Page 62 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Ida

Magic would seem to present a witch with a number of paths to take in life. With magic, a witch can cure a plague, transform a man into a monster, cause a person to fall in love, or stop a war by turning everyone into ravens. The prospect of such power seems unlimited.

In actuality, it’s much less complicated.

The only question a witch must ask themself: Will I be good or will I be wicked?

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

Ida North

Hector’s Skeleton Roses looked sick. The vines hung on the walls of the courtyard, dark green and bloated, weeping strange juices. The paving stones were strewn with sticky, graying leaves and faded black petals.

Hari climbed out of the basket and landed gently next to her. “What happened here?”

“Hector,” Ida said. She gazed wearily at the immortal rose, undead and rotting, a fitting symbol of the fate that awaited both of them when they went back to the capital to explain.

The rest of the plants in the courtyard were wilted and she could distinctly smell decaying fish.

She thought about the funny little sensitive fern, drying out on the table in the library, its poor little fronds curled around itself in the agony of death.

And Hector would need to kill to resurrect Tinbit too. She felt sick.

She touched the bloody bandage on her shoulder.

The wounds no longer oozed. Adair himself had licked the cuts clean.

His venom provided the antidote to the toxin in his claws.

He’d told Ida not to worry; one of Hector’s skeletons had been a superb physician in his day.

He’d donated his body for necomancy, intending to one day build an army of the living dead to take over the world, but when he discovered he wasn’t so keen on that after becoming a construct, having a new appreciation of what it meant to die, Hector had employed him as his personal doctor. Typical.

Ida glanced at Sebastian. The ghoul angrily directed his body out of the basket and then screamed when it walked off without his head. Even that worthless ghoul was a recipient of Hector’s compassion.

“Hari, help me get Tinbit out of the basket. I don’t think he would want Sebastian carrying him, and I’m not sure I can carry him with my shoulder.”

Hari patted her hand. “Don’t you even think about trying it. I’ll carry him. You go inside and rest. I’ll take him to his house. I think that’s where he’d most like to be until Hector revives him.”

She squeezed his hand. “And when he does, you’ll stay with him.”

“Well, if he’ll have me.” Hari laughed, but it sounded harsh and scared. “It’s up to him. I know his secret now. It’s only fair he knows mine.”

“When he sees you, he will love you,” Ida said. “I’ve no doubt.”

He flung himself around her legs and hugged her. “I wish you could stay too—here with me and Hector. You love him, I know you do, and I want you to be happy too.”

“I will be happy,” she assured him. “And so will you. You’ll have Tinbit, you’ll have Hector, and everyone here will adore you. Even that old ghoul—once Hector tames him.”

“Don’t count on it, Witch.” Sebastian strolled by, bouncing his head. “Now, can someone show me where a guy can get a cold bone and a hot bath?” He strolled in the door, scowling.

Ida turned and followed Sebastian through the doorway.

***

Ida found her way to her old room with no trouble.

The hellhound wasn’t there. She didn’t want to think about what might have happened.

She’d refused to even glance in the library.

She’d burst into tears if she saw the fern.

Instead, she stoked up a small fire in her own personal grate and set the firepot down beside it.

“Your Goodness?” Cear climbed out of the pot.

“Yes?”

“Are you—are you well?”

“More or less, apart from my shoulder.” She sat on the bed. “But I’m tired and more than a little sad.”

“The dragon and the princess are happy. Tinbit and Hari will be happy. The prince and his lover are happy. Does that not make you happy?”

“Of course it does. But some Happily-Ever-Afters take a little longer to feel than others,” she said, lying down on the bed.

This was going to be one of those kind of endings.

There was so much left to do, so much she had to arrange.

Hector would take care of Hari for her, of course, and that was the most important thing.

But once she confronted the Council, she’d be fired.

There was no escaping that now. The dragon and the princess would not be coming back with them, and the only explanation she had left was the truth.

At least Hari and Tinbit would have a home, but she was going to miss her castle.

She would take cuttings from the gardens, though, send some to Hector to replace what he’d lost, and plant the rest at her new house.

But where would that be? Somewhere far away from Hector.

Living close to him would be a recipe for disaster.

Maybe she’d go back home. A sudden, horrible thought came to her of walking back into that tiny village grown to a large town, seeking out the oldest cemeteries, looking hopefully for headstones of her family that had long since crumbled into dust, and she wanted to cry.

Cear’s voice was curiously gentle. “You wanted things to be different for you and Hector.”

She sucked in a great gulp of air. “I wish many things were different. I wish Hari had never fallen into a potion as a child, I wish I’d never written those hateful letters to Hector, and I wish he’d not needed to kill his whole garden for me.

I wish I’d been more willing to call him a friend a long time ago.

We might have had a whole eternity to know each other better. There’s no opportunity now.”

Cear regarded her with those deep, fire-blue eyes. “Opportunity still remains. If you are willing to take it.” They stepped into the flame and became one with it.

Someone knocked on her door.

“Come in,” she said, rising and crying out as the wound twinged.

Hector came in, with him a tall skeleton who was missing one arm. He ground his teeth at Hector, and he nodded. “Yes, you can start. I want to talk to Ida.”

The skeleton carefully unwrapped Ida’s shoulder and examined the wounds with his bony fingers.

Hector sat on the end of the bed. He was holding one of the wilted flowers from the Skeleton Rose, twisting the stalk absently between his fingers . “I’ve restored Tinbit, but I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s the same grouchy, irritable gnome he’s always been—but he won’t talk to me and he says he doesn’t want to see Hari. I want you to talk to him.”

“Me?”

The skeleton pressed his fingers into the wounds, and she yelped.

Hector sighed. “Tinbit had always been somewhat prone to despair. Also, he’s not too happy with me right now, which is completely understandable. There’s nothing pleasant about dying twice. I think you’re in a better position to make a proposal to him.”

“What kind of proposal?”

“I want you to take him home with Hari. I want him to be happy. You see, I won’t be able to give him life again should anything happen to him.”

“Far be it from me to question your skills, but why?”

Hector touched the rose and a single petal fell to the floor. “It took a lot out of me,” he said in quiet tones.

Ida shuddered. “You didn’t. You didn’t kill the dog? The fern? Oh, Gods, Hector—not Napoleon?”

“No, no, they’re fine—well, Spot and Napoleon are. I haven’t checked the fern yet—”

“Hector? Who did you kill?”

He stared up at the ceiling. “Myself,” he said.

“What?” Ida gasped.

“I sacrificed my immortality. Whatever time I’ve got left is all I have.” He smiled. “I’ll take the blame and resign from the Council. Then whatever comes next will be your decision.”

“Hector—” She stared down at the white bones knitting her flesh together with thin, black thread.

Whatever medication the skeleton had put on his needlelike fingers, it numbed the wound.

She couldn’t feel anything but the pressure of skin touching skin, pulling together, but her eyes stung and she blinked back tears. “Hector—”

“For once in your life, don’t argue with me,” he said, touching her knee gently. “It’s best this way, and you know it. It took me a little longer to understand, but you were right. No one should have this kind of power, no matter how much they want to do good with it.”

“Hector, I don’t want to—”

“One of us had to take full responsibility. You and I both know this is what needs to happen. If the world is ready to let go of Happily-Ever-After, you are the most qualified to guide them—not me.”

“But you thought it wasn’t. Hector, what if—” She half rose from the bed, but the skeleton made a horrid grating sound in protest. She settled back down while it dressed the newly repaired wound with a salve that smelled almost like the rotting roses outside.

“What if you’re right? What if they aren’t ready?

What if this world falls apart the minute we let go of the strings? ”

“It might,” he said, rising. “But that doesn’t matter. You were right. We never had any authority to do what we did.” He sighed. “Maybe that’s why it was doomed to fall apart from the beginning. And you’re the best one to tell them that, too.”

“They won’t believe me! I’m the one who insisted the magic choose. They’ll say I’m the one who didn’t do my job! Don’t you understand? Coming from you—the one witch who was there at the beginning—they’ll listen when you tell them it’s time to give up controlling people’s lives and loves.”

“And what does a wicked witch who kills everything he touches know about life or love? Nothing,” he said. “Logically, you’re the best choice to remain on the council. Now, that’s settled. Will you come with me to see Tinbit?”

She touched her shoulder briefly, but the skeleton swatted her hand and started to fix a bandage. “I’ll go with you.” This wasn’t settled, at all.

***