1 Dewitched (20 page)

Good one!
This kid is growing on me.

 “I don’t know why Papa likes her.” She twirls the fuzzy flower. “It’s as if she has some kind of spell on him.” 

My curiosity is piqued. “How did your father meet her?” 

“Papa hired her to be my governess. She speaks French, at least she thinks she does. Her accent’s so fake! Then I guess he figured I needed a new mother and decided to marry her.” 

 “How do you feel about that?” I ask, deepening my inquiry and sounding a little Shrink-like.

 
“C’est tout à fait stupide!”
she says with a perfect French accent. Though I don’t speak much French, what she’s said is obvious.

She raises the dandelion close to her lips. “Do you know that when you blow on one of these flowers, you make a secret wish?” With a single breath, she scatters the fuzzy petals all over our blanket.

I pick a dandelion of my own and blow on it. Silently, I wish for Marcella to magically disappear. I bet Calla wished for the same.

Eager to get off the subject of Marcella, Calla suggests we play hide-and-go-seek. As she animatedly explains how the game works, I unexpectedly flashback to myself at her age… hiding under my bed or in the closet from the loud, squalid men my mother would bring home. Hoping they would
never
find me. I tremble for a moment, but Calla doesn’t notice.

The game is simple and actually fun to play. Way more fun than Grimm’s stupid tree-hugging game. We take turns hiding. The best part is finding the other person, which always results in an explosion of laughter.

It’s Calla’s turn to hide again, and my turn to find her. Slowly, I count to ten. “Ready-or-not-here-I-come,” I yell. 

 Finding Calla hasn’t been that difficult, but this time there’s no trace of her. I call out her name, wanting to know if I’m getting warmer or colder. No response. I’m getting worried. It’s nearing dinnertime. Marcella will go off the deep end if I’m not back in time to supervise the cooks and lay out her evening wear. Where can Calla be?

I make my way closer to the lake, looking behind every mossy tree trunk and up at every leafy limb.
Calla, where are you?
This game is so not fun anymore. As my worry turns to anger, a cry makes my heart jump--Calla!

 “Help! Help!” she keeps shouting. Where on earth is she? I frantically turn my head in every direction. Finally, I find her. Oh my God! She’s in the middle of the lake, flailing her arms. She’s drowning! I sprint to the water, dive in, and swim at breakneck speed.

 She sees me and desperately calls out my name.

 “Hang on, Calla!” I shout out to her. An image of my floating puppy flashes into my head. I swim faster, my arms and legs pumping as hard as my heart.

She is finally within arm’s length. Blue in the face, she’s gasping for breath.

“Hold on to me!” I tell her, reaching out my hand. Her icy, little fingers grasp mine, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief.

 Towing her back to shore is much more difficult than I anticipated. Her added weight (though she’s a mere waif) slows me down, and the current is strong and moving against me. My lungs are burning and so are my limbs. Each stroke I fear will be my last.

The current grows so strong we start drifting backward. Calla clings to me as I battle to stay afloat. Suddenly, something beneath the water tugs at my body. I kick my legs furiously but can’t break free. Panic grips me. It must be a water serpent!

My life is passing before me. I can already see the
Fairytale Tattler
headline:
“Evil
Sea Monster Devours Rehab Queen and Princess Fartsalot!”
Wait! What am I thinking? I’m
not
going to see this headline; I’m going to be dead!

With a forceful splash, the serpent’s head bolts from the water. Its eyes meet mine. I gasp. It’s not a monster. It’s The Prince! 

 “Papa!” exclaims Calla.

Shit! I’m in such deep water--and I don’t mean the lake. The Prince will have my head! A sea monster might as well have eaten me alive. My life is over any way you look at it. 

Wrapping a strapping arm around the two of us, The Prince combats the fierce current and pulls us back to shore.

 “Papa, that was such a fun ride!” beams Calla as if nearly drowning was a carnival attraction.

The Prince hugs her. “My Little Princess, thank goodness you are alright.”

The look in his eyes is intense, loving, and all-encompassing. I look on with envy and sadness, never having known that gaze myself. From a mother
or
a father.

His turns toward me, his expression drastically changed. His chiseled jaw is tight, and his piercing blue eyes are shooting daggers my way.

He is beyond furious. How could I have let Calla go into the lake? Didn’t I know the child couldn’t swim? How could I be so irresponsible? So stupid? Every word is a stab wound.

 Calla cuts him short. She recounts her adventure. Vividly with no detail spared. In full drama queen mode.

 “…And so, Papa, I tripped on a rock and fell into the water, and if Jane hadn’t found me and jumped in--with her clothes on and everything!--I would have been a drowned rat. Well, not really a rat. But you know what I mean.”

The Prince’s face softens until any trace of anger is gone. “Jane, I am beholden to you for saving my daughter’s life,” he says with sincerity. “I lost her mother; I cannot lose her.” 

“Forget it,” I say, unable to meet his gaze.

 My eyes shift to Calla, who is back to being her free-spirited, inquisitive self, searching for bugs amongst the rocks that dot the shoreline. The sun plays its own game of hide-and-seek, disappearing behind a cloud. Cold and soaked, I hug myself to keep warm. Oh no! I’m missing Shrink’s mirrored locket. It must have fallen off in the lake!

A wave of despair washes over me, and then Calla runs up to me. “Look what I found!” She unfolds her small hand.

My locket! A smile of relief spreads across my face.

“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to hug her. I slip the necklace over my head.

“Jane, you are shivering,” observes The Prince. He gently drapes the jacket he left on shore over my shoulders. The soft, rich royal blue velvet warms me.

My eyes survey his bare, toned, golden-haired chest and matching arms and make their way to his regal face. His nose is straight, his jaw strong and angular, and his lips, lush and full. And then…those eyes. Those gemstone eyes. He catches me staring at him and meets my gaze.

“Thank you, My Lord,” I stammer, taken aback by his unexpected kindness. And manliness.

“Jane, please call me Gallant; I insist.” 

Fine. I’ve got to get used to saying his pompous name.

As the sun emerges from its hiding place, we head back to the castle on Gallant’s white stallion. Calla is tucked snugly into her father, loving every minute of the ride; I’m behind him, my arms locked around his strong, rippled body. His moist hair, loose and wild, glistens in my face. A sudden gust of wind reminds me that I’m heading into a storm. The Wrath of Marcella.

CHAPTER 22

 “Where have you been?” shrieks Marcella. “And why are you so wet?”

The PIW’s lounging on her lavish bed, surrounded by piles of
Fairytale Tattler
s.

 “I took a bath,” I lie. The lake incident is none of her business.

 “Do you realize the ball is less than two weeks away, and I have absolutely nothing to wear?”

Hello! Has she done a reality check lately? Her closet is so stuffed with gowns and shoes she could turn it into a resale shop. Except for the fact it’s always such a pigsty, no matter how often I straighten it. 

 “Chop! Chop!  Let’s get to The Trove before it closes.” She throws off her fur coverlet and pushes me out the door. I’ll have to pick up the dozens of tabloids strewn all over the floor later. 

***

The drive to The Trove, whatever the hell that is, is awful. The road is full of bumps, and I have to put up with Marcella’s non-stop babble about her ball gown. Her Royal Skankiness is so wrapped up with herself she doesn’t notice me gazing out the coach window.

 Lalaland seems different from how I remember it. Then again, I didn’t get out much so maybe I missed a few things. Everything seems cleaner, newer, and bigger. More than once, I notice the name MIDAS blazing across monumental buildings in big gold letters.  MIDAS Memorial Hospital…MIDAS Publishing…MIDAS Realty…MIDAS Free Clinic…MIDAS Orphanage for Lost Boys. Whoever this Midas guy is, he must be mega-rich.

 And then, about a half-hour into the ride, I leap out of my seat. To the right, perched high on a cliff, the silhouette of a massive castle with towering turrets and shooting spires comes into view. I recognize it immediately.
It’s mine!
 

 “Stop the coach!” I scream out.

Marcella shoots me a dirty look. “Jane, I’m the one who gives orders. Driver, step on it!”

The coach speeds up. While Marcella buries her head in a
Fairytale
Tattler, I gloomily watch my castle fade into the distance. Soon, I’ll be back there. Just not soon enough.

 The coach turns down a wide cobblestone street. Midas Drive. A giant fortress with multi-color turrets, towers, and spires is straight ahead of us. Coaches are lined up to get inside the gilded gates.

Marcella looks up from her tabloid. “We’re here. Finally.”

We join the long, slow-moving line. “Can’t we cut ahead?” growls the PIW, her arms folded tightly under her cannonballs.

  “Remind me, Jane, to fire this driver!” she says as we finally pull up to the valet. Yet another thing to add to my To-Do List.

 “And one more thing. While we’re here, buy a toy for Calla and tell her it’s from me.” 

***

A large banner with blazing gold letters greets us as we enter the complex.

WELCOME TO THE TROVE

ANOTHER MIDAS MALL

Midas again! Before long, I bet Lalaland will be called Midasland.

“Move it,” shouts Marcella, giving me a shove.

 She takes off as if launched by slingshot. I follow her, dragging my feet. Why do I have to put up with her before I can return to my castle? It’s just not fair.

 Losing sight of Her Royal Skankiness, I mope through the mall, taking in my surroundings. The Trove is like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s a retail fantasyland catering to the whims of royals and wannabes alike. There’s a store for everything, from crowns to corsets. The shops, one after another, line a pristine walkway that’s packed with princesses, princes, and other assorted nobles, all chicly dressed and carrying eye-catching shopping bags. They all seem so happy. Of course. No one’s banned them from their homes. 

The PIW is literally prancing when I catch up to her. “I love shopping!” she croons. Finally, another activity she loves besides torturing me.

 In fact, as I quickly discover, if there’s such a thing as an addiction to shopping, she’s got one.

For openers, she drags me into a bookstore. Barons and Nobles. Wasting no time, she immerses herself in the latest tabloids. “I don’t understand why I’m not front page news!” she grumbles. “Jane, get on it!”

While she tears through the tabloids, I browse through the store. There are so many books. Near the entrance, a crowd is clamoring for copies of a thick hardcover book that are piled up high on a table.
Grimm’s Fairy Tales: Based on True Stories.
What! That glum-ugly head doctor wrote a book about us!? Sasperilla was right. He was spying on us the whole time! Using us for his own publish or perish ends! I’d better not be in there or I’m going to sue! Elbowing my way through the mob, I grab a copy.

 “Put that rubbish down!” barks Marcella as I flip through the pages. She thrusts a heavy bagful of magazines at me and yanks me out the door. “We’ve got major shopping to do.”

Can this day get any worse?

A few doors down, she shoves me into another store. Forever Princess. We’re the only shoppers over twenty; everyone else is no more than sixteen. The youthful fashions and gorgeous, young royals make me feel old. And jealous. I avoid looking at myself in a mirror.

Marcella, unfazed, holds one frock after another up to her curvaceous body. “Jane, how do I look in these?” 

What I want to tell her is they don’t make her look a day over forty. What I end up saying is they make her look like she’s twenty-one.

 “Perfection! I’ll take them!” She jerks me out of the store, loading me down with six more overstuffed shopping bags.

Next door is a lingerie and sleepwear store. Aurora’s Secret. Marcella snaps her fingers, signaling me to follow her inside. Aisles of the skimpiest undergarments I’ve ever seen line the store. Royals, regardless of shape or size, can’t seem to get enough of them. While I stand frozen in shock, Her Royal Skankiness snatches up a dozen frilly briefs with matching corsets in assorted colors. I have no idea how they’ll hold up her cannonballs. She also can’t resist a leopard-print negligee that’s trimmed with feathers “The Prince will love it!” she coos. It’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever seen.

A pretty, young maiden bags her purchases. Marcella pouts. “I need coffee! All this shopping is wearing me out.” 

That makes two of us. And actually, I haven’t had a cup of coffee since I’ve been back here. Marcella briskly leads the way to a nearby café, The Coffee Queen, and orders two black coffees. The cheap bitch makes me pay for mine. To add insult to injury, when I put the hot beverage to my lips, I don’t want to drink it. Everything--the smell, the taste, the color--repulses me. I’m outraged. Thanks to Faraway, I’ve completely lost my taste for coffee.

Marcella finishes her coffee and mine. I struggle to follow her as she charges out the door and races through the mall. She’s obviously gotten a coffee buzz. A major one. Bogged down with her purchases and exhausted, I can’t keep up with her. In no time, I lose her.

Mmm. Something smells delicious. Unbelievably delicious! Following my nose, I’m lured inside a charming bakery. Sparkles. Behind the counter are dozens of the most amazing cupcakes I’ve ever seen. Each one, a little work of art--piled high with frosting and topped off with sparkly sprinkles. I can’t resist, and fortunately, I have just enough money to buy one.