Once Upon a Time - Part Three

Chapter One: Once Upon a Time 
- Part Three

Read Part Two Here

Thrust! she ordered herself. Lunge and pierce true.

But still she stayed.

Do it, she told herself. Do it now before someone comes and time will be too late.

But she couldn’t.

It was just three drops of blood. Just three tiny drops. Such a simple thing.

Do it.

“Prince Phillip?” she heard a low, male voice boom just outside the door. “Prince Phillip!”

Do it!

“The door,” the guard called out, “look at the door.”

“The princess!” another guard shouted as they began to pound against the magic holding the door closed.

Do it now!

With a harried panic, Pix turned back to the baby, who continued to slumber peacefully despite the racket.

Just three drops.

Just do it.

Then leave.

Or be caught.

And killed.

Like her mother had been.

With a frown, Pix took a deep breath and lowered her wand.

She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t plunge the lethal-looking tip into the tiny baby’s breast. She wasn’t strong enough. Not brave enough. Whispering wet, weary apologies to her mother, Pix hated that she couldn’t even do this one small, simple task. Not even to avenge her mother.

“Push!”

What would she tell her aunt? How could she ever face her with such shame and failure sticking to her?

“Again. Push again!”

How could she ever hope to measure up to the leader her mother had been if she couldn’t even do this?

“Push harder!”

It was just a baby. Just a tiny, useless bit of royalty that would grow like a weed into just another noble who would think nothing of destroying Pix and her whole world in pursuit of some pre-destined, unquestioned definition of right and good.

Do it, she begged herself. Please.

“Forget the door,” she heard a guard yell. “Find another way in. Scale the walls if you have to. Just get in that room!”

Pix’s bent head popped up at the man’s words. Another way.

Blinking, the child fairy stared at the small, sleeping cherub.

Another way.

Her face set in determined lines, Pix reached into the crib to lift a little, fat limb. A small blood sacrifice to bind the spell. That was all the magic required. She and her aunt had practiced taking heart’s blood, stabbing and sticking swine, because it was the most binding.

But any blood would do.

She wouldn’t fail. Wouldn’t disappoint her aunt or shame her mother’s memory.

Tipping the pointed end of her wand down, Pix pricked the baby’s tiny finger.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Pix stared at the now crimsoned tip of her wand with a smile before nodding to the still sleeping baby.

Letting out a jubilant, laughing whoop, Pix flitted a foot off the floor, her lanky limbs kicking out in glee.

But her victory flight was cut short as the guards pounded again, splintering the sturdy door’s more fragile frame.

Swiftly, Pix bounded toward the balcony. Perched on its ledge, she peered out over her shoulder as the soldiers burst into the room. Before any of them spotted her, she leapt from the ledge, plummeting down the tower and toward the ground.

*  *  *

Where was that girl?

It was almost time to make her big entrance.

Past time, really.

Mab had wanted to spring her gift upon those smug royals before those three goody two-shoes gave theirs. As it was, Ava, the merry, little band’s fearful leader, had already given her gift of beauty to the babe and that infernal Lonna was almost finished giving hers—the gift of music, of all the most ridiculous things, as if that was practical.

Those pitiful excuses for fairies wouldn’t know a real gift if it came and clipped their wings right off. Intelligence. Bravery. Cunning. Strength. These were gifts a girl—a potential leader—could really use. And what did they give? Beauty. Music.

Mab could only imagine what Cami, the group’s most sentimental sap would give.

Probably something crippling like a generous spirit or an open heart.

Maybe then Mab wouldn’t have to do anything at all. A debilitating gift like that would kill the child long before she even reached her sixteenth birthday. Mab’s sister, long-dead Lotta, had taught her that.

Be strong, her sister had always told her. Never let anyone tell you what to do or you’ll be following orders for the rest of your life.

Never let anyone beat you down, she’d told Mab, or they’ll never let you get back up again.

Lotta. The firstborn. The smartest. The bravest. The leader.

And, those royals down there celebrating without fear or worry, had assassinated her. And now Mab, the next in line, would prove once and for all that she could lead like—lead better than—her sister.

“Aunt,” she heard Lotta’s daughter cry from outside the great hall’s window. “Aunt, I got it.”

“Where in the name of Oberon have you been?” Mab snapped, turning toward Pix, who was flying just out the huge, stone opening. “You’re late. They’ve already brought the child down, presented her, and have begun distributing tributes. We’ve almost missed our chance.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt,” the girl replied contritely. “The guards almost caught me. They chased me with their horses into Thicket Forest.”

“Where are they now?” Mab asked, panic creeping into her voice. The royal army barging in would certainly ruin her plans. How could that girl be so stupid!

“I waited in the castle pantry until they began the chase, before doubling back to spell the princess’s room clean,” Pix explained breathily as she panted, “so no other guards would follow. Then I led the guards who chased me to the Stepmother’s Pumpkin Prison Patch, trapping them inside one of the enchanted squash.”

Mab sighed with relief. “Good job, my girl.” At least, she was somewhat quick-witted, even if she were unforgivably careless. Waving her hands wildly, Mab said, “Now give it here. Give me the blood.”

Pix held out her wand, the tip red with the princess’s blood, as Mab held a vial filled with a watery, blue liquid beneath to catch the last dripping ingredient into the potion. Chanting softly as she stoppered the bottle, she swirled the vial to mix the blood with the rest of the potion. She heard her niece coo as the cobalt mixture turned a brilliant, glowing green.

Ah, now, she was ready.

Gripping the thin glass vial in her fist, she tossed it hard and high toward the princess’s bassinet on the dais in the great hall. She watched as the vial soared, tumbling through the air unnoticed, until it raised high enough for the sun to catch and shine through the thin glass. She smiled as the rays’ heat hit the highly combustible potion, causing the liquid to bubble and boil. It took only seconds, as the glass vial began its descent downward, for the green concoction to react to the sun’s light and heat, expanding into a thick, ominous cloud.

Suddenly, in midair, the bottle burst, releasing the now heavy, raining, green fog over the entire ballroom.

Particularly over the elaborate baby’s bassinet.

Mab let out a chilling cackle, causing the crowd of royals to shudder and gasp. Amidst the coughing and sputtering, she could hear the tiny baby begin to wail, the big, hiccupping cries punctuated with big, gasping breaths as the green smoke made with the princess’s own blood filled the baby’s tiny lungs, sealing the spell.

Success!

With a viciously victorious grin, Mab stepped out into the middle of the smoke, waving her long cloak wide with drama as she clinked her magic staff on the tile with an ominous tone. As the smoke cleared, Mab gazed out at the fearful, wide-eyed crowd and their attention centered undividedly on her.

Finally. The respect she always deserved.

READ PART FOUR HERE