3
I’m not sure where I’m going. Just away. Away from the castle. Away from the path. Away from that disturbing little man. He’s yelling after me. I push his voice out of my head, but can’t help hearing the last bit. “That’s my forest Ivy. Hope you enjoy!”
Once I’m in the woods, I don’t pay attention to where I’m going. What is this place? How did I get here? What’s with the fairy? And most important: How do I get home?
But all of those thoughts turn into curses when I step on a pinecone, God’s little bed of nails wrapped up in a tiny package. I hop on my other foot twice and keep moving. The faster I move my feet, the less time they’ll spend on something painful. And there are a lot of painful things out here: rocks, broken twigs, thorns, pine needles (There’s a reason ‘needle’ is in the name.), and a whole bunch of other things I don’t take the time to identify. My feet are in constant pain.
I leap over a decaying log and plunge deeper into the woods, not even checking over my shoulder. With any luck, that fairy will plow into a low-hanging branch.
The canopy blocks out any sun that might have pushed through the clouds. At least there’s enough light to tell that I’m still in the woods. Gotta stay positive.
My foot catches on something and gets a nasty scrape. Chin, meet hard-packed dirt.
I roll onto my back and wipe the soggy leaves off my cheek. Both my feet are scraped and swollen, not to mention as black and dirty as the forest floor. But one of them is bleeding from the rotting log I just tripped over. How lovely.
I push myself up and test my weight on both feet. They seem fine, just a little banged up and bruised. Talk about cross-country running.
I hobble on, since there’s no point in stopping in the middle of these crappy woods. Now that I’m walking, I get the strangest feeling, like the ground is moving under my feet. I must have fallen pretty hard. I tilt my head and focus on the trees ahead of me. I gasp and stop still. The trees are moving.
Up ahead, the ground shifts, moving some trees closer together and others farther apart. The mulching leaves and pine needles swirl between the trunks and make me feel dizzy. I blink and the trees stop. There’s a new, clear path that curves to the left.
This is just weird. That pixie was wrong. I am dreaming. But when I step forward, my stinging foot says otherwise. Okay, it’s not a dream. Just find a way out of here and figure it out later.
For the sake of my feet, I follow the newly-formed path. I might as well. It’s not like I have anywhere else better to go. Before long, I’m staring at a fallen log. A very familiar one. Now, I’m no Sacagawea, but I know when I’m going in circles. That’s the same log I tripped over earlier. That's the same cluster of ferns.
Is it possible that I’ve completely lost my mind?
The woods are thicker to the right, but they’re also untraveled. I have to try something different. I plunge through the wet branches and try to ignore the little voice in the back of my head. The one that tells me I should scream hysterically.
The tree trunks shift again and a new path snakes between them. The ground stretches, coaxing me toward the opening between the trees, but I choose the narrow space with thick brambles and low tree branches. I guess I have stubbornness issues.
My jaw aches from the fall, but I try not to show weakness. That stupid fairy could be watching. Hopefully, he’s been found by something with sharp teeth.
The rain keeps falling in fat drops. As I wipe my face with a wet sleeve, my eyes close for less than two seconds. Apparently, that’s long enough for me to trip again. Over the same log.
It’s scary. Not the falling part. It’s not even the knowledge that some part of me is going to hit the ground. The part that makes me want to scream and cry all at once is realizing that I’m lost, where no one can find me.
The log is covered in soggy green moss, but I don’t care. My legs are done. My feet have been tenderized. And I haven’t had breakfast yet.
I’m not a crier. It’s not really my style. But I’m alone and terrified and I’m lost in a dark forest that’s probably trying to kill me. My hot tears mingle with the cold rain until my fingers are so pruny, I don’t even feel the difference any more.
I’ve been kidnapped by a cherub.
Through the noise of the rain, there’s a low rumble. Not like thunder. More like a cat purring or a dog growling. Probably closer to growling because it makes my muscles turn to stone.
I lift my head until my nose almost touches the black muzzle of a wild-looking animal. With fangs.
Chapter 4
Jet-black fur. Teeth like a wolf. Silver eyes. Bulky muscles like a bear. Claws like a wildcat. He’s got to be six feet long from nose to tail and he’s inches from my face. My body goes rigid and my eyelids open as wide as they’ll go. I couldn’t move if I wanted to.
Not that it would matter. I’d just wind up back here anyway.
“You should come back to the castle, Beauty.”
I hear words and see the animal’s mouth move, but I’m not sure the two are connected. Did he just talk to me?
The animal turns his body and tilts his head like he wants me to follow him. “We’re close. I’ll take you there.”
His fangs make some of his ‘s’s sound like ‘f’s, but other than that, he sounds human. He jerks his head forward, dripping water from his mane.
“Okay.” My whole body shakes, but I’m not sure if it’s from fear or cold. “Wh-what do I call you?”
“You may call me Beast. It’s an appropriate title.”
“No kidding.” I try to smile, but I’m not sure it worked.
“Come, Beauty.”
He thinks I’m Beauty. I’m actually trapped in a fairy tale. I look back over my shoulder at the impossibly dark woods. There has to be a way out. A way home. But as I stand there, feeling pathetic in the rain and wearing muddy ducky pajamas, I nod. He thinks I’m someone else, but I don’t care. I’m tired of Mother Nature using my feet for a pincushion.
Beast leads the way, his scorpion-like tail brushing the muddy forest floor. I keep a few steps behind him because that tail looks wicked-sharp and, to be honest, I don’t completely trust him.
“I apologize for the keeper spell,” Beast says over his shoulder.
“The what?”
“The enchantment will keep you lost in the forest until you decide to return to the castle. It holds you to your promise.”
“What promise?” I snap.
Beast looks over his shoulder again. His eyes shine like tiny flashlights through the rain. “Your promise to stay with me. That was our bargain.”
I consider him for a minute and try to remember as much of the fairy tale as I can. I hate to go along with this you’re-my-prisoner-but-you’re-not arrangement, but Beast is obviously not going to just let me go. He wants me to fall in love with him so he can turn back into a prince. Too bad for him, but ‘big and furry’ really isn’t my type. And I’m a little too old to believe in fairy tale endings.
I won’t get sucked into this fairy tale. And I’m not going to let my guard down. But maybe if I play along, I can find a way out of here. I smile as much as I can, given the rain and the pain in my jaw and the cold everywhere else. “Of course.”
Beast nods and turns his head back around in time to duck under a low branch. I have to bend way over, but still bump it with my head. Freezing water dumps all down my back. I thought fairy tales sucked less than this.
As I straighten, Beast steps out of the woods onto a grassy lawn. Just ahead, the black castle claws at the sky. Spikes line the walls like thorns and the gardens lack a certain something… maybe flowers?
I take it back. There’s a walled-in courtyard full of wildly tangled thorn bushes. They all have blood-red roses bursting out of them. Like they’re trying to escape the cage of deadly brambles.
“Charming,” I say out of one side of my mouth.
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” says Beast. “You’re mistress of this castle now.”
Obviously, enchanted fairy tale princes are immune to sarcasm.
“Though I should warn you. Don’t pry into anything with which you’re not familiar. This castle holds dangerous enchantments.”
“You mean like the one that wants me to be lost in the woods forever?”
“That’s one.” Beast leads me through a heavy wooden door, into a dim foyer. The only light comes from an oil lamp mounted on the wall. The room is bare and cold. I shiver and tug on my wet sleeve.
Beast walks to the middle of the room and shakes his body like a dog, flinging water out of his fur. And onto me.
His mouth lifts into what I assume is a smile. “My apologies. You’ll find dry clothes in your bedchamber. Up the stairs, on the right.”
“Thanks.”
Beast pushes the door handle down with his chin and waits for it to creak open. If he was going right back out there, did he really have to shake water all over me?
He stops and looks at me with those shimmering grey eyes. “Beauty, I hope you’ll join me for dinner this evening.”
I smile again and lie right to his furry little face. “Of course.”
Beast nods and hooks the outside handle with his tail until the door clicks shut behind him. Man, that tail is scary.
Now that the floor needs a little yellow caution sign, I tiptoe across it so I don’t slip. The staircase is easy to find. It’s the only thing to find in the entire foyer, besides the oil lamp.
Another lamp, mounted at the top of the stairs, gives me enough light so I won’t break my neck. My pajamas weigh a ton, but eventually I get to the top. A quick right turn and I’m facing a door with a wooden plaque on it that reads: Beauty.
“Get some dry clothes and find a way out of here,” I tell myself.
I push the door open and stare at the room: a huge bed with fancy pillows, a tub of steaming water, a plate of sandwiches next to a dainty hand mirror, and an elegant hearth with a flickering fire. Maybe I could stay for a little while.
A couple sandwiches disappear into my mouth and I get cleaned up. The hot water stings my scrapes, but I tough it out. Before I have a chance to get too cold, I run to the wardrobe. There aren’t a whole lot of options in here. It’s mostly full of ugly black dresses with fat silver buttons. Classy.
Then I get to the back of the closet. My fingers glide across a different kind of fabric. Not wool or silk. Something synthetic.
I pull out the odd fabric. It’s my old winter coat. My coat from home. I dive into the wardrobe and dig until I find jeans, an old t-shirt I used to run in, and sneakers. I even find clean underwear, thank goodness. What are these doing here? Did the pixie raid my packing boxes?
Maybe I shouldn’t think about it. Who cares, as long as I don’t have to wear something with a thick frill on it? Even though there’s a fireplace, I put on the coat to keep the chill out.
I stare at the pile of ducky pajamas on the floor. I hate to leave them, but carrying muddy clothes doesn’t seem practical. Still, I can’t just leave them there, so I drag an end table to the fire. I hang my poor pajamas from the table and use a water basin as a paperweight.
I stare into the flames. The fireplace is so comforting. I hate to leave it so soon, but Beast could come any minute to have dinner with him. I don’t know what time it is, but then, I have no idea what time fairy tale creatures eat dinner.
I really need to find a way out of here, but the fire is entrancing. The more I look into it, the slower the flames dance, until the fire looks more like the rolling waves of a glowing red ocean.
I blink. It’s not my imagination. The fire really has slowed down. And it’s really quiet in here. I run to the window. Droplets of rain float in the air. Thousands of tiny balls of liquid hang suspended, like an army waiting for orders. I should be mesmerized. I should be enchanted by the magic of this place. But I’m freaked out. This is not normal.
I turn back around and then wish I hadn’t. That blasted pixie hovers between me and the now-frozen fire.
I try to act like I knew he was there all along. “What, no flash of light this time?”
He grins, but shrugs a shoulder. “It takes more energy to break into a fairy tale, but I left the door unlocked, so to speak. How are you liking my world?”
I point to the mass of frozen flames. “I think you broke something. What’s going on?”
The pixie doesn’t even look behind him. He holds eye contact with me and doesn’t smile. “I just want to make sure you know whose world this is and that I’m in complete control.”
I flash a quick smile at him. “And you’re evil. Now let me go home!”
He flutters to the ground and stands, feet apart and arms crossed. The pixie looks up at me like a stubborn child. “You can go home when the story’s over.”
Sometimes glaring at Mom makes her reconsider. It doesn’t work on the pixie.
“Look,” he says and takes a step closer. “I’ve been watching you a long time. I picked you to play in my world because you’re interesting. You never read much about Cinderella’s day-to-day chores. They’re dull. I hate to be bored. So be interesting, and I won’t have to do anything nasty.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Like what?”
He takes a step back, clearly enjoying my challenge. “I’m allowed to throw curve balls. You know, to keep things interesting. I’m not the only one watching.”
I fight the urge to look over my shoulder. Had anyone been watching while I took my bath? “Has anyone ever told you how incredibly creepy you are?”
He taps his chin with his index finger as if he’s thinking really hard. “Yes, actually. A lot of the kids I take mention that particular attribute I possess.” He winks at me, which only makes him creepier. “Don’t disappoint me, Ivy. Just play my game.”
“And what if I say no?”
The pixie bares pointed teeth at me. “You don’t get to say no.”
Chapter 5
As soon as the pixie leaves, I storm out the door. “I don’t get to leave,” I squawk. It’s not the best impression, but it makes me feel better. “Well, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”
I march down the stairs, into the foyer, and throw the door open. The flying raindrops are gone. The ground is wet and a cool breeze skims the treetops. I guess I’m doing something right, if the wind is moving.
Keeping an eye out for Beast, I tiptoe across the lawn, over the gravel path, and into the woods. I’d like to avoid any awkward conversations about where I’m going.
I pick my way through the brambles. It’s not until the trees start moving again that I realize I don’t have a plan. Get out, get home. That’s about as far as I got.
Okay, Ivy. Think.
Beast said the spell was supposed to hold me to my promise, but I didn’t make a promise. “You’ve got the wrong girl!” I yell at the trees.
Nothing happens.
Fine.
The spell is based on where I want to go. What if I don’t know where I’m going? I clear my mind, close my eyes, and take a step forward. And another. But when my sneaker hits the ground a third time, there’s a tiny gasp of shock.
I open my eyes and look down. My foot has just landed in the middle of a circle of mushrooms. A small, childlike voice giggles behind me. “Oh, you’re in so much trouble.”
I turn around and see spots. No, wait. There are actually circles of colored light bobbing in front of the darkening forest.
“She’s stepped in our circle!” one of them shouts. I think it was the yellow dot. And I think she’s happy about something.
“What is she?” asks the blue dot. It bounces closer to me until I go cross-eyed trying to look at it. There’s a boy in the middle of the circle. He has blue hair, pale blue skin, and sapphire wings. Even his teeth glow blue as he smiles at me. “She’s human! A real human in our circle!”
“Make her dance,” commands the yellow ball of light.
“Yes, do a lovely dance for us.”
“Hang on.” I hold up my hands and try to take a step back so I can see all of them. “What are you?”
A pink dot giggles. “We’re fairies, marvelous girl, and you’ve stepped in our fairy ring!” She floats up and down really fast like she’s jumping.
“You mean these mushrooms?” I take a giant step to the side so I’m completely outside the ring. “There. Sorry about that.”
“No,” says the yellow fairy. “You will dance for us. Now.”
I really don’t like the way she said that. I cross my arms and smile at the mouthy little thing. “Or what?”
The blue fairy shakes his head, a look of shock or dread—I can’t tell which—in his eyes.
The yellow dot zips right up to my face. She’s plump, with long, crayon-worthy yellow hair. Her amber-colored eyes narrow. “You dance for us, or we’ll make you dance. And you won’t stop.”
I swallow. That makes things easy enough. I’ve seen moving trees, a talking beast, pixies, and fairies. (Apparently, there’s a difference.) I have no doubt that what the yellow fairy is threatening could actually happen. And I don’t want my epitaph to read: Disco Forever!
So I dance.
I may not have the greatest moves, but I do my best. Fortunately, I can moonwalk thanks to Dad’s crazy Sunday breakfast tradition (Don’t ask.) and I know a couple of line dances. Dancing alone, without music feels ridiculous, but the fairies make it worse. The colored lights bob around me at different tempos and it throws me off. One of them—the pink one, I think—starts singing. I can’t figure out what key she’s in and her song keeps getting faster and faster until I give up trying to dance in time with it. As the other fairies circle me, I get close enough to the yellow fairy that I can see her shaking her head back and forth so hard, her cheeks sway like bags of water.
When I finish my third cycle of the Electric Slide, the fairies stop and applaud. I look up, hopeful and out of breath. “Is that it?”
“Oh, lovely!” says the pink fairy. “That was marvelous!”
I’m beginning to think she would say overcooked asparagus was lovely. But hey, I like compliments. Even the yellow fairy, whose cheeks are flushed with gold from dancing, seems happy. “I’ve never seen dancing like that before.”
“She deserves a reward,” says Pinky. “Let’s give her a gift!” She circles around me while the rest of them chant, “A gift! A gift!”
They bounce around and I can’t help but laugh. They may be dumb, but they’re cute. “I just want to go home. Can you help me?”
The fairies pause and their lights dim. “Oh, dear,” says Pinky.
“She wants to go home.”
“But you can’t. The keeper spell won’t let you.”
I can’t keep track of who’s speaking, so I just look at the blue guy. “Beast said there’s a keeper spell. What is it?”
The blue guy flies close enough that I can see him inside his glow. His face is so sad. “It’s just a spell, but a very powerful one. It has enough strength to rearrange the forest itself!”
“Yeah, I noticed. Is there a way to break it?”
“There’s always a way,” he says. “But we don’t know how.”
“We wish we could help,” says Pinky. The blue and green fairies agree with her. I notice the yellow one stays silent.
“But I’m not supposed to be here. I need to get home!”
The blue guy frowns. “Perhaps there’s another way you can get home?” He turns to look at the others. “Either way, we still owe you a reward for teaching us your new dance. We’d like to give you fairy dust.”
The yellow fairy groans, but I start to get excited. “So I can fly over the forest?”
Pinky giggles. I take that as a no.
The blue guy and the green fairy zip over to one of the larger mushrooms and push against one side of it until the stalk snaps in half. They flip the mushroom over and start to spin. They speed up, twirling right over the cap, faster than I thought possible. Fine, colored powder rains into the mushroom cap. The other two fairies join them, and they look like four Tasmanian devils. Two more colors of dust add to the growing pile.
When the cap is full, the fairies stop spinning. The floating lights sway uneasily in the air. “There ya go,” slurs the green one. “Fairy dust.”
He doesn’t sound too good. Actually, I think they’re all a little sick. None of them are flying straight.
“Uh, thanks.” I pick up the mushroom between two fingers and nod my head, trying to look gracious.
“It’ll make you invisible,” snaps the yellow one. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’m starting to not like her. She wobbles right up to me and I can see she’s practically cross-eyed. “But you might as well go back to the castle. The keeper spell will keep you good and lost until you—”
Her cheeks puff out and the fairy’s eyes open wide with surprise. Then shimmering liquid spills from her mouth, all over the front of my shirt, gold and sparkly. It’s beautiful. Until I realize it’s puke.
I make a face, but no one notices. She throws up again, and I back up slowly. The others start to throw up into the grass, on the mushrooms, and on each other. Splatters of shimmering vomit glisten over everything. The front of my dress reeks of overripe fruit and, well, vomit. The smell starts to make me sick, so I dodge around a tree as fast as I can. Not the best exit I’ve ever made, but it beats watching them.
I wipe the glittery mess off, using the leaves of a wet tree branch. I try to use the rainwater to rinse myself off, but I wind up dumping water on myself. Thank you, upper branches.
The trees look like shadows in the fading light. Will I be able to find my way back? I turn around, trying to find something familiar in the semi-darkness. It’s all shadows and trees. My stomach twists into a nasty knot, but I make myself pick a direction. I won’t get out by just standing here.
My shirt clings to my skin. The wet cotton is chilly out here. I might as well go back to the castle and change clothes again. As soon as I picture the castle in my mind, I see it between the trees. Wow. The keeper spell doesn’t waste any time.
A single window glows with candlelight. The sky’s not completely dark yet. Maybe Beast is reading or something. Good. I want to yell at him. This whole situation is screwed up. He doesn’t even have the right girl! I’ll just tell him he made a mistake and that I don’t want to be here.
The black stone walls of the foyer freak me out a little more than they did last time. After being in the woods so long, the openness of this depressing black box makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. I hurry to the stairs.
As I climb, I try to picture the lit window and where in the castle it might be. I’ll have to take a right when I get to the top.
Wait. That’s my room.
My whole body tenses at the thought of Beast in my room. How dare he invade my privacy like that? I don’t care if this is his castle or that I’m a guest or about any of that stupid manners crap. I’ll…
I can’t even think straight. Who cares? I’ll improvise.
Clutching the mushroom cap in one hand, I launch myself up the rest of the stairs. I whirl when I get to the top, shove my door open with my free hand, and stand there, gaping.
Beast isn’t here.
The person reading by candlelight is Beauty.
Chapter 6
I freeze where I stand. This changes things.
The girl looks up and smiles. You know those cheesy scenes in movies where they have the ray of sunlight and birds chirping when a beautiful girl says hello? It’s like that. Her whole face becomes so beautiful, I’m totally disgusted with myself.
The soft tick of water dripping from my sleeves and the smell of fairy puke remind me that I probably look like I just went through some crazy reality TV challenge. Or swam through sewage. One of the two.
“Oh, hello.” She stands up and gives a small curtsy. “I’m Beauty.” Delicate ringlets of hair, curvy mouth, perfect skin. She reminds me of those girls at school. The ones who go out of their way to avoid the new girl.
“I’m Ivy.” I don’t curtsy.
She watches me, probably waiting for me to say something, but I have nothing to say to lashes-so-long-they-brush-her-cheeks.
“Are you here to clean the room?”
“What? No!”
Beauty frowns, but still manages to look beautiful. “I don’t understand.”
She figures since I’m half-Asian, I must be the help. This century sucks.
“You know what? Don’t even worry about it. All I want is some dry clothes and then go talk to Beast.” I take a side step toward the wardrobe in the corner.
She lowers her eyes. “Oh.”
I put the cap of fairy dust on top of the wardrobe, then grab the gold handle. The door creaks, filling the silence.
“That one would look good on you.” Somehow, Beauty is right behind me. Her face is so close, I can feel her breath on my arm. “It would bring out your eyes.”
She points to a dress in the back. It’s not black, just dark green. And it’s simple. Not bad, actually. I don’t feel like digging for regular clothes, and I really don’t feel like explaining to her what regular clothes are, so I take the dress. “Thanks.”
“You can change behind the bed, Ivy. I’ll keep my back turned.” Beauty smiles reassuringly, but the look in her eyes is totally pathetic. It’s the ‘please be my friend’ look. I know that look. I used to try it on people. But even when it worked, I just wound up moving three minutes later.
As soon as I come out from behind the bed, Beauty holds up a pair of simple, but sturdy-looking leather shoes. “I found these. They look like they’ll fit.”
I’m not sure if she’s making a crack about my big feet, but I sit on the bed to put them on. Beauty watches me, an expectant look on her face. When my foot slides in, she practically applauds. A perfect fit. And they’re dry, which makes them better than my boots.
I should probably say something to her, but nothing comes to mind. Having a friend would be nice in this place, but I’m not planning on staying. Besides, Beauty has a fairy tale to live.
A quick smile is all I manage before leaving the room. I shake off the awkwardness, remind myself how mad I am at Beast, and set off to look for him.
He should be waiting for me somewhere obvious. We did have a dinner date, not that I was planning on going. The fact that he didn’t come find me is more of a downer than I’d like to admit.
Ugh. This whole thing is stupid. I should have just told him flat-out that I wasn’t coming. That would have made things simpler. Of course, that doesn’t help me now. There are a lot of rooms in this castle.
The top floor is only empty rooms. I guess the fairy tale never mentioned anything important up there. It doesn’t even have windows.
On my floor, there’s a music room packed with instruments I don’t play (meaning no kazoo) and a room made entirely of mirrors—the walls, the furniture, everything. I freak out as soon as I open the door and quickly push it closed. I hate mirrors.
There’s a spare bedroom (this one is actually furnished), a library, and a sitting area, but Beast isn’t anywhere. The lower-level foyer is empty, too. Where is he?
I check every room again, except the mirror room. I’m pretty sure he’s not there.
No Beast.
Maybe he’s gone outside. Heck, he could be frolicking in the woods for all I know. But as I’m deciding what to do next, I have a horrifying realization: I need to use the bathroom.
Chapter 7
I hurry back to my room, completely terrified at the lack of options. Of course, Beauty won’t have any idea what a bathroom is. How can I put this?
I burst into the room. Beauty sits at a small table with more sandwiches on it. The bathtub is gone, but I don’t really care.
“Um, Beauty? I need to… relieve myself.”
She nods her head toward the far corner. “The chamber pot’s over there.”
Chamber pot. Those were two words I didn’t want to hear. I repeat them out loud. It doesn’t make them any less revolting.
Beauty gives me a look. I’m just glad she doesn’t go into any detail about how to use this… pot.
Maybe it won’t be so bad.
I work my way around the dimly lit room until I get to the back corner. There it is. A pot. A polished, metal pot with a lip that curves outward, ready to hold my--I shudder. Who has the job of polishing this thing anyway? Whoever they are, they don’t get paid enough.
The pot is empty. It doesn’t even smell. But I can’t pee in a pot. How did I go all day without realizing this place doesn’t even have indoor plumbing?
My bladder persuades me to figure that out later. I stare at the pot. It’s so low to the ground. And it doesn’t look very comfortable. “I can’t do this.”
Beauty laughs.
“I’m serious. I can’t go in a metal bowl on the floor.”
“Did you want to relieve yourself outdoors?” she asks with a smile. “Perhaps in Beast’s bushes. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
I glare at her. “Sarcasm really isn’t your thing.”
Still, outside doesn’t seem as bad. I might be able to bring myself to...I grab my hair and tug. I can’t believe I have to consider this!
The pot. Primitive. Clean, yet disgusting. It’s a pot. And isn’t there a rule about doing that sort of thing where you eat?
The pressure gets to be too much. I’ll have to go eventually. I just need to not think about it and get it over with. Until I have to go again.
A small part of me dies. This could be my life. Things may not change. I could be a chamber pot user for the rest of my life.
Panic crawls through me as I consider the possibility. For a minute, I’d rather shave my eyebrows. The next few seconds involve a lot of lying to myself: This won’t be so bad. This is a normal thing to do. I’ll get used to it. Calling it “the pot” makes it sound better. Then I realize that I’m being a wuss.
Okay, I’m going to use it. Deep breaths. This isn’t a big deal. I lift my skirt and settle myself on the cool metal. That small part of me that died? I think it was my dignity.
Relief. I try to ignore the pittering sounds below as the pressure leaves my bladder. As I go, my eyes fall on something tucked between the pot and the wall. Something white. Toilet paper! I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. I use only a small amount. I don’t know where it came from, but I don’t know where to get more. I toss the paper in, and then watch the strangest thing happen. Water swirls around the sides of the pot. The water spins and swishes, then is sucked away through some invisible hole like waves leaving the shore.
I have a flushing chamber pot.
I point to it, bewildered. “Um, this thing just flushed.”
Beauty nods and takes a dainty bite of sandwich. “It always does that. Don’t chamber pots do that where you come from?”
Proudly, I say, “Yes. Yes they do.”
Feeling much better, I wash my hands in the basin and join Beauty at the plate of sandwiches. It’s getting late and Beast might be out for a while. I might as well spend the night here and get the “full experience” of living in a fairy tale. It’s not exactly on my bucket list, but it’ll make for a great story one day.
Even though Beauty is willing to share the huge bed, I’m more comfortable sleeping on the couch in front of the fire. It’s actually not bad. The couch is huge and I don’t even need a blanket. Beauty doesn’t snore or anything like that, but I can’t sleep. My mind keeps going back to Mom and how worried she must be. I hope she doesn’t tell Dad. He doesn’t need to worry about me while he’s out there. Silent tears wet my pillow and I fall asleep wondering how I’m going to get home.