by Casey Lane
Talia picked up the laser gun and weighed it in her hand. She should be feeling anxious, or scared, but after going through all those doors, she felt strangely serene. If the curse said that she could die from pricking her fingers… what danger could there be when her fingers were solid metal?
“I’ll take the room outside,” Anastasia said. “Remember that from now on, you are never to let your guard down. As a matter of fact, we should set a code word. Just in case Pernicia manages to break in with an illusion spell.”
Chapter 7
Talia finally fell asleep. She had been in a restless mood since she had gone into hiding with Anastasia, as she had nothing to do but eat, sleep, and practice shooting. Not that it was much different from her usual routine on the potato farm, but being cooped up in a few rooms, with zero contact with her friend and zero access to netsites, took a toll on her mind and body.
Often, when she practiced shooting, she’d miss the easy banter and competition she had with Troylus, and her heart would ache. She wasn’t able to keep her promise to him, as her commlink had been confiscated. He probably didn’t want anything to do with her by now. He might even be flirting with a new girl. She also worried about Daphne, who must have believed she were dead.
She dreamed. It was the same dream that she had been dreaming recently. She was in that windowless room, standing in front of a whirring machine, and she badly wanted to touch the spindle sticking out from the machine.
Her finger itched horribly. Like a mosquito bite, but the itch was magnified a hundredfold. She had to reach out and touch the tip of the spindle.
Talia opened her eyes. She rose from the bed slowly, and as if there was magic guiding her, she walked barefoot into the next room. It was just as she had dreamed—an old white-haired lady bent in front of a large aluminum machine, a glowing spindle protruding from the middle. A rather unpleasant sound hummed in the air; Talia noticed that the spindle was carving into a wooden board laid under the machine.
“Finally.” The old woman raised her head. Talia received a shock—the old woman actually had a young-looking face, her skin translucent like Anastasia’s. Maybe Pernicia was using an illusion spell as well. But why was her hair pure white and her shoulders hunched? Could it be that her hair had turned white due to grief for her son? “Maxim’s daughter, all grown up. I’ve been waiting for you.”
The woman’s voice was gentle, but there was something sinister in it that felt like spiders crawling up Talia’s spine. Talia took a few steps backward, and her back brushed against cold hard stone. This isn’t a dream, she realized. The evil fairy had somehow found a way to break through all those layers of protection and found her.
“Pernicia,” she said quietly. “How did you get here?”
The evil fairy’s laugh sounded more like a cackle. “Another one of my trustworthy spells, poor child. Did your father really think that his gadgets could have stopped a powerful magic user like me? Once I tracked down your location, I teleported from my lair to this room. I never had to bother with your password-protected doors.”
A bead of sweat trickled down Talia’s forehead. The spindle looked so tempting. Like the only cup of water available in a desert.
Pernicia caught her glance. “You like the spindle, huh? You want to have a closer look at it?”
“Yes, please,” Talia said. Her voice sounded alien to her.
Pernicia smiled, as if she had been anticipating this all along. “Come here, child. It looks even more fascinating up close. Touch it if you like.”
Talia moved forward. “Where’s Anastasia?” She suddenly realized that her godmother was nowhere to be seen.
“That human-loving fool,” Pernicia said contemptuously. “She didn’t have the nerve to practice advanced spells. Of course, she couldn’t withstand my power.” She pointed at a crumpled figure on the ground in a corner.
Talia uttered a little cry, but the power of Pernicia’s curse was so strong that her foot involuntarily took a step towards where the spindle stood.
Pernicia laughed—a cold, hard sound that echoed in her ears. “I heard all about your becoming a cyborg and having your hands replaced with artificial limbs. However,” she gestured to the spindle, which seemed to be formed of fluorescent light. There was a dull buzzing sound as it continued to saw into the wooden board. “This is not the ancient wood spike that existed thousands of years ago. It is a high-voltage electro-spindle used by computer-controlled cutting machines. One touch will be sufficient to induce deadly ventricular fibrillation, no matter what kind of material your fingers are made of.”
Talia swallowed. She actually had no idea what ventricular fibrillation meant, but from Pernicia’s tone and the word ‘deadly,’ she knew that the spindle had to be life-threatening.
Pernicia pulled a lever in the machine and the spindle stopped moving. She slid the wooden board away from the machine and held it up.
Talia Must Die. The three words were carved in a spooky font on the wooden board.
“Do you see that?” Pernicia smiled a nasty smile that showed pointy teeth. “Prepare to die, daughter of Maxim.”
The pull on the curse was so strong that Talia took another step forward. She reached out and the long sleeve of her nightgown slipped away, revealing a stump.
For a moment, stunned silence ensued.
“The curse said that I would prick my finger on the spindle,” Talia said. “However, I have no fingers. At all. The curse cannot be fulfilled.”
Before Pernicia could react, Talia raised her left arm. A brand-new laser gun was strapped to her forearm.
“Starting Plan C now.”
Talia hit a button on the gun with her stump and a laser beam was fired at Pernicia. Even though she wasn’t controlling the gun with her fingers, Talia didn’t miss her mark.
Pernicia screamed; the laser beam had penetrated her chest. Blood trickled from the wound—for all her magic, the fairy’s body was of flesh and blood.
“You…” Pernicia apparently couldn’t find the appropriate words to say. “You little…”
Talia shot her again. Pernicia collapsed to the ground and her body fell against the machine. As a result, the spindle was knocked sideways and the protruding tip jabbed into Talia’s thigh.
A burning sensation swept through her and she screamed.
Talia crumpled to the ground.
Chapter 8
Wake up.
Talia dreamed again. She was in a lush green meadow dotted with daisies and daffodils, the grass soft under her body. A butterfly fluttered over her, alighting on her lips.
Talia, wake up.
Lightning shot through her, sparking her senses, and she opened her eyes. For a moment, Talia could only stare in complete shock. The face looking down at her belonged to Troylus.
Shocked, she bolted up, causing a soft blanket to slip off her shoulders. She was sitting in a sleeping pod, the front part constructed of thick glass, and a silicone tube attached to it. Suddenly, her senses kicked in. There was frigid air surrounding her—how low was the temperature inside the pod? She scrambled out, knocking her head against Troylus’s chest. He put his arms around her back and helped her stand firmly on both feet.
“Stars above, she’s awake!”
“It worked!”
Maxim and Raine rushed to her side, both of them looking exhausted but relieved.
Raine grasped her arm and felt her forehead. “How are you feeling, darling? Do you feel any pain?”
“Send for a doctor,” Maxim said. “I need to know that there is nothing wrong with my daughter’s health.”
Once the doctor performed a full body checkup on Talia and proclaimed her fit enough to live a hundred years, Talia sat on a doughnut-shaped sofa with her parents and Anastasia.
“I don’t understand,” Talia said, rubbing her eyes. “Where is Pernicia? Is she dead?”
“That witch is alive, but your shots were enough to cripple her for life,” Raine said. “She won’t be abl
e to cast a single spell again. Your father banished her to a small planet that is many light years away. She’ll never be able to touch you, darling.”
Talia closed her eyes for a second. She could still remember the searing pain that had ripped through her body when the electro-spindle jabbed into her arm.
“But the spindle still pricked me. How did I survive?”
“Our magic is not without rules,” Anastasia said. “The curse specified that death would occur from the pricking of your fingers, so as long as you didn’t have any fingers, it could never be fulfilled. Yet Pernicia’s electro-spindle was powerful enough to cause you harm; in fact, it put you into a deep sleep. His Majesty had you placed in a cryogenic casket supplied with liquid nitrogen for maximum protection. We started Plan D, which was meant to be a last resort.” Anastasia held up a portable net screen and swiped to a page titled “Alternative solutions to forbidden spells.”
Anastasia pointed to the bottom of the page and read, “If the murder weapon strikes a body part not specified by the spell, the victim will fall into a permanent deep slumber and will not wake up, unless a kiss of true love is administered.”
Talia felt her blood rush to her cheeks. “So that means…”
“Did you honestly think that I didn’t know you had been sneaking out to meet the Kakoi prince?”
“But you were mad when you found out.”
“I was more alarmed because of that picture, as it was bound to reach Pernicia,” Anastasia said. “Anyway, after the spindle pricked your leg and you fell asleep, I commed the prince of Kakoi and told him to come right away or he’d regret it.”
“The prince of Kakoi.” Maxim rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to send an official comm to his family.”
“Not so fast, dear,” Raine said, laying a hand on Talia’s shoulder. “She just woke up from her terrible ordeal. There is no need to rush things.”
“You should read the headlines of the news netsites. Everyone knows that the Kakoi prince traveled here to save Talia. If we don’t make an official statement to the public, there’ll be all sorts of rumors.”
While her parents argued over the issue of Troylus and his relationship with Talia, Anastasia gave her a nudge. “Want some proper food? I could use a good meal after all that freeze-dried stuff.”
The next day, Talia asked her android servants where the prince of Kakoi was staying. She found him in the palace shooting range, firing with a ray gun, which was a smaller but equally powerful version of a laser gun. When she approached, he looked up and smiled broadly.
“So how does it feel? Waking up one day and suddenly finding that you’re the princess of a planet?”
Talia shrugged. “I’m just glad to be alive.”
“Haven’t you given thought to the privileges you have now? You could get the Walla Brothers perform a private concert for you.” Talia made a face at him, but he simply grinned. “But seriously, when you opened your eyes and looked up at me, I never felt happier in my life. When I went back to Kakoi and you never answered my comms, I contacted your friend Daphne. She told me that your house caught fire and was burnt to the ground. We believed you were dead.”
Talia made a note to inform Daphne that she was alive.
“I was devastated.” Troylus looked away for a moment. “I behaved like a basic level robot until Anastasia commed me a week ago. Something about me being Plan D. When she told me who you were and what happened to you… honestly, at first I thought she was a fraud, but when she sent me a photo of you lying in the pod, I had to fly over. I had no idea that the girl I admired turned out to be the princess of Neru.”
Talia blushed. All her life she wanted to escape the farm and seek an adventure. Turned out that what she experienced in the last month was enough for a lifetime.
“My lady,” Troylus said. “I seem to remember that I planned to beat you when I came back. Would you like to have a match with me now?”
“And I told you that you wouldn’t get a chance.” Talia reached for a ray gun. “Stakes?”
“My heart. Oh wait. You already have it.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “And you have mine.”
About the Author
Aya is from Taiwan, where she struggles daily to contain her obsession with mouthwatering and unhealthy foods. Often she will devour a good book instead. Her favorite books include martial arts romances, fairy tale retellings, high fantasy, cozy mysteries, and manga.
She is currently working on Twice Upon a Time, the sequel to The Ugly Stepsister, to be released in late 2016.
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The Ugly Stepsister, Unfinished Fairy Tales Book I
www.ayaling.com/
Vincent, the Tailor
By A. W. Exley
Author's Note
Vincent is inspired by the fairy-tale The Brave Little Tailor
This story uses British English
Chapter 1
Dorset, summer 1919
I know a blanket stitch from a lock stitch, how to correct tension in the Singer sewing machine, and I can differentiate silk from satin with a single touch. Other lads my age knew how to strip and reassemble a rifle, how far they could throw a grenade, and the weight of the enemy as they thrust their bayonet into his stomach.
They all went off to war while I stayed home and stitched their uniforms. It didn't matter that I was only thirteen years old when war broke out, I wanted to be a part of it. Thousands of underage lads enlisted and did their duty for our country. Age didn't matter if you were tall enough to pass the cursory glance of the recruiting officer. My parents wouldn't have any of that. Every time I managed to creep down to the recruitment office, my father hauled me back by my collar while the men around me laughed. The month I turned eighteen, armistice negotiations saw the war end.
The closest I ever came to death was the influenza pandemic. Mother sat by my bedside as the fever burned through my body. She cried over each stitch as she embroidered my name into my shroud, thinking it would be the last thing I ever wore. So many died, but not me.
But the dead didn't stay in their graves.
They came back.
At first we thought it was a miracle that they had revived, but what would it have been like to find yourself sewn into linen and with six feet of dirt pressing on top? Nothing could have prepared us for the shambling monsters who returned, empty husks who once used to be friends. No life beat in their chests, and yet they continued to walk. Somehow. Turned, we called them. Others call them vermin after other creatures that scurry in the dark, spreading death with their bite or scratch.
The Great War we fought in Europe became the Grim War fought on English soil. And there I sat through it, stitching instead of fighting.
The bell attached to the wall in the cutting room jangled as someone entered the shop. Feminine voices rose and fell in the front room, beyond the racks of finished garments and green-painted wall. I squinted at the headless forms, draped with unfinished work, and leaned around the pedal sewing machine to listen. A new customer or one come for a fitting?
The door to the workshop opened and my mother peered around until her gaze lighted on me. "Miss Abrahams is here for her final fitting. Please bring her dress through, Vincent."
Miss Abrahams. My sole compensation in staying behind while the war raged in Europe was watching my childhood crush blossom into a gorgeous young woman. I didn't need to tear a pin-up photo from a magazine, not when Sophie Abrahams lived in our village. No flat, black and white picture could ever compare to her breathtaking beauty.
"Of course." I tossed the wad of tweed to the table. I’d been hemming trousers so long my buttocks went numb, and my knees kept banging on the underside of the table. I needed to stretch my legs, plus I would do anything for Miss Abrahams in hopes she would turn her gaze on me.
Master and servant alike died fighting an undead war, and our bodies rose to fight the survivors. Yet the toffs continued to party as though nothing had chan
ged for centuries and ignored the gaps in their own ranks. My family worked to copy the newest gowns being worn in London, Paris, and New York. Expensive fabrics sat next to the wool for uniforms and the tough linen for shrouds.
I lifted a deep red gown covered in embroidered flames off a rack. Light caught the beads and shot embers of fire around the room. My sister and I spent days, working carefully least we tear the velvet, as we placed each bugle bead following mother's chalk lines. Tonight there was a party to celebrate Miss Abraham’s eighteenth birthday. She and many of the ladies attending had commissioned new dresses in the shorter style favoured in America.
I carried the garment through to the shop and paused in the doorway, captivated by the vision standing at the counter, flicking pages of the latest Vogue magazine. She had the power to still my heart with one gaze, and yet she didn't even know I existed. She probably saw the dress float into the room, carried on a magical breeze.
Miss Sophie Abrahams was the closest thing we had to royalty in our tiny village. Her father, Commodore Sir Josiah Abrahams, was the highest ranking member of the gentry for some miles, and he ran the local military campaign against the Turned.
With bobbed black hair and pale skin, Miss Sophie looked like a storybook princess for the modern age. Other girls would shy away from the dramatic tone of the fabric she had picked, but on her it would look striking. She would be a claret rose against snow.
Mother took the dress from my hands and a warm smile wrinkled the corners of her mouth. "Thank you, Vincent."
Two soldiers lounged by the bay window in blue naval uniforms. Like knights of old, heavy swords hung from their belts. On reflex, my hand dropped to my belt and the weapon holstered there—a pair of pinking shears.