The 10th Kingdom

by Kathryn Wesley

  Grandma didn’t seem to notice. She picked up a cigarette holder, put a new cigarette in the tip, and lit it, then put it to her red-painted mouth like the star of a Depression-era movie.

  “I can see it happening all over again. You’re a waitress, for God’s sake. Who are you going to meet? An eligible short-order cook? Don’t throw your life away like she did.”

  Roland yapped at Prince. Virginia watched this out of the comer of her eye, wondering what Prince would do. Prince looked over both shoulders, and then punched Roland in the face.

  The little dog yelped and Grandma scooped him up. “I’m taking him away from your bad old dog,” she said and stalked to her bedroom, trailing smoke like a Disney villainess.

  Punched him? Virginia frowned. It must have only looked that way. She sighed and walked down the hallway to the guest room. Prince followed, looking very satisfied with himself. She waited until he got into the room, and then she closed the door.

  Was she a failure like her grandmother said? She didn’t feel like one. But she didn’t feel like a success either. She was just a waitress who had gotten a bump on the head, inherited a dog that seemed more human than canine, and who locked evil Trolls in elevators.

  She didn’t know how any of this would look in the morning, but she had a feeling it couldn’t get any worse.

  Chapter Seven

  Blabberwort could not see the source of the light that was flickering on and off. She had never seen a light that had such a cold glare. It hissed and popped and fizzed, but there were no flames in it, nothing that allowed her to put it out.

  This entire room was strange. The doors did not function. The walls had velvety material on them that appeared to be glued on. She had ran her fingers over every inch of this place, and still she could not figure out how to leave.

  There was a great magic here, one they should have protected themselves against before they stumbled into this building.

  Her brothers were rubbing their feet. They had taken off the shoes, but occasionally they would pick them up and hold them as if they were a talisman.

  “I’m thinking back over the years,” Blabberwort said, “and I feel this is quite the worst spell we have ever been put under.”

  “We’ve had some stinkers,” Burly said, nodding, “but nothing like this.”

  Bluebell had his arms crossed. He was watching them as if it were their fault they were all trapped.

  “She’s a powerful little witch, that one,” Burly said.

  “I would have had her if she hadn’t ... had me first,” Blabberwort said.

  “Absolutely,” Burly said.

  They looked at each other; then they felt the walls of the

  cell again. This was worse than the Snow White Memorial Prison. At least there they’d had some natural light.

  Some food.

  A bed.

  “I can’t stand it anymore!” Burly shouted. “I’ve got to break this spell!”

  He brought out his axe and Blabberwort had to scramble out of the way to avoid his backswing. Burly hacked at the door once, twice, three times, and then looked at his work. It seemed to make no difference, which made him even angrier. He turned into a hacking machine, chopping, chopping, chopping until he had moved from the door to the wall to the floor.

  Suddenly his right leg fell through. He screamed. Blabberwort and Bluebell grabbed him and pulled him up.

  There was a hole in the floor. Blabberwort peered down it. There was a cable attached to this room, and it went down into impenetrable darkness.

  “Ahh,” Blabberwort said, staring down into the blackness below them. “She is far more powerful than we imagined.”

  “Suck an Elf,” Burly said. “It goes on forever. It leads to the deep, dark place below that has no bottom.”

  “I hate those kind of places,” Bluebell said.

  Didn’t they all.

  The bathroom smelled of fresh vomit and other disgusting things. Tony moaned and clutched his stomach. He had never been this ill before, not even the time he ate his mother-in-law’s special—and week-old—meatballs. He had no idea what possessed him to eat that bean or whatever it was, given to him by a stranger. What had he been thinking?

  He had the horrible suspicion he hadn’t been thinking at

  all.

  He hauled himself off the bathroom floor and turned on the tap, splashing water on his fevered face. He hiccuped violently, prayed that he wouldn’t dry-heave yet again—he’d probably lost everything, including half his internal organs—and then the doorbell rang.

  Wonderful. Charming. Wasn’t this just the best day of his life.

  He used the wall to brace himself as he staggered into the other room. Through the remains of the door, he saw Murray, looking quite mad.

  Tony debated opening the door, not that it really mattered. If the door had a peephole like it was supposed to instead of being shredded, he might have had a choice. But he didn’t.

  As he leaned out the door, he cringed. Murray started into him, just as he expected.

  “So of course you never fix the pipes like you promise. That I’ve come to expect. But this—” He pointed to the hallway. “What the hell is this?”

  Tony leaned even farther out of his apartment. What a mess. In addition to the ruined door, the hallway was covered in pink dust. Someone had ripped all the wires out of the elevator’s control box and flung them across the floor.

  He felt a flush building in his cheeks. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Murray, sir. I can explain everything.” Even though he couldn’t. He tried to cover by saying, “I’ll get right to it.” “No. No,” Mr. Murray said. “ ‘Right to it’ isn’t good enough. I want you and your daughter out of this apartment today. You’re fired.”

  Oh, no. Tony couldn’t be fired from yet another job. He wouldn’t be able to find work anywhere. Especially not work that had a free apartment with it.

  He’d never tried to suck butt so hard in his life. “No, please, Mr. Murray—”

  “What, you little creep?” Mr. Murray asked.

  Tony froze. He’d had his door demolished, been attacked by pink dust, seen a man who called himself Wolf, and ate a bean that tasted like bat dung. Then he’d vomited half the night—not to mention other things—and, through no fault of his own, got fired. Mr. Murray wouldn’t change his mind, no matter how hard Tony sucked up. Mr. Murray was an idiot and he deserved to know it.

  Tony leaned forward as though he was going to impart the secret of the universe.

  “I wish you and your entire family would kiss my ass,” he snapped, “and be my slaves forever.”

  Mr. Murray’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say ... Master?”

  That last word he just breathed out. His eyes were glassy, and his entire posture was one Tony had never seen before.

  Then Murray crouched and grabbed Tony by the hips, kissing his behind. Tony yelped, pushed Murray away, and then paused.

  I wish you and your entire family—

  Tony giggled.

  “What, O Master?”

  “Clean this hallway,” Tony said. “And get someone to repair my door.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Murray scampered away. Tony walked inside his apartment. He suddenly felt better. He had just made a successful wish— and he had five more.

  He went into the bedroom, put on his robe and slippers, and got himself a cigar from his secret stash, the one Virginia never found. He walked into his living room to find Murray there, bobbing up and down like a kid who had to go to the bathroom.

  “I have someone cleaning the hallway, Master. And my mother shall fix your door. What else do you desire?”

  Tony grinned. Murray had made him feel like a toad for years. He could only return the favor.

  “I want you to clean my boots,” Tony said.

  “Yes, Master,” Murray said.

  “With your tongue.”

  “Yes, Master.” Murray seemed just a little too eager. It took a bit of the fun out of
it. But not all.

  “They’re in my closet. Bring them into the living room so that your entire family can watch.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Murray scrambled off to the bedroom. Tony wandered into the kitchen. Well, he had his own personal servant. What else could a man want?

  He pulled open the refrigerator. Only one beer left. That wasn’t enough for a man who had just become king of his own castle. He closed the door.

  “Okay, Wishmaster,” he said, “give me a never-ending supply of beer.”

  He chuckled. No one else would have thought of that. He opened the door and saw another bottle standing next to the first. He slammed the door angrily.

  “Two?” Tony said. “Is that what you call a wild night where you come from?”

  He opened the door again and now there were four bottles. That was better. He closed the door, then opened it like a kid who’d just learned that doors opened and closed. This time there were eight bottles.

  Every time he opened the door, the number of beers in the fridge doubled. How cool. He opened and closed the door a couple of times, and then counted.

  Thirty two bottles of beer.

  Kinda like the song. Only the beers weren’t on the wall. And they appeared faster than a man could sing about them.

  “All right!” Tony said. “Oh, you’ve got to see this, Murray.”

  He grabbed a handful of beers and kicked the door closed with his foot. He carried the beers into the living room.

  Murray was clutching a boot between his hands. “I’m worried they’re not clean enough, Master. Shall I lick your boots again?”

  Oh, Tony was enjoying this too much. He smiled. “Show me your tongue.”

  Murray’s tongue was black. But not black enough. “Well maybe another five minutes. How’s your mother getting on, with the door?”

  “Almost done now, Master,” Mrs. Murray said.

  Tony peered into the hallway. Seventy-five-year-old Mrs. Murray Senior was groaning as she tried to fit the door back into place. He probably should go help her, but then he remembered all the times she’d called him names when she’d seen him in the elevator.

  Nope. She could heft that door all by herself.

  Something brushed against his buttocks. Tony turned to see Murray reaching for his behind again. That was the only bad part of this wish.

  “Hey, thanks,” Tony said. “Once was enough.”

  Murray nodded and backed away.

  Tony got his behind out of Murray’s line of sight just in case. He sank into his chair and crossed his feet. Then he put the cigar in his mouth. He was feeling better all the time. And he still had four wishes. “I wish ... uh ... what do I wish?” He glanced at the pink dust all over the floor. He was beginning to hate the color pink.

  “I wish I had something that cleans the place up on its own without me having to lift a finger. Yeah.”

  The closet door opened and the vacuum cleaner, the one that hadn’t worked in three years, came out with a roar of power that it hadn’t had in its youth. It sucked up the dust like it craved the stuff. Tony laughed and clapped his hands together. Life was perfect, and he still had three more wishes to go.

  The apartment building was tall and beautiful and old, and made of a kind of brick Wolf had never seen before. He took the last bite from his BLT—he had thrown out the L and the T, but the B was delicious. More than delicious. It was life-giving. It was sumptuous. It was as close to perfection as a man—a wolf—a man got in this lifetime. He licked off his fingers and contemplated the address.

  “Well, huff-puff,” he said, “this must be the place.”

  He bounded up the stairs like a puppy, and went to the door marked with the number he’d been given. Then he paused for a moment, slicked back his dark hair, and practiced his charm. He put the flowers he’d stolen in the crook of his left arm and the chocolates he’d stolen in his left hand, the box prominently displayed. Then he knocked.

  The door opened ever so slightly. A chain held it in place. A woman peered through the door. She looked much older than he had expected, and smelled of sweat and perfume. Clearly not the woman he was seeking.

  Still, he’d expected this. This had to be the owner of the place. The aforementioned grandmother.

  He smiled his most winning smile. “There must be some mistake,” he said. “I do apologize. I was looking for Virginia’s grandmother.”

  The woman frowned slightly. “I am she.”

  Oh, wonderful. She put on airs. At least he could use her vanity to his advantage.

  His smile grew. “It cannot be. Virginia’s sister, perhaps, her young mother perhaps, but her grandmother? You are a dazzling beauty.”

  She touched her skin. It looked as if she had slept in her makeup. “Oh, well, I don’t have my face on or anything yet.” Obviously. “May I come in?” he asked. He took a step forward, but she closed the door just enough to let him know he wasn’t welcome.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Virginia’s suitor,” Wolf said. “Her betrothed.”

  He held up the picture of Virginia he had stolen from her father and kissed it. Then he had to kiss it again. And then one more time for good luck.

  “Betrothed?” Grandma said slowly. She was obviously coming around. “But she said nothing about a fiance.”

  “How like her,” Wolf said. “How modest. Most girls would brag and boast about dating the heir to an enormous fortune, but not Virginia. Please follow her example and judge me on my personality, not my society connections.”

  That did it. Grandma undid the chain and pulled open the door. “Do come in. I’ll get dressed.”

  He slipped inside the door and set the flowers and chocolates on a nearby table. “You don’t need to change. You look perfect as you are.”

  She smiled at him. She wasn’t much to look at, not like Virginia. But she would be a delectable meal. The meat might be slightly tough, but she was clearly well fed. She would be plump and delicious and—

  Oh, he was being so bad.

  She primped her hair again. “Do I look all right?”

  He nodded. “I can see where Virginia got her looks.”

  Grandma smiled, but the smile had an edge now. Apparently Grandma thought she was prettier than Virginia. Bad Grandma. Bad.

  “In my day,” Grandma said, “I was considered one of the most beautiful women in New York.’ ’ She waved a hand toward a wall covered with strange paintings that looked almost lifelike. Wolf followed her.

  “You still are one of the most beautiful,” he said.

  She smiled.

  It was the smile that caught him. He couldn’t help himself. He wrapped his arms around her and sniffed. Yes, delectable. She struggled, but didn’t scream. She seemed to welcome his advance.

  He was liking Grandma less and less, but wanting to eat her more and more. He grabbed the cord off her robe and bound her hands, then found a scarf on one of the tables and gagged her. Then he used the bottom half of the cord to tie her feet.

  He carried her into the kitchen. She was squirming now and trying to scream. Meals were better in silence. He searched until he found a large roasting pan, then set it on the table. He put Grandma in it, and she squealed even louder. He grabbed the chef’s apron off the wall, and put on a chef’s hat. The best meal of the day should be prepared in the very best way.

  As he looked, he found rope and he used that to bind her better. He also found salt and pepper and poured them over her unnaturally colored hair.

  Then he paused and studied her. She really was quite frightened. Did one human being do this to another? No, of course not.

  “I’m so bad,” Wolf said. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Still, I suppose you’ll look better surrounded by potatoes.” She had to have potatoes. She had a large roasting pan after all. He didn’t see potatoes, but he did see the spice rack. He peered at it, then bopped her on the head with one hand.

  “Call this a kitchen?” he asked. “Where
’s the garlic? The rosemary? What have I got to work with—some three-year-old dried herbs?”

  He put his hands on his hips and surveyed her. “Oh, huff, you’re not going to fit in the oven, are you? Not in one piece anyway.”

  She was squealing and shaking her head. Why didn’t they build ovens big enough for elderly women in this place? He studied the oven door.

  He grabbed some dried garlic—Yeech. Who thought of this stuff?—and sprinkled it on her head. The old lady was whimpering. He stopped and peered at her. She was crying softly.

  “What am I doing?” Wolf said. “I should untie you, a poor old lady, frightened out of her wits. I should untie you ...” He tapped a finger against his lips, considering.

  “... but first, I’ll put a dollop of fat in the oven tray.” “Grandma?” Virginia’s voice called out through the apartment. “Are you awake yet?”

  “Oh, no,” Wolf said. “The guests are up and breakfast’s not ready.”

  He examined the rack of knives before settling on an old cleaver. He shook it in Grandma’s face. “Do you ever sharpen these knives?”

  She whimpered and cringed as if she expected him to chop off her head.

  He slapped the heel of his hand against his forehead. “What a sick thing to say. How can I say such a thing?”

  He heard a rustling sound from the far bedroom. The fair Virginia. He ran out of the kitchen and slipped through the open door to what had to be Grandma’s room. Disguises. Disguises were always good.

  He pulled on her hairnet and robe, then slipped under the covers.

  “Grandma?” Virginia called out.

  “In here, darling,” Wolf said, trying to make his voice weak and grandmotherly sounding.

  He peeked through the covers and saw a movement in the hallway. Virginia’s voice was lovely. As lovely as her photograph.

  “You want some coffee? Toast?” She was getting closer. She was in the room now, and he could hear the squeak of her shoes as she walked on the hard wood floor.

  “Mmmmmm ...” Wolf said, keeping his voice as high as he could.

  “Have you got a cold or something?” Virginia asked.

  She was right near the bed. He could smell her. Ah, that wonderful fragrance. It was so much better up close. Then the covers flew back.