by Sarina Dorie
unbearably slow. I wondered if all children were so awkward and bumbling. Once I was human, I would avoid sticky, little brats like him.
“Hansel! Hansel!” a girl’s voice from outside cried.
The boy waved. “Gretel, I’m free. I’ll be out in just a moment.” The boy ran toward the door.
With one powerful leap from my brawny legs I beat him there. “Nay, you shan’t leave until you close those shutters.”
The child rushed back toward the window, drew the shutters, then ran out the front door, paying me no mind when I asked him to close it. I pushed against it with all my might. Slowly the door inched closer to the frame. A cat meowed nearby. I used my back legs to push against the floor. It crept toward the frame.
Mr. Evil slipped through the opening, padded across the room and jumped onto the table. He settled himself on the spell book.
I would be a prince again, with or without that spell. Yet, Morwynne might return at any moment. Fortunately, there was more than one way to make a prince.
I stole up the gingerbread tower, a more recent addition to our cottage. I jumped up the stairs one by one; quite the task as there were three hundred of them. By the time I reached the landing, I was out of breath. It took three tries before I was able to unlatch the door. There at the window of the little room sat a princess, her long, blond hair trailing out the window. I suppose she might have been considered beautiful if one was into porcelain complexions, lips as red as roses and delicate features. Perhaps this one would turn out to be a real princess, not some charlatan posing as nobility simply to seduce some knight into rescuing her.
I had experience with these kinds of supposed princesses. Princes could never be too careful. I was fortunate I had spent this time as a frog learning of their deceitful ways.
“Ahem,” said I. “I am here to rescue you. And perhaps you might grant me a tiny favor for doing so, if I might be so bold to ask.”
The princess’s voice was shrill. “I imagined my knight-in-shining-armor would be a bit more . . . um . . . well, less green.”
I bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Charming. I’m a cursed prince trapped in the body of a frog. Rumor has it, only the kiss of a princess can cure me from my affliction.”
Frowning, she looking me over.
Time was wasting. I needed her to kiss me before Morwynne returned so we could escape—once I was in my rightful form. I puffed up my chest and let out my most majestic ribbit. “I might be really handsome and rich when I’m a human.”
She crossed her arms, suspicion crossing her pinched visage. “Do you not know?”
“Um, well, no. I’ve been a frog for a very long time. I believe my human memories have slipped away. But surely if my name is Prince Charming I must be rich, handsome and charming,” I said.
The idea of riches and lust for a handsome prince won her over. Had I not needed a princess so badly, I would have turned my nose up at the vain lady. But I was desperate.
She lifted me to her lips, closed her eyes, and bestowed a dry, puckery kiss. Ever the gentleman, I tried to subtly wipe my mouth.
“I didn’t feel any magic,” she said.
Neither did I. In fact, it was rather disgusting kissing a princess. Her lips were as smooshy and chapped as the others. Most disappointing of all, I appeared just as green. She probably wasn’t a real princess like the rest. “Maybe you should try using a little tongue. . . .” I flicked my tongue out to demonstrate.
She dropped me, shrinking back. “Nay, I think not.”
“There is another way you could help me. I just need you to go downstairs, hold the cat as I look at the spell book, and then turn it to page three hundred forty-seven.”
“Oh, is that all? Certainly.” She dragged her golden braid up through the window and let it trail after her. Had I been human, I would have carried her. Instead, I took advantage of my current state while I could; I hopped onto the rope-like hair, enjoying the ride down the stairs. It was so much better than hopping. Humans did come in handy at times.
Upon entering the witch’s kitchen, the princess asked, “What’s this?” She reached out toward the spinning wheel in the shadows of the bookcase.
“No, that’s not for you,” I said. “It’s quite sharp. And I don’t think you really want a hundred years of slumber. Think what it would do to your hair. A hundred years of snarls.”
She nodded and turned toward the spell book. She shooed Mr. Evil away.
“Page three hundred and forty-seven, if you will.”
She flipped through the pages, occasionally pausing to scrunch up her nose.
“No, that was it!” I croaked. “You had it. Go back!”
The princess looked up as the sound of a horse neighed from outside. She ran to the window and threw open the shutters. She clasped her hands over her heart. “My sweet knight, at last you’ve come.”
As she climbed out the window, I shouted, “Wait, no! I’m your prince. Come back! You’re supposed to help me with this spell!” I tugged at her long hair, but it was of no use.
That fickle princess! She hadn’t even stopped at the right spell. On the plus side, what a relief I didn’t have to run away with her.
I hurriedly turned the pages to find the one that would return me to my normal state. It didn’t escape my attention that Mr. Evil stalked closer. As I came to the right page, scanning the ingredients, the cat pounced. I jumped off the table just in time.
I paced back and forth in the shadows, considering my next move. How much time did I have left? I jumped at the sound of a voice.
A pleasant male tenor called out from the mirror above the hearth. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, someone wants to give a call.”
I hurriedly hopped atop a barrel of pickled eyeballs, onto the bookcase and leapt across to the mantle just below the mirror. Standing on my back legs I was able to peek above the frame.
The witch’s visage squinted at me from the other side of the mirror. “Prince Charming, how much venom do I need? And was it dragon venom or baby venom?”
I snuck a furtive glance at the book. “It wasn’t either you needed. You went to the store for fresh grasshoppers.” I think that had been one of the ingredients for my spell. And maybe she’d bring a few extras for me. Then again, if I managed to turn myself into a prince, I might not enjoy the crunchy, little treats any more. Pity. Grasshoppers were one of the delights I would miss from my time as a frog.
Morwynne cursed and the mirror rippled like water until it reflected an image of my green head and bulging eyes looking over the frame. I didn’t know if she saw through my bluff.
If only there was a way to get rid of that cat. I tried calling a dragon friend on the mirror, but he wasn’t home. I rolled a poisoned apple at the cat, but he simply sniffed it and stuck up his nose. I even tried aiming the witch’s wand at the cat and incanting a spell. Nothing happened.
I had to do something. I paced the room, trying to think up a new plan.
All too soon, the witch flew through the door, crashing into her stack of enchanted cauldrons. She removed a vial of shimmering liquid from her sack and a small burlap pouch with something writhing and wriggling within.
My heart weighed heavy in my chest.
“Blasted children. I had to scare them off again,” the witch muttered.
“It seems someone should have listened to me when I suggested aluminum siding instead of candy and gingerbread. . . .”
She placed the baby venom vial on the shelf between the baboon blood and basil. “Now what spell was I planning? I got all these grasshoppers for something. . . .”
As Morwynne approached the spellbook, the cat twisted away and yowled. The witch squinted down at the book and then at me. I did my best to look innocent.
“You were never a prince, you know.”
“What do you mean? My name is Prince Charming.”
She sighed, pity visible in her one good eye. “This is my fault. I should have named you Kermit. You wou
ld never have developed this prince complex.”
“But I am a prince. I’m different. I’m special. I talk. Mr. Evil—I mean, Mr. Fluffy doesn’t talk.” I puffed up my chest and let out an exasperated croak.
She flipped through the pages until she came to the spell she was looking for. “Aye, but he used to speak . . . before the spell that called for tongue of cat.”
No wonder Mr. Evil avoided her.
I bounded forward onto the pages of the open book. “Just because you don’t remember turning me into a prince, doesn’t mean I’m not one. You forget many other matters.”
“Tell me, do you have one single human memory? Do you crave human food?”
Human food? Eew. And now that I considered it, I’d kissed a lot of maidens claiming to be princesses. None of them had cured me. And they weren’t very good kissers. As for the rest of the humans, children were intolerable, and knights and peasants alike killed my dearest friends, dragons and trolls. Morwynne might have been a bit on the absent-minded side, but she was a decent enough, semi-evil witch—so long as she wasn’t trying to cut off your toes or tongue. Had she been like other humans, I wouldn’t have tolerated her presence.
I slumped down, thinking of all those maidens’ dry, chapped lips. “So I kissed those princesses, and it’s all been for naught?”
She cackled. “You’ve probably given a few of them warts, too.”
I cleared my throat. “Ahem, I am a frog, not a toad.”
Just then a fly buzzed passed me and I caught the savory morsel with my tongue. I did prefer