Defeat the Beast - Part One

Chapter Three: Defeat the Beast 
- Part One
Read The Best Laid Spells - Part Three Here

Another courageous victory for the hero! Phillip howled and ran through the river water toward the fairy, still sitting high up on her rocky perch, just staring. The shocked look on her slack-jawed face better than any grateful peasant or rewarding prize. That would show that pixie pest. “Thanks for the help,” he sneered up at her.

“You seemed to have done well on your own,” she called down over the crashing fall’s stream.

He had, hadn’t he? Phillip puffed out his chest. That was right! He wasn’t some naïve little kid anymore, trailing the knights around with a dulled dagger for a sword. He didn’t get tricked by lying, little fairies set out to ruin everything.

He glared up at the fairy, remembering that day in Morning Valley castle, feeling all the humiliation and sense of failure all over again. He straightened as she stood, ready to finally face her after all these years. After all these years of planning and practicing for this precise moment, he knew exactly what to say and do.

“Look out!” she shouted, pointing behind him, her face paled and her eyes wide.

Instinctively, he turned, feeling almost instantly stupid, sure this was just another of her tricks. Sure that the minute he turned back around, she would be gone.

Until he saw the river beast, once again awake and angry, charging toward him at full speed.

Well, fig.

Phillip froze, too late for him to swim or splash out of the way. He shut his eyes, lifting useless arms up in a fragile defense. He sucked in a breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Air wheezed from his lips as he felt someone grab him from behind and heave him up. His body tensed as he opened his eyes and blinked up at the gritting, grunting fairy. She cursed foully under her breath as her translucent, delicate-looking wings flapped madly under the strain of carrying both their weight. “Elves’ ears, princeling, if I’d known how heavy royals were, I’d have sat back and watched the bull trample you.”

He grimaced. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“Please,” she insisted as she lumberingly fluttered further toward shore, “don’t mention it.” Dropping them both onto the rocky sand, she heaved.

They both turned as the raging bull snorted, turning around and around in the river, splashing wildly as it searched for the absent prince.

“I know river bulls aren’t known for their gentle natures,” the fairy huffed, trying to catch her breath, “but what the frogging pond did you do to this thing to make it so mad?”

Phillip flushed a bit as he pushed himself to his feet. “I woke it up.”

Pix turned to gawk at him. “It was asleep when you found it?” she asked, slapping at him as he tried to help her to her feet. “Why in the tipping toadstool would you wake it up?”

He flinched away from her stinging hits. “I wanted to defeat it.”

She screeched. “You wanted to defeat the sleeping beast?” She shook her head, her wings twitching irritatedly. “You royals,” she muttered to herself, “have a twisted sense of fun.”

“Look,” he growled as the bull’s head popped up at her raised voice, “can we talk about this later? Maybe after we escape the rampaging monster?”

“The rampaging monster that would still be asleep, if you’d left it the elf alone?” she shouted.

“You can either help me defeat the beast or you can,” he paused, spitting wet strands of hair out of his mouth, “buzz off; I really don’t need the lecture right now.”

“Buzz off?” she scoffed. “Buzz off?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine,” she said with a hitch of her hips before she rose up in the air. She gave him a mock salute. “Best of luck, princeling,” she said. “You’re going to need it.” And then she turned, putting her fingers to her lips, and whistling loudly before zipping up and away.

Great! She’d left him. Not that he expected anything more from a treacherous, little pest like her. Her true colors showing.

He grumbled as he gripped his sword in his fist and turned back to see the bull stomping in the river, his head lowering as he aimed his lethal-looking horns.

Phillip gulped and turned to run.

But on the shoreline of the rocky cove, there weren’t exactly many places to run. The long, stacked wall of stones lining the shore was tall and, while climbable, still looked intimidating. But it looked like his only option. So he jumped to reach a handhold high up, wedging his hand between two huge, sharp stones. With a groaning strain, he pulled himself up onto the wall, cutting his hands as his feet scrambled for a foothold—any foothold.

The bull charged the wall, slamming furiously into the stone, causing the unsteady stones to shake and slip beneath his grasp. Troll’s teeth! He clung to the stones as tightly as he could, jamming his hands and feet between the unforgiving rocks. But the harder he grasped, the more his blood seeped slippery onto the stone.

Just as he was about to fall, his grip on the wall faltering, he heard the bull cry, a screeching, yelping squeal of pain.

Phillip looked down, seeing agony burn in the bull’s dark fathomless eyes. He saw it crumple, stumbling backward. It mewled, sending him one more sad, sorrowful—almost regretful—look before its legs gave way and it fell away from the wall and onto the sandy shore.

That was when he saw her. Pix’s face was so set—the lines and angles of her face held so rigid and fierce—that he hardly recognized her. Her black eyes glittered, alight with emotions too tumultuous to name. Like hunger and desire with a violent edge. And pain and regret seeping into resentful anger.

He watched in unspeakable awe as she pulled her arm back, her wand—that long, hard shaft of silver—sliding out from between the stone-hard scales on the bull’s underbelly. The bull tensed, its back bowing with the pixie’s movement, a screeching howl slipping from its throat.

She’d pierced its heart. Clean and precise. Water bled out the wound as she pulled her wand free. The beast collapsed on the shore in the dark, muddy mess that seeped from its body into the ground.

For a second, she stared at it, her face a blank mask, hard and emotionless. Phillip couldn’t see her downturned eyes from where he was. A part of him was grateful for that, afraid of what he would see there as she met the pleading, pain-filled eyes of the dying creature at her feet.

She nodded as if in response to something the beast had said. Then she cooed and touched its bowing head that cuddled her palm like an overgrown kitten. It moaned one last time, shuddering as it shut its already cloudy eyes, before the fairy girl swung her arm, slashing her wand down, fast and hard.

Phillip winced as the silver slice through the bull’s neck, magic—he was sure—making it easier. The armor of its scales shattered beneath her tiny, fragile form’s strength. The creature’s head—its entire form—sunk in on itself before melting away into a wave of water. It soaked her, crashing over her still, stoic form before washing away into the river.

She stood there, still as a statue—not so much as a flutter of her thin, glass-like wings. The only movement at all, was the water that dripped sad and sorrowful down her face and form.

He slid down the cliff’s wall, ignoring the pain in his palms and soles. He swallowed hard as he walked up to her. “Pix,” he said, the sound choked in his throat.

She didn’t look up at him. Didn’t so much as move to acknowledge him.

He wanted to thank her. Felt like he needed to apologize. Though for what exactly he wasn’t quite sure. “I,” he started. He swallowed again. “You saved my life.”

He didn’t understand why—could hardly believe how—but she had. He opened his mouth to thank her.

She glared up at him. “I didn’t save you,” she growled, her voice low and menacing.

He stepped back, shocked and instantly wary. “What?”

She followed him, stalking forward as he moved back, step after step. Fiery glitter sparked off her, drying away the water bull’s remains, before falling to ash behind her. “I,” she repeated, “didn’t save you. I didn’t kill that bull.”

He looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I may have stabbed it,” she said slowly with an eerie, frighting calm, “may have slit its throat.” She turned her face with a vicious scowl. “Bled it out and let the sand soak up its life. But I didn’t kill it.” She stared pointedly—accusingly—at him. “You did.”

READ PART TWO HERE

The Best Laid Spells - Part Three

Chapter Two: The Best Laid Spells 
- Part Three

Read Part Two Here

They were lost.

Great horny toads!

“I told you we should have turned left at that tree stump shaped like a hungover troll,” Slyth said. “No one takes one look at that hideous plant and heads toward it if there’s another path.”

Pix shushed him, tapping her toe, as they waited for Lethe to fly back down.

The snake sighed as he slithered into a pouting coil in the leaf-covered ground. “I can’t believe we’re lost.”

Right?! She was a figging fairy; fairies didn’t get lost.

But it was the thing about being the enemy of two territories; you just didn’t get out of the castle much. It wasn’t as if she got invited to the other kingdoms’ balls or galas. It wasn’t as if she got to tag along with all the royals on hunts or rides through the countryside. She couldn’t even take a trolling walk through the woods without worrying about capture. Or worse.

Pix had no reason to leave Shadow Mountain and had every reason to stay safe inside the border lands.

So while she’d traversed every inch of Shadow Mountain—knew every peak and valley, knew every tree and creek, knew every figging, frogging, flagging blade of grass on that territory—she’d only snuck out onto Starling Forest and Morning Valley lands a handful of times. And, even then, she’d hardly gotten more than a few miles out before some patrolling soldier or guard showed up, forcing her to head back home before she was spotted.

But, now, here she was somewhere near the far end of Starling Forest, lost.

And this had seemed like such a good—such an easy—plan.

Pix turned as she heard Lethe squawk. “Pix!” the crow cried as she sailed down in excited circles. “Pix, I found him! I found the prince! He’s by the river!”

Pix instantly straightened, on alert and excited, before bending over. “C’mon, Slyth, let’s go.” She hurriedly reached out her hand, so he could crawl up her arm to curl around her limb, before tearing through the forest to follow Lethe.

Gnarly gnomes toes! She wished that she could fly like the crow, it would be so much faster and easier than running like some human on the stick-littered, rocky ground. But the dense, heavily treed forest made flying impossible for someone her size. She couldn’t even spread her wings in the trees’ tight confines, much less fly. And she couldn’t chance flying above the canopy; it was too easy to get turned around up there and there was always the chance of being spotted by a soldier who might have found higher ground.

So instead Pix winced as her bare feet struck the sharp, uneven ground, hoofing it like some two-legged cow.

“Hurry up,” Lethe cried as she doubled back, not used to having to wait for the fairy, “he’s just up ahead, in the clearing.”

Pix grunted as she watched the streamlined crow zip through the trees with not a small amount of envy. With a long, longing heave, she picked up her pace.

Bursting through the last of the trees, Pix came to an abrupt stop. She blinked, confused, as she huffed and puffed, her lungs burning. She bent over and wheezed, closing her eyes as she rested her hands on her knees, before looking up again at the confusing sight.

The little royal was splashing around in the river flowing down at the base of a small cliff. Bobbing up and down like some quacky duck. What was that moondust-addled royal doing?

“Where are you, you troll-faced son of a minotaur?” she heard the princeling murmur under his breath as he groped fruitlessly under the river’s waves. “I know you’re in there; show your ugly mug, you coward.”

Pix gasped just as the prince did, shock filling his face right before the surging waves threw him up and out of the river. Pix watched the flightless royal soar through the air before landing hard on the shore. She watched as he shook his head, water spraying off him like a dog, before he looked up at her, stunned recognition freezing him for a moment. “Pix?”

They both turned as a huge wave erupted from the mouth of the small waterfall, the shifting water starting to take form. Pix took a step back, her hand reaching out for her wand, calling it from the shadowed air, as the large river bull reared up from the water. Holy blood-sucking bats! Pix paled as she gripped her wand hard, pulling back her arms as she prepared to cast.

She stopped short when she heard the prince’s battle cry right before she saw him leap, throwing himself on the back of the huge, scaly beast. She scoffed as he whooped, riding the now bucking, kicking creature, its smooth, silver, water-like scales glinting in the sun.

“Is he laughing?” Lethe asked as she landed on a branch near her fairy mistress and cocked her head to the side.

“Yep,” Pix answered, her gaze following Phillip as he hooted and hollered and clung to the bull’s wet, slimy hide.

“So,” Slyth asked, curling up over her shoulders for a better view, “he’s insane?

“Looks like.” Pix crossed her arms over her chest.

“Are you just going to watch or could you, I don’t know,” Phillip grunted at her as his wild mount bucked, making him slip down the bull’s back, “maybe help me out?”

Pix bit her lip and tapped her wand against her arm as she watched the prince grab at the bull’s green, gray, muck-covered horns and reed-like hair as his grip on the beast slipped. She should help him. A good person would. She strolled toward the shore, pondering.

“That thing is going to kill him in a second,” Lethe pointed out, flapping her wings worriedly as she followed Pix.

Pix fluttered up to sit cross-legged on a higher-up rock on the cliff’s face.

“Pix!” the prince called out furiously as he was thrown off the river bull and back into the water.

“I’m thinking,” she snapped and rested her pointed chin in her hand. Wasn’t that like a royal? Hadn’t seen his princely face in years and the first thing he expected was her help! They were demanding little things, weren’t they?

“You know,” Slyth hissed into her ear, “if the bull kills him, it would accomplish your goal of getting the prince out of the way rather neatly while also making the trip home a lot easier.” He slid down her shoulder for a better look at the fight. “Just saying.”

Pix snorted. “The thought had occurred to me,” she admitted with a sly smile.

Her eyes narrowed as Phillip dipped down, disappearing beneath the waves. What was he up to now? She leaned forward as her wings twitched. She was surprised when he popped back up, spitting and sputtering as he climbed up on the rocky cove further downstream from the still snorting, stomping creature.

Running away, huh? She frowned as she sat back. Figured. So much for making her job easier.

Huffing, she moved to push herself up, so she could catch the sniveling, soggy prince herself, when she heard his piercing whistle cut through the air.

The bull roared as a stone struck it in the back of its head. With a vicious splash, it turned to charge toward the prince standing crouched and ready. “C’mon, you overgrown sack of slime, come get me,” she heard the prince cry out, drawing his sword from his side.

Jumping to the balls of her feet, Pix’s hand gripped the rock’s edge and her wings poised for flight. She saw the bull paw at the water, churning the water as it kicked up the muddy riverbed. With its own angry cry, the beast rushed forward, its dark, deep-pool eyes targeting the prince who just stood there like some grinning fool daring it onward.

Pix’s jaw dropped as, at the very last second, the prince swung his sword in a high, steep arc, wedging it between two boulders at the edge of the bank, before heaving up and catapulting himself out of the way.

The bull keened as it tried to stop itself from slamming into the rocky wall in front of it. It slipped and slid in the river mud, tripping over its own hooves, before hitting the rock face head on. Water sprayed around in a great swell as the beast struck.

Pix watched with bated breath as the shining, shimmering creature stood on unsteady legs, shaking his head, before stumbling backward a few awkward, bumbling steps. It snorted, sneezing water out its nostrils, as it tried to turn around again before collapsing down into the river with a graceless, wet fall.

Silence filled the clearing for a moment before she heard Phillip’s triumphant cheer.

Pix sat back with a surprised frown as the prince jumped and waved his arms about in deserved—but still boastingly obnoxious—victory. She fought the smile threatening to curl her tight, thin lips.

Well, huh.

Who’d have thought?

READ CHAPTER THREE HERE

The Best Laid Spells - Part Two

Chapter Two: The Best Laid Spells 
- Part Two

Read Part One Here

Phillip crouched in the bushes behind the cottage where his betrothed lived. Everyone thought that the princess was so well hidden. That no one—save the three good fairies—knew where Princess Aurora was.

But Phillip did.

Had known since two weeks after they’d brought here here. Even at nine-years-old, he’d tracked her deep into the forest, determined to always protect her.

He wouldn’t fail her again.

Phillip sat up and watched as she appeared, as she always did, in the cottage’s lush garden. She was beyond words. Golden hair tumbled down the lithe curve of her back, wafting sweetly in the wind. Her skin was a perfect alabaster, unblemished by the sun hidden by the thick foliage of the forest. Her lips were a rosy red bow, forever curved into a pleasing smile.

He had watched her for years while he went on his travels. Stopping by the small cottage on his way to or from his adventures around his kingdom. Knowing better than to interfere with the fairies’ plans, he had protected her from afar, keeping an eye on the precious princess from a distance. Always careful never to let on that he knew where she was, so no one else would ever learn the sacred secret of her whereabouts.

It was enough that he knew. That he knew she was safe and sound, a beauty and treasure kept.

Satisfaction settled proudly as he sat back on his haunches. Sighing dreamily, he smiled as she opened her perfectly pursed lips to sing, each note lovely as it lilted to him through the leaves.

They’d never spoken. Never officially met. She’d never even seen him, hidden in the cover of the woods all these years. But they didn’t need words or actions. Their love was pure. Untainted and without flaw. Phillip loved the princess. Knew her as his. His betrothed. His destiny. His true love. She was perfection. A princess.

His princess.

Almost his.

In three days’ time, they would have their happy ending. And life, like she, would be perfect.

But until then, he thought as his lips curled. There was just enough time for one more adventure before beginning his happily ever after. He ducked quickly under the brush before breaking out into a fast, freeing run, tucking his fingers under his tongue before letting out a piercing whistle.

Samson burst out from between the trees, coming from his grazing at Phillip’s call. The prince of Starling Forest grabbed the horse’s saddle, swinging himself up onto his steed as Samson charged. He’d heard word of a sleeping monster at the far edge of his lands. And he was just the hero to rid the kingdom of that looming menace. Spurring Samson on, Phillip smiled in building excitement.

READ PART THREE HERE

The Best Laid Spells - Part One

Chapter Two: The Best Laid Spells 
- Part One
Read Once Upon a Time - Part Four Here

“It’s been sixteen years!” Pix heard her aunt shriek. Mab paced the drafty, cold battle plan room in Shadow Mountain Castle as all her demon, troll, and other assortment of minions cowered away from her and her bellowing rage. “Sixteen years! And, not a one of you has managed to find the princess.”

Pix rolled her eyes as Mab kicked a dwarf. She was taking out her anger on them because it was easier and infinitely more satisfying than taking it out on the right person.

“Careful, Pix,” Lethe, her gleaming, black crow, murmured softly as she fluttered about the pixie’s head before landing on her shoulder. “Best not to anger her further.”

“Especially, if she’s going to aim all that anger at you,” Slyth, the slithering green snake, hissed as he wound around Pix’s feet, catching her aunt’s eye.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Mab yelled, turning on Pix, her flowing black cloak fluttering behind her. “If you had just gotten the brat’s heart’s blood, those twittering, meddling fairies wouldn’t have been able to alter my curse.”

“Told you,” the snake muttered sourly before slinking further under Pix’s chair.

Ignoring him, Pix crossed her arms over her chest and bit her tongue, cutting off a particularly nasty reply. For sixteen years, she’d been hearing the same thing every day. It was her fault. If only she hadn’t shrunk away from her duty like a newly hatched dragon from its first flame.

It didn’t matter that Mab had been the one who hadn’t shown up at their meeting place. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t told Pix that they’d needed heart’s blood for the spell to work right. It hadn’t even mattered that Pix had only been a six-year-old child!

In Mab’s eyes, this was Pix’s fault and no one else’s.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pix mumbled.

“What was that?” Mab snapped.

Sitting up straighter, Pix repeated, “It doesn’t matter.” Getting up to face her aunt in front of the whole room, the twenty-two-year-old fairy strode toward Mab as Lethe tittered beside her head nervously. But the loyal bird stayed on her shoulder in support as Pix said, “It doesn’t matter whose fault this is. Cami was able to alter the spell. Now instead of dying on her sixteenth birthday, Princess Aurora will simply fall into a deep sleep until her true love wakes her with true love’s first kiss.” Straightening under her aunt’s censuring gaze, Pix continued, “There’s nothing we can do about that. Nothing we can do to change it. So we need to figure out how to work around it.”

“And exactly how are we supposed to do that?” Mab asked, her narrowed gaze glittering with hard annoyance. “Like you said, we can’t change it. The spell has been cast. In three days, that brat will turn sixteen only to take a little nap until Phillip can gallop the short ride between their kingdoms and kiss the little royal awake.” Crossing her own arms over her chest, she said blandly, “If you’re so smart, what do you propose we do, if not hunt down the girl?”

“Good question,” Slyth said as he coiled next to Pix. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

Pix smiled. She knew. She’d been thinking about it, planning a plot, for months now. “Stop looking,” she said simply.

“Stop,” Mab ground out skeptically, “looking?” She gave a scoff. “What is that supposed to accomplish?”

“Well,” Pix answered, “it’ll save on manpower. They’ve successfully hidden her for sixteen years, what makes you think we’ll find the princess in the next three days, no matter how many scouts we send out or how hard they look?” She shook her head, her short black strands flicking across her face. “No, the soldiers would be more useful back at the castle. Instead of having our army scattered about the countryside searching for a girl we haven’t seen in sixteen years, we should call them back and begin planning the attack on Morning Valley.”

“Attack?” Mab asked, flustered as she swept her black cloak back behind her as she paced toward Pix. “What attack?”

“The one we’ll wage after sunset on the princess’s sixteenth birthday,” Pix said before reaching out her hand to the bird on her shoulder. “Lethe has been spying on the castle for weeks now,” she said as the bird landed on her forefinger, her strong talons gripping Pix’s digit gently. “Tell her what you saw.”

Lethe peeked at Pix anxiously before saying, “They’ve been planning a huge celebration in Morning Valley. Everyone will be celebrating the end of the curse and the return of the princess.”

“Which means,” Mab said, dismissing the bird and focusing on her errant niece, “that every Morning Valley guard will be sitting sentry all over that castle.”

“Yes,” Slyth said, giving a slight, deferent bow of his serpentine head, “but, with the amount of wine that will be flowing on that night, most of them will be drunk or distracted long before sunset. It should be easy enough to attack once the festivities are well underway.”

Pix nodded in agreement. “It’s the best time to strike, aunt,” Pix said, “when they’re all expecting their happily ever after, thinking that they’ve beaten us. Then when Ava, Lonna, and Cami come to deliver the princess to the king and queen, we can strike.”

“Strike with what?” Mab asked. “We can’t even complete the curse since King Walter has banned all spinning wheels throughout the kingdom. How do we prick her finger?”

“Don’t need a spinning wheel,” Pix said with a shake of her head. Reaching within the pouch hanging at her waist, she pulled out an old, beaten, but still sharp object. “The spell only called for the spindle.”

“Where did you get that?” her aunt asked as she reverently reached for the small bit of tarnished metal and splintered wood.

“They destroy and burn any spinning wheels brought into the kingdom by merchants and travelers,” Pix said. “I stole this from the burning grounds while the guards’ backs were turned.”

“Brilliant,” Mab breathed, her foul mood lifting for the first time in sixteen years as she caressed the spindle. “Brilliant, my girl, but this only solves one of our problems. Even if we manage to pull off the spell, what happens when Prince Phillip comes charging in with his sword drawn and lips pursed?” Mab asked.

“He won’t,” Pix answered simply, tipping her head slightly, letting the candles’ light flicker over her features.

“Really?” Mab chuckled, disbelieving. “And what makes you think that? He’s a prince and fancies himself a hero. He’s made it his life’s goal to protect the princess. I don’t think he’ll just not show in her greatest hour of need.”

“He won’t,” Pix interrupted, “if he can’t.” Gesturing to the snake, who preened and bowed his head proudly at her side, she said, “I’ve had Slyth follow the prince for days now. We know exactly where he is. They’ve spent years hiding their precious princess, but their stalwart prince has been out and about chasing his freedom.” Off beast hunting at the far edges of Starling Forest. Fencin’ princeling.

Pix bowed her head, trying to hide an anticipatory grin at the thought of hunting the hunter beneath the required deference due to the leader of Shadow Mountain. “With your permission, my leader, we’d like to relieve the prince of that freedom.”

Her aunt clapped her hands and laughed, the joyous sound so strange coming out of her usually surly mouth. “Kidnap the prince?” She chuckled. “It’s perfect!”

Of course it was, Pix thought, knowing her plan would work. It had to. It was their last shot. “We’ll bring him back here for you to do,” she shrugged dismissively, “whatever you choose with him. If the prince isn’t there to kiss the princess, she can’t wake up.” Standing straight again, she looked into her aunt’s dark eyes, a mirror of her mother’s—and, she supposed, Pix’s own glitteringly black eyes. “If she can’t wake up, the princess might as well be dead. Either way, it spells the end of the Morning Valley royal line. With no heir, the kingdom collapses and falls to whatever leader strong enough to overtake it.”

“Which is me,” Mab said almost giddily. “Yes. Yes! My brilliant girl, go fetch me a prince while I call back all my minions. In three days, we go to war!”

READ PART TWO HERE

Once Upon a Time - Part Four

Chapter One: Once Upon a Time 
- Part Four

Read Part Three Here

Phillip made his way down the stairs, still rubbing his aching head, sure he’d just had the oddest dream about a fairy girl and melting doors.

It had seemed so real but, when he’d woken up in the hall beside the princess’s room, the door had been fine. He’d even touched the lock, still remembering the steaming, molten mess from his dream, but the metal had been solid and cool to the touch.

It had been a dream, he was sure. But how he’d ended up in that hallway was still a mystery to him.

Shrugging off the curious thoughts, he headed back to the great hall, hoping that the memory of destroyed cake was just part of the dream too.

He stopped just as he rounded the last few steps of the large, spiraled stairs. There in the middle of the now silent and stunned hall was Mab, the evil mistress of Shadow Mountain.

Trouble.

He could hear the baby princess cry, her coughing tears ringing almost songlike through the hall. He could feel the tension gripping the crowd of royalty and nobility gathered and huddled around yet away from the danger.

Someone had to do something.

He had to do something. Crouching low and reaching for his dagger strapped to his side like a saber, Phillip peered into the room, searching his mind for plans to attack the witch.

“I, too, have a gift for the darling princess,” he heard the witch say with a sneer.

Phillip knew he had to protect the princess. He was a hero—or at least, he was going to be when he grew up. It was his royal and sworn duty to rescue her.

So, action in mind, he studied the large, open space as the evil queen talked. “For sixteen years,” Mab continued to the room, “Princess Aurora will grow into a great beauty. For sixteen years, she will dazzle and enchant others with the melody of her voice. For sixteen years, she will be hailed and loved by the entire kingdom.”

Ignoring her and her words, Phillip weighed strategies.

If only he could reach the banners. Then he could swing down from them, sliding down the golden trim, to the center of the floor where he could plunge his dagger into the witch’s black heart.

“But, this I swear and seal with a curse,” he heard her intone, her voice echoing with power and force, “at sunset on her sixteenth birthday, your precious, beautiful, graceful princess will prick her finger on a spindle of a spinning wheel and die.”

Phillip clapped his hands over his ears as the whole room erupted in horrified gasps and indignant shouts. Tipping his head back, he spied a balcony high up near the hall’s ceiling where the servants could pass to clean and perform other duties among the rafters.

Perfect.

Scurrying back up the stairs, he left the twittering crowd content to stare in shock. He wouldn’t stand still. He wouldn’t let the fear of some fairy stop him. He had a princess to save.

Rushing, he pushed past panicked servants as he ran up to the balcony.

This was his fault. The fairy girl and the melting door and the black, choking smoke weren’t a dream. They’d been real. He knew that now. The black winged, sparkling fairy girl and the cloaked witch were in league with each other, plotting against the princess, and he’d led that girl right to the princess. He’d allowed this to happen because he’d been duped by a pesky, lying pixie.

She would pay for this. She and Mab.

They thought they could get away with this evil, but they were wrong. He’d been in training with Sir Galan and his knights for more than three months now. And even though he wouldn’t be finished with his training for many years, Phillip knew that he knew enough to vanquish Mab.

He’d seen the knights train. All his life, he’d been watching them spar and fight. All he had to do was follow them, do what they would do.

So, surveying his options, he decided that he’d come swinging down the balcony, swooping down upon the vile villain. He’d crash into her and make her take back her spell.

And then he would end her.

He would save the princess and save the day.

He was a hero.

Panting, Phillip pushed open the door to the thin, brick aisle just big enough to permit a single person to cross. Peering over the brick ledge suspended more than sixty feet in the air, he reached for the nearest banner as the cursing fairy threw back her head and laughed at something the smallest good fairy, Cami, had said.

He hopped up onto the ledge, the sturdy fabric gripped in his hand. Planting his feet as Sir Galan had taught him, Phillip bent his knees low as he focused his aim at Mab. Grabbing his dagger tight in his hand, he sliced one of the ropes holding the large, long banner to the wall.

Taking a deep breath, he jumped, swinging his feet forward so he could kick the fairy down.

But just as he swept down mere feet away from Mab, she waved her black cloak, making it flutter like wisps of smoke, and vanished, leaving nothing behind but the echo of her cackle still ringing against the high stone walls.

Phillip landed in the center of the great hall with a hard grunt. On his hands and knees, his dagger still clutched in his hand, he could still feel the warmth in the stones where Mab had stood.

That was now just an empty space in the middle of the deathly silent room.

Looking up into the shocked, frightened faces of his parents and King Walter and Queen Deanna, Phillip felt his stomach turn and his eyes begin to well with frustrated and self-disgusted tears.

Turning, he stared at the princess, fussing in her bassinet, her skin still touched with a faint, glowing green.

He’d failed her.

He’d come charging in, weapon in hand and aim true, and failed.

Phillip bent his head as his face fell.

He was no one’s hero.

READ CHAPTER TWO HERE

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

Once Upon a Time - Part Two

Chapter One: Once Upon a Time 
- Part Two

Read Part One Here

“Show me,” the boy urged, his entire body leaning forward with excitement.

“Show me the princess’s room first,” Pix insisted, temper making the dust fall hot and black onto the floor, leaving scorch marks on the white marble.

The boy stepped back from the burning ash and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why?”

“Cause it’s a surprise,” Pix said, trying to tamp down her irritation. “Can’t give my gift if she’s not even there to receive it, can I?”

Phillip bit his lip and shifted his thin, twiggy weight from foot to foot. Pix huffed, ready to turn him into a toad, when Phillip finally nodded his head. “Okay,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Follow me.”

Pix tried not to laugh as Phillip, playing soldier games, crouched down low behind a table full of food, shushing her as they passed a pair of twittering royals. Pix covered her mouth to muffle her mirth as a deadly serious look crossed the little princeling’s face as he looked first one way and then the other, scoping out the area, before waving her forward. Together they made a run for it, dashing through the ballroom and down a back corridor.

Once sheltered by the shadows, they both exploded into titillated giggles as they scurried through the servants’ halls, past busily shuffling servers with tall, brimming platters, up and up to the tallest tower in the castle.

They finally stopped, stooped over with heaving breaths, at a large, ornately carved wooden door. Pix leaned back to take in the door that was more than three times as tall as her. She reached out a hand to touch the smooth, almost glassy, amber-colored wood. She marveled at the entwining gold that curled in elaborate knotted designs up the door, looking like gilded brambles protecting the precious bundle behind the door.

Pix’s eyes stung as the setting sun struck the gold, blinding her, as her gaze locked on the beautiful door. She could tell, just by looking at it, by feeling the heavy, sheltering weight of it, that the king and queen who commissioned that door cared for the princess.

It was well known that King Walter and his queen were practically barren and had waited long and prayed hard for this child. In fact, that was what had sent the mob of townspeople to her mother’s door that fateful night. The good people of Morning Valley didn’t want the first noble daughter born in more than a generation to be the heiress to Shadow Mountain. They’d tried to eliminate the evil progeny by burning the castle but, for all the flames and smoke, they had killed the evil queen but left the child alive.

They would pay for that mistake. Pix would make sure of that.

“You can’t get in though,” the prince told her, touching the large, heavy lock holding the door safe and closed.

“You can’t maybe,” she told him smugly. “I can do whatever I want.”

Ignoring his disbelieving scoff, she retrieved her wand from her hair. She brought her hands up, biting her lip, and pointed her wand. She had to be quiet, she knew, since any loud noise would bring the guards she knew waited not far off.

Chanting softly, she flicked her wrist toward the door’s lock, trying to magic it open. But there were a lot of verses to remember in lock-picking spells. Most witches and wizards just stuck with conventional means of breaking and entering, deeming the supernatural methods clunky and complicated.

But her aunt, who never did anything the mortal way when she could use magic, didn’t know how to pick a lock by hand so there’d been no one else to teach Pix.

After a few red-faced, fruitless attempts, Pix stomped her foot and stifled a screech at the fencin’, froggin’, still-locked door.

“Told you,” Phillip said cockily as he leaned against the door, staring at her smartly.

She turned and fried him with a searing glare. The stubborn, stuck-up princeling snorted at her.

Eying him evilly, she snarled. A pox on him!

Moving sharply to face the door with anger and frustration burning hotly beneath her skin, she threw her hand out and thrust her wand at the solid steel lock. She smiled as dark, sparkling ash shot out of the wand’s tip in a great swirling smog, streaming into and around the lock and melting it until it pooled liquid-hot on the floor. Spinning her wand high above her head, she summoned the wind to huff and puff the large door wide open, revealing the tall, stately crib the tiny princess had been laid to rest in.

“Told you,” she mocked, stepping into the large chamber.

* * *

Phillip just clucked his tongue. “You’re going to be in so much trouble,” he warned, crouching down to examine the steaming puddle of metal.

“You have no idea,” Pix murmured, her voice low with joyful menace.

Phillip looked up from the cooling metallic pool just in time to see a dark cloud shoot toward him, blinding him. He swung his arms, trying to clear the smoke, but there was too much of the thick, cloying stuff. It surrounded him, smothered him. It stung his watering eyes, making them burn until he was forced to close them. He coughed violently as he choked on the torrent, feeling its sharp, prickly presence clog his throat and lungs. He could feel it gather like grains of sand on his skin, at first light enough to brush off. But as the black storm blew around him, Phillip felt himself be dragged down to the ground under its weight.

His last thought before the blackness brought him down was that the little pixie had tricked him. And, for that, the wily witch would pay.

I’ll make, he thought as he yawned, sure of it.

* * *

Pix watched the prince crumple to the floor before settling onto the floor with soft, snuffling snores. She sniffed in satisfaction before sticking her tongue out at the snoozing boy. Serves him right. Irritating royal.

Pix spelled the heavy door shut before making her way to the crib quickly. She had no time to waste.

She and her aunt had been preparing for this moment for months—since they’d first heard news that the queen was pregnant. They’d been scouring the castle libraries, holding counsel with Shadow Mountain’s darkest denizens, and gathering all the necessary ingredients and incantations. For weeks, they’d been mixing potions and practicing spells. For days, they’d been running drills and simulations, timing everything down to the second, so the plan would come out right.

Of course, Aunt Mab was running late, but what else was new. According to the plan, they were both supposed to break into the princess’s room to steal three drops of blood from the baby brat. Now, in order to stay on schedule, Pix would have to rush the last ingredient to the great hall in time for her aunt’s theatrical interruption.

Stalking up to the crib, she raised herself up on her tiptoes, her fragile-looking wings fluttering fiercely to lift her weight a bit. Raising her chin, she looked over the edge at the insignificant, pink lump wrapped up tight in soft, cuddling covers. She sneered at the offensively sweet-smelling creature asleep in her bed.

Lifting her wand, Pix lengthened the tip to an impossibly sharp point.

Three drops of blood, that was all she needed.

Looking at the blanketed bundle, Pix wondered what to do. The fleshy thing in front of her looked yielding and weak, its tiny, bow-shaped lips pursed and puffing like a fish as it slept.

Pix paused, thinking of the squealing, squirming piglets her aunt had used to simulate the baby in all their practice runs. She thought of their huge, wiggling snouts and their kicking hooves. It hadn’t been hard to prick the pigs in the chest—no harder than butchering chops or roasts for dinner. She’d even felt an easy pride as the sharp point of her wand struck true through to the heart, drawing the necessary blood so quickly the pigs hardly felt the pain.

But still she could hear the echoes of their high-pitched fear in her ringing ears.

The prick wouldn’t kill the princess, not if she did it right. Pix knew this. She and her aunt didn’t want to kill the princess. Not really, anyway. That was never the point of the plot.

The princess’s death was simply the stick she and her aunt were going to dangle over the king, the queen, and all the people of Morning Valley for their actions against Pix’s mother.

It was the noose that would hang heavy and chaffing around all their necks as they wondered when the rope would tighten and justice would be paid.

Pix didn’t want to kill the princess, didn’t want the weight of it to cling and drag on her.

And she didn’t see her actions as doing so. No. She wasn’t the murderer. The people of Morning Valley were. They, when they’d stormed Pix’s home just as she’d breathed her first breath, had done this. They had called down Death that day, six full years before the pale baby cooing in front of Pix had even been born. Their actions had born a darkness, a pain and anger, inside of her that for six years had hungered and cried out for blood.

A life for a life.

It was only fair.

Pix knew this.

She had no reason to waver.

No need to falter.

But, as she stood with toes barely brushing the marble tile, her hand that gripped the thin, magic stick at a vicious, plunging angle shook and stayed tense in the air.

READ PART THREE HERE