Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection

by Selena Kitt

  The breeze as she slid the living room window closed reminded her that while the air might promise spring, winter was still around the corner, and instead of going out in just her skirt and a sweater, Mae plucked her coat off the chair and slid her arms into the sleeves. For quite some time, she had nothing but her old patchwork coat to wear against the elements. It only took once of getting caught in a cold downpour though, dragging into Grandmother’s like a drowned cat after running the last few breathless blocks, before her grandmother had presented her with a solution at their next weekly meeting—a brand new, slick, red umbrella.

  Of course, Mae just never remembered the umbrella, but her grandmother had anticipated her granddaughter’s absent-minded nature and accompanied her gift with a matching thick, wool, hooded coat. She wore it with secret pride and a great deal of satisfaction, the hood hiding her face from the crowds on the street. And if it hadn’t been for her concealing red hood, she never would have bumped into Griff in the first place—literally.

  Smiling at the memory, she buttoned her coat and cinched the red, wool belt before slinging her basket over her arm. She was almost to the door when she remembered the real reason she was taking this trip in the first place, still sitting in a white bag on the table.

  “Stupid girl,” she murmured, doubling back to pack the crinkly white bag into her basket. There was a mirror at the entryway and she paused to check herself over. Her long dark hair had been one of the first things to go, now cut short and fashionably, little curls pasted to the sides of her cheeks. She had spent hours in her bathroom learning how to use the make-up her grandmother insisted on, painting her lips a bright, luscious red, as if she’d been picking raspberries all afternoon and eating half of what she’d gathered. Grandmother didn’t like untidiness and she was careful to groom herself appropriately before she left.

  There was just enough room left on top for the white bag, but the lid didn’t want to latch and she had to force it, glancing at the clock, anxious to be gone now. There was no spoken time between them, no said arrangement, but the assumption was noon. He was always there at noon, looking surprised to see her every single time, and yet she knew he really wasn’t.

  He couldn’t be.

  Could he?

  * * * *

  He was waiting for her, watching. Following someone in the crowded streets of New York was easier than anywhere else in the world. He was a magician, fading into the crowd, ducking under an awning if she happened to look his way. If she saw him too soon, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but he was a careful predator, his tracking sense honed and sharp. There was no sense alerting the prey before you were ready to pounce.

  So he sat where he had every day, waiting with an open paper in front of him, the news more crushing today in 1933 than it had been years ago, when the depression had officially started and investors had reportedly taken nosedives from the high windows of New York skyscrapers.

  He glanced up, wondering what it had been like. He almost wished he’d been here then, but the grift hadn’t brought him this far, not yet. Back then, he’d been running small-time in podunk towns in the Midwest, little mom and pop cons that left him with some food in his belly and some money in his pocket, but not much else.

  Now he was in the big time, and the girl he’d followed was his ticket to milk and honey. His mouth watered at the thought, his nostrils flaring almost as if he’d caught her scent, although the only thing he could smell was the overripe apple cart and the oppressing weight of exhaust fumes. There were far too many autos in the city, although the mayor claimed they would have better public transit than the elevated train lines they had now, promising Roosevelt’s New Deal would help them finish the underground subway, making it the largest mass transit system in the world.

  I’ll believe it when I see it. He wasn’t cynical—just realistic. The world didn’t hand things to you, after all. You had to go and out and take them. By force, if necessary. And unfortunately, he’d found it necessary far too often in his life. But a man had to eat, didn’t he? He didn’t necessarily believe in Roosevelt’s New Deal—but he damned well knew he could make his own new deal, and that’s just what he intended to do.

  He caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, his heart thudding in his chest, although he showed no outward sign of excitement. Instead, he folded his paper slowly and neatly, tucking it into his pocket as the girl swept out of the tenement looking as fresh as a ripe strawberry, ready for plucking. He couldn’t believe his luck when she’d started to wear the red cape, making it ridiculously easy to spot her, but while sometimes there were little hiccups in his plans, just stumbling blocks or speed bumps in the road, most of the time the world seemed to conspire to give him just what he needed or wanted. Almost as if it had been meant to be.

  He let himself smile, trying the expression on, his muscles flexed and ready. The time was now.

  * * * *

  Mae felt her stomach drop when she got to the corner and didn’t see Griff. It was a little after noon, but not by much. Where could he be? She stood there, watching the cars go by, wondering what to do.

  She knew, of course, what she should do—go on to her grandmother’s, as she had planned, and drop off the medicine she’d picked up at the pharmacy. She’d taken the phone call from the pharmacist that morning, knowing it meant a trip across town, and had been secretly thrilled. The telephone in her apartment was one of the things her grandmother had insisted on and had even paid for, renting the model from the phone company, and while it was a luxury Mae wouldn’t have even considered if she’d been on her own entirely, it had served to be quite an amazing convenience.

  Of course, there was no way to call Griff. He was just here every day, waiting for her—somehow she was sure he was waiting just for her, even if he looked busy every time she arrived. She didn’t even know where the man might reside. Did he live anywhere? Maybe in one of the shanty towns by the river? She shuddered at the thought.

  No, Griff was clean, respectable, if a little rough around the edges sometimes. He had a job—had made one for himself right there on the New York street corner, selling apples out of his cart. He was a survivor with an entrepreneurial spirit she admired. He reminded her a little of her father.

  But your father wasn’t the man you thought he was, now was he?

  That thought made her swallow hard and blink fast and look for something to distract herself. The cars had stopped now—the traffic officer high up in his tower had changed the light—and she could go, but she didn’t. She didn’t trust herself to make it across, even following amidst the crowd, with the sudden rise of tears stinging her eyes. Instead, the horde parted around her, jostling to get to the other side of the busy street before the light changed again.

  Mae backed away from the intersection clutching her basket, letting the people pass her by. She probably would have just run home and called her grandmother to tell her she wasn’t feeling well, that she’d come by tomorrow instead, if he hadn’t run into her like a brick wall coming around the corner, making her drop her basket, the already-straining latch popping open and spilling the contents onto the concrete.

  “Excuse me!” she exclaimed, trying to catch her breath, wondering if the glass in the thermos was broken as she stopped its roll with a swipe of her hand, kneeling gracefully on the sidewalk to try and replace the basket’s contents.

  She didn’t realize it was him until he was squatting down beside her, helping her put things back, and she saw the deft movements of his hands. She knew those hands.

  “Griff!”’

  “Hey, Red.” He grinned, giving her a wink. “We really have to stop meeting like this.” He sounded breathless, like he’d been running when he’d literally run into her—again.

  She giggled, remembering the first time she’d met him, on her way to grandmother’s, a farm girl in a big city hurrying through the streets in her new red wool cape, her hood so low she could barely see anything at all. She certainly
hadn’t seen him, stepping out from behind his apple cart, and he hadn’t been looking her way—instead he’d been focused on the four apples he’d been juggling to the delight of a small crowd. She had hit him square in his very solid chest with her pert little nose, surprising them both. He’d done the very same thing that day, she remembered, as apples rained down onto the concrete—that sly smile and the greeting he now used every time they met, “Hey, Red!”

  She smiled and held up one of the sandwiches. “I made your favorite.”

  “You are an angel.” He snatched at it, already unwrapping the waxed paper to get to the bread and meat before he’d even fully stood, holding his other hand out to help her up. “I’m starving.”

  “Where were you?” She knew her voice sounded accusatory, and she didn’t want him to know how worried she’d been. “I thought you’d been kidnapped.”

  He shrugged. “I thought I saw someone I knew.” He talked with his mouth half-full of sandwich, nodding toward the corner he’d come sailing around and swallowing. “But I never caught up.”

  She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “Oh. I see.”

  “It wasn’t a dame,” he assured her, giving a lopsided smile.

  “No?”

  “No, Red.” He took her by the elbow, steering her toward his apple cart. “Besides, with a doll like you around, what man could look at anything else?”

  “You’re crackers,” she protested, but she was smiling.

  “That’s a fact.”

  But now he had her curious. “So who was it?”

  “Just some Joe I used to know.” He pulled her behind his cart, as familiar to her as home now. “Come on, Red, let’s take a load off.”

  They sat on wooden folding chairs behind Griff’s apple cart, eating food out of the basket and watching the city walk by, dabbing their mouths with the embroidered cloth napkins Mae had packed as if they were eating in the finest restaurant in town. She couldn’t have been any happier if they had been, she figured, when Griff dotted a bit of frosting from his chocolate cupcake onto her nose.

  “Hey!” she protested, making a face and wiping at the sticky stuff with her napkin. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, his mouth mostly full of cupcake as he licked his sticky fingers. Grabbing three of his apples, he tossed them casually into the air, juggling them easily. He always sold more apples than anyone because he did all sorts of tricks with them. He could juggle and make them disappear and had even once turned an apple into the fat, juicy orange she’d packed in her basket for him, although she still wasn’t quite sure how he’d done it.

  “So what’s eating you, Red?”

  She sighed, shrugged, and looked out at the people passing them on the street. Most just walked by and didn’t see them at all. Griff was good at getting people’s attention when he needed to, though. She glanced at him leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. He looked casual, but she knew he was waiting for her answer. She wondered how old he was. Older than she was, certainly—she hadn’t even decided what college to go to when her parents had died—but not old.

  No, not old. His face was unlined, but tanned from the sun, his eyes a bright, mischievous blue. His hair was cut nicely, his face shaved, his clothes clean, although his shoes were rather shabby looking and his hat, a fat little black cap, had seen better days. He was quite handsome, really, although she didn’t think he knew it, and he wasn’t a small man. His shoulders were broad and full under his button-down shirt and suspenders.

  “It’s my grandmother,” Mae finally confessed, contemplating her tomato. She ate them like most people ate apples, and Griff still teased her about it, saying he should start selling tomatoes for her on his cart. “She wants us to move away.”

  The legs of Griff’s chair came down slowly. “Away? Where?”

  “She’s not well.” Mae decided against the tomato, tucking it back into the basket, seeing the white paper bag inside. “It’s her heart. The doctor says she’s got too much stress here in the city. Says she needs to get away.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “I’m sure you’ll miss her.”

  Mae glanced at him again, meeting his eyes only briefly. “Well that’s the thing. She wants me to go with her.”

  “Oh.” The word was barely a breath.

  “I’m really doing okay by myself,” she assured him, as if he’d given some protest. “I have the insurance settlement from my parents’ accident. It’s more than enough for me to live on. But my grandmother…” Mae glanced down, smoothing her skirt over her knees. “She can’t stop talking about finding me a husband.”

  Griff nodded. “Pretty girl like you should probably have one,” he agreed.

  She smiled shyly, picking lint off her skirt. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind. If it was the right one.”

  He raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Did you have someone in mind?”

  She felt herself blushing and looked away.

  “Hey, Mae…” He knew her real name, but he hardly ever used it. The sound of it thrilled her. “I was wondering… would you like to go to a picture with me?”

  “Which one?” She held her breath as if the answer really mattered.

  “King Kong,” he replied and she smiled. Of course. It was all anyone could talk about. “It opens tonight.”

  She wondered if he could see the stars in her eyes. “I’d love to.”

  “Really?” He sounded almost as surprised by her assent as she’d been by his question.

  She knew she was breathless, but she couldn’t help it. “When?”

  “Tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Here.” She pulled a pencil and a receipt out of the little purse hidden at the bottom of the basket, writing down her address and apartment number. Now he knew where she lived and the thought made her feel a little lightheaded. “I should go. My grandmother will be waiting.”

  She pressed the piece of paper into his hand and it closed around hers. His touch was like fire.

  “Tonight.”

  She smiled, closing her basket and slinging it over her arm. “I can’t wait.” Which was the truth. Seven o’clock was only four hours away, and she wanted to get home so she could torture herself over what to wear.

  “See ya, Red,” he called as she walked away.

  She couldn’t remember how she got to her grandmother’s. She thought maybe she flew. The walk was blocks and blocks but she didn’t see any of the usual scenery, didn’t stop at the other street vendors or delight in the performers. She didn’t see or hear anything but Griff and that bright light in his eyes when she’d said, “Yes,” didn’t feel anything but his hand swallowing hers.

  That’s probably why she didn’t see Lionel until he grabbed her arm, catching her up short, causing her to gasp and look up in alarm. She was in a much better neighborhood now, nearing Central Park West where her grandmother’s apartment overlooked the city, but she was always worried about “getting snatched,” as her grandmother phrased it. In her new clothes, with her hair styled, she practically made herself a target. Which was, of course, why her grandmother kept telling her she needed to move in, and another reason she insisted they move away from the city altogether. “It’s too dangerous a place for wealthy people to reside,” her grandmother had decided.

  “Lionel!” She recognized him immediately, feeling a connection to home she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing. She could suddenly see her father’s office from her usual vantage point under the desk, smell the sharp, dark ink he used to sign his contracts and the pipe he smoked when he was deep in thought. Her father was a rancher, but he also singlehandedly ran eight of the biggest slaughterhouses in the Midwest. He’d made his own fortune, although she’d never been spoiled like most children with rich parents. Granted, she hadn’t really wanted for anything, but her life with her parents on their ranch didn’t speak of great wealth.

  She’
d spent lots of time playing and reading in the kneehole of her father’s desk—until she got too big to fit, and then she would loll around in the fat, black leather armchair, wearing dungarees with hay in her hair and her nose in a book, while her father talked on the telephone about cows and pigs and chickens or railed about the unions. Occasionally people would come into the office to talk to him. One of those people had been Lionel Tryst.

  “Well, Maeve Eileen Verges!” he exclaimed, sweeping his hat off his head and bowing low. The gesture wasn’t as foreign to her as it once had been, but it still made her want to giggle. That, along with hearing her full name, made the moment even more surreal. She’d been named after her grandmother, a family name passed on, but no one ever said it out loud. “What a pleasure to find you in New York!”

  “How are you?” she inquired, slowly extracting herself from the man as they walked—he was still holding her arm, a little too familiarly for her liking. “I haven’t seen you since…”

  He nodded sympathetically. “I’m so sorry about your loss, Mae. Your parents were wonderful people.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat that always rose whenever anyone mentioned them. “Thank you.”

  “So what are you doing here in the big city?”

  “My grandmother.” She nodded at the building they were now standing in front of. “She lives in the penthouse.”

  “In the Century building?” Lionel gave a low whistle, squinting as he looked upward. “That’s an expensive piece of real estate.”

  Mae laughed. “I thought you were in the insurance business?”

  “I’m a jack of all trades.” He grinned. “I just sold an apartment in the Majestic for five thousand a year.”

  Mae gasped. “It’s amazing anyone can afford that nowadays!”

  “With great collapse comes great opportunity.” He winked. “You let me know if your grandmother is looking to sell. I’d be happy to find her a buyer. In fact, I talked to someone just last week who was asking me about the penthouse in the Century.”