A Grimm Curse: A Grimm Tales Novella (Volume 3)

by Janna Jennings

  Cynthia woke confused and covered with sweat, Remi’s worried eyes on her. She flashed briefly to Rapunzel’s last letter describing her strange and lucid dream s, but immediately disregarded it. Dreams were just dreams. There wasn’t a connection to her one nightmare and Rapunzel's.

  “Just a dream,” she told Remi , rising to get dressed.

  It turned out that Cynthia did get to sleep in. And when she was finally dressed with Remi in his usual place in her pocket, she went upstairs and found out why. The only way out of the basement was locked. There was a keyhole on her side, but of course she had no key. She pounded on the door and called, but she knew she hadn’t been bolted in on accident.

  She slumped back down to her room, her stomach growling audibly. She hadn’t eaten anything last night.

  “I couldn’t expect to get away without any kind of punishment,” Cynthia said, standing on her tiptoes and unlatching her tiny window. She held Remi up to the opening. “No point in both of us being confined down here. I’m afraid you’re on your own for food today, though.”

  Remi hopped out the window and looked back at her with his wide set, serious eyes. There were times when they were talking or laughing together that she would look up and be startled she was having a conversation with a frog instead of the tousle-headed boy with mischievous blue eyes that she felt like she knew.

  “I’ll be back,” was all he said before hopping away.

  Cynthia lowered the window and settled back on her mat, staring at the wall. She wasn’t used to being alone anymore, and the feeling didn’t sit as well with her as it used to. Her body had no practice holding still except to sleep. She didn’t even have her book to keep her company, it was still hidden out in the barn. She fidgeted on her blankets and finally started counting stones in the ceiling to distract from her gurgling stomach.

  She had finished the stones in the ceiling (1,423) and was working on the ones that made up her fireplace (317) when Remi pounded on the window.

  “Let me in, let me in!” he shouted.

  Cynthia hurried to lift the window. Remi soared in and she barely caught him before he hit the floor. A huge heron flapped furiously behind him, it’s long legs getting in the way as it tried to fit through the window.

  “Stop!” Cynthia said, putting out both hands like she was direction traffic. “Could you just give us a minute?” she asked the heron and lowered the glass so he couldn’t get at Remi. His heart was going a mile a minute but he grinned up at her proudly.

  “We’re getting you out of here. I’ll go find the key and you can tell the heron to go get it,” Remi said in a rush.

  “I thought herons ate frogs,” Cynthia asked.

  “They do. How do you think I got him here?”

  She shook her head at him, but couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

  “Even if you could get me out, where would I go?”

  He took one of her fingers in his padded hands and held on tightly. “I know you’re scared, but it’s time to leave.”

  “Leave?”

  “You don’t think you have options, but anything is better than this,” Remi said, locking eyes with her as the heron pecked at the glass. “They’ve locked you in a dungeon without food, Cindy.”

  He said it unconsciously this time and it felt good to hear her nickname again.

  “You could go to Madam Camilla, maybe she would hire you, or I’m sure they’d want you to work at the music store. You could probably support yourself playing the piano. You’re that good you know.”

  She shook her head no at him, but he shook his right back. “I’m a prince. We’ve had all sorts of famous musicians play at the keep and you’re just as good.”

  She laughed lightly at his earnestness, but she knew he wasn’t teasing her.

  “And if you did have to clean for a while, well, it would be better than here. It would have to be. But you could always—I mean only if you wanted to —” —“ and he was doing that cute, embarrassed frog/boy thing again.

  “Just spit it out, Remi.”

  “You could always come home with me.”

  A smile spread slowly across her face.

  “Don’t laugh,” he almost whined. “I mean I don’t know how we’d get there—maybe rob a bank or steal some horses or something—but once we did my mom would be thrilled. The story is she cried when I was born and she saw I was another boy.”

  “Okay, fine, fine.” She held up a hand in surrender. “I’ll leave, but only on one condition.”

  “What?” he knew her well enough to be wary.

  “You have to come with me to the feast tonight. And tomorrow night,” she said, crossing her arms and daring him to argue.

  “No! Not negotiable!” he said.

  A glare on a frog was kind of a funny thing.

  “Aren’t you the one who begged me to go? It’s still the best place to find a princess to break the curse.”

  “You know I would have never asked if I would have know n that’s how it was going to turn out,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know if I can watch you melt down like that again,” Remi said, looking down at his webbed hands.

  Typical boy. He’d risk getting eaten by a heron without a second thought, but a hysterical woman frightened him beyond reason.

  “No more screaming and shoe throwing, I promise.” She sighed and slid down the wall, sitting on her pallet. She pulled her knees up until she could rest her chin on them. “You’re right. It is time for me to leave. I’m tried of being a bystander in my own life. I want to do something for myself.”

  “We’ll never get back in the castle,” Remi said.

  “Oh, we will. In fact, I don’t think anyone will even recognize me, including my stepfamily.”

  She began to outline her plan.

  Chapter

  11

  “Nice to have a friend who can climb walls.”

  CALLING SOME OF THE SMALLER birds through her open window, Cynthia sent them searching the house for a heavy brass key. She explained how to get in through the upstairs window in a small bathroom that was usually left open a crack. Going down the chimney was also an option, but they didn’t like flying straight down into that dirty black tunnel, and Cynthia didn’t blame them.

  The shrieks from overhead told Cynthia the birds had found their way in. She knew they wouldn’t be in any danger. Her stepfamily would scream and wail and hide under furniture like they were being bombed, but they’d never do anything as proactive as taking a swing at them. She smiled as she imagined the panic two little sparrows and a chickadee were causing. She should have done this months ago. Rouge birds in the house would never get traced back to her.

  The yelling died down after a few minutes and the birds that had braved the indoors fluttered through the window to report.

  “The key is hanging on a peg outside the basement door,” Cynthia translated for Remi. “Thank you,” she told the tiny birds, wishing she had crumbs to give them. They peeped at her before flying away.

  “Well that’s a stupid place to put it,” Remi said rolling his eyes.

  “I guess she didn’t want to have to bring my meals down herself, which means the staff needed to have access to it.”

  The heron hung around. He seemed to like the shade underneath her mother’s hazel tree. She had explained that Remi wasn’t food and she thought he understood, but Remi kept his distance, just in case.

  From the slant of the sun outside her window , Cynthia guessed it was almost noon. She kept fresh water in her room, so she wasn’t particularly thirsty, but her stomach was clenched tight with hunger. She thought they planned on feeding her. Hoped so, anyway.

  “I can get the key,” Remi said.

  “That’s sweet of you, but I don’t think you can lift it,” Cynthia said.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t patronize me. I wouldn’t have said it if I couldn’t. And I won’t have to lift it. I just have to knock it off t
he peg and push it under the door.” He flexed his toe pads at her. “Nice to have a friend who can climb walls.”

  “Will it fit under the door?” Cynthia asked.

  “Let’s go check.”

  Cynthia opened the door and almost tripped on a white bakery box someone had set outside. Curious, she placed it on her wobbly three-legged table and flipped open the lid. They were fresh, store-bought, powdered donuts. Cynthia seriously doubted Lady Wellington had left them there.

  She snatched Remi away from the box as the thought crossed her mind. He had been preparing to dive in. “They could be poisoned,” she said. Honestly, Cynthia didn’t put it past the woman.

  “They’re not poisoned,” Remi scoffed, flicking his tongue at the powdered sugar and licking his lips. “See? You’re being paranoid.”

  “Who would leave them? Ann?” she asked no one in particular.

  “Ann wouldn’t leave these. She’d leave one of her éclairs or apple pies, or turnovers…”

  An image of Portia and her constant snacking surfaced. These were her favorites. Cynthia remembered fixing her makeup last night.

  “I think Portia might have left them,” Cynthia said, amazed at the first gesture of kindness she’d ever received from her stepsister. “She must have known Lady Wellington hasn’t been sending down food.”

  “I think you’re more shocked than when I started talking to you,” Remi said with a shake of his head.

  Cynthia picked up a donut and took a bite, her stomach contracting with happiness.

  “Come on.”

  A quick trip up the stairs revealed that there was indeed a small gap between the door and first stone step that would probably accommodate a key.

  “How are you going to get in there? Can you fit under the door?” Cynthia asked.

  Remi tried, but he was just a little too big.

  “What about the kitchen door? Or the front door?” he asked.

  “I think the seal on them is pretty tight.”

  They sat on the top step, silent for a minute while they thought.

  “The heron,” Cynthia said, standing and starting down the stairs. “I have an idea.”

  “If it involves the heron, I don’t think I’ll like it,” Remi mumbled, jumping after her.

  The sun was at a sharp angle through the hazel tree ’s branches when Cynthia heard the door at the top of the basement stairs open. She and Remi had both been dozing. With the tap, tap, tap of stiletto heels on the stone stairs, Cynthia was pretty sure it wasn’t a servant coming to see her. She tossed the edge of the blanket over a sleeping Remi.

  Lady Wellington opened the door to Cynthia’s room slowly, as i f she was fearful of what she’d find. She was dressed in shiny black gossamer with black lace that looked like spider webbing making up her sleeves. In her hand she carried a simple black mask with a bright red hourglass painted on it. They must be leaving for the masked ball night of the feast soon. Fitting she chose to go as a black widow.

  One of the kitchen maids, Nora, edged into the room behind her with a tray of bread and water, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

  Cynthia took her time standing. Her head was a little fuzzy from having nothing but powdered donuts that day, but she looked at the bread with disdain. Was this really how she was going to treat her? Like some kind of prisoner?

  Lady Wellington looked around the circular stone room with something like shock on her face. To Cynthia’s knowledge, she had never come down here.

  “I trust you’ve had time to consider your behavior yesterday,” Lady Wellington said. From her tone of voice, her anger toward Cynthia had not dimmed in the last twenty-four hours. She used her mask as a pointer. “You could have seriously jeopardized your stepsister’s future with the royal family.”

  Cynthia had expected to be frightened of her stepmother, dreading the this inevitable face-to-face meeting that had to occur. Instead a white-hot anger boiled inside her.

  “Coriander risked her own chance at trapping the prince with a cruel prank at my expense. And if the future king is so easily angered by an honest slip-up, I don’t know why you’d want your daughter to marry him anyway!”

  Several emotions flickered across Lady Wellington’s face. Cynthia caught a hint of surprise, then outrage. It could have been a trick of the light but the faintest trace of admiration blew across her features before the familiar livid mask settled into place. Nora was no longer in the room. Cynthia didn’t know when she had slipped out, but she didn’t blame her.

  Lady Wellington’s voice was just above a whisper, “ How dare you insinuate my daughter is to blame for your short comings.” Her stepmother straightened up, shrugging her spider web lace straight on her shoulders. “You will stay down here until you apologize. You will be given only bread and water until then.” She paused as if she expected Cynthia to start asking for forgiveness on cue.

  “As you wish,” Cynthia said with a half shrug she knew her stepmother hated.

  Lady Wellington narrowed her eyes at Cynthia before stalking out of the door and slamming it shut hard enough for ash to tumble out of the fireplace.

  “Whoa!” Remi shrugged off the edge of the blanket he’d been under and hopped over to Cynthia’s worn boot. She hadn’t moved. “Who are you and what have you done with Cynthia Wellington?”

  “I’m tired of being pushed around.”

  “Apparently.”

  The sounds of her stepfamily leaving drifted into the basement. Heavy tread all over the house, Lady Wellington’s sharp voice, and the front door opening and closing.

  “It’s time.”

  Through the window, Cynthia explained to the heron what she wanted. He bobbed his head at her in acknowledgement and strutted through the twilight for the kitchen door across the courtyard.

  “Are you sure he knows what to do?” Remi called, hopping after the bird.

  “He said he did.”

  “Are you sure he knows not to eat me!” Remi’s voice came from under the hazel tree this time.

  “He said he did!” she repeated. She’d lost sight of both of them. Because she was so short, she had a very limited view out of her tiny window. She strained her ears, but both the heron and Remi moved without much noise, and they were a distance away. The faint rap, rap, rap echoed from the direction of the kitchen door. Rap, rap, rap, the heron kept pecking hard against the door. Ann’s voice was muffled on the other side. Uh, oh, Cynthia had expected one of the scullery maids.

  Rap, rap, rap. “I said just a minute!” Cynthia heard the door fling open and a hair-raising scream. The heron screeched back and took to the air, flapping his way back to his peaceful pond, where there were frogs he could eat and no one had strange requests for him.

  “Of all the—! What is with the birds today!” Ann slammed the door shut, and Cynthia had no way of knowing if Remi had been able to slip inside.

  She hurried up the steps and pressed her eye to the crack in the door.

  She waited.

  And waited.

  And tried to rationalize how far it was for a frog to get through the kitchen and front hall all the way to the basement door. She tried not to image horrible scenarios where Remi was stepped on.

  “Stay along the baseboards, and under the furniture where you can,” she had lectured him before he left.

  “Yes, M m other , ” h e teased. “You’d think I would know how to get along as a frog better than you.”

  Cynthia wished he had been be just a little more worried about it.

  The faint slap of his feet on the wooden floor brought her back to the present and made her start breathing again.

  “Remi?” she whispered.

  “Almost there.”

  It was agony waiting while he hopped to the wall and climbed. She could hear his labored breathing and the key clattering as he struggled to get it off the hook. The heavy brass key clanked to the floor, followed by Remi.

  They couldn’t take the key before her family had left, it w
ould have been missed.

  Remi nosed the key under the crack in the door. Cynthia snatched it up, fumbling in her haste.

  The key clicked in the lock, she flung the door open and scooped Remi up .

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said wiggling in her grip.

  She bowed her head until her forehead gently bumped his. “I know. I just worry.”

  “Aren’t we going to get something to eat?” he asked turning in a pitiful way toward the kitchen.

  She smiled. “Yes, food first.”

  There were a few people still in the kitchen, including Ann. Cynthia ignored them and started rummaging in the icebox, but Ann would not be disregarded .

  “Where’ve you been all day? I’ve been one person short serving all the meals,” she asked with a huff.

  Cynthia pulled a pheasant leg and roasted potatoes out and glanced at Ann. “Lady Wellington didn’t tell you? Or Nora?”

  She looked around for the kitchen maid, but didn’t see her.

  “Tell me what?”

  “I’ve been locked in my room all day,” Cynthia said, pulling up a stool to Ann’s counter. She fished Remi out of her pocket and placed him on the table next to her and broke off a piece of potato for him.

  “Locked… what… frog! No frogs on my table!” Ann took her apron and flapped the end of it at Remi.

  “Ann, I guarantee you he’s cleaner than some of your staff’s hands.” With the pheasant leg in one hand she waved it at the old cook. “Ann, Remi. Remi, this is the woman who’s marvelous cooking you’ve been enjoying all week.”

  “Much better than flies,” Remi replied, flicking his tongue at another potato chunk .

  Ann watched them with the end of her apron clutched tight in her hands. “He talks.”

  “He’s an enchanted prince. We’re going to the masked ball tonight to find a princess to change him back,” Cynthia said, getting up to pour herself a glass of milk.

  “You never said why the missus locked you in your room,” Ann said, her eyes riveted on Remi.

  “Long story,” Cynthia sighed, shuttling her dishes to the sink and holding out a hand for Remi to hop on.