Page 34 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Ida

Following the Morning After, there may be a lull in the couple’s romantic feelings for each other. This is normal and an encouraging sign. Initial obsession and magical attraction must give way to a more permanent and lasting affection.

The real magic of Happily-Ever-After isn’t the spells and manipulations of Witches.

It’s the moment when a couple looks at each other and decides to go forward into the unknown together, not through the compulsion of magic or the desires of their own bodies, but by the desire of their hearts—to discover each other purely for the pleasure of the adventure.

(Editor—redact last paragraph. I’m wallowing in my feelings again.)

Magic and Mischief—A Thousand Years of Happily-Ever-After: A Memoir

Ida North

Ida had expected a traditional Dark Tower, a crown of thorns building designed to repel all invaders with a few pokey windows in a black granite keep—a true fortress of evil. It didn’t disappoint.

Hector’s castle stood in the foothills of the Dread Mountains, and if it wasn’t on a barren plain full of fuming pits and bare rock, it was at least flanked by deep, dark pine forests on a verdant hill overgrown with brambles and thorns.

“How forbidding,” she said, seriously impressed.

Hector blushed. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard to make it so.”

They passed under the arch and into his courtyard. A canopy of black flowers with thin gray leaves and footlong thorns covered the stone walls. A strong rose odor filled the coach when Hector opened the door, overpowering in its intensity.

“The black rose?” Ida stepped out of the coach on her own, refusing to take the coachman’s helping hand. He looked so old, she feared his fingers might fall off.

“They’ve naturalized here now,” Hector said.

“Locals call it Skeleton Rose. They make a formidable barrier plant—the thorns are tipped with poison and the roses emit a sleeping draught when they open at night. Most useful for insomnia in the summer. And of course, the fragrance can be concentrated into a very useful forgetfulness spell. Can turn a knight right around and make him forget all about why he decided to storm my castle. I haven’t needed ‘no trespassing’ signs in an age. ”

“They’re beautiful.” On their long, silver stems, the tiny roses glittered like obsidian droplets, and she breathed in the fragrance, feeling the sleepiness Hector had spoken of, but something else too, a deep sense of peace and pleasure, not unlike the feeling she’d had in his arms. Guiltily, she glanced back at Hector.

“In a completely horrible way, of course.”

“Horribly beautiful is the very essence of wickedness. Shall we go in?” He offered her his arm. When had that gone out of style? Eight hundred years ago?

She took his arm anyway.

Inside proved no less dark and devastating than the outside.

Long torches of everlasting flame lit the hall with a smoky light, reflecting in the black stone and creating a sense of disorientation.

Two shining skeletons waited, both with identical welcoming grins, one holding a tray with a flask and two silver cups, the other with hands folded in front of its pelvis.

It bowed to Hector as he came in, and he handed it his staff.

“Thank you. The place looks wonderful,” he said.

Skeletons couldn’t show much in the way of appreciation, but Ida swore the red light in their eyes warmed. The first poured two glasses full of the liquid from the flask and handed one to Hector. It gave the other to Ida with a respectful dip of its head.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my manners,” Hector said, waving his free hand in Ida’s direction. “This is her Goodness, Ida North.”

A grating, spine-chilling noise came from the first skeleton’s teeth. Ida almost spilled her drink.

Hector nodded. “Yes, the guest bedroom overlooking the gardens will be perfect. Spiders in the bed won’t be necessary—you may dismiss them.”

Both skeletons rattled away.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“My housekeeper and steward,” he said. “Dead long ago.”

“Which is which?”

Hector frowned. “I don’t remember. For several centuries after I raised them, I could tell them apart by their teeth. My steward had a gold tooth in the right maxilla, but teeth fall out over time, and he lost it.”

“Do they answer to their names? Like your horse, Napoleon.”

“Not anymore. Neither does Napoleon. You must forgive my idiosyncrasies—he doesn’t need a name, nor does he want it, but it’s my foolish desire to hang on to the memory of a nice black horse that wandered into my castle courtyard one day dragging a dead knight with him.

He was always something of a pet.” Hector sipped his glass.

“Do try this—it’s spiced wine. It will take off some of the sleepiness the roses induce.

As soon as you’re rested and we’ve eaten, I’d like to go to the library and work for a few hours.

We need to decide how to handle this situation and quickly. ”

“No tour?” Ida said.

Hector looked surprised. “My torture chambers aren’t ready for guests. My staff cleaned them recently.”

“I could skip those, but I’d like to see your gardens.”

Hector smiled, his green eyes shone, and Ida shivered. He was horribly beautiful too, and she was finding him far too hard to resist. Perhaps she should forego the gardens.

“I’d be delighted to show you later,” he said.

“Where’s Hari?”

“He said he felt well enough to help with the luggage. I don’t think Tinbit will let him overdo it.”

The coachman carried Cear’s firepot in, past them, and into a doorway on the left.

“Go with him,” Hector said. “He has orders to take Cear to the library and build up the fire. I’m sure they want to stretch their legs after living in that bucket for the last three days and you might want to do the same after the coach ride.

I’ll be along presently.” He swept his travelling cloak around him and strode back outside, leaving Ida with the skeleton.

“Lead on,” she said, as it gave a grating sound that set her teeth on edge. How Hector had made a language out of it was a mystery she’d rather not be privy to. Probably involved magic spells composed of entrails, blood, and the distillate of shadows.

Ida tried to keep up with the number of twists, turns, stairways, and hidden doors, but soon lost count.

This was the sort of place requiring a trail of breadcrumbs or lentils, but she had neither, and anyway, Hector wasn’t trying to confuse her on purpose.

When she entered the library, she decided Hector might be the most wicked witch in the world, but his inner sanctum was the kind of place she’d be happy to stay in for hours.

It was the brightest, airiest room imaginable, and the fact it existed inside his dark, forbidding castle, seemed as incongruous as a delicate fern on a stand that reached out for her, tangled a frond in her hair, and withdrew it at a soft grating command from the skeleton.

The tall bookcases spoke of a place of study, but most of the room resembled a makeshift conservatory.

Along with heavy leather reading chairs and walnut tables, there were multiple plant stands and a wrought iron potting bench next to a sunny window.

A tray of small plants sat on it, all of them about to outgrow their pots and reeking like young skunks.

Beside a pile of unshelved tomes, a vampire bat lily flapped excitedly at the sight of her, realized it couldn’t take off from its stalk yet, and subsided, closing its sepals around itself.

Ida paced the well-worn stone floors, hands behind her back, looking at everything—the cluttered tables, the leather pillows, open bags of potting soil and plant food, the books, a black wool blanket folded carefully up in a seat, and a pair of well-worn house slippers resting below an ottoman.

Another horrible grinding sound came from the skeleton as he set Cear’s firepot on the hearth.

She resisted the urge to cover her ears. “No, I require nothing. Tend the fire for the salamander and you may leave.”

The skeleton shrugged its clavicles and started to pile the kindling in the fireplace. She’d only guessed at the question—probably something like whether she needed refreshment or the card catalog. Any answer would do to make it quit grinding its teeth.

The fire was soon leaping in the grate. The fern, now dropping long tendrils and attempting to walk across the room toward her, saw the salamander crawl out of the pot and retreated, drawing its fronds up fearfully.

The skeleton walked out of the library, leaving Ida alone with Hector’s strange plants and Cear, taking a human shape as they stood in the fresh flame, dusting ashes from their legs.

“He asked you if you were Hector’s friend,” the salamander said quietly.

“I don’t know if I’m his friend or not,” Ida said. “He is not what I expected.”

“Nor are you what he expected,” Cear said. “You surprise him and interest him too.”

“I suppose.” Ida picked up a book and prepared to whack the nosy fern with it. “What is this infernal plant doing?” she asked as Hector came through the door.

The fern retracted all its feelers and froze, a rigid plant on a stand. Hector eyed it in surprise. “Why, what did it do?”

Ida set down the book. “It crawled out of its pot and tried to get in my hair.”

Hector gently brushed the fern’s curling leaves. “There, there. She wouldn’t have really hurt you.”

It wilted.

He sighed. “It’s a sensitive fern…a relatively harmless species. It only kills people when it’s been slighted.”

“Oh.” Ida gave it the side-eye. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said, but it had already curled itself up into a ball. “Your library is magnificent, Hector. Any fern would be comfortable here.”

“It actually prefers the greenhouse,” Hector said, stroking its curled leaflets.

“But it had a falling-out with a man-eating Venus flytrap, and I caught it trying to fertilize it to death. I decided I’d better keep it here until the drama dies down.

” He bent over the fern. “And yes, pet, I know it didn’t properly appreciate you, no one does, but I love you, yes, yes, I do—”

Ida watched him, unsure if she should laugh or shake her head.

“I came to escort you to your room,” he said.

“My housekeeper is taking down the cobwebs now, and I thought you might like a hot bath before dinner. Then, if you are willing, I’d like to discuss the spellwork on your side of the Happily-Ever-After and answer your questions about mine.

I know it’s not done—discussing our magic with each other—and I fully expect you to take advantage of me the next time, but I can assure you, I won’t be doing the same things next time. ”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Ida said. “Rest assured, you won’t get any advantage over me, either. But this has to be solved together, I agree.”

“Splendid. Shall we?” He offered her his arm.

Well, it was his castle. She’d indulge him.

Hector led her up several flights of stairs, each gloomier and darker than the last. Long strands of blood-colored moss hung from the ceiling, torches burned fitfully, spluttering and casting creepy shadows on the walls, and once, a hellhound jumped out of a hidden alcove and attempted to lick her to death before Hector told it to settle down, she was a guest and not to be eaten.

It stalked after them both, drooling flames happily.

Hector opened a set of large, frightfully squeaky doors. He stepped aside for Ida to enter. “You can go right in. I’ve disarmed the trapdoor.” The dog frisked around him, and he scratched behind its ears. “No, Spot, she doesn’t want you on her bed to warm it.”

It whined.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Ida said. “As long as it doesn’t shed too much brimstone.”

With a happy bark, the massive animal jumped up on the huge, forbidding bed and wallowed around, black and red fur turning golden with heat.

“Spot?” she raised an eyebrow.

Hector watched, amused. “When the dog first came, Tinbit didn’t like her because she wouldn’t stay off the furniture. He took to calling her ‘out, dammit’ and I added the ‘spot.’ I didn’t know you liked pets.”

“I’ve had pets before. Once, a lovely Cheshire cat moved into our stable and had kittens.

Of course, they all vanished as soon as they grew up, but the mother stayed with me in the castle for many years until one day, she remained visible while sleeping and I realized she was dead.

” Ida stopped. She’d wept for weeks after that cat died.

She didn’t keep pets after that. It was too hard to say goodbye.

The hellhound winked out, leaving a distinct smell of sulfur, a parting fart perhaps.

“I must see to supper, but if you would like to visit the gardens, I’ll accompany you later.”

“No. I think I’ll rest,” she said quickly. “I didn’t sleep very well at the inn.”

Hector drew a deep breath. “Ida, I must say it. I’m sorry—I never meant for it to go so far, and I deeply regret my actions. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

She clamped her eyes shut. “Don’t apologize, Hector. The feeling is completely mutual.”

“Good, good,” he said, suddenly brisk and professional, not at all like the man who coddled sensitive ferns and let hellhounds hop on his beds. “I’d hate to think you saw anything untoward in what I did. I didn’t mean to…uh…touch you.”

“And I didn’t mean to enjoy it—” She cut herself off sharply. “Perhaps it would be better if we said no more about it.”

“I agree.” He turned his back on her. “Dinner is at six. Any skeleton can show you to the dining hall.”

Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.