FAIRYTALE

by Rodriguez, Rebeccah

  Killian’s breaths grew shallow. Melchior. He wanted to close his eyes, make it all disappear, but he refused to look away even as his throat constricted and swelled. No more hiding. Melchior was going to live, and even though Killian had no proof, he remembered the golden light and he clung to its hope. Even so, he didn’t answer Fedya’s question. “And Cosette?”

  Fedya’s hand stiffened. But despite the tension, his face remained even. His jaw flexed only once and he answered evenly, “She’s alive.”

  Killian nodded, relief flooding his veins. It was all he could ask for now. A long sigh deflated his lungs, and he didn’t care to stop the tears that stabbed the back of his eyes. He wanted to feel them, every jagged gulp that sliced his chest an agonizing blessing.

  He sucked in a breath and clenched his free hand, and his palm encased around something round and metal. He instantly knew what it was. Craning his neck, Killian glanced down at the mirror. It seemed silly now. So small and simple. He ran his thumb across the latch, lifting it up until it reflected off the pale light.

  “Where did you find that?”

  Killian glanced back at Fedya, eyeing the mirror. “This?”

  “Yes.” Fedya nodded. “That’s mine.”

  Killian startled. “It is?”

  “Yes. Dmitri gave it to me last summer.” Fedya reached out and Killian handed it over. “I thought I lost it months ago. Where did you find it?”

  “I…” Killian watched as Fedya gently caressed the mirror, turning it over in his palm. But as he searched his memories, trying to recall the exact time and place when the mirror had first entered his life, he found nothing but whiteness and snow. He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t remember.”

  Fedya turned the mirror over a couple more times before he flicked it open. He stared at his reflection for a few seconds before a small smile flitted across his lips. “You know, when Dmitri gave this to me he told me it was enchanted.”

  As brief as it was, Fedya’s smile poured warmth back into Killian’s chest. He didn’t know how Fedya could do it. Not anymore. He looked back at the mirror. It looked so ordinary. “He did?”

  “Yes.” Fedya opened it carefully, his amber eyes reflecting back at him. “He told me that the mirror was meant to show a person the image of their true love if they looked inside. And since Dmitri had already met Merav he had no need for it anymore, so he gave it to me. I never was able to get it open, though. I don’t think he noticed the latch was broken.”

  He snapped it shut again and his eyes disappeared. “Still, I suppose he thought a little bit of make-believe would cheer me up from losing him.”

  The final trace of his smile faded away. For a few seconds neither of them spoke. Then Fedya sucked in a shaky breath and pressed the mirror back into Killian’s palm. “I’m glad you were able to open it.”

  Killian stared at the mirror, no longer feeling the need to open it. His thumb rolled over the latch only once before he set it down. He squeezed Fedya’s hand tight, promising never to let go again.

  “Me too.”

  THE END

  GINGERBREAD

  BOOK 2

  PREVIEW

  CHAPTER 1

  Once upon a time a witch name Gingerbread sat alone in the dark and awaited her trial. She saw nothing but her own breath in front of her, a puff of white quickly swallowed by the gloom.

  A narrow door silently swung open, and Gingerbread looked up. A slender silhouette beckoned her forward, its face lost to shadow. She inhaled once, and lifted her skirts around her as she stood. The click of her heels echoed around her, the only sound as the figure led her into an adjoining room.

  She’d been in the Court of Magic only once before, three years ago on the eve of her fifteenth birthday. Only back then it had been for a different occasion, one of celebration and recognition, not punishment. This was a very different type of ceremony.

  The heat was overwhelming. Too many bodies in overfull ballgowns lined the expansive, round walls of the room walls. Everything was lit by the slow burn of hundreds of floating candles, or the glowing pendants of opal and pearl clasped around the onlookers’ throats. There were no windows. No one spoke, but they all stared. Some giggled.

  Gingerbread continued walking to the opposite side of the room. Three golden thrones jutted out from the smoothly polished floor, each carved in the likeness of a stag, an owl, and a dragon. The serpent was in the middle. Three beautiful women sat upon them, their hands folded prettily in their lap, watching her approach. Glittering tiaras spun of gold and diamonds sat daintily atop their perfect curls, beaming like starlight and frost. The tiaras that were as old as time itself, passed between generations of witches to only those who held the ultimate power. The tiaras of the Princess Elite.

  She stopped in front of them. The room swelled with expectation.

  The woman on the dragon throne stood. She wore a dove-gray gown sprinkled with sapphires, and when she moved her long, locks fell silkily around her shoulders like streams of smooth caramel.

  “Miss Gingerbread, please kneel.”

  She hesitated. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and it shined back at her with the reflection of crushed stone. But slowly she did as she was told, the folds of her pale pink gown billowing out around her, enveloping her like a satin rose. Her heart began to race, but she kept her wide eyes on the swirls of fabric before her.

  “From this day forth you will be stripped of your magic. Your title as a witch will remain as an extension of goodwill on behalf of the Elite. You are granted a grace period of one hundred years to restore your name. If you fail to do so you will be cast out indefinitely and cut all ties with your previous life. Do you understand the charges which have been brought against you today?”

  Her hands began to shake. She stared at them where they rested in her lap and curled her fingers in, trying to make them disappear.

  “Yes, Princess Lovely.”

  “Stand, Miss Gingerbread, and approach.”

  She got to her feet, every limb twice as heavy as usual, thick and impossible to move. Each step sounded distant, like her body belonged to someone else, and she was hardly aware as she somehow closed the final distance between herself and the Elite.

  The other two still had not moved from their thrones, but they watched her with critical eyes as Lovely stood as still and beautiful as a painting. Gingerbread stopped in front of her and tilted her head back. She was so tall.

  Princess Lovely held out both her hands. “Your tiara, Miss Gingerbread.”

  The skirts in the audience began to rustle again, and the tickle of whispers licked her ears. Goosebumps prickled along her bare arms, the rush of blood filling her head. She clamped her eyes shut, and bent at the knee.

  Princess Lovely’s fingers were thin and long. They curled under Gingerbread’s small, silver tiara like spider legs before pulling away, tugging long strands of ebony black hair with it.

  Gingerbread focused on the darkness behind her eyelids, trying to ignore the collective gasps of pity and delight, as her coarse locks of limp curls fell around her neck. She didn’t want to see where they placed her tiara, though she heard the heavy sound of a lid snapping shut.

  “Turn around, Miss Gingerbread.”

  When she opened her eyes, the room seemed warmer, both brighter and darker at the same time. Princess Lovely was no longer the only one standing, Princess Grace and Princess Beauty now at her side. Gingerbread didn’t look at either of them. Instead, she slowly spun around, until she looked out at the dozens of eyes that stared at her from the rest of the room.

  Lovely reached for the back of her dress. Gingerbread began to shiver, even though she wasn’t cold, the wave of goosebumps intensifying. Her eyes darted around the court, from beautiful face to beautiful face, none of them kind. Some looked away; others reached up and gently patted their own tiaras, as though reminding themselves they weren’t the ones on trial. The hateful sting of tears pierce
d her eyes, but she refused to blink and she pursed her lips tight instead.

  The ribbons on her bodice began to loosen, the dress sagging. Finally, she felt the fabric drip away from her body, her gown falling at her feet in a thick pile of satin and tulle.

  Her heartbeat echoed inside her head, her every breath a painful reminder she was still alive.

  “Any final words?” Lovely said.

  Gingerbread wanted to scream. But her voice got stuck, trapped inside her chest. She looked over her shoulders and found Lovely’s eyes, as clear and pure as a winter lake.

  “You’ll realize you made a mistake.” She whispered.

  Lovely’s arched eyebrow lifted, only by a hair, the movement subtle. But her mouth remained smooth, poised in a pink rosebud-shaped smirk. She glimpsed Princess Grace smiling, and she quickly turned back around. There was no point in trying to hide her shivering any longer, everyone saw, and she carefully tip-toed out of the heap of fabric.

  The room had fallen into complete stillness, the only noise coming from her crystal heels as she made her way back across the room.

  There was only one door in the entire room, the same one she had walked in from before. Only now she knew it would not lead to the same holding cell as before. It nestled into the wall like an unending chasm, a yawning black hole that shimmered and pulsed with a life of its own. It thumped and wriggled inside her chest as she approached, a living thing waiting for its prey.

  Her vision started to blur, but she kept her gaze straight. None of the Elite followed after her, no one moved from their spot.

  She stopped directly in front of the door. For a moment she closed her eyes, but then she quickly forced them opened them again, willing the hot tears back. No one would see her cry. Not these women who didn’t even know her, these wretched people who would rather keep their mouths shut than even try to think for themselves why the youngest member of the coven was having her powers stripped from her so brutally. They didn’t care about her, and she knew she had never cared about them either.

  The door vibrated in front of her, harder now, like something inside was desperate to get out. Soon she’d feel it, clawing at her ankles, grasping her shoulders. It’d pull her in and she would no choice but to let it. She’d never seen anyone go inside it before. At least not while they were still alive.

  Gingerbread looked back one final time, her dark eyes scanning the crowd, until slowly her gaze settled on Princess Lovely.

  She paused. Her hands curled into fists as she clenched her teeth.

  Princess Lovely didn’t even blink. But Gingerbread was staring at her mouth, those pretty little pink lips, and she saw a corner of them twitch. All at once the last of the tears disappeared, and Gingerbread stood up a little taller. She remembered what she said, and the words looped over and over again in her mind, wishing she could shriek them from the top of her lungs.

  She whipped back around facing the door, and without a moments pause, she yanked open the knob and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind her, and shadows began to pour inside of her.

  She walked home in the rain.

  Mud seeped between her toes through her shoes, and her dress weighed twice as much from the water it had soaked up. Her once plush, fur shawl was now little more than a matted rag, flopping sadly around her arms.

  She hardly looked where she was going, and she only looked up when the familiar crunch of gravel met her ears. A towering structure loomed in front of her, blackened against the gray skies.

  Strawberry Fields Manor was a jagged building, with towers that pierced the clouds and too many windows that never let in enough light. Made of gray stone and covered in the curled vines of overgrown roses, it didn’t exactly welcome visitors. It lay stuffed between the evergreen hillsides, a long, pebbled trail leading up to the cavernous front steps. It had no gates or fences. Up until now, there had never been a reason for any.

  Gingerbread approached the front step. A calico cat with fur too long and legs too short was curled on the stoop, staring at her through unamused, half-lidded eyes. She frowned at him, and the cat blinked slowly in return. She sighed and clomped heavily up the steps, and the shawl fell the last bit away from her arms, crumpling in a heap on the ground.

  The cat eyed it.

  “Leave it,” Gingerbread muttered, “It’s worthless.”

  Exhausted, she brought up her hand to the doorknob and spread her fingers, not touching it, waiting for the familiar prickle to sizzle her fingertips. Nothing happened. A cold, sickly awareness washed over. No magic. No way to unlock the door.

  Sighing heavily, she leaned her forehead against it and closed her eyes. “Wonderful.”

  The door slowly eased open against her touch. Gingerbread’s eyes snapped back open and she straightened stiffly. The door swung noiselessly inside into the frigid darkness. She glanced down at her cat, before carefully peering in and stepping inside.

  A dim light glimmered at the end of the short, winding hall, winking out from a wide, open doorway, the parlor. Gingerbread held in her breath, and stepped out of her shoes, creeping forward on tip-toe as light as possible atop the marble floors. Muddy footprints followed after her, a wave of goosebumps spreading across her bare arms.

  “Don’t be afraid, my dear.”

  The voice floated out, sweet as honey, and Gingerbread stopped in her tracks. Her pounding heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she grabbed at her skirts, squeezing the soaked material between her numb fingers.

  “Oh, do come in here. I’ve been waiting all evening for you.”

  She forced herself to step into the dim room, blinking rapidly, head starting to spin. She had never been more aware of her magic, or lack thereof, then at this very moment. The light flickered from a single candle atop a small, round table in the corner of the room. The fireplace beside it was dark, though tendrils of white smoke swirled inside.

  Gingerbread’s gaze instantly flew to the lone figure gracefully perched on the other side of the table. A long rope of chocolate colored hair lay across atop a slender shoulder. Sapphire eyes peered out from the shadows, staring at her intently.

  Gingerbread straightened and lifted her chin slightly as she released her hold on her skirts. She quickly folded her hands in front of her and pretended her tiara was still atop her head. Those eyes were unmistakable, cold and shrewd, that curled up smile like a feline waiting to pounce.

  “How can I help you…” she hesitated, and then gently bowed her head as she curtsied, “Queen Radiance?”

  The curled-up smile grew even wider. The slender figure leaned in closer.

  “Are you the one they call Gingerbread?”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First, to my husband, Robert, thank you. Without you, this book would simply not exist. Thank you for never letting me quit when everything felt like a mess and I wasn’t sure I could do it. Thank you for never doubting my dreams, for refusing to let me give up on what I’ve always wanted. Thank you for understanding how important my books are to me, my characters and their worlds, and for trapping yourself on long car rides with me so I could plot and spin all my ideas into something somewhat manageable. Thank you for being excited, for celebrating every new 1,000 words and loving me without end.

  My family—Mom, Dad, Alicia and Janessa—you should know if you find anything hilarious, surprising, horrifying or downright confusing in this book, you have no one to blame but yourselves. I am created and shaped by you. This book is the consequence of all your support, love and patience.

  To my amazing cover artist, Natasha Snow, thank you for creating such beautiful works of art, and breathing new life into all of my characters.

  Thank you to God, Disney and flash drives that don’t crash.

  Last, thank you Pixie and Tiara. You make me smile every day and that’s not an easy feat.