by Laura Kenyon
“No,” Elmina muttered, pushing off her heels and lodging her pointer nail between her teeth. “No way, it’s not possible. Is it? Could he have known? After three hundred years?”
Dawn waited, silently, as the fairy paced and mumbled for a good three minutes—about Angus, about Jacara, about the Great Sleep, and about Davin’s poor father. Finally, she stopped dead in her tracks and pointed at Dawn. There was a new fire in her eyes. A new sense of urgency.
She swiped the air with both arms. “Forget everything I just said. If Angus was on Selladóre when your curse broke, he was there for a reason.”
“Yeah. He was there to take Davin away.”
“No,” Elmina said, pacing again. “I mean, maybe initially but … if it was anyone else, I’d overlook it. But this is Angus Kane. He’s smart. Viciously smart. If anyone could have figured it out, I’ll bet he could.”
“Elmina,” Dawn said, grabbing Elmina still by the shoulders. “Figure what out?”
There was a heavy sigh, a weight-of-the-world sort of sigh.
“It’s very rare that a curse outlasts the life of its caster. Usually, when the caster dies, the curse automatically breaks—like Ruby’s would if she’d cursed Donner. But when I modified Jacara’s curse, I inadvertently extended it. Jacara died centuries ago, but her curse lived on with mine. So when it finally ended, Jacara’s powers were unleashed. I always assumed they flitted into the universe somewhere since she wasn’t alive to receive them. But maybe…” Her gaze fell toward the floor, then slowly rose back up to look at Dawn. “Remember how I said the ability to steal another fairy’s magic was almost unheard of?”
Dawn nodded, suddenly understanding where this was going.
“Well, unheard of doesn’t mean never heard of. But I only know of one fairy with that ability. One in the last five, six, seven hundred years.” She analyzed her shoes again—red moccasins with orange and turquoise beads on one end. “Jacara. Jacara would have been able to steal Ruby’s powers, use them to curse Donner, and still go on to do the same thing to countless others. But more than that, there’s one very specific reason you should be terrified if Angus somehow managed to capture her powers in a charm and figure out how to wield them.”
Not sure she even wanted to know, Dawn just stared back in silence. Her eyes asked the question.
“Jacara’s powers didn’t just hijack magic. They could obliterate it too, and not just from that moment forward. Jacara had the ability to undo every spell another fairy ever cast. If Angus has that capability, he could undo Ruby’s rags-to-riches spell on Cinderella. He could reverse history as we know it. He could obliterate the modification I made to Jacara’s curse three centuries ago. He could make you—”
“He could make it so I died three hundred years ago, when I was supposed to,” Dawn finished, her voice half dead already. “Got it.”
Chapter Seventeen
BELLE
She knew it was a bad idea.
She’d been told, over and over again, that barring a life and death situation, you should never wake a sleeping baby. But she hadn’t seen Rye for almost twenty-four hours now. If she didn’t take him into her arms in the next sixty seconds, she was going to split apart at the seams.
Outside, the sun had only just begun its midday descent. But in Rye’s nursery, the only light came from the cracks between the window frame and the shade, and from a battery-powered disc that glowed yellow, then red, then purple, then green, on a perpetual, flowing loop. It was attached to his crib and—once she got used to the darkness—illuminated every inch of his tiny, precious face. She could see his itty-bitty nose, barely larger than her thumb, and the cherub crinkle atop his bow-tie lips. He had a new scratch on his cheek—nothing major, just babies being babies. And his mouth was partially open—the bottom lip pulled to one side by his curled but open fist.
Belle gave a tiny headshake at this last observation. His whole-hand-sucking habit was giving him blisters. She pressed her right hand over the side of the crib and reached for his fist with her left. Less than half an inch away, she paused and felt her heart pound a little bit faster. Was she seeing things, or did his pajamas look significantly more snug than they’d been at the hospital? Was this further evidence that the curse was speeding up already? In leaving him for twenty-four hours, how much of his growth—how much of his life—had she actually missed?
Then she dipped closer and scanned his clothes. All of the pajamas she’d packed for him had tiny animals embroidered over the heart. These had no animals. Snow must have bought them—from an environmentally sustainable company that only sourced organic materials, no doubt. This realization swiftly pulled the weight of worry off Belle’s shoulders. But just as quickly as it disappeared, a new one returned. A nagging feeling. A, dare she say, jealous feeling. Not only was Snow sheltering, feeding, loving, and comforting her baby … she was rebranding him as well.
Suddenly, the desire to scoop him up and press him to her chest was overwhelming. She felt jumpy—giddy almost. She needed to hold him, as much as Rapunzel’s parents must have needed their rampion fix. She needed to give him the one thing that only a mother could, in the way only a mother could. She needed to see and feel the relief wash over him as he latched on and realized she had returned. She hadn’t abandoned him.
But Dr. Frolick had been clear. She had the worst case of mastitis he’d ever seen. She needed to start a strong course of antibiotics immediately, as well as pump or feed diligently every three hours. As for the latter, he’d promised that the medication wouldn’t hurt Rye should she choose to nurse, but feeding was going to hurt like hell. And even worse: it would change the taste of her milk and could turn him away from it forever. “Just another gift from the inexplicable world of magical perinatology,” he’d said when she asked how one mistake could have caused such advanced devastation.
“Well,” she whispered as she slid her hands deftly beneath Rye’s fragile little neck and his tiny little bottom. “Here goes nothing.”
Holding her breath, she lifted him one, two, three feet up and over the railing. She exhaled, slid into the glider, and pushed the feathery bangs away from his forehead. Five days old and he already had bangs long enough to reach his eyelashes. At this rate, he’d need a haircut every other day.
“Okay little man,” she said, cringing as she opened her blouse and undid the tab on her bra. “Drink up.”
He latched immediately—a genius even in his sleep. A split second later, his eyes popped open. Belle’s heart skipped a beat, but then his lids fell back down and he sighed. His hand reached up and touched her, as if he was holding a bottle between his fists. Belle shut her eyes to pressure out the pain. It was the sort of pain only a mother could voluntarily bear for her children, the sort of pain her own mother would never have endured for hers.
Wincing, she bent her neck forward close enough to feel the tiny hairs on her forehead brushing into his. On the one hand, she was feeling a thousand fire-tipped arrows shooting into her chest and exploding. On the other, she was completely at peace. Full serenity. Needed, and wanted, and in love with every little molecule in her—
The wailing came out of nowhere. Belle jerked up, then looked down. Her euphoric little angel was suddenly bright red, flailing, and screaming at the top of his lungs. Thinking he’d just unlatched, she tried to fix it but he pushed her away like a tiny ninja, swatting away a goblet of poison.
Belle quickly switched him around and tried the other side. The quiet only lasted two seconds this time.
“What in the world is going on?”
The overhead light blasted on as Snow raced in and asked the very question that was spinning around in Belle’s head.
“I . . . I don’t know.” She stood up, seeking answers from Snow the way she’d sought them from Kirsten at the hospital. “I was trying to feed him and— Well, Dr. Frolick said it might taste a little different but I never imagined—”
“What might taste a little different? When did yo
u get here? Did you wake him up?”
“No,” Belle said, the questions colliding in her head. “I mean, yes sort of. Griffin let me in. He said you were out walking. I took the ferry here because the ring wasn’t working. I just had to see—”
“Let me take him,” Snow said, grabbing a towel from the dresser and holding out her hands.
Belle’s first impulse was to pull Rye closer and back away. Who was in charge here? Who was the mother? Why was she trying to justify stopping by to see her own son?
“Belle,” Snow said, jerking the towel and glancing pointedly at her chest. “Let me take him while you clean up.”
“Clean up?” Belle squinted, then crinkled her lips. Of all people, she wouldn’t have pegged Snow as a nursing-makes-me-queasy kind of girl. But then she looked down and realized why Rye had gotten so upset. It wasn’t just a shift in flavor. It was a change of Biblical proportions. Instead of white or even yellowish milk, she’d been feeding him blood.
“Agh!” Belle gagged, swiftly trading Rye for the towel. “Dr. Frolick said there might be a little blood, but this is– Gah! I’m so, sorry, sweetheart!”
“He’s fine,” Snow said, bouncing and swaying her way to the door. “I’ll just give him a bottle for now. I mean, if that’s okay with you?”
Belle looked away and shut her eyes. Her entire face crinkled inward. But she appreciated being asked permission. “Yes,” she said. “Thanks Snow. Sorry I didn’t call before showing up. It’s been one of those days.”
Snow shot her a maternal smile and shifted Rye to her shoulder. “You never need to call. Consider this room just an extension of wherever you are. That’s what we decided at the hospital—whether you get here by ferry, horse, or magical ring. You can explain everything else downstairs.”
Once Belle was cleaned up and emptied (manually—talk about endurance), she joined Snow in the great room—so named not because of its size, but because it technically encompassed the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, and a sky lit nook the Whites referred to as their “spiritual shelter.”
“Well,” Snow said after Belle updated her on the ring, the mastitis, and her unplanned sleepover in Gray’s cabin, “you’re always welcome to stay here. If you want to continue nursing, you can’t possibly go back and forth every three hours by ferry, and honestly that would be more suspicious than you just packing a bag for a few days. If anyone asks, you can say I offered to be your nurse while you recuperated.”
“So say you’d be taking care of both an infant and an injured pregnant lady?” Belle shook her head and quipped, “That’s believable.”
“Fair enough. Then we can say you’re getting in some practice before your baby arrives.”
Belle pondered this idea as she tucked a receiving blanket around Rye. He was in a vibrating napper, ogling a pair of monkeys dangling above it. “That could actually work,” she said before tilting her head and eying the cardboard mountains lining the entire back wall—refugees from Griffin’s office-turned-nursery. “But no.” She shook her head. “You don’t have the room. I’ve already put you out enough.”
“Put us out? Nonsense! We love taking care of Rye. Griffin hardly used that office anyway. And don’t forget, that nursery was in the works months ago.”
Belle pressed her lips together and sank further into her cushion. She hadn’t forgotten. How could she? Snow was the only one of her friends who had any understanding of what she’d gone through, waiting years and years to conceive a child. Being devastated over and over again but somehow finding a way to keep hoping. Only now, Belle felt like the prisoner who’d been pardoned at random while Snow still languished behind the barbed wire walls.
“There’s just something remarkable about having a baby around,” Snow was saying. “Trust me, Griffin feels it too. Last night the two of them were playing peekaboo and he was just laughing and laughing and—”
Belle’s head jerked to the side. “Last night? But I thought you said he fell asleep in the car and didn’t wake up till this morning. How was Griffin playing with him last night?”
Snow’s hands plummeted back into her lap. “Well, okay, he did actually wake up for a second,” she said. Then, quickly, “But really it was only while we were transitioning. Griffin entertained him while I put on a fresh diaper and PJs. I was going to call you after that … but he nodded back off before I even zipped up his sleep sack.”
Belle was staring at her knees when Snow’s right hand spread over them. “I’m sorry. I should have called anyway.”
Belle swallowed the lump in her throat and bent over the napper. She picked up the blanket, bundled it around Rye, and pulled him into her lap. Then she grabbed a green teddy bear from the floor and nuzzled it into his chin.
“It’s okay,” she said, thinking about poor Karen Epson and the two additional cribs Snow had removed from Rye’s nursery and stored out of sight. As bad as things were for her, they could have been worse. “I’m here now.”
“Yes,” Snow said before standing up and proffering some herbal tea. “Decaffeinated, of course. Although … if you’re not going to nurse for a couple days, you can probably spring for regular.”
Belle took a huge, slow breath, and relayed exactly what Dr. Frolick had told her. “So it’s safe,” she said, “but I never want to hear him scream like that again—at least not because of something I’m doing.”
“I completely understand,” Snow replied, filling up the kettle. “You’re probably afraid that if you keep trying, you’ll turn him off for good, too. Even when it’s all cleared up.”
Belle nodded.
“Okay then. How’s this?” Snow buried her head in their tiny freezer. “I have nine more bags of your milk here, so that’s . . .” She paused to count on her fingers. “One and a half days’ worth. Maybe two. Do you think it will clear up by then?”
Belle shrugged. “The antibiotics are for four days, but maybe. It’ll at least be better.”
Snow slipped back onto loveseat.
“I really don’t want to wean him,” Belle added, pulling Rye tighter and closer than—well, almost tighter than when she said goodbye to him at the hospital.
“You won’t have to.”
“But what if it’s not even my milk?” Belle said, her voice beginning to quiver. “Maybe he just likes bottles better now that he’s had one. I’ve heard that can happen. Five days old and he’s already done with me—”
“Stop it.”
Belle’s upper and lower jaws collided. She’d never heard Snow use that tone before. It was assertive. It was commanding. It was … slightly to moderately impatient.
“There are nine bottles left. We’ll give him three over the next twelve hours and you can try again tomorrow morning. If that doesn’t work, we’ll do the same for the next twelve hours. I’m sure it’ll get better by then.” Snow sighed and looked away. “I know what you’re thinking. That it’s the only thing no one but you can give him right now, but it’s not true. You’re his mother. Only you can give him that. I couldn’t replace you if I tried.”
Belle nodded and sniffled herself into a smile. “Thanks Snow.”
“Don’t mention it. Now let me get that tea. And then you can tell me how you wound up staying with Gray last night instead of at Rapunzel’s. I don’t know what was going on between him and Ruby at the hospital last week, but he seems like a good guy. Passionate too—I like that. And can I say absolutely gorgeous?”
Belle grinned and rubbed her nose against Rye’s. He giggled and tried to bat it with his tiny fingers. “He is a good guy,” she replied, feeling surprisingly sure of her words. Then, just to Rye: “Even if he did used to call you a gremlin.”
Rye stopped for a moment, as if confused by what she’d just said. Then he let out a screech of a laugh and resumed thrashing.
* * *
The call from Dawn came just in time. Elmina was on board, they now had an additional reason to believe targeting Angus was correct, and Belle got a link to some m
agical transportation when she needed it the most.
“Thanks again for the ride,” Belle said as she and Elmina Goodman materialized a few dozen steps from Gray’s cabin. She felt like she’d just fallen nine hundred stories in a glass elevator. “It takes at least two hours to get here from Snow’s house taking the ferry.”
Elmina laughed, said two hours was a gross understatement on “that rickety old boat,” and told Belle she was happy to help.
“From what Dawn told me, you’ve already had a rough few days,” she said as Belle swished her foot through the fallen leaves and hoped her ring would work tomorrow. She didn’t want to call Elmina every time she needed to travel between Braddax and Tantalise. And she didn’t know how much more “evaporating” she could take.
“Pretty spot,” Elmina said, panning away from the mountain of rubble a hundred yards away. The sun was entirely set by now, but the sky still had a bright, steely glow. “It’s nice to know there are still a few pockets of wilderness in this concrete jungle—even if they are just thrown in here and there.”
Belle nodded and inhaled the crisp, early autumn air. The smell of dirt and decomposing leaves traveled all the way through her lungs and into her stomach. She hesitated to say she enjoyed the smell of autumn even more than spring. It was sort of like proclaiming she preferred death over new life. But to her, there was always something fresh about this time of year. There was something invigorating about it. Like the grand finale at a fireworks display, it was Mother Nature’s last hurrah—an opportunity to exhaust all of its brightest colors as the whole world prepared to cozy up for winter.
At least that’s how it used to feel, she thought as the smell of wet tree bark faded into the stench of five-day-old, stale campfire. Or, to be more accurate, Phoenix fire.
“Are you expecting someone?” Elmina asked as a pair of headlights turned up the drive.
Belle squinted. The headlights lit up square, not oval, and they had a slightly blue tint.