1 Dewitched
Authors: E.L. Sarnoff
DEWITCHED
The Untold Story of the Evil Queen
E.L. Sarnoff
Copyright © 2012 by E.L. Sarnoff
Cover design by Streetlight Graphics
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the author or publisher.
For Lilly and Isabella,
The lights inside my heart
TABLE OF CONTENTS
E-vil [Middle English, from Old English yfel]
adj.
1. Morally bad or wrong; wicked
2. Causing ruin, injury, or pain; harmful
3. Characterized by or indicating future misfortune; ominous
4. Bad or blameworthy by report; infamous
5. Characterized by anger or spite; malicious
n.
1. The quality of being morally bad or wrong; wickedness
2. That which causes harm, misfortune, or destruction
3. An evil force, power, or personification
4. Something that is a cause or source of suffering, injury, or destruction
BOOK ONE
Look in the mirror and one thing’s sure; what we see is not who we are.
--Richard Bach
CHAPTER 1
A mirror can be your best friend. Or your worst enemy. The only thing you can count on is brutal honesty.
I talk to my mirror. Lots of women do. Except mine talks back. It’s magic.
Time for our daily chat. I head down the long corridor toward the chamber where I keep my magic mirror, but I’m distracted by the sound of singing. I detour over to a window and peek between the thick, tightly drawn drapes.
Below in my castle courtyard, she’s standing idly by the wishing well. My stepdaughter. Snow White. Why the hell is she wasting her time wishing when she should be washing? Well, I suppose I’ll give her a little break today. After all, it’s her birthday. Her sixteenth.
Birds and butterflies dance around her. I don’t get it. Her whole life, I’ve piled her with a crapload of chores and dressed her in rags, yet she still looks ravishing.
I try hard not to scowl; the last thing I need is a deep, ugly crease between my brows. I know. I’m going to double her workload. What a perfect birthday present!
Enough. I yank the drapes closed and quicken my pace down the corridor. At the end, I crank open a heavy mahogany door.
The windowless room is dark and bare, lit only by candlelight. My mirror faces me. I stride up to it and meet my shadowy reflection.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who’s the fairest one of all?”
Awaiting an answer, I admire my candle-lit face, flickering in the smoky glass. My creamy, unblemished skin. My cat-green eyes. My full red lips. And those high cheekbones.
I grow impatient. What’s taking so long? There’s only answer. ME!
Finally, the mirror responds:
“You are fair indeed, My Queen,
But there is someone fairer who is Sweet Sixteen.”
I let out a gasp so loud it echoes. The mirror continues:
“Even in darkness she is a bright light,
A princess who goes by the name Snow White.”
Her?
Blood rushes to my head. I pace the chamber, zigzagging from corner to corner, in a frenzy. My mirror is a traitor! I rip off my crown and aim it at the glass. About to smash it into smithereens, I get an even better idea. Something I should have done ages ago…
Eliminate the competition. And I have just the perfect person to do it.
My faithful Huntsman.
Snow White can wish as much as she wants. This birthday will be her last.
***
The Huntsman cowers before me as I sit high on my gem-studded throne. Despite his imposing height and girth, the bearded man appears small to me today. Almost frail.
“Take Snow White deep into the forest and bring me back her heart,” I command.
“But--”
“There are no buts. Do as I say, and I will reward you.” I jingle a bag of gold coins.
“But--”
My icy stare silences him.
He bows his head. “Yes, My Queen.”
The hesitancy in his voice irks me. “If you fail me, you will pay the consequences.” With a wry smile curled on my lips, I slide a finger across my neck.
The Huntsman says nothing. He pivots around and plods toward the throne room’s massive double doors.
“Wait!” I shout out.
The Huntsman spins around. His forest-green eyes glimmer with the hope I’ve changed my mind.
“Use this to bring me back her heart.” I toss him a small jeweled box. He catches it. His eyes downcast, he stuffs it inside his leather satchel, then disappears.
I grimace with regret. Such an elegant coffin. A potato sack would have sufficed.
***
All afternoon, I’ve been pacing the chamber that houses my magic mirror, struggling not to glance at it. We’re not speaking.
What’s taking that big-footed fool so long? I mean, how hard is it to plunge a dagger into a twig of a girl, rip out her heart, and bring it back? It doesn’t have to be gift-wrapped. In fact, I hate bows. They remind me of her.
The minutes crawl like hours. I’m getting antsy. Where the hell is he?
The door to my chamber swings open. Finally, The Huntsman, holding the jeweled box.
“Give it to me,” I order though I’m not sure what I’m going to do with my little souvenir. Dinner for the help perhaps?
The Huntsman’s lowers his head and silently hands me the box. He’s out the door before I can offer him the gold coins. Fine. I’ll save some money.
I give the box a little shake. It’s in there okay. I swear I can hear it still beating. Mission accomplished.
I stride up to my mirror and break into a wicked smile. Time for a little tête-à-tête.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Now, who’s the fairest one of all?”
Studying my reflection, I await the answer with the eagerness of a child about to get a sweet.
Silence. What’s the problem? It’s not like I’m asking it to solve an impossible what-came-first riddle. I shoot my mirror a dirty look. Finally, it responds:
“My Queen, you are the fairest that I see…”
Yes! I
am
the fairest! My magic mirror can hold it right there. But the bigmouth rattles on:
“But near the hills where the Seven Dwarfs dwell,
Snow White is still alive and well,
And there is none so fair as she.”
What? That two-timing wimp didn’t kill her? She’s still alive? A stabbing pain pierces my heart. I don’t know whom I hate more--The Huntsman or my mirror.
Clutching the box, I storm out the door and race down the corridor. “You’re history!” I scream out, but it’s no use. The betrayer is gone, nowhere in sight.
I stomp back to my chamber and hurl the box at my mirror. I miss. It hits a wall. My mouth twitches, in horror, as its bloody contents splatter across it.
I have no choice. I’ve got to take care of Snow White myself.
***
Easier said than done. Over the past two weeks, I’ve ventured twice to the cottage where Snow White has taken refuge with a bunch of lowlife dwarfs. Seven of them--just like my smart-ass looking glass said.
The first time, I disguised myself as an old corset peddler and asphyxiated the wench with laces I was selling. So I thought until my magic mirror told me she was still alive and well. The second, in a different but equally repugnant peasant disguise, I talked her into trying out a comb I poisoned. After having the pleasure of watching her crumple to the floor once again, I had the misfortune of hearing my magic mirror report that I had failed yet another time. Damn my mirror. And damn those dwarfs. After each attempt, they somehow must have rescued the tart before she took her final breath.
This time, I’m done wasting my time. Those runts can say adieu to their precious princess because I’ve come up with a foolproof plan. I’m wearing my newest and, I must say, best disguise. A butt-ugly hag get-up I picked up for nothing at a thrift store. To make sure Snow White doesn’t recognize me, I’ve dyed my long hair gray, blackened out my front tooth, and added a honker of a nose made out of putty.
I stare at my reflection in my magic mirror. I don’t even recognize myself. The wart on my nose is such a nice touch. My disguise is brilliant! Best of all, this is the last time I’ll ever have to sacrifice my beauty to have Snow White out of my life.
Dressed to kill, I wind my way down the rickety stairs that lead to my favorite playroom. My dungeon. Time to check on my evil potion. It’s been brewing for hours.
Perfect! The mixture in the cauldron has come to a boil. The cackling bubbles are like music to my ears. I give it a stir with a long femur bone--probably the remains of one of my late husband’s prisoners.
“It’s as easy as pie,” said the instructions. I wouldn’t know since I’ve never made one. All I can say is that this is the most fun I’ve ever had.
Following the recipe to a tee, I throw in the final lethal ingredient--a dash of dragonstone extract. The potion sizzles, and snakes of smoke curl around me. I smile proudly. The mistress of disguise can chalk up another talent.
Now, for the tricky part. Carefully, I dip half of a big red apple that I handpicked from my orchard into the gurgling mixture. I count to three and strategically place it on top of a basket filled with other ripe apples.