Page 65 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)
Ida
My dearest, most horrible Hector,
I couldn’t let you do it. I couldn’t let you stand alone.
Maybe someday you’ll forgive me for my complete distrust in your ability to make a proper Happily-Ever-After, but after all, you are the Wicked Witch of the West. I know my duty, and it’s thwarting you at every turn.
Besides, I couldn’t stand being head of the Council without you there.
As soon as it’s over, I’ll go home and tear the red rose up by the roots.
Nobody will be able to fix this awful spell once I’m done with it.
I simply can’t take the risk that if I allow that plant to flourish, some other fools will come along and repeat our mistake.
I know they’ll come after me for it, but don’t worry. I can take care of myself.
I wish I had the words to tell you how much your friendship means to me.
It’s the hardest thing in the world, stepping down when all I want is to spend every day working with you, but I think we both know that if anyone is qualified to lead us into a new era without Happily-Ever-After, it’s you and not me.
I’ll always have the greatest respect for how much you sacrificed for Happily-Ever-After. Perhaps one day, you’ll understand why I had to do the same.
Yours forever,
Ida
Hector stood so stiffly, as if his back hurt.
It probably did. Her back wasn’t feeling wonderful after lying on the hard ground in the forest all night either.
She hadn’t been able to sleep, and from the way Hector shifted around in his blankets, she didn’t think he’d slept either.
Probably worried about what she would do.
He hadn’t wanted it to end this way. She could see it in the way his jaw clenched, as if he anticipated the pain she was about to endure as his own. She didn’t suppose it hurt any less if one sacrificed one’s own immortality.
“I agree with Ida,” he said, “although despite what she says, she didn’t destroy Happily-Ever-After.
There’s no provision that says she shouldn’t have chosen the princess the way she did.
But had she not let the magic choose, we’d have never known that the magic was flawed from the beginning.
And it was. I know that now.” He drew himself up.
“That’s why I’m resigning. I’m leaving the Council in her capable hands.
The world will need a witch of her ability to navigate the consequences, and I can think of no one better for the job. ”
“You go too far, Hector,” Agatha said, clenching her hand around the handle of her wand.
“You’re talking about abolishing the one thing that has kept us in charge for the last thousand years.
You’re really ready to turn the world over to…
who, exactly, Hector? The prince and his husband?
The common people? You’re asking us to return to anarchy! ”
“Who said anything about anarchy? I think we need to remain advisors to the crown and the people, to guide, not to control. I see that as our role in this world—as it should have been from the beginning.”
“And you think they’ll listen?” Agatha laughed. “You really aren’t with the times, are you, Hector?”
“Maybe they won’t at first,” Ida said. “But who are we to say they won’t listen eventually?”
“The ones in charge,” Agatha snapped back. “That’s who. I’m not about to give that up because you two have gone senile.” She raised her wand.
Hector started. “Agatha, what are you doing?”
“Firing you to start with!”
A freezing, burning sensation filled Ida from her limbs to her chest where Hector’s heart pounded.
Her wand was back on Scary Mary, in the saddlebag, and Hector’s staff was back with Napoleon—he’d wanted to retain it after his resignation, and he’d been concerned that Agatha might demand he break it.
He’d said he was rather attached to it, having received it as a gift from a dryad queen for his five hundredth birthday.
“You don’t have the authority to fire him,” Ida said. “I’m the only one who does. I have seniority here, not you!” Losing her immortality was one thing, but Hector had already lost his. If Agatha tried to fire him…
“I think you’ll find I do,” Agatha said.
“Don’t be so surprised. You were just saying that you thought both the crown and the people would continue to listen to the witches in charge, and they did.
The queen herself gave us her blessing and her royal permission to get rid of both of you before she ran off to mourn the marriage of her son.
So, which one of you wants to go first? Age or beauty? ”
“Hold on a minute, I said I was resigning—” Hector said, but Agatha’s wand was trained on his chest; in a second he’d be dead.
“No, Agatha, stop!” Ida threw herself in front of him.
She thought she was ready for it, but nothing—nothing had ever hurt like this.
The blast hit her like a thunderbolt. The immortality was ripped away from her like skin ripped away from her body, and it wasn’t loose or worn, but tight and clinging to the bones.
She cried out, grabbing at her chest, and fell to the floor.
This is what Hector had endured to resurrect Tinbit.
She couldn’t imagine pointing her own wand at herself to do it as he had. The room blurred, went dark.
Then someone was holding her, stroking her forehead, someone warm, strong, and smelling of black roses.
“Ida? Ida?” Hector’s face came into focus at the same time the room did.
“What—what happened? Agatha!” She tried to sit up.
“Slowly.” Hector helped her, supporting her in his arms.
“Agatha—where is she—” She glanced around wildly, trying to rise. She would not let Agatha hurt Hector; she couldn’t lose him.
“I told you slowly! Agatha is incapacitated for the moment,” Hector said. He folded his hand around hers, and she looked wonderingly down at the handle of a wand.
“Where—where did you get that?”
“It’s the wand I owed you,” he said. “I ordered it when we got to my castle, and it came in while we were with the dragons. I was planning to give it to you today after this meeting as a token of my respect when you ascended to the head of the Council.”
Ida gazed in horror at the decidedly stony visage of Agatha, still posed dramatically in the middle of casting a spell, or it might have been dramatic if her mouth hadn’t been open.
“Limestone?” she ventured.
“Granite,” he said. “It will take her a year to chip her way out, but I rather think she deserves it. Do you think you can walk?”
“I—I think so. What about Tara?”
Hector glanced at the Good Witch of the South, snoring softly, her cheek resting on her pastry. “Well—I’m sure she’s got a true love. Somewhere.”
Cear emerged from the hearth, dusting ashes from their hands. “All is arranged, Your Wickedness,” they said. “You won’t be pursued for several hours. Your horses are waiting.”
“Thank you, Cear,” Hector said, pulling Ida to her feet. She collapsed against him, leaning hard into his shoulder as he half-guided, half-carried her out of the Hall.
***
Hector put her up on Napoleon before mounting up behind her. “Come on, Mary,” he called, and the mare cantered after them as they rode out of the courtyard with a whinny that made every hair on the back of Ida’s arms stand up, it was such a horrible grating sound.
She leaned back into Hector’s chest as he spurred Napoleon’s bony flanks and the undead horse put on a fresh burst of speed. They were leaving a trail of bone dust on the cobbled streets that anyone could follow, but once they left town, they’d be much harder to follow.
“We need—my home—”
“I know,” he said.
She bumped along in front of him, feeling the severed ends of her life curling up like a plant dying in the hot sun.
Everything had gone so wrong. She should have known that nothing she or Hector might say would convince the other Cardinal Witches to give up any power. She’d been a fool not to see it.
“I’m sorry,” she said eventually.
“What for?”
“I should have…told you. If you’d known I planned to get myself fired, you could have done it. It probably would have hurt less.”
“I couldn’t,” he said. “I don’t think I could ever cast a spell against you again if my life depended on it.”
***
The gates to Castle Peerless stood open.
Hector guided Napoleon into the courtyard, slowing him to a trot.
Ida, still dazed and sore, glanced around at her former castle.
While the walls shone, white and sun-kissed as usual, the castle itself had an air of neglect about it, like it had stood vacant for years, not a week and a half.
The daily papers had been delivered. They sat in a neat stack in the doorman’s hut.
Hector dismounted first and then held his arms up to catch her as she slid down after him.
“How long do we have?” she asked, refusing to look at the glorious tangle of red roses blooming divinely on every wall.
“Cear will hold off inquiry for at least a day as I requested,” Hector said. “Maybe even longer, depending on how long Annabeth and Rupert decide to pout in their resort getaway.” He caught Scary Mary and tied her up next to Napoleon. “Nevertheless, I don’t think we can dillydally.”
No, they couldn’t, although she thought Cear might give them far more than a day from what the elemental had said. Opportunity still remains if you are willing to take it. “I—I just have a few things I need to do first,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
***