Curses!

by J. A. Kazimer

  Speaking of poor bastards.

  Rounding the corner of the castle, I ran smack into Prince Rotten. He looked no worse for wear after last night’s escapades, his blond locks coiffured in perfect order, his eyes clean and clear. I hated him even more. Charming raised a tuxedoed arm. “The sheriff’s looking for you,” he said.

  “Yeah.” I brushed at a glob of mud on my sleeve. “So I’ve heard.”

  “The wedding’s in an hour.”

  I nodded.

  Charming’s eyes roamed over my stained, rumpled, non-tuxedoed wear. “Shouldn’t you change? Maybe take a bath?” His lips curved into a smile. “I’d be happy to help. You are my best man, after all.”

  Shit. I’d forgotten that little fact. “About that ... ,” I began, an idea forming in my fermented brain. “Wouldn’t the sheriff make the best best man?” I kicked at the ground. “I mean, look at me.” I gestured to my dirty, blood-smeared clothes. “It’s your wedding ... the one you’ve dreamed about since you were a small boy ... I’d hate to ruin your big moment.”

  Charming gave me another once-over. “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it.” I nodded. “You standing next to Bruce at the altar, each of you dressed in black.”

  “Bruce does look good in a tux.”

  “Better than me.” I shook my head. “I bet Bruce can do a hell of a Macarena too.”

  Prince Moron nodded.

  “Well, that settles it.”

  “Settles what?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Bruce will be your new best man. Now, why don’t you go find him and tell him the good news? But remember, don’t take no for an answer.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s the spirit.” I slapped him on the shoulder. “Beg if you have to, but make Bruce drop everything for your big day.” Even the search for an escaped felon and the subsequent arrest of said felon’s ladylove.

  “You’re right,” Charming said. He pulled me into a less-than-manly hug and copped a feel while he was at it. “You are a dear friend, RJ. I’m sorry for what I did.”

  I shoved him away, my eyes narrowing. “Exactly what did you do?” Was his apology a general one, like, “hey, sorry I ate your last yogurt,” or something specific and much more sinister? Something like, “I’m sorry for slipping a roofie into your curds and having my way with you.”

  Please let it be the former.

  Charming hung his pretty, blond head. “I ... ,” he sniffed, “borrowed your boxer shorts. You know the pair with the tiny stripes. I washed them and put them right back ... but ... I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  I sighed. Thank God those boxers burned inside Charming’s house. “I guess that makes us even, then.”

  He quickly glanced up, a happy puppy-dog expression on his face. “Oh yeah?”

  “Sure.” I grinned, patting his oblivious head. “I burned down your house. You borrowed my shorts. Tit for tat.”

  Charming frowned, taking a few too many seconds for my words to sink in. By the time he said, “Hey!” I was already limping inside the side palace door.

  “Wait a minute,” he called after me.

  I didn’t bother to turn around, but rather, limped at double speed through the kitchen door.

  What a morning, and I’d only been awake for an hour. Now all I needed to do was fulfill my promise to Winslow and stop Dru from marrying the idiot prince. I felt kind of like the villainous version of MacGyver. Alone in a far, faraway land, I must save the world armed with only a paper clip and ten pounds of plastic explosives.

  Damn, I wished for some plastic explosives. They made everything easier. A shame, but my limited brainpower would have to do.

  This brought me to my plan to stop the wedding. I needed to find a disguise, sneak past the five deputies standing alongside the staircase, enter Dru’s room, and convince her marrying anyone, let alone a gay prince, wasn’t in her best interest. It sounded easily villainous, so of course, I was bound to screw it up. Stupid union.

  My first stop was the library. Nigel’s fur coat lay on the floor as always, smelling vaguely of wet dog and smoke. I lifted the pelt and pictured myself struggling up three flights of stairs with it on my back without drawing any unwanted attention. I’d be lucky to make it to the foyer before the king shot me.

  I glanced around, searching the room for another disguise. I could always go as a lamp. The sheriff’s men weren’t all that bright anyway. Crossing the room, I yanked the lampshade from the nearest lamp and jammed it on my head. The metal prongs poked into my aching brain, causing me to moan aloud.

  The library door opened and in walked a rabbi dressed in full rabbi gear, including a pink kippah. Probably not a Jewish standard, but who was I to judge. The rabbi walked farther into the room, seemingly unaware of my light fixture disguise. He muttered to himself, something about either Sanka or sanctity.

  An idea started to form inside my head. An idea so villainous my body shook with excitement. I slowly slipped the lampshade from my head and stalked toward the rabbi like a bloodthirsty predator. Here comes RJ, I thought with a smile.

  The rabbi failed to notice my approach, or the carcass on the floor at his feet. One minute he was standing there babbling about instant coffee, and the next, he was flat on his back, Nigel’s pelt tangled in his feet.

  “Damn.” I ran toward him. Fate fucked me over again, or maybe it was the union. I wasn’t sure which was which anymore.

  I knelt next to the unconscious holy man and checked for a pulse. Lucky for him, it was there, strong and steady. Unlucky for him, by his third heartbeat, I had his pants off and was tugging the pink beanie off his bald head. Once the poor bastard was down to his underwear (Star of David boxers) and matching socks, I grabbed his feet and jammed him into the closet.

  I quickly donned his apparel. It fit me much like an overweight shar-pei. My eyes swept over the pile of broken mirrors by the fireplace and my image reflected in the jagged remains. I grinned. The tilt of the beanie gave me a rakish appeal, almost like a beret, but without the French sneer.

  As I straightened the rest of my rabbi wear, the library door opened again. This time the sheriff entered, Asia following meekly behind, her hands cuffed behind her back. He shoved her onto the couch. She landed with a thud, dust rising from the sofa. Anger flashed through me as I stifled a sneeze. Nobody but me manhandled my princess.

  “Don’t you say a word,” the sheriff said to Asia. “Once I find your boyfriend, both of you will take a trip downtown.”

  Not that Maledetto had a downtown. It was more like a main street with a bronze statue of the king. A headless bronze statue that was questionably anatomically correct at best.

  Asia glared at him, her eyes burning hot. I took a careful step toward the door, not wanting to draw the sheriff’s attention. I paused, stunned by the sheriff’s next words.

  “When I catch Stiltskin, he’s going away for a long time. Maybe forever.” He grinned, his gaze fixed on Asia’s face. “Will his ladylove wait? Does Princess Asia love a villain that much?”

  My eyes shot to Asia, but she didn’t comment.

  “Ah,” the sheriff said. “I can see it in your face. The villain has won your heart. A pity.”

  Asia slowly rose from the couch, staring unblinkingly at the sheriff. “It is you who should be pitied. You’ll never catch RJ. He’s not stupid enough to hang around here. He’s probably in Mexicanada eating seal tacos by now.”

  I winced and resumed my trek toward the door and freedom. Just a few feet to go. Don’t blow it now. Spending the next seventy years in prison held little appeal, but destroying Asia’s faith in my villainy was far worse.

  Almost to the door, I bumped into the edge of the headless lamp. It teetered, swinging back and forth on an invisible string like Pinocchio before crashing to the ground. I froze, my mind weighing the distance to the door. If I ran really, really fast, I’d make it to the door before the sheriff could blow my brains all over the library walls. I glanced down at
my bum leg and frowned.

  I was fucked.

  “Sorry, Father,” the sheriff said. “We didn’t see you there.”

  Father? I glanced around, unsure to whom he referred. As far as I knew there weren’t any little Stiltskins running around. The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. Asia shoved herself in front of him and motioned to my rabbi outfit. Oh, right.

  “You’re forgiven, my son,” I said to the sheriff in a pretty good nasal imitation of Fran Drescher.

  The sheriff frowned and took a step forward. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  “Impossible. Rabbi Obtuse lives in New Never City. He’s only here for Dru’s wedding.” Asia’s eyes were shooting daggers at me. “Rabbi Obtuse. Shouldn’t you be going? Like now!”

  Right. I fingered my beanie and bowed low. “Dmo ari-gat.” As much as I longed to add Mr. Roboto, I refrained. Asia shook her head, probably wondering if my IQ matched my inseam. Which, to be honest, it only does when using the metric system.

  The clueless sheriff bowed too. “Have a nice day!”

  I nodded to him and opened the library door before turning around to face my princess. My eye caught hers, and I blew her a kiss. She flipped me off. An unladylike reaction for sure, but it sent a shiver of longing through my body.

  Chapter 41

  After leaving my princess and the moronic sheriff, I climbed the staircase, three flights in all, to Dru’s princess-in-waiting room. Huffing and puffing, I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked harder. Again nothing. However, the faint sound of crying reached my wooly ears. Pushing the door open a crack, I peeked my head in. “Dru?”

  The room was dark and smelled of leg wax and burnt hair. In the corner of the bed, Dru lay curled into the fetal position, her thin arms wrapped around her body. A sob escaped her lips, sounding much like a unicorn with a cold.

  I stepped closer. “Dru? Are you all right?”

  “Go away,” she said, her head burrowing deeper into her blanket. She looked so helpless and small that my heart gave a squeeze. Either that or my three-story climb caused a heart attack. I inhaled deeply.

  Whew, empathy, not impending death.

  Shit. A shiver ran through me. When the hell did I start caring about other people’s feelings? I prayed this was merely a side effect of my union curse. If not, stealing candy from babies and replacing it with plastic suckers would lose all its appeal. And what about the holidays? I lived for stabbing old people with sharpened candy canes.

  Dru sniffled, dragging me from my happy place.

  “Oh, honey.” I sat on the edge of her bed and patted her arm. “Tell me what’s wrong. I can fix it.”

  She lifted her head, exposing her tear-reddened face hidden mostly by her unibrow that had grown two sizes bigger during the night. Her tears suddenly made sense. What kind of bride wanted to look like an ogre on her wedding night?

  “Oh, Dru.” Reaching for her chin, I held her face in my hands, wishing for hand sanitizer. Asia’s kingdom for some freaking hand sanitizer.

  Dru frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to help you,” I said.

  “But, Rabbi, I’m not Jewish.”

  I pulled off the beanie, and Dru relaxed. “Oh, RJ. I’m so glad it’s you. I need your help!” Her fingers dug into my forearm, leaving half-moon bruises.

  Peeling her fingernails from my skin, I said, “Glad to help, but first, I need to tell you something.” She started to interrupt but I waved her off. “No. We don’t have much time,” I said. “I need to say this, and you need to hear it.”

  “But—”

  Again I cut her off. “Dru.” I grabbed her shoulders and shook. Hard. Her eye rattled around in her head like a slot machine, finally settling in place. “Winslow is a good man.”

  “I—”

  “Yes, he’s ugly. Really ugly. I mean, like, ugly’s uglier brother.”

  “That’s—”

  “But hairy, not-so-bright princesses can’t be choosers.”

  Dru frowned, the tears in her eyes drying instantly as something else took hold. Violence. I saw the same enraged look in Asia’s gaze a few minutes ago.

  I held up my hand to thwart her disagreement. “Yes, he is a good man. And furthermore, he is in love with you.”

  “He—” she began.

  “Not like Charming, whose one true love is a mirror or maybe gay porn ... anyway ... it doesn’t matter. Dru,” I took a deep breath, “you and Winslow are perfect for each other.”

  Mostly because no one else in their right mind would have either of them. There wasn’t much call for unibrowed idiots with sibling rivalry issues, or stalker troll-like butlers in the personal ads.

  Dru started at me, her mouth open, her eyes wide.

  I waited for my words to sink in.

  And waited.

  And waited some more.

  The palace clock gonged.

  Below us, guests arrived for the wedding by horse and buggy (the Amish Maledettos). The clop of the horse hooves outside made Dru’s silence inside almost bearable.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Ugly got your tongue?” I asked.

  “I—”

  “Winslow’s not a great catch. I know.”

  “He—”

  “You’re right. He’s not a prince, and doesn’t have a pound to his name.” I tapped my finger against my chin. “Maybe you should rethink marrying anyone ... I hear the nunnery is accepting applications... .”

  Her shocked expression turned murderous. “Would you shut up for one second!”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to—” I began, ducking her fist aimed at my head. I jumped off the bed and backed away slowly, my arms raised to defend my genitals. Dru rose too, all signs of sorrow gone from her butt-ugly face.

  “For your information,” she spat, “any woman would be lucky to marry Winslow. He is warm, caring, and sweet.”

  He also smelled of catnip, but only when it rained. Probably not something I should mention now. After all, in less than one hour, Dru would marry Charming, and my promise to Winslow would be broken. I wasn’t sure how my cursed self would react. I hoped like hell that I wouldn’t declare my undying love to the butler, but who knew?

  “If Winslow’s so great,” I grinned, “why are you marrying Charming?”

  Dru choked back a sob and threw herself back on the bed. It groaned under her weight. “Because,” she said, “Winslow won’t have me. I’m ugly!”

  Like Winslow was a prize. Didn’t the deluded princess hear anything I said? “Are you crazy?” I asked. “Winslow would die for you. He told me as much.”

  Through tear-soaked eyelashes, Dru gazed at me with such hope that I felt queasy. “Do you really think so?”

  “Believe it. I would never lie to you.” I winced. “Okay, I would, but not until the union reinstates me. Even then, not about true love. Villain’s honor.”

  The hope in Dru’s face twisted into guilt. “But I’m going to marry Charming in forty-five minutes.”

  “So don’t. Prince Idiot doesn’t deserve you.” I laughed. “Go find Winslow, and tell him that you love him.”

  “I do, you know.”

  Ew. “Yeah. I get it.” Beast and the Troll, a fairytale for all ugly children. I walked to the door, throwing it wide. “Don’t waste a second. Go find your butler love.”

  Dru nodded and struggled to her feet, her skirt swaying around her ankles. She glanced from the open door to my face and back again. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” I smiled my encouragement.

  One glass slipper slid a step toward freedom, followed by its mate.

  “You go, girl.”

  With the regal bearing of a queen, Dru sent me a nod of dismissal and strolled past me and out the door. I let out a sigh of relief. I really, really didn’t want to declare my love to a butler, curse or not. I had standards.

  Mission complete. Winslow and Dru would live uglier ever after. I prayed when the time came they’d adopt. A g
oldfish.

  “Oh, RJ?” Dru said behind me.

  Shit. “Yeah?”

  “Do me a favor.” She halted. My heart hammered in my throat. Please no, don’t say it, I begged. Nevertheless, the unsightly girl said it anyway: “Tell Charming I’m sorry.”

  Chapter 42

  The next hour didn’t go as planned. For anyone. Charming, dressed in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, stood in front of me at the altar of the Maledetto temple, smiling like a proud papa. He looked as clueless as the day we’d met. Flowers in all shades of white, from eggshell to vanilla bean, lined the aisle. I sneezed, sending the kippah on my head bouncing up and down.

  “Bless you, Rabbi,” Charming whispered.

  “RJ,” I said.

  “Your name’s RJ too?” Charming smiled. “My best friend is named RJ. What a coincidence.”

  I waved my hand to stop him, but he ignored me.

  “I wish RJ was here. Not you, Rabbi, but my friend, RJ. But he can’t be because he’s on the run after murdering a whole bunch of people, including his ex-wife.”

  “I did not—”

  “He tried to kill me too. Well, he tried to burn down my house while I slept.” Charming paused in my litany of supposed evil deeds. “But he’s really a great guy. You’d like him.”

  “I—”

  “That is, if you ever have a chance to meet him. Since he’s on the run from the sheriff after killing all those poor people, I doubt you will, but maybe someday ...”

  The king walked by us, effectively shutting up Prince Motormouth. The poor king looked rumpled and smelled of Bengay. He pushed passed us and took his seat next to a very angry queen.

  She hissed, “You smell like feet.”

  The king blushed.

  I shushed the unhappy couple, once again trying to tell Charming about Dru’s decision not to marry him. The queen quieted instantly, a flush of red staining her already ruby cheeks. The king, on the other hand, started to rise from his seat, boiling me in oil with his eyes. I glanced around to make sure no one was looking and then lifted the beanie from my head. The king relaxed.