by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney
She opened her eyes. “Huh?”
He was staring at her wrist. “Your magic time-telling device.” He jumped off the bed and looked around her room. “Someone…the Evil Witch must’ve stolen it! We need to track her lackeys.” He sniffed the air, nostrils flaring. “Yet…there is no sign…”
Melinda sat up and took her watch from the bedside table. “Here.”
“You took it off…and left it there?” He gaped at her. “What if it had been stolen? Or lost?”
She rolled her eyes. “Who would steal a ten-dollar watch?”
He straightened to his most formidable height, his spine so stiff she thought it might just snap under the tension.
“Excuse me, Miss Lightfoot,” he began, “But not everyone is as inept a trespasser as you are—”
Here we go again. “My name is Melinda, and I’m not a trespasser—”
“—and its value is far beyond mere money. My aunt would do anything to acquire it should she become aware of its existence. I checked your house defenses last night. You have no enchanted vines. No illusions, no tricksters…nothing to keep intruders out. As a matter of fact, your home is wide open to anyone regardless of their intentions. When you are given a precious item of magical ability, you must safeguard it with your life. Leaving it there like that while your house lies unguarded—”
Melinda blocked out Edward’s lecture, wishing she had that Micro-Uzi so she could show him she had excellent home defense. When he paused to take a breath, she raised her hand before he could start again. “I don’t think there’s enough sun for it to work.”
That distracted him. He frowned and examined the watch. “N. E., it reads. North. East. So it is indeed morning.” He smiled—a logic-killing, heart-accelerating, face-heating kind of smile, something that could potentially be quite lethal—and her brain seemed to freeze.
You don’t poach men. He already has his true love.
“We must leave immediately,” he said.
Melinda shook herself and sighed. She knew when she had lost. “Fine. Give me half an hour.”
“Half an hour?!” he roared, but his vocal cords weren’t as impressive as when he’d been the Beast. A good thing, too. She didn’t want to get a hearing aid at the ripe old age of twenty-five.
“It’s the Speedy Melinda Special. The regular’s an hour. Take it or leave it.”
*
A quick hot shower made her feel better, but not by much. Back in Fairy Tale Land she hadn’t slept well on her cell’s cold hard floor, and she’d been counting on eight good hours before they started their search. Still, the primary requirement for a pre-school teacher was empathy, and now she empathized with Edward. She would want to get going too if the situation were reversed.
Edward was pacing in the living room, his movements courtly, precise, elegant, and completely at odds with the shirt and jeans he was wearing. His big hands were clasped behind him; she remembered their delicious warmth when he’d held her arms, and shuddered with an irrational desire to have them on her again.
Get it together before you make a fool out of yourself.
That was the smartest thought she’d had since Edward had woken her up. Now if her body would just listen.
She made a big pot of coffee in her cheery yellow kitchen. The walls glowed in the strengthening sunlight; a basket with grapefruit, apples and a couple of tangerines sat on the smooth ivory counter-top, and several bananas were missing since last night. She usually loved the little pick-me-up of color and light in the morning, the citrus scent and openness of the area, but this morning there was a sense of grim purpose and suppressed longing—probably only on her part—inside.
“Want some?” she said, the coffee-pot in her hand.
He shook his head, eyeing the dark liquid suspiciously. “What is that vile looking brew? Poison?”
“No.” Poison, indeed. “It’s coffee.”
“What is ‘coffee’?”
“An elixir that jumpstarts millions of Americans in the morning.”
“An elixir.” That he understood. “And you must drink it?”
“It’s either this or sleep.”
He sighed. “Very well, then. Gulp it down.”
“Thank you, Your Most Kind and Gracious Highness.”
“Not at all.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then poured the coffee into a huge mug and sipped. Ahhh… She felt almost human. “Northeast, right?”
“Yes.”
“Could be anywhere…” Then an idea hit her. Edward had come to this world in a T-shirt and jeans thanks to Fairy Godmother’s sense of style, but… “Do you think your aunt is dressed to fit in?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Is she wearing a peaked hat with a wide brim and some long flowing dress, or is she in sneakers and a pantsuit?”
He frowned. “She eschews hats unless her hair is in disarray, and she favors closely fitted garments that display her…figure. Beyond that I cannot say with surety. We were never very close.”
“I think I know where she might’ve gone. Especially if she came with Beauty, who looks like a Renaissance Faire character.”
“Looks like a what?”
It was going to be impossible to explain everything. “There’s a theme park called Tudor Land, northeast of here. The summer Renaissance Faire is going on there as well. Don’t worry about what it is, it means that there will be lots of people, many of them dressed like Fairy Tale characters. It would be very easy for her to hide, and I bet that’s where she is. It even has a huge haunted mansion. The Tudor House.”
“The mansion is…haunted?”
Did he look a bit pale? Melinda almost giggled. Maybe he didn’t know that malicious spirits didn’t exist in her world. “Don’t worry. If any big mean ghosts attack us, I’ll protect you.”
A royally condescending glower snapped back into place. “I am a prince of the realm. I do not require a woman’s protection.”
She shrugged and hid her smile behind her coffee cup. It was going to be fun at the Tudor House.
*
Protect him indeed.
The idea was so preposterous Edward couldn’t decide if he should be truly insulted or not. The silly woman was a head shorter than he and weighed nothing. He’d felt the fragile bones of her arms, seen how vulnerable and soft she was. She couldn’t protect him against a butterfly, much less a ghost.
Still, he admired her courage. Not many had withstood his anger or stood up to the judge and the prosecutor. And nobody tried to bargain with Fairy Godmother, unless…well, unless it was one of her offspring. Even then it was not advisable, as she always imposed conditions on her help.
It wouldn’t make for an interesting fairy tale if you didn’t face an obstacle. After all, dear, obstacles build character.
Ugh. Expediency was of value, not some ridiculous life lesson one had to learn from struggling for the amusement of the masses. Fairy tales should have the following three lines only: “Once upon a time there were a girl and a prince. They met, fell in love and lived happily ever after. The end.”
*
Edward called for her to “prepare Arabian horses” for the ride to Tudor Land. Feeling much perkier after her coffee, Melinda patted his forearm and said sweetly, “I’m afraid I don’t have any Arabians just now, Edward. But I do have a Charger.”
“A warhorse?” Edward said, blinking. “Excellent!”
*
The traffic was light so early. Nobody was likely to be at Tudor Land at this hour, but Edward had insisted on going immediately and scouting the area for good escape routes and possible traps.
“Why do we need escape routes?” Melinda asked him. “All we have to do is get in the same room with Beauty and the Evil Witch. Then I tap my watch, and yay, we’re back in the Fairy Tale World.”
“I am the prince here. Leave the battle planning to me.”
And leave the driving to me, she thought, smiling a bit as she recalled the enormous
conniption fit Edward had thrown when he had discovered what her “Charger” really was—and that he couldn’t drive it. But it had been her only victory so far. Logic didn’t work with him, and he’d never encountered the concept of gender equality. She found herself wishing that Cinderella had come to Bolinsville instead. Prince Charming simply had to be more enlightened.
*
The original owner of Tudor Land had been an eccentric historian, and he’d converted his one hundred acres of family farm into a theme park. Edward jumped out of the car the moment it stopped and jogged around to open her door for her. He held out a hand.
“I’m perfectly capable of getting out on my own,” she said.
Sighing, he reached down and lightly took her hand, fingers to fingers. The contact was sweeter than she remembered, and for a moment she inhabited those fingers entirely. He pulled her out, shut the door, and rested his hand on the small of her back while he looked around vigilantly. She shivered.
“A gentleman never allows a lady to step out of a carriage unaided,” he informed her.
“A lady.” She raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was a Trespasser.”
“That was admittedly rude of me. You haven’t been convicted.”
Yet lingered in his tone, but she didn’t want to argue and ruin the moment, even as she was telling herself she was shivering because of the cool early morning air against her skin, not because Edward’s hand felt impossibly good or she was doing her best to not lean against him.
“Where is the entrance?”
“There.” With almost an inhuman strength of will, she stepped away from him and gestured at the closed gates. “See? What did I tell you?”
Edward stepped up to the gates and ran a finger over the bolt and padlock. “It seems not to be enchanted.”
“Of course not. But it’s locked.”
“What is locked can be scaled.” He gripped one of the fence’s iron bars experimentally. “It even has handholds.”
“Absolutely not—”
Too late. He was already over the other side. For a prince, he moved with a lightness and quickness thieves would envy. “Come,” he said through the fence.
She crossed her arms and shook her head.
“Come!” he said more impatiently.
“Do you know what’s going to happen if we get caught?”
Edward glanced around. “‘Caught’? There are no guards about. And if we must escape we can take their horses.”
“No,” she said. “There will be no taking of horses. The ones they have here are for jousting.”
“Jousting!” His eyes gleamed briefly, but then the eyebrows above them came together. “They are truly horses, not flatulent moving metal boxes?”
“They’re really horses. But you can’t take them.”
“Oh, very well.” He gestured her forward. “Now come. Or if you are too cowardly to face the Evil Witch, I shall go alone.”
There was something endearing about his attempt to manipulate her, but she couldn’t let a fairy tale character wander around by himself at the theme park, especially when he thought he could just take whatever he wanted without asking.
Prince my pert tushy. Grumbling, she pushed herself over the fence. More like dictator.
Tudor Land was a mishmash of themes and rides: Ferris wheels, merry-go-rounds, archery lanes, jousting fields and more. And of course there was the Tudor House.
It was the most impressive of all the attractions in the park. It towered over them like a fat haughty king—Henry VIII, to be precise. The park’s builder had apparently idolized Henry to a certain degree.
Of course, he would. Melinda would’ve too if she’d been a man. Off with your head, and no alimony or child support to worry about!
Edward looked up at the imposing mini-castle. “We shall go there first. It is something of a fortress, and I’ll wager my aunt has taken it as her own.”
“It’s not very pleasant in there. Kind of grotesque.” Melinda made a face, remembering the last time she’d been inside. The displays had probably gotten more macabre over the years.
But Edward was nodding. “Just the sort of place Auntie Beet would find homey.”
Chapter Four
In Which Our Hero and Heroine Face an Executioner
‡
Obviously, Melinda had never entered The Tudor House when the park was closed. Although breaking and entering made her nervous, it had one advantage: none of that creepy moaning or whispering was going on. Probably everything was turned off until Tudor Land opened at 10:00 a.m. Melinda looked at her watch. It said HERE. So Edward had been right about the Witch’s taste. Or lack thereof.
The Tudor House had the charm of an old English manor—or so the theme park claimed. Melinda didn’t know how authentic it was; history had never really interested her. But she knew enough about Henry VIII to find the place eerie. Dark burgundy velvet hangings and thick carpet stifled sound like a pillow over one’s face. There was an executioner mannequin with a raised ax in one display. Edward pulled its black hood off and put it over his own head.
Smart of him. It would cause more problems if Beauty saw his human form. But he should have asked her for something to cover his face with while they’d still been home. She wasn’t comfortable filching things from the House displays.
He ran a thumb over the blade on the ax. “Quite sharp,” he said approvingly. “We should take it.”
“Oh, no.” Melinda quickly interposed herself between him and the mannequin. “No. It’s already bad enough that we’re breaking in and you took his hood. We don’t need to add stealing weapons to the list.”
Edward looked slightly puzzled. “But surely it’s here for our use.” He stretched an arm over her head, testing the air around the ax. “I sense no dark magic around it.”
“Don’t you remember what happened to Hansel and Gretel when they ate the old woman’s house without asking first?” She tried to push him away from the display, both hands on his unusually muscular torso, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Of course. They burnt her to death.”
Melinda decided to try a different tack. She stood back and put her small fists on her hips. “Don’t even try to get funny with me, buster,” she said in her sternest lecture tone. “They got caught and almost eaten. Besides, in my world, if the police catch you stealing stuff, it can get very ugly.” She paused for a dramatic second. “They cut off your hands.”
Edward finally stepped back, crossing his arms. “That is a patent falsehood.”
“It is not.” Well…maybe not one hundred percent. Melinda had heard that in some countries—or maybe it was Europe a few centuries ago, she wasn’t quite sure which—thieves lost their hands. Of course that didn’t happen in America, but Edward didn’t need to know such minor technicalities. “You may consult a lawyer if you wish.”
He hesitated, but finally turned away without the ax. Another small victory. At this rate winning the war would take about two millennia. She hurried along before he could change his mind.
The main foyer had portraits of Henry’s six wives hanging high from dark wooden panels. The queens stared down at Melinda and Edward, their royal countenances as morose and pinched as if they were biting into unripe persimmons. Even Jane Seymour had tight lines around her thin lips. Melinda didn’t blame her. She would’ve had some worry lines too, if she thought she might lose her head for not delivering a healthy baby boy.
“You poor, poor woman,” she muttered.
“What’s that?” Edward said.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I just don’t like the portraits.”
“These are queens, are they not?”
“Yes.”
He glanced around. “For queens, they look singularly joyless.”
“It was the king that they were married to.”
“Being married to a king is an odd reason to be unhappy.”
“Even if they thought they could lose their heads at any time?”
“Why would they think that?”
“Well… For example, look at Anne Boleyn.” Melinda gestured at the second portrait, one featuring a dark-haired woman holding a rose. “Her husband the king officially accused her of high treason and witchcraft.”
Edward looked impressed. “An expedient way to deal with a witch. Would that we did the same in our world.”
“Yes, but she wasn’t a witch.”
“Ah, I understand. Did the king not have a competent judge and prosecutor?”
“The real reason Henry—that was the king’s name—executed her was for not having a baby boy.” Melinda made a face. “He was obsessed about having a son, and went through six wives trying.”
Now he was less impressed. “Bluebeard, but worse.”
That surprised her. She’d never likened Henry to the fairy tale serial wife killer, but the comparison seemed apt now that Edward mentioned it. “Something like that, yes.”
“What an unpleasant monarch. Why would anyone marry him?”
“Henry had affairs with many of them before marriage. I think they all believed he was in love with them.”
He stared at her incredulously. “And this belief was supposed to keep them safe?”
“I don’t know.” Melinda pursed her lips. “It just seems unfair to die for something they couldn’t control. None of them had a real chance for a happily ever after. He wasn’t going to make it easy for them.”
“You people.” Edward snorted. “Happily ever after isn’t supposed to be easy.”
Melinda frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I read your fairy tale collection. What a bunch of rubbish.”
“Hey! You’re a fairy tale character yourself. Don’t tell me they’re rubbish.”
“My dear Miss Unenlightenedfoot,” he said. “The falling in love part is easy. The other person is new to you, some dastardly curse has usually just been broken, and obviously you consider each other wonderful. So it is simplicity itself to develop feelings for each other and get together. Do you not agree with that?”