1 Dewitched (31 page)

The laborious work gets my mind off the fate of Gallant and Cinderella. I don’t stop, not even to wipe the sweat and soot off my face. And then, an enormous explosion almost knocks me off my feet. A fireworks-like display of embers shoots into the sky. Oh no! The main tower of the castle has collapsed!

 “Cinderella’s private quarters!” cries Charming.

 “Papa’s dead!” sobs Calla. I cradle her in my arms, but nothing I do or say can comfort her. An unbearable sadness swells inside me.

 “We must call for a clergyman,” says The Queen, her eyes brimming with tears. The King, near tears himself, draws her in close. Grief, as mighty as love, has united them.

 Something moving slowly toward us catches my eye. A disoriented beast? Blinded by the dense smoke, I can’t make it out. It gets closer, and finally, I can tell it’s a person…a man…and he’s carrying something…or someone...in his arms. Oh God! Please! Can it be…?

“Look!” I shout out, pointing in their direction.

 “Papa!” It’s Papa!” cries Calla. She scrambles out of my arms and races toward him. The King, hopeful yet skeptical, commands the rest of us to stay put.

We wait anxiously in silence. The minutes pass like hours. At last, The Prince returns to us, carrying Cinderella in his arms and Calla piggyback style on his back. He’s weary and battered. Like a worn-out soldier returning from battle.

Our smoke-filled eyes connect. I so badly want to run up to him, caress his ash-covered hair, and bathe his seared face.

“Welcome back, son,” says The King, clearly proud of his heroic would-be heir. The relieved Queen gives Gallant a king-size hug.

“I thought I’d never see you again, my darling!” chokes Prince Charming, taking Cinderella into his arms. Even covered in head-to-toe soot, she’s stunning. A pang of jealousy stabs me. Yet another beautiful princess rescued by a handsome prince. 

Marcella darts up to Gallant and dramatically throws her arms around him. “My love, you had me so worried. I simply couldn’t imagine my life without you!”

Of course, you were worried, you two-faced cow! You
could
imagine your life without him. NO humongous castle! NO closet full of extravagant gowns and matching shoes! NO kingdom to bow down to you. And NO Jane to do all your crap!

 I’m burning up inside. The palace blaze meanwhile begins to subside. Miraculously, most of the castle has survived.

“Cinderella and Charming can stay with us while they rebuild their palace,” Midas tells the Queen.

I think about my palace. I want to hate this man for destroying it. Instead, I’m moved by his kindness and strength. 

Thanking villagers and servants for their help, Midas leads the way back to our coach. We haven’t gotten far when a guard runs up to him. I don’t believe my eyes. The Huntsman. Again! I quickly lower my head, not trusting the thick smoke to mask my identity.

“Your Majesty, we have apprehended a suspect.”

“Bring him to me at once,” The King commands. “I want to know who he is.” 

The Huntsman rushes off and then returns with the suspect in chains. Except the suspect is not a he;
it’s a she
. Holy crap! It’s Sasperilla!

 “It’s you again!” says Prince Charming, his voice shaking. “I should have known. Why can’t you leave us alone?”

 “I’ll never leave you two alone until you’re MINE!” shrieks the stalker, scary-skinnier than ever.

Foaming at the mouth, she lunges at Cinderella. The Huntsman, acting quickly, pulls her back. She lunges again. This time at me. Her wretched eyes clash with mine. She recognizes me! I stand frozen in time as she shoots me that same scathing smirk she’s sent my way so many times before.

  I’m doomed! She’s going to reveal my identity. In a matter of moments, everyone will know I’m The Evil Queen! Just as the sicko’s parched lips part, The Queen of Hearts roars.

  “Off with her head!”

 
Off with her head!
Oh my God! I know how I know this woman. Of course! She’s the hotheaded judge who sentenced me to one hundred years in that dark, dreary dungeon! One hundred years! How could I forget? Her hair’s white now and she’s two chins thinner, but still. Maybe, I didn’t want to remember. But it’s no wonder she hasn’t recognized me. I
am
so different now.

A sudden chill in the air sends a shiver through me. Is this all meant to be? That The Prince’s father is the man who took away my castle….and his mother, the woman who took away my life. Seven years of it! I should destroy them for what they did to me. But strangely, I feel no hate. I feel no anger. All I feel is emptiness.

Midas wraps his ample arm around his wife. “Dear, let’s not go that far! You don’t want to go back to anger management classes.” The Queen inhales deeply and calms herself down as The King orders The Huntsman to take Sasperilla away. “Lock her up once and for all. No more second chances!”

Poor Elz! How will she feel when she finds out about her sister? At least, Midas spared the skinny bitch her life--and The Queen mine, once again, in a way. I breathe a  deep sigh of relief. Safe for now. But how long will it be before my past is revealed? I can’t hide it forever.

The near-tragic night comes to an end. The King and The Queen walk toward the carriage, arm in arm. Prince Charming helps Cinderella mount his stallion and follows them. Gallant swoops up Calla in his arms and falls hopelessly under Marcella’s spell yet again. 

I’m left standing all by myself. Once more, I’m that little girl. Alone in the dark. Afraid of evil.

CHAPTER 31

The day of the ball comes fast and furious. Though exhausted from all of Marcella’s demands, I wake up earlier than usual. Gallant’s already downstairs in the kitchen when I get there. He’s forgone his usual cup of tea yet he’s especially upbeat and energized. Of course. Tonight, he and Marcella will at last officially announce their engagement to the kingdom. A heart wrenching pain hits me deep in my gut.

 “Jane, there is something I need to show you,” Gallant says eagerly.

I try to beg off. The ball’s only hours away, and the last minute details are overwhelming. First on my list: Picking up Marcella’s gown from Emperor Armando. Okay. The truth. I can’t bear to be with him.

Gallant won’t take no for an answer. I bet it’s yet another last-minute thing Marcella wants done for the ball. I’m surprised when he instead leads me outside. His white stallion awaits us, ready to ride. He lifts me up onto the saddle, then mounts the majestic horse. This time I’m sitting in front of him, his brawny arms wrapped tightly around me. My heart is galloping. Where’s he taking me? 

As the sun rises, we trot down a familiar path. I know--the path that leads to his studio. Great! I’d love to see his paintings again. Maybe he’s painted something new.

Gallant’s been a different person since breaking the news to his father about his true ambition. He smiles often and laughs. I’ve even heard him sing. What a voice! Best of all, to Marcella’s chagrin, he’s been spending a lot more time with Calla--playing with her, telling her stories, and helping her with her French. He even took her shopping at The Trove. Ha! You should have seen the expression on the PIW’s face when her future stepdaughter came back with a coach full of new clothes--including a gown for the ball. So much for Calla not going and me having to babysit her. 

I was right. Gallant has taken me to his studio. He unlocks the door and lets the early morning sunshine slip in. The streak of light makes the paintings more radiant than I remember. My eyes bounce from one canvas to the next. Each, be it a portrait, landscape, or still life, moves me more deeply than before.

The studio smells different this time. I can’t identify the scent. Then I see an easel. Tubes of paint and various size brushes are scattered on it. Ah-ha. Gallant
has
begun to paint again. 

In the back corner, the unfinished portrait of his late wife is still mounted on an easel and covered. Has he worked on it? Before I can ask, The Prince takes my hand and pulls me over to it. In a single swoop, he sweeps off the damask and reveals the canvas. Oh my God! I’m going to pass out!

Gallant has completed the portrait of his late wife. It’s a masterpiece. A woman, whose beauty is beyond all others, smiles at me as she picks a bouquet of lilies and roses. Her wavy dark hair is held back by a big red bow while her matching red cloak floats in the summer breeze. What’s most outstanding is her milky-white skin. It’s fairer than the blooms she’s holding.

The Prince beholds the painting with pride. “Jane, you inspired me to follow my dream, my passion. And to complete the painting that means the most to me.” 

I’m paralyzed. I can’t get my mouth to move or my brain to think.

Gallant turns to me. “Jane, you look as if you have just seen a ghost. Are you okay?” 

Am I okay? Is he kidding? I
have
seen a ghost. And not just any ghost.

 “I’m a little overwhelmed by the painting,” I stammer.
A little overwhelmed?
That’s got to be the understatement of all times. I’m in a state of shock!

“Be honest, what do you think?”

I think I’m going to die! I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t even feel my heart beating.

“Jane,” he continues, “I want to hear your thoughts. You have such a keen mind when it comes to art.” 

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I manage to say.

“Yes, she was,” says Gallant with growing excitement. “Tell me more. What about the colors?” 

“Th-they’re perfect,” I splutter. “Her skin’s as white as snow; her hair as black as ebony, and her lips as red as blood.” 

“Amazing!” Gallant’s blue eyes sparkle. “That is exactly what I wanted to convey.”

The Prince pauses to smile at the portrait. “Jane, I am beholden to you. Completing this painting has made me feel whole again.”

I, on the other hand, feel like a million little pieces. Like a jigsaw puzzle that can’t be put together. Or a shattered mirror. 

“I have even started to work on another painting,” he adds, his face beaming. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse another large canvas across the room--the beginnings of another portrait. I’m too shaken to focus on it.

“I’ve got to go.” I hurry toward the door.

 “Jane, wait!”

 Gallant dashes after me. Hooking his arm around my waist, he stops me in my tracks. He spins me around and draws me to him. Our bodies meet. We’re so close I can’t tell whose heartbeat is whose. Cradling my face in one hand and holding me tightly against him with the other, he lowers his head and presses his lips on mine. Our tongues dance. A fire rips through my body, awakening every part of my being. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. No matter how much I will it, our lips will not separate. To be truthful, I don’t want it to end.

Suddenly, The Prince pulls away. I feel like I’ve been catapulted out of a dream. My head is spinning, my body throbbing.

Gallant lowers his eyes and steps back. “I could not help myself. Please forgive me, Jane, if I have offended your honor or dignity.” 

Offended me?
I’ve just kissed the husband of the woman I tried to murder! My stepdaughter. Gallant’s wife. SNOW WHITE!

***

I spend the rest of the morning pacing the castle in a state of total panic. My lungs are burning; my stomach’s churning, and my head is whirling. I should be working on last minute ball preparations, but I’m too distraught from my shocking discovery. It’s all I can think about.

Why didn’t I figure it out? I should have known that The Prince’s late wife was Snow White. I mean, the clues were in my face. Right there in front of me!

Clue #1: Calla’s snow white skin; A dead give away; no pun intended.

Clue #2: Calla’s red velvet bow. They’re probably a dime a dozen, but still. 

Clue #3: That despicable Huntsman showing up all the time. A coincidence? Not!

Clue #4: Those damn dwarfs. No wonder, they worked for The King.

Clue #5: That unforgettable night when The Prince, drunk out of his mind, called me Branch. Now, I know what he was trying to say--
Blanche,
French for white. Damn it! I wish my French didn’t suck.

Clue #6: The cottage-y feel of the Prince’s castle. Okay, it wasn’t giveaway, but still a clue.

Clue #7: The unfinished portrait. I should have recognized the outline of Snow White’s signature cloak and bow.

Clue #8: Marcella’s obsessive collection of old fairy-tale tabloids; they must be filled with Snow White gossip. Of course, she’d want to know everything about The Prince’s #1 wife. With the exception of me, what #2 wife wouldn’t?

Clue #9: One of the most obvious clues of all. No RSVP to the ball from Snow White. Dead people don’t do balls.

Clue #10:  My stupid-ass looking glass. No wonder, my “magic” mirror didn’t mention Snow White’s name in the dumpster. Duh! She was history!

 And, of course, only her gorgeous little daughter Calla Rose could take her place. How could I be so stupid? So clueless! So totally clueless! If only in the dumpster, for that one time only, my mirror had been magic. It could have said something, and I wouldn’t be in this horrible, horrible mess.

Questions  pummel me like rocks, each one coming harder at me than the one before. What am I going to do? How can I stay possibly stay here? What am I going to tell The Prince? And Calla?
Oh, by the way, sweet girl, I forgot to tell you that I despised your mother and tried to kill her. Not once. But three times. Actually, four times if you count The Huntsman. Oh and do you want to hear something else? I kissed your Papa today! And guess what! I liked it!