Faerietale

by Stephanie Rabig

  “Those chains are new,” Snow said. “I doubt your sword will be up for the challenge, Captain.”

  “So what do we do?” said Alice. “It’s not like we have time to go hunt down the keys.”

  “Let’s see what Dwarfish steel can do,” the Princess said, raising her sword. She swung at the wall, the weapon hissing silkenly through the air before slicing cleanly through the heavy chains.

  “The Seven should really open a shop when this is all over,” Alice said. “We can do demonstrations in town squares. Bet they’d make a killing.”

  Hook brushed the knuckles of his hand along Wendy’s cheek. Her skin was ice cold to the touch, but warmed almost immediately. Her eyes opened with a gasp. She suddenly looked brighter, more colorful, as she sat up with a clank of chains. “James?”

  “I told you I’d come for you, m’girl. Can’t have you staying ashore for so long— you’re liable to lose your sea legs.”

  “Wolf’s gone,” Alice noticed abruptly. “Do you think he. . .”

  “How much time do we have?” Snow demanded.

  Hook looked at his watch. “Two minutes.”

  “We’ve got to make them count. If we don’t get to that room--”

  “Stop jawing and start moving!” exclaimed the Prince, turning on his heel and rushing back down the tunnel.

  “We’ll catch up,” Hook said firmly. “Go. Go! It’s up to you now!”

  “You’re really here,” Wendy said faintly, wrapping her manacled hands around his shoulders. “You found me.”

  “You’re my compass, Jill,” he said, crushing her to him in a fierce embrace. “My Polaris. I can’t sail properly without you.”

  “I love you, I love you,” Wendy sobbed with relief, pressing her cheek to his, savoring the feel of his body against hers, so solid and warm and real. “Don’t let go.”

  “Never,” he whispered. “You’re comin’ home with me, lass. We’re going home.”

  ***

  Wolf left them there, had to, because he had caught another scent. Different, so different, from Wendy's seawater-and-fear smell. A small part of him that was still capable of human logic told him to stay away, tried to raise his hackles and alert him to danger, to the sharp scent of fury and insanity that masked the familiar. But the scent of her, the one that reminded him of her laugh, was still there, however faint.

  He met his Queen in the throne room. For a long moment, she was utterly still, her eyes closed, trapped deep in thought.

  The air shifted. She looked up from her perch and then his hackles did raise; he expected her to shriek a warning and call down the guards.

  Instead, she smiled.

  "Wolfram?" she murmured, and she held out her hand.

  Though he did take a few steps closer-- he hadn't seen her in so long, and knew this would be the last time he set eyes on her in either form-- he did not allow her to touch him. Both animal and man knew the chance was high that she held a dagger in her other hand.

  She smiled sadly, and lowered her hand. "I don't suppose I blame you," she said quietly. "I would ask what you're doing here, but I think I already know. I captured a traitor, and now you're here. Imagine others are, as well." Her smile broadened, lost the sadness and grew frightening. "Not that it truly matters. Nothing you do can hurt me now."

  He growled softly and took a step back, and she got to her feet, walking away from the throne and away from him.

  "I hate the fact that you do want to hurt me," she said, and at the sadness in her voice he almost did go to her, simply on old instinct. Then she turned. "I am sorry to say that I cannot let your new friends leave. But I will at least instruct the Guards not to kill you. Goodbye, Wolfram."

  And too late, he remembered the small door hidden behind the backdrop to the thrones, realized that the door he'd nudged open to get in had swung shut behind him. He charged forward but too late, the door closed with a quiet click and though he slammed into it with his full weight, it did not budge.

  ***

  The Queen walked down the hall, quickly brushing an unwanted tear away from her eye. She had known, hadn't she, that he might be one of the ones to assist in this final betrayal? Hadn't she been hearing stories of a half-man, half-beast helping the rebels in the forest for years now?

  Still, she'd been hoping the sight of him wouldn't affect her so.

  Muttering a curse, she paused when she saw someone erupt out of a crossing hallway and head for the stairs. Had that been her son? A short girl with bright red hair darted after him, and she frowned. Didn't recognize her.

  But the third figure made her suck in her breath. The clothing was different and the hair shorter but she knew that profile, knew the way she moved--

  "Snow White!" she yelled, and her daughter glanced at her with terror in her eyes and then quickly changed direction, heading back the way she'd come, further into the palace.

  If she thought to lose her that way, she would be unpleasantly surprised. For all that the girl thought she knew every nook and cranny here, she herself had been roaming these halls for years longer.

  Snow raced up another flight of stairs, grateful now for the much more practical shoes the rebels had given her. If she'd had to make this run while wearing heels, she'd already be dead.

  Then she reached the next landing and skidded to a stop at the sight of the Huntsman. He had to have heard about an attack on the palace and at the sound of footsteps running toward him he'd prepared to fire.

  She knew that coming back here might well have been a deadly mistake in his eyes, knew that she could not ask mercy from him twice. But when he saw who was in pursuit, he nodded her on and then let the arrow fly.

  It sank into the Red Queen's heart.

  Snow gasped, and behind her mother both Alice and her brother froze in place, their mouths open in shock.

  Then her mother smiled, slow and horrifying, and yanked the bloody arrow out of her chest.

  "Huntsman," she cooed. "I am sorely disappointed."

  "Run!" the Huntsman yelled, and Snow didn't need any encouragement, couldn't allow herself to stop because her only hope now lay in getting to that room and praying to Scheherazade that its contents weren't just the stuff of stories.

  Still, her steps faltered when she heard the Huntsman scream.

  Forcing herself to go on, she ran up the spiraling steps to the uppermost room in the castle, throwing open the door. She found herself facing an old wooden spinning wheel.

  So that part, at least, was true.

  She had spoken to everyone she could over the years, gathering tales and legends and trying her best to glean truth from children's stories. Mother Miriam herself had told her of the room at the top of the palace. She wondered now if the old sorceress knew what she would someday use it for.

  "Please," she whispered, and then she jabbed her finger down onto the spindle.

  The Queen raced into the room scant seconds later, and chuckled at the sight of her daughter lying unconscious on the floor. She'd heard time and again the old legend about a Door at the top of the palace, but what was less often repeated was the fact that anyone who tried to open it would fall into a deep sleep instead.

  "Little fool," she whispered, and she took hold of Snow White's wrists and dragged her toward the Door.

  The Prince had never seen a Door like this. The mirror-Door in the White Rabbit's old office had been a few bright colors, shifting and fading; the Door in the Shadow Realm had been nothing but an odd smudge of darkness just before he'd passed through.

  This was stars and swirling colors. But throughout the beauty, coldness came through, enveloping the room, making it so he could see his breath. The only thing that struck him as he took in the would-be enchanting sight was terror.

  And the Queen was pulling Snow steadily closer. She would haul her through in less than half a minute, and though he could hear Alice's footsteps clattering behind him he knew she wouldn't get here in time to tell him what to do--

  But he al
ready knew what to do.

  She was his mother, in so many senses of the word. She had cared for him, soothed him when he'd gotten the cuts and scrapes of childhood, laughed with him, reassured him when he'd fallen into melancholy.

  But the other things she had done, what she was about to do to Snow, could not stand. And so he ran forward and shoved, sending her through the Door.

  She caught his gaze, as she fell through. She didn't look angry, murderous. She looked surprised.

  He collapsed next to his sister, burying his face in his hands.

  Alice remained next to the doorway, pressed against the wall, shaking so hard her legs gave out and she dropped to the floor.

  The Queen was gone. Some part of her recognized that, and though she'd said multiple times that she'd throw a party as soon as they won, this wasn't a victory. Wasn't any kind of victory. Not when. . .

  She couldn't look back down at Snow White, but she didn't have to. The image of her lying at her mother's feet was seared into her, just as the image of her mother lying at the feet of her killer--

  A sound clawed its way out of her throat, half-scream and half-sob, and she pressed her hands over her face.

  A few seconds, a moment, an eternity later, and someone took her hand, tried to pull it down. She lowered both hands in response, lashing out, and the Prince barely dodged her blows. "Alice!" he said. "Alice, listen to me, she's breathing! She's alive; she's all right!"

  His words finally made their way into her mind, and she took a deep breath, then another, wondering if she'd completely shattered and now she was just hallucinating what she so desperately wanted to be true. "She . . . are you sure?"

  "Yes. She's breathing. I think she just got knocked out; I'll go find Fiametta and see if she has a potion that'll--"

  "That's okay," Alice said, as she finally took in the spindle. "I know how this one goes."

  "What?"

  "Just trust me." She rubbed the tears off her cheeks as she gave him a grin. "Y'know, maybe you're not such a jackass after all. Maybe."

  Her name had never been more appropriate. She looked like a doll made of porcelain, carved from ice, painted in the palest white of a new snowfall. In this magical sleep her skin was almost translucent, and she was cold to the touch.

  The Prince had straightened her dress and folded her hands over her stomach. She almost looked peaceful, but for the faint crease on her brow. She had fallen into the sleep worried and it showed.

  Alice smoothed the line away with the pad of her thumb. Her heart was thrumming painfully against her ribs, a frantic butterfly beat, and she found herself praying that this would work, that all of those stories her mother had told her really were true, that this wouldn’t be the last and worst joke this crazy place pulled on her. She looked down at the face all agreed was the fairest of them all, and she saw not just the beauty there, but also the fiery spirit that had come to mean more to her than anything else. If Snow didn’t wake, if true love’s kiss meant nothing, life just wouldn’t be worth it.

  “God, Scheherazade, whoever the hell is listening,” Alice managed to say in a voice choked with emotion. “Just bring her back to me.”

  Her red-gold hair fell around them like a glittering curtain as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Snow’s.

  For a second, a mere fraction of a heartbeat, they were frozen together. Everything was cold and sharp and still. And then the clock ticked, the hand moved again, and warmth flooded back into the world. Snow’s lips parted in a half gasp, hot and soft and yielding, and Alice felt tears of gratitude spill down her cheeks.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Alice cried, gathering Snow up into her arms, clinging to her.

  “Alice, what,” Snow gasped, returning the fierce hug, threading her fingers through her hair. “What just happened?”

  “True love’s kiss, it would seem,” the Prince said, laughing, clapping his hands to his face in relief.

  “I knew it would work, I knew it,” Alice whispered against her cheek. “We’re the good guys. We had to have a happy ending.”

  Snow started laughing; her blood sang through her veins and in that moment, with Alice’s arms around her and the taste of her kiss lingering on her lips, she had never felt more alive. She kissed her again, needy and giddy and joyful, covered her wet cheeks with kisses until they were both breathless.

  ***

  Alec took three steps down the stairs and froze, realizing that the person sprawled on the landing below wasn't moving. Wasn't ever going to move again, judging from the amount of blood spread across his shirt. "S . . . Snow?" he stammered. She and Alice didn't need to see this; he was absolutely certain he hadn't needed to see it. "Is there another way down?"

  "No," she said, and a moment later he heard their footsteps behind him. Instead of recoiling as he'd expected, Snow White hurried forward, crouching beside the man who'd been ordered to take her life. "Oh, Huntsman," she murmured.

  Alice quickly descended the stairs and knelt beside his sister, one hand resting on her shoulder.

  "He spared you," Alec said quietly, slowly forcing himself to go down the stairs. "I . . . I just assumed you'd escaped."

  Snow White shook her head and then reached out, gently closing the Huntsman's eyes.

  "Is he . . . he's smiling," Alice said quietly.

  The Prince darted a glance at the man's face, realized that Alice was right. It was faint, the corners of his mouth barely upturned, but it was there.

  Snow White took the Huntsman's hand, gave it a brief squeeze. "He knew he was going to see his boy."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Once Upon a Time...

  "I have had the most wretched day imaginable," Wendy announced, shutting the door to her and her younger brother's room behind her.

  John briefly looked up from the puzzle he was trying to put together, then returned his attention to his task, small brow furrowed in concentration.

  Wendy sighed, but couldn't really blame him. She knew she'd been complaining a lot lately. She just wasn't sure what else there was to do. She couldn't run away from home.

  She went to the grand double windows, the best feature of this entire fourth-story apartment, and threw them both open. On nights like this she wished they lived on the top story; she'd figure out some way to climb to the roof and just hide there until her mother forgot this whole messy business of 'making friends'.

  Wendy knew what that meant. It meant, 'these boys are from wealthier families. If you're friends now, you might wed later'.

  She wouldn't mind, except for one thing-- either all wealthy boys were prats, or her mother had horrible taste.

  Her latest acquisition, Stewart, was ill-mannered and sweaty-palmed and still mother had made them spend the entire day together, hoping that they would become playmates. Having rejected so many before, Wendy had finally given her mother a halfhearted smile. She disliked Stewart, but she truly couldn't stand the thought of seeing that dejected look on her mother's face again.

  Tomorrow would be another day of trying to make conversation with Stewart while mother beamed at them both. It almost made her long for school.

  No point delaying the inevitable, she thought. She'd go to bed, and--

  -- and wait one moment. Had that star just moved?

  She leaned out the window, narrowing her eyes. Yes. There. A bright light, darting this way and that. Heading closer!

  "John," she hissed. "John, something's--"

  Wendy didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. The bright light darted inside the room, nearly slamming into the opposite wall. When it stopped moving so fast, Wendy was astonished to see the form of a tiny woman within the light.

  Then her mouth dropped open in shock as a boy followed her into the room. He was flying.

  "All right, Tink," he said, shoving a hand through his black hair. "You win that one, but next time I-- oh! Hello," he said, giving her a grin. "Who're you?"

  "Wendy," she said quietly. "My name's Wendy. You-- you w
ere flying."

  "I know! Fun, isn't it?"

  "I wouldn't know," she replied. "I've never done it."

  "Never flown?" the boy said. "Tink! Come here! She's never flown! What about you?" he asked John.

  The little boy, wide-eyed, shook his head.

  "Well now," the tiny woman said in a bright voice. "We'll have to fix that." And she threw some sort of incandescent powder in her face. Wendy coughed and wiped at her eyes, briefly entertaining the thought of shouting for her mother.

  "No, don't wipe it away, silly," the miniature woman said. "Just think of something happy."

  ". . . what?"

  "Peter, I fear her brain may be addled. I don't know if I should waste any more dust on her."

  "Aw, c'mon, Tink. She'll get it right this time. Won't you?" he said, and there was that smile again, and she couldn't help but grin back. So this odd flying boy with the laughing eyes thought she could fly, too. Maybe she could! It was certainly a better prospect than sleeping all night and waking up to go see Stewart.

  She thought of spending the day out by the lake instead, watching the children sail their paper boats, and then she gasped as her feet left the ground. "Oh my," she whispered. "Oh my. John! Look at this!"

  She looked over at her brother, only to see him spinning around in midair. "Wheee!" he hollered.

  "Do you want to come play with us?" Peter asked. "All you need is some more dust and a very happy thought! Then you can come with us to Neverland!"

  "Where's that?" Wendy asked.

  "Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning," Peter said cheerfully, pointing out the window. "You'll love it there! There's a beautiful Lagoon where mermaids live, and there's a wicked pirate named Captain Hook, and we live in the trees and there aren't any rules at all!"