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Authors: J. A. Kazimer

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BOOK: Curses!
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Chapter 22
“
T
ell me it's not true. That you weren't engaged to Charming before Cinderella was,” I said. My eyes bored into Asia's. The thought of her in the arms of Prince Rotten made me want to strangle a golden goose. “Why? What did you see in him? He's gay, for fudge sakes.”
Dru gasped as if I slapped her, but Asia's face remained expressionless. “He is not,” Dru said. “He's in love with me.”
Asia and I both swung to face the poor, deluded, unibrowed princess. I hated to disillusion her, but even Prince Charming wasn't that hard up.
“Don't be ridiculous,” I said.
Dru and Asia stared at me as if I'd grown two heads. I patted the top of my head. Nope, still only the one. But it never hurt to double-check. I cleared my throat and tried again. “What I meant to say is,” I smiled my most charming smile, “now that Asia has the Devil's Eye, she can break your curse, Dru, and you'll find your very own prince. Not a used piece of prince doodie like Charming.”
“Ummm ... RJ,” Asia said.
I waved her off. “Underneath all that,” I gestured to Dru's furry brow, “is a beautiful princess. Once you are free, you'll have to beat the princes off with a fiddle stick.”
“RJ!” Asia smacked me in the arm.
“Ow.” I rubbed my injured appendage. “What'd you do that for?”
Asia's teeth clenched. “She's not cursed.”
“What?”
“I'm not cursed.” Dru sniffed. “I'm just ugly.”
After that bold statement, Dru ran into the palace, sobbing. Winslow glared at me and took off after her.
I closed my eyes. “I didn't know. I'm sorry.”
Asia shook her head. “Whatever.”
“No, I mean it.” Which oddly enough was true. In my own way, I empathized with Dru and her furry forehead. “I wasn't always this fine sample of manliness, you know.” I paused, waiting for Asia to gasp and shout her denial for all the kingdom to hear, but she didn't. “When I was a kid they called me Stunted Stiltskin.”
“Kids can be cruel.”
“My parents.”
“What?”
I took a ragged breath. “My parents called me that. My schoolmates were much meaner. But the point is,” I motioned to the palace, “she needs to open her eyes and see what's right in front of her. She has a man who will do anything for her. A man who will kill or die for a kind word or a simple kiss.” Asia's eyes grew misty. But I wasn't finished yet. “A love like that doesn't happen often.”
“She's a lucky princess.” Asia batted her eyelashes at me.
“I guess.”
“A man willing to die for his ladylove can't be all bad.” Her finger brushed my nose. “In fact, a man like that would make a terrible villain.”
“Good thing Winslow's a butler, then.”
“Why do I even try!” Asia screamed and stormed toward the palace. “Idiot ... moron ... can't villain his way out of a paper bag ...”
“Hey,” I called after her. “What'd I do?”
My answer came in the form of a glass slipper aimed at my head. I ducked, but forgot about slipper number two, which beaned me in the chest, in the space right above my heart. Sadly, this was the highlight of the rest of my day.
 
“Thanks for letting me stay over,” I said, my voice straining over the words. I hated being beholden to anyone, especially Prince Rotten. But there I was sacking out on his plush leather sofa. I had no choice, really, after Asia tossed all my clothes into the palace moat, that is.
According to King Maledetto, I was no longer welcome at the palace. Of course, I'm paraphrasing, since his actual comments contained words like “off with your head” and “boiled in bollocks stew.” Unappetizing, to say the least.
So I found myself at Prince Charming's bungalow in a borrowed pair of pink (seriously) boxers. Charming was gracious through it all, his having me incarcerated and maybe murdering Cinderella aside.
My investigation could wait, at least until morning. First, I needed a place to stay, and Charming offered without hesitation when I arrived on his doorstep, my duffel bag dripping moat water on his porch step. He merely smiled and motioned for me to enter.
“Would you like an extra pillow?” Charming asked.
“Nope. I'm good.”
“Very well.” Charming stopped outside the living room door. “Good night, then.”
“Night,” I said.
Charming gave me another vague smile and disappeared up the stairs. I settled into the plush cushions and considered my next move. Every villainous fiber in me wanted to say fuck it, grab my wet bag, and leave this twisted kingdom.
But I couldn't do it.
Not yet.
From Charming's bedroom overhead, an off-key falsetto version of “Luck Be a Lady” sounded. Followed by what I can only imagine from the loud thumping over my head was a ball-change dance step.
I closed my eyes and tried to count villainous deeds, but the pounding above me kept me awake. Finally, two maddening hours later during a rendition of “When You're a Jet,” I staggered to Charming's kitchen, stuffed my ears full of whey (don't knock it until you've tried it), and fell into a fitful sleep. Much to my annoyance, I dreamed of redheaded princesses wearing amazing Technicolor dream-coats.
I awoke the next morning, jumped from the couch, and headed to the shower. Cold water beat down on my body until the taste of Asia faded from my mind. I turned off the shower, toweled off, and glanced in the mirror. Maledetto was taking its toll. My nose was a bit flatter thanks to Asia's left hook, but most of all, my eyes had lost their villainous glow. I shook my head. Nothing I could do about that right now.
I wrapped the towel around my waist and walked semi-naked through the bungalow. “Mind if I borrow a pair of jeans?” I asked Charming, who was whipping up a batch of something in the kitchen. A pink apron with the words “Kiss the Chef” across the chest hung over his head.
“Help yourself.” Charming grinned, motioning to the staircase with a pink-handled spatula.
“Mi casa ... ”
“Thanks.” I jogged upstairs and into Charming's golden bedroom. It was funny how no matter what I did, I ended up in Charming's bedroom. Yesterday to steal the Devil's Eye. Today to borrow a pair of jeans. How far the villainous had fallen. I stuffed my legs into a pair of peg-legged jeans, all the rave with the hero crowd, and headed back to the kitchen, still shirtless.
When I returned to the kitchen, Charming stood at the stove, a metal skillet in his hand. A gooey yellow substance bubbled in the pan, reminding me of the first meal that Asia and I shared. I closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths, and let the pain of losing my princess slowly fade. Not that it worked, but a villain had to try, right?
“You miss her,” Charming said.
I nodded and sat down at the kitchen table. If anyone understood, it was Prince Rotten. He'd lost Asia once upon a time too. Yet he'd managed to survive. I would too.
One villainous day at a time.
Charming poured me a cup of coffee and patted my shoulder. I took a sip of the sweet, milky brew. Figures, I thought, but drank the rest without comment. When I finished wiping the milky mustache from my upper lip I nodded to Charming. “Asia told me you and she were engaged.”
Charming shrugged. “It's true. Asia and I were engaged before Cinderella and myself. But Asia wasn't really my type. So we broke up. No hard feelings.”
“And then you got engaged to Cinderella the very next day.” I frowned. “And Asia was okay with that?”
“I thought so.”
“But you're not sure?”
Charming scratched his chin. “No. Cindi called me a few minutes before she died.... She was upset. Said Asia threatened her.”
“Why didn't you tell the police?”
“Because I know Asia,” he said. “She's just not that kind of princess.”
His words made me want to strangle him with my impotent hands. I knew Asia. Not him. She was my princess, damn it!
“She would never hurt anyone.”
I pictured poor sunny side up Humpty Dumpty. He never stood a chance. Had Cinderella?
Charming continued, “Of course, Asia has a jealous streak. In Princess School, she shaved Rapunzel bald after Quasimodo asked her to the prom instead of Asia.”
I smiled. That certainly sounded like my princess. She wasn't the kind of girl to let what she wanted slip away. So why did she let Charming get away? Or did she? “How long have you known the Maledetto family?”
“All my life, it seems. You see, I lost my father,” he crossed himself like a good altar boy, “God rest his soul, when I was a wee lad. The king stepped in. Showed me what it meant to be Charming.”
Really? I'd met the king, and he wasn't what I called charismatic, let alone altruistic. Maybe Charming had him confused with someone else. “The king? Guy about,” I held my hand up, “this tall. Potbelly. Looks like Jack Sprat's wife, but with a beard.”
Charming laughed, high-pitched and girly. “That's the one. But don't let his appearance fool you. The king is no pup. He's ruthless. Before Cinderella ...” He swallowed heavily. “Well, the day before she died, the king cut her off without a cent. It broke Cindi's heart, but that's the king. No one thwarts him and lives to—” Charming's hand flew to his mouth. “I didn't mean it like that.”
Interesting. It seemed my list of suspects grew every second, and all with the last name of Maledetto. “Did you kill Cinderella?”
Charming choked on his egg, sending bits flying my direction. I ducked, but a glob landed on my shoulder. Charming quickly jumped up and wiped it away. His hand lingered a bit too long for my comfort. I pushed my coffee cup away and stood.
“Sorry,” he said. Was he referring to groping me, spitting egg at me, or murdering his fiancée? Or maybe all three?
“Well? Did you do it?” I motioned to a photograph of Cinderella on his counter. She smiled at the camera, all big eyes and teeth. In a way, she reminded me of Natasha. Not in appearance, since Cinderella was blond and blue eyed, whereas Natasha sported black hair and eyes like a wicked bitch.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but something bothered me about the dead women. Was I just paranoid, or did the women share some common trait that led to their murder? Was a serial killer who'd tired of Fairy Flakes lurking in the Enchanted Forest?
“Of course I didn't kill Cinderella! I loved her.” Charming glanced at the photo, and then at my bare chest. “You know, like a sister. A very special sister.”
“Uh-huh.” I crossed my arms over my naked nipples and frowned. I needed to find new accommodations, and fast. “So if you didn't kill her, who did?”
“I don't know. I've tried everything to bring her murderer to justice. Rewards. Threats ... other stuff ... But nothing's worked.”
“That's why you wanted the Devil's Eye, isn't it?”
“How did you know about that?”
“A little blue birdie told me.”
His eyes widened. Fear filled his gaze as if at any second I might attack. It was laughable, really, given my current state. Still, it felt wonderful. It had been so long since anyone looked at me with terror. I sat at the table, my eyes staring into his. He leaned in, our faces inches apart. His lips parted, and his hand stroked the knee of my Levi's.
Shit! I'd misread the look in his eyes. It definitely wasn't fear. I jumped up and started to pace the pastel-tiled kitchen. “Tell me about the Eye,” I said in a rush.
“Stupid thing's broken.” His lips curled into a snarl. “Every time I opened the damn thing, it said ‘Try Again Later.' No matter how much I shook it. Same thing. Do you know how frustrating that was?”
“I can imagine.”
“I was glad when someone stole it from my safe.” His eyes bore into mine. I swallowed, but for once, my treacherous tongue stayed quiet. Maybe my curse was finally lifting. God, I hoped so. This nice shit was for the bluebirds.
“If Cindi knew she could break Asia's curse, why did she keep the Eye in the first place?” I asked.
Charming shook his head. “It was a wedding gift.”
“From who?”
“The queen, of course.”
Chapter 23
“
A
sia.” I pounded on the front door of the palace. “Open the gosh darn door. Come on, we need to talk.”
“Language, son,” King Maledetto said from behind me. “This is a G-rated kingdom.”
I swung around, surprised by both the king's appearance and the king's
appearance
. The daft old man wore purple boots and a top hat. Nothing else, except for a thong and an assault rifle three times his size.
“Can I help you with that?” I asked as he bobbled the firearm. The barrel nicked the ground and then twirled toward the palace.
Boom!
The living room window exploded, showering the air with tiny particles of glass. I ducked out of harm's way as another round of gunfire spurted from the weapon.
“Damn it, Marty!” The queen barreled through the front door, a trickle of blood seeping down the side of her gown. “I told you. No guns near the house. You remember what happened the last time!”
The king didn't look a bit sorry, but said, “Sorry, my pet. I was on my way to the forest when,” he waved toward me, “Stiltskin over here stopped me.”
The queen's glare turned on me. I stumbled back a few steps. “I really need to talk to Asia.”
“Too bad.” The queen spun on her glass slipper and disappeared back inside the relative safety of the palace. I stared at her retreating form, and then glanced at the king.
“Women. Can't live with them ... ,” he gazed at his assault rifle with a lustful gleam in his eye, “can't shoot 'em. The sheriff frowns on that kind of thing.”
“Sir,” I began. “I really do need to speak with your daughter. It's—”
“Stepdaughter,” the king interrupted.
I lost it. A burning started in my ears, and before I knew it, my forearm wrapped around the king's neck. Of course, being cursed and all, my headlock quickly turned into a manly, backslapping hug.
“She's your daughter. Say it!” I screamed over and over again. Asia deserved a real father, one who loved and cared for her. Since the king was the closest thing she had, I'd be damned if I'd let him treat her like the redheaded stepchild she was.
The king started to cough, his face growing the same shade of purple as his boots. “Fine,” he choked out. “It's no wonder the union gave you the boot.” The king broke away, his hat askew. “Asia's my daughter. Always has been. Are you happy now?”
I nodded, regaining some of my composure, but the desire to beat the idiot king to death still tickled my blood. His words finally penetrated my brain. “How the heck do you know about my ... leave from the union?”
The king grimaced as if he had just repeated a state secret. “Asia must've said something.”
“How could she?” I shook my head. “Asia knows nothing about my curse.” Because if she had, my semi-sweet princess would've used it against me. Of that, I had no doubt.
“Maybe the wife mentioned it,” the king said with a shrug. “I'm the king. People tell me things all the time. Am I supposed to keep track of every one of them?”
Pretty much. Since this line of questioning wasn't getting me anywhere, I let the matter drop. It wasn't like my difficulties with the union were a secret.
Hell, on the day the union relieved me from duties, they placed a two-page (color) ad in the
New Never News
. The headline read: STUBBY VILLAIN CURSED. CAN YOU GUESS HIS NAME? The newspaper soon retracted the “stubby” adjective. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with my threat to blow up the editorial department. Not that I could. But the point was still the same.
“Never mind that,” I said with a wave at the king. “Is Asia here or not?”
“Not.”
Shit. “Where'd she go?”
“Can't say, son.” He paused to heft the assault rifle farther up his shoulder. “But if I was you, I'd leave Maledetto before someone else gets hurt.”
“Is that a threat?” A grin curved on my lips. Up until a few weeks ago, I was one of the best villains around, and now, a bloke wearing a G-string threatened to kill me. It put the villainous meaning of life into perspective.
The king shook his head, his beard bobbing like a terrier. “No threat. It's just that since you came to town three people have died. Don't think it's a coincidence. And the sheriff don't either.”
“Three?” I swallowed heavily.
“Three,” he repeated.
Damn.
 
At a little after five in the afternoon, I arrived at what used to be Hansel and Missy's candy-coated house, but now served as exhibit A.
The front door stood open. Pink-uniformed cops lined the gumdrop walkway, flashlights in their manicured hands. Dusk fell around the kingdom. I headed up the sidewalk, unmolested, as long as you didn't count my earlier encounter with Prince Annoying and his grabby hands. Which I didn't. In fact, I was doing my best to forget my entire morning, and even some of last night, namely Asia's hatred and Prince Charming's rendition of “A Boy Like That” from
West Side Story.
I shook my head and focused on the matter at hand. Murder.
In the doorway of the gingerbread house, two florescent lights illuminated the bloodless corpses of Hansel and Missy. Millions of tiny holes dotted their flesh like road rash. But they weren't killed in an automobile accident.
Nope, they weren't that lucky.
Something had pecked the poor bastards to death. Blue feathers littered the scene. I sneezed. Death by bluebird. What a way to go.
“You can't be here,” Bruce, the pointy-eared sheriff, called. He waddled his way over to me, his hands planted on his gun belt.
I acknowledged his statement with a nod, but didn't make a move to leave. “Any suspects?”
“Suspects?” He laughed. “A whole forest full, but they ain't talking.” His hand motioned to the huge hole in the roof of the house. My eyes followed his finger. A heavily laden tree branch, littered with birds, perched above the hole. The bluish birds squawked, occasionally dive-bombing the deputies below.
“The bluebirds didn't act alone,” I said. “Someone put them up to this.” I gestured to the bloodless body of Hansel. Even in death, the bloke looked happy. A smile circled his dirt-crusted lips. I leaned closer. Not dirt. Chocolate. Hansel's killer used cocoa to lure the bluebirds. A trick fit for a villain.
“He's right,” said a much-too-perky woman in a pink cheerleading outfit, the words “Maledetto” and “Coroner” emblazoned across her chest. “This is a ... give me an
M
.”
The surrounding deputies shouted
M
.
“Give me a
U
.”
Again they shouted.
“Give me an
R
.”
“Murder. I get it,” the sheriff yelled. “But how?”
I gazed at the hole in the ceiling and at the two dead bodies. Poor bastards. They never had a chance.
Ms. Cheerleading Coroner bounced over to us, her little blond pigtails bobbing up and down. “We won't know for sure until the toxicology report comes back, but my guess is the victims,” she scissor-kicked in the direction of the bodies, “were drugged, and then coated in chocolate.”
The sheriff scratched his whiskerless chin. “Drugged? Chocolate? None of this makes sense. Missy would never invite someone in, let alone someone carrying a half-pound of cocoa.” He turned to me. “She's been leery of strangers ever since the night a couple of Snow White's dwarfs got drunk and tried to burn her at the stake.”
“A stranger didn't do this,” I whispered to myself.
My eyes raked over the crime scene, settling on the wineglasses on the coffee table. The lip print on one of the wineglasses matched Missy's pale pink lips.
A greasy red smear marred the second glass.
A familiar red smear.
My pretty, pretty princess had some explaining to do.
BOOK: Curses!
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