by Sky Sommers
Whatever she told Henry is not true, though.
I asked Peter if she was coming back and with conviction he told me she wasn’t.
It’s like she deliberately made herself out to be hated by everybody in the kingdom so nobody would miss her when she was gone. Everyone is convinced Grace used to lock me up in my room and make me do all of her chores. Apparently, Father…Peter didn’t have any idea what was going on, since he was often on research trips and when he was back, Grace managed to unscrew the deadbolt from my door and behave like nothing had ever happened. How everybody bought into it, I don’t know. Everybody had dined at Grace’s restaurant. They knew she had taken in Peter’s kids. All it took for everyone to believe she was evil and kept me a prisoner and a near-slave was me saying it, Nick repeating it and Mellie fanning the flames.
Now I have to try and restore Grace’s reputation, although how, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask Grizelda. We all used to know her as a cannibalistic witch. Now, she is everybody’s favourite potions master, helping with jam recipes and medicinal brews in addition to the traditional love potions. If she has turned around her life, maybe I can do the same for Grace?
Where did Grace go? And why?
Did Beast stash her away somewhere? To avoid public embarrassment? If she is his step-sister. I doubt she is his mistress, maybe I was mistaken in what I saw in the gardens that day. Knowing her a bit better, I have long since doubted if there was any truth to this. Then she goes and surprises me yet again by disappearing. I honestly don’t know what to believe.
Father is not telling me the whole truth.
I mean, Grace disappears and even I’m worried, but although he looks worried, he hasn’t gone looking for her. Instead, he disbanded the entire family and has decided to change his vocation from journalist to huntsman.
I mean, I know wolves have been spotted near the village, but does he have to fling himself into something he has no clue how to do just because it is a distraction from dire thoughts and sideways looks?
I offered for him to come live at the palace and he turned me down.
He said grandmother Grizelda - or Granny as she is now known - will take in Hans and Greta. Part of the time. And help run the restaurant, which they are renaming from ‘Grace’s’ to something else. Well, since it turned out Granny is not the cannibal Mellie made her out to be, I guess that is ok.
But why did Father…Peter decide to become a huntsman? Does he even know how to hunt wild animals? All I’ve seen him do around the house is write and calculate and…
Maybe he’s taking it up to comb the woods?
You know.
For the body.
I accused him of callousness and not loving Grace at all and asked what kind of a man he was. You know what he said?
‘A grieving one.’
Grieving implies death and somehow…he goes through the motions, but he doesn’t look like he believes she is dead. BUT he did say she’s not coming back.
So, maybe becoming a huntsman really is to keep his mind off things and be away from people?
If Grace is alive and hiding away from all the gossip, where did she go and more importantly, why didn’t she tell anyone?
Will I ever find out?
teaser for Book #2 MAGIC MIRRORS SAGA
Embers: Beastly Curses
Prologue
Peter knelt by the sheep whose throat had been ripped out. Another animal lay in a pool of blood a few feet away.
‘Do you reckon it’s…?’ The farmer asked, leaning on the fence, with a pitchfork in hand.
Peter nodded, ‘Seems so.’
‘So, I was right. This was a wolf’s doing,’ the farmer gripped the handle of his weapon tighter. ‘Now you see why the huntsman’s post is open. Interested?’
The other man nodded. ‘I know the village is going to be adiddle with getting revenge. Before you lot storm into the woods with pitchforks and torches and do yourself more harm than anyone else, let me investigate.’
The farmer scratched his neck. ‘Well… if you tell the village elder you accept the post and sniff out where the pack lives, I guess you’d be better suited to mete out justice.’ He motioned to the rifle hanging off Peter’s shoulder.
Chapter 1. The Black Wolf
Peter
The huntsman stopped to listen. The forest swished and murmured around him.
A wolf howled.
The huntsman turned in the direction of the howl and stared into the darkness as if he willed it to take shape.
The she-wolf was out there. Somewhere.
Over the past year he had learnt to differentiate her throaty howls from the others’. He had learnt that every wolf had its own howling pitch. Not that she howled a lot. This would be out of character for her. Too emotional a way to communicate.
Peter remembered the first time he had spotted the black female wolf standing at the edge of the forest, looking right at him. He, the twins and three-year old Henry had just moved here, and there she was. A wolf staring at him from the underbrush.
His heart had leapt into his throat.
Wolves were timid or so he had observed.
Not this one.
At least she was going to be easy to spot. Or so he had thought.
She had proved him wrong on many counts. She went into hiding, joined a pack and he had rarely seen her since that first encounter. If he hadn’t been on the look-out for her black fur, he wouldn’t have noticed her trailing him and Henry whenever they were in the woods.
Summer
‘I know it’s you, so just come on out,’ Peter said.
The black wolf stepped out from behind the pine tree.
‘There you are,’ the huntsman crouched down. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
The wolf barked with her head down.
‘Are you laughing at me?’ The man asked.
The wolf shook her head.
‘Why don’t you come closer?’ The man asked.
The wolf darted behind the tree again. Three small pups peered from the ferns and sniffed the air. The she-wolf towered over them protectively.
The man stood up. ‘Yours?’
The wolf shook her head again.
‘Babysitting?’
The wolf nodded.
‘You don’t want my smell on them,’ the huntsman said and the wolf nodded again.
‘Are you teaching them to hunt?’
Another nod.
‘Don’t teach them to hunt humans,’ the huntsman said sternly.
The wolf gave another curt nod.
A shaky truce then.
The huntsman stared at the black beast’s strangely green irises and ran his fingers over the grass, wishing he was stroking that black fur instead.
They stared listlessly at each other until one of the pups whined. The black wolf nudged the others back into the underbrush and with one last look disappeared after them.
Autumn
The black she-wolf stood at the edge of the forest and watched the woodcutter work his magic.
Swish, thwack! Swish, thwack!
The wolf’s ears flickered as it stared with its green eyes at the huntsman’s hut.
Swish, thwack! Swish, thwack!
‘Hans, don’t you think you’ve got enough wood?’ The huntsman appeared in the doorway, wearing leather getup.
‘Nope.’
Swish, thwack!
The wolf lay down and kept her eyes on the hut adorned by pumpkins of various sizes turned into jack-o-lanterns.
Where was the boy?
The wolf saw a girl of fifteen peek out, with a small raven-haired boy of about five clutching her hand.
She kept her eyes on the small boy. All her instincts told her to howl with frustration as she wasn’t able to get to what was hers. Th
e wolf bit back the howl and coughed instead.
The girl turned to the forest. ‘Who’s there?’
The wolf stilled as the huntsman ordered. ‘Greta, Henry, come on in. Hans, you, too. That’s enough for today.’
Without a word, the woodcutter carefully cleaned his axe with a linen cloth from his pocket. Satisfied, he stomped inside.
The wolf kept her gaze trained on her target.
The little boy reappeared, turned to the forest and looked straight at where the wolf was hiding. ‘I know you’re there,’ he whispered and the wind carried his words to the wolf’s perked-up ears. Her snout formed something akin to a smile.
Winter
The huntsman crouched down in the snow.
Paw marks.
The front one had elegant elongated toes.
It was her.
He still couldn’t bring himself to say her name.
He had seen her turn.
Two years ago on that rooftop.
He knew who she was.
Who she had been.
Who she would never be again.
Peter looked at the small boy gathering firewood mere feet away.
He didn’t blame him, albeit he was the reason for their relocation to the Magic Kingdom from swanky London, Earth dimension. He couldn’t blame him. He knew Grace would do the same over again, darn the consequences and so would he. To keep the family together. Almost losing a mother at birth was hard enough. Losing her again at age three had been devastating. The boy, who hadn’t been talkative to begin with, had shut down. They hadn’t heard a peep from him the entire summer following Grace’s disappearance.
‘Henry, don’t go too far, ok? Don’t stray from the path. Never stray from the path.’
The boy nodded and reached for another fallen branch.
Paths in this forest were tricksy even without the wolves.
Peter watched him go, hoping against all hope that the animal hadn’t taken the black wolf over completely. That she would remember enough of her previous life to not eat her own son.
Chapter 2. The Witch
The witch put a cauldron on the fire. She was expecting company and she was hungry.
It had been a long while since Hans and Greta’s visit.
The boy should be here soon.
With pancakes and strawberry jam, right out of one of Grace’s fairy tales.
The witch chuckled.
She’d have something tastier than pancakes in no time.
If only the boy would hurry up and get here.
Chapter 3. A Walk in the Woods
‘Are you hiding?’ the little boy asked the two green eyes that had lit up five feet away at the base of a pine tree.
He got a blink in return.
‘Are you afraid of me?’
The creature shook its head.
‘Are you the big bad wolf the whole village is talking about?’
The animal nodded slowly.
‘You are big. Are you bad?’
The wolf shook her head again.
‘Then why do they say you are?’
The wolf coughed. It sounded like a raspy laugh.
‘Yeah, you can’t talk. I get it. Hey, I don’t know why they call me Red either. I mean, I have black hair and...’
The eyes disappeared and reappeared only two trees away.
‘Hey, you crept closer.’
A nod.
‘Do you plan to eat me?’
Another head-shake.
‘Would you tell me, if you did?’
The wolf nodded.
The boy shrugged, ‘Well, I guess it’s ok then. As long as you don’t lie.’
The black wolf shook her head and sniffed at the boy, advancing.
‘What’cha doing?’
The animal reached the boy and nudged him with her snout.
‘What is it?’
The wolf seized the boy by the tail of his shirt and pulled him into the thicket.
‘Hey! You said you weren’t gonna eat me!’ The boy swatted at the wolf. ‘I hope you didn’t ruin my favourite shirt...’ he mumbled, inspecting his red T for holes.
A carriage drawn by four horses bounded past.
‘All good. Don’t do that again!’ The boy said and waved his finger at the animal.
The wolf shook her head and put her snout in the boy’s palm as they returned to the path.
The boy scratched the wolf behind her ears and kept ahold of her fur as they kept walking. From behind it looked like a boy of five was walking his huge black mastiff in the woods without a leash.
‘It’s my favourite shirt, see. If I could have it my way, all my shirts would be red. It’s my absolutely favourite colour!’
The wolf barked her coughing laugh.
‘If I asked Greta for a hooded shirt, do you think they’d start calling me Little Red Hood?’
The wolf laughed again.
The boy patted its head, ‘You know, I think you can talk. In your own way,’ and got a nod in return.
When they came to a hut basking in the dusk, the wolf shook the boy’s hand off her mane and disappeared into the woods.
An old woman in a gypsy skirt appeared in the doorway.
‘Grandma Grizelda!’ the boy waved. ‘I brought you pancakes!’ he waved the basket at her.
‘The birds aren’t singing. Henry, go inside,’ the woman said tersely, eyeing the quiet woods.
The boy nodded and climbed the three dilapidated wooden steps.
The woman walked halfway to the woods.
‘I know you’re there. I’ve seen you,’ she addressed the trees.
Her statements were met with eerie silence.
‘I know how you hunt. In packs. Nobody takes that long to stalk their prey and contrary to the imbecilic villagers, I know you don’t eat humans.’
Two huge eyes appeared in the underbrush, mere feet from her.
‘Your eyes are green,’ the witch said and squatted. ‘Now why is it that every wolf I’ve seen in my life has yellow eyes and you don’t? Are you guarding him?’ The witch asked.
A lone bark sounded.
The witch smiled.
‘Saves me time walking him back. My legs ain’t what they used to be,’ Grizelda sighed.
She took something from her apron pocket and laid it down in the ferns under the nearest tree.
‘I’m guessing you’re hungry from all the trekking. Here’s some bread, if you like. I’ll send him on his way tomorrow morning. He’s staying the night.’
When she turned to look from her doorstep, the bread was gone. ‘And when you’re done escorting him home, come back, I want to have a proper chat with you.’
To be continued...
I hope you’re piqued about how Grace fares in her new form. The next book, Embers: Beastly Curses should be out on 21.03.2021 and is available for pre-order on Amazon (click on the book name, it’s a link). If you’re on the UK site, click here.
About the author
Sky Sommers is a pen-name. The author has published academic books under her real name, so it was necessary to distinguish fact from fiction. (Although law books being about dry facts is a matter of opinion.)
In the past, Sky has lived in the UK for six years and London is still a constant source of inspiration. She now lives with her family in Tallinn, Estonia, which doesn’t feature in her writing, though, sorry to disappoint.
If you’d like to keep up with Sky’s writing, sign up for the newsletter and she’ll send you only 1 (one!) update a month (on the 11th). You’ll get a FREE story if you do. :)
Sky’s note
Thank you for reading this book!
I hope you liked it.
This is a first book in the Magic Mirrors Saga trilogy in the
Magic Kingdom series. Honestly, it all started off as one double book - written from the points of view of Ella and the stepmother. Then a nested story emerged.- Hans and Greta. Then I kept thinking, but what about Belle and Beast, they deserve a bit of page-time. Which they do get, as a nested story in book #2 Embers: Beastly Curses, which is mostly a Red Riding Hood retelling. Except Red is a boy. Then Mellie started driving me insane, begging for her happily ever after - so, let’s see if she gets one in book #3 Ash: Crooked Fates.
As you might have guessed, I am a huge fan of fairytales - traditional and retold, made-up and recycled, books, films, pop-ups, you name it. A few authors start off with a fairytale retelling or two, but in my case - I’m a mother and an occasional stepmother - it was just a matter of time when a Cinderella story would lend itself to the page. Having said that, I maintain that all the characters in this story are fictional and any resemblance to characters and events is purely coincidental, my stepkids are a lively but a lovely bunch..
The idea of the Magic Kingdom having its own Time came up as a solution to a particular problem. After all, the stories we tell and retell our children or read as adults have to emerge and go back somewhere and who says they go back to WHEN they originally came from. :) New stories are told and retold all the time while old are repeated or…overwritten.
Believe it or not, some of the nitty-gritty of world building was done in the last instance, when I had already written the pre-final ARC copy. Sometimes I like to leave some room for my readers to imagine the world themselves, but if the Magic Kingdom is too sparsely populated for you, I apologise.
I had lots of fun with the titles. The original working title was Cinderella: Not All Stepmothers Are Evil. Then it got shortened to Cinders and once I realised it was a trilogy I was writing (yep, it happens that you realise this half-way and not immediately), then I had three titles to play with.
This time, there is a kind of a double ending - one on Grace’s and one on Ella’s side. It’s not the traditional ones for optimists and pessimists that most of my other books have, but I thought a trilogy in seven parts would be a bit confusing. Douglas Adams could pull off a trilogy in five parts, but I’m nowhere near as funny as him.