Authors: J. A. Kazimer

Tags: #Fantasy

Curses! (21 page)

BOOK: Curses!

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Chapter 43

A
n hour later, shivering and covered in pond sludge, I dragged my body from the pond. Little Red had given up her murderous quest twenty minutes ago. But I'd stayed hidden in the weeds until I was sure the little serial killer wasn't lying in wait for my head on her plate. When the toad at the edge of the pond croaked the all-clear sign, I pulled myself from the muck with a wet squeak. Mud and slime dribbled off me in clumps.

My clothes, hair, and boots smelled like day-old fish. On the bright side, my dip in the pond had cured my hangover, not to mention a lingering case of villain's foot.

For the first time since Natasha took off with my worst friend, the Frog Prince, I actually felt somewhat sorry for the guy. A pond was no place for a man to live, amphibian parts aside.

Trudging to the shore, water and slime dripping from my every orifice, I considered the last couple of days. I was trapped in Maledetto, an unknown killer as well as my murderous princess stalking my every step. Not to mention being cursed to boot, but I'd had worse weeks.

In fact, when Natasha and I first married, we spent a week camping in the Enchanted Forest with Natasha's banjo-playing relatives. Trust me, the forest and Natasha's family were less than enchanting. I shuddered thinking about it.

It was time to take charge, to find Cinderella's killer and get the hell out of Maledetto. I sat down on the nearest toad-free log and contemplated my next move. I needed to return to the kingdom, at the very least to rescue my distressed and arrested damsel, and for a change of clothes. I guess I owed Charming an apology as well, for messing up his big day, even though it would kill me to give it.

Somewhere on my right, a branch broke under the heavy tread of a boot. I snatched up a toad, aiming its poison butt at the interloper. I wasn't going down without a fight. Little Red would see just how big and bad a villain I was.

Or not.

Through the brush, Charming's overly big and blond head appeared. Tears stained his cheeks, giving him a clownlike appeal. My guilt-o-meter increased half a point.

“Rabbi?” he said, stumbling my way. “What are you doing here?”

“Charming, it's me.” I yanked the kippah from my head. “RJ.”

“Oh, RJ!” He clapped his hands and ran toward me. “I'm so happy to see you.”

I stepped back to avoid his hugging arms, but tripped over a log and ended up on my back, a toad ass in my face. The toad croaked once, excreted a yellow gooey substance, and hopped away. I wiped my face and sniffed my fingers, relieved when they smelled only of urine. Not my proudest moment.

I staggered to my feet, wiping my hands on the nearest bush, which turned out to be poison oak. My skin started to itch and blister instantly. It turned red and bubbled up two sizes bigger than a normal hand.

That wasn't nearly as bad as what happened next.

Prince Rotten yanked me into a bear hug, crushing me to him, his arms surprisingly strong, as was his breath. “Why? RJ, why?” he cried against my shoulder. “Why would Dru do this? To
me?
”

A swirl of answers crossed my mind, but my curse kept me from commenting. “Come on, mate.” I patted his shoulder, more in hopes he'd release me than for comfort. “You didn't really love Dru. Did you? Admit it, you're happy she eloped with Winslow.”

“What? She eloped with the butler?” He jerked away. “Dru choose that troll over me? Why? I'm a prince, for fuck sakes! I'm pretty. I'm a catch, damn it! What could he possibly have that I don't?” Humility? Kindness? A desire for women?

I raised my hand to stop Charming's tirade. “That's not the point. The point is, you're now a free man. No princess nagging at you twenty-four / seven. You can do what you want, when you want.”

Or to whom you want.

The prince tilted his head as if considering my words. Then he promptly burst into full snotty sobs. “You don't understand. I loved Dru.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Well, I liked her.”

I shook my head.

“Fine,” he said. “But damn it, she was my last hope.”

My eyes narrowed. In my short association with Charming, I never heard him utter a single unkind word, and now, he sounded much like a military general on the verge of surrender. Oddly, that didn't make me like him one iota more.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't realize Dru's importance to your plot to dominate the world.”

Charming grinned, all cunning gone as swiftly as it came. “The world?” He giggled. “No. I want something much smaller. I want to be part of the Maledetto family. A real member. Not just some charity case the king took in as a child. I want to be a part of a real family.”

“And marrying one of the princesses would give you that.” Well, I guess that explained his proposals to Asia, Cinderella, and then Dru. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Being an outcast was hard. I should know. I thought about what the queen had said, about Charming's lack of childhood friends. About how the kids would laugh and tease him for being short ...

“I was ten when the king took me in,” Charming said, his voice trembling, “an orphan, with no place to go.”

“That's rough.”

He nodded, his eyes misting. “Don't get me wrong. The king did right by me. He raised me like his son. I want nothing more than to please him.”

“So you asked Asia, the oldest daughter, to marry you.”

He nodded. “The king worried Asia would never marry. Not with her ... weight problem ...”

What a fool. Was everyone in the kingdom blind? Asia's beauty came from the stubborn tilt of her head and the curve of her smart mouth. It was there in the way she beat a defenseless egg to death, or how she made love with one hot look.

Prince Moron continued, “I didn't want to marry her, not with all that blubber, but I proposed to please the king.”

Violence boiled inside me. Poor Asia. She had suffered with Prince Twat much too long. I vowed to make it up to her. Not a day would go by without my listing her every attribute, starting with the tiny mole on the inside of her right thigh, the one as smooth and velvety as whipped cream on a slice of pumpkin pie.

“But then you dumped Asia for Cinderella,” I said. “How'd the king like that?”

“I had no choice, really.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Cinderella was beautiful beyond compare and Asia ... well, you know ...”

I wanted to pummel him into prince pudding, but something held me back. Stupid union. One good smack would solve so many problems, not to mention make me feel a hell of a lot better.

“The king understood my need to marry his real daughter,” he said, as if Asia was some kind of imaginary offspring. “And the king was happy for us. Cinderella and me. For a while.” Charming's voice turned whisper soft. “Yet if I had a chance to do it all over again, I would never have proposed to her.”

“Her?” Did he mean Asia or his pancake-sized fiancÃ©e?

“Cindi.” He shook his head. “Please try to pay attention.”

“Right. Sorry,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm. Of course he failed to notice. “So why wouldn't you propose to Cinderella?” After all, she seemed like Charming's perfect matchâvain, selfish, and stupid; add in a pinch of malice, and poof, a princess fit for a twit.

A frown marred Charming's perfect features. “Because Cinderella's dead, RJ. I can't marry a dead princess. What would people think?”

I bit my lip to keep from screaming. “I know that.”

“So why'd you ask?” He shook his head. “Never mind. What am I going to do now? Cinderella's dead, and Dru's run away with a troll.”

“Don't even think about it,” I warned.

“What?”

“Asia is mine.”

In an instant, his face transformed from sad to giddy. He clapped his hands together and danced around me. “What a great idea.”

“No!”

“I'll propose to Asia.”

“I'll kill you!”

“She's not fat anymore, even if her hair still resembles a carrot.”

Somewhere in my cerebellum something snapped. I raised my hand and smacked Charming across the cheek. The slap echoed around the forest. Charming staggered backward, his hand rubbing his abused flesh. A red, deceptively small handprint stained his face.

“Why'd you hit me?” he cried.

“Are you serious?” I took a step toward him. “You're planning to propose to
my
princess, and you ask me why I smacked you? You're lucky that's all I can do.” My foot lashed out, this time missing the idiot prince by a foot.

Tears glistened in his eyes. He sniffed, sucking in a string of snot. Unfortunately, it did nothing to detract from his princely appeal. The bastard.

I slapped him again for good measure.

Charming cried out and ran behind a large bald oak tree. He poked his head around the bark.

“Leave Asia alone.” I wagged a finger at him. “If you so much as look at her I'll twist you into a Pollock painting.” Art Forgery 101 had finally paid off. My villainous instructor would be so proud.

“Well, if that's how you're going to be,” Charming said.

Damn straight it was. I would die for Asia, as long as she stopped trying to kill me. “That's how I'm going to be,” I said, my arms crossed over my chest in a desperate attempt to intimidate.

“A pity,” he said as he stepped behind the oak tree.

I started to frown, but before my lips could curve into the appropriate downward arch, a crackle of electricity buzzed from behind me.

Zap!

Fifty thousand volts shot through my body. I dropped to my knees. My brain seemed to short-circuit as a string of foul words stammered on the end of my wobbly tongue.

The sheriff stood above me with his freshly charged stun gun. He juiced me again for good measure. Blood filled my mouth as my teeth sliced into my tongue. Rhythmically my limbs shuddered and my bladder threatened to give way.

A circle of toads watched my puppet show from a fallen log, mocking humor in their beady, bug eyes. Tiny bluebirds swelled in my vision, growing bigger and bigger.

Charming stood over me. “What do you think, Bruce? Should I go old school and get down on one knee when I propose to my sweet Asia?” He proceeded to do just that, his knee pressing into my spine.

“Both knees,” the sheriff said. “She is a lady, after all.”

“How right you are.” Charming's second knee stabbed into my sciatic nerve, paralyzing me almost as much as the Taser had. Pain radiated up my nerve endings and into my brain like a freight train. I struggled for breath, grey spots dancing in my eyes.

“RJ,” Charming said.

“Whhaaat?” I gasped.

“I do hope you'll come to the wedding.”

Chapter 44

S
ometime later, I awoke in the backseat of a patrol pumpkin, its red and blue lights flashing in a rhythmic beat. My hands, cuffed behind me, had long ago fallen victim to the Sandman. The tingling revived me somewhat. But my head still felt like a piÃ±ata the day after Cinco de Mayo, split open and empty. I moaned and blinked against the swirl of lights. The sheriff sat in the front seat filling out a stack of paperwork.

“Let's see,” he said. “Impersonating a member of the clergy. Assault. Obstruction. And that's only in the last hour.” His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Oh, and let's not forget, first degree murder.”

Dramatic pause.

“Eight counts.”

“What?” I struggled against my bonds, quickly calculating the Maledetto body count. “I didn't kill anyone.” Well, not recently, and definitely not in Maledetto. Unless one counted the toad I'd accidentally squished while escaping the red-hooded serial killer. But, come on, toad squishing was a misdemeanor at best.

The sheriff glanced inside his notebook. “Let's not forget, one count of attempted murder.”

“Attempted murder?” I racked my brain for an intended victim. A name came quick enough. Charming. But wanting someone dead and attempting to kill them weren't the same thing. “I didn't try to kill anyone.” Yet.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really.”

The sheriff scoffed. “Then explain the bluebird.”

“What bluebird?”

“That one.” The sheriff pointed to a bluish bird sitting on the hood of the patrol pumpkin. The bird looked innocent enough, if you overlooked its bloodstained beak. “That bird bit me.” Bruce showed me his freshly bandaged arm. “I can only assume on your command.”

“That's some assumption.” I paused, nodding to the gold star pinned to his lapel. It shone brightly in the flashing red and blue lights. “Where'd you get your sheriff's badge? A cereal box?”

The sheriff blushed and fingered the star. Damn, I thought the patrol car smelled vaguely of Froot Loops. “Listen,” I said. “I've never seen that bird in my life. I swear it.”

He frowned. “And I'm supposed to take the word of a villain?”

Good point. “Open the door and I'll prove it.”

“How?”

“I'll order it to fly away. If it's under my command it will.” I swallowed. “If not, it will probably peck my eyes out. What have you got to lose?”

The sheriff nodded. “Fair enough.”

The locks on the back door popped. I stared at the door handle. This was my chance to escape.

Or a really stupid way to die.

My money was on the latter.

But I had to try. A picture of Asia, beautiful in a stark white gown, burst into my head. Like a princess in a fairytale, tiny birds circled her head, threading pink ribbons through her long tresses. A slow burn grew in my chest, aching for my lovely lady.

A second image floated through my brain. Charming, dressed in a tux, his blond hair flowing in the nonexistent wind, stood next to my princess, his lips hovering inches from hers.

Hell no. I'd see Charming in hell first.

Before the sheriff could blink, in a trick as old as villainy itself, I slipped my legs through my handcuffed arms. With my hands now cuffed in front of me, I grabbed the door handle, mumbling a silent prayer or what passed as a prayer in the Church of Villainy. It went something like:

Now I do something really dumb, I pray it doesn't end with me pummeled into a villainous mulch. If I cry before I take, I pray no one sees it. Almond.

“Here goes nothing.” I shoved the door open and slipped out of the vehicle and into the enchanted air. A cool wind swept across my still-wet rabbi costume. I shivered, but not from the cold. The bluebird tilted its head to one side, watching me warily. I took a step from the patrol pumpkin, leaving the door open just in case.

“Hello there,” I said to the bird.

Squawk!

“Gretel, is it?”

Again, a loud squawk. I took that as the affirmative.

From inside the patrol car, the sheriff screamed and quickly shut the door, trapping me outside with the bluebird, a bluebird responsible for at least one death, and possibly two more. Unless Hansel and Missy had pecked themselves to death.

I swear Gretel smiled, her blood-soaked beak gleaming in the fading sunlight. I swallowed hard, but stood my ground, mostly because my legs refused to move.

“Nice to finally meet you,” I said to the bird. “Would you be a good bird, and do me a favor?”

Squawk.

“See these handcuffs?” Using my chin, I gestured to my shackled hands. Gretel's beak bobbed. “Smart bird.”

Squawk.

“Okay, here's the deal.” I gave her my best “trust me” smile, all teeth and lips. “Pick this lock and I'll give you all the cocoa you can eat.”

To a bluebird, my bribe equaled the golden ticket, except in this case Willy Wonka wasn't the man behind the scenes. Someone else was, someone who used the poor, innocent bird to kill Cinderella, Hansel, and Missy with cold-bloodied efficiency. And now my freedom, if not my life, were in Gretel's talons.

Gretel flapped her wings, as if debating my offer.

“Come on, sweetheart,” I said. “Help a villain out.”

She did, but with much more enthusiasm than I'd anticipated. Her talons locked onto my right arm, tearing into the flesh beneath. Blood ran down my arm, staining the sleeve of my shirt. I held in a scream, beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

With the precision of Goldilocks, Gretel picked the handcuff lock in record time. One minute I was a prisoner on my way to jail, and then next, I was a free man with one goal.

Stop Charming.

At any cost.

“Stop,” the sheriff yelled from the safety of the patrol pumpkin. “Stop in the name of the law.” A command I never quite understood.

Nevertheless, I did stop, just long enough to ask Gretel for one final favor. I motioned to the sheriff. “Don't let him out of the vehicle and I'll toss in a subscription to
Bird Fancy
.”

Squawk.

“Yep.” I nodded. “The one with the Toucan Sam centerfold.”

Gretel flapped her wings, flying from my bloody arm to the windshield of the patrol pumpkin. Her talons scratched against the glass with a terrifying screech. The sheriff screamed like a girl and raised his hands to protect his face even though three centimeters of glass separated him from certain death.

I tapped the glass with my knuckle. “You'll be safe as long as you stay inside the vehicle.” I grinned at the sheriff. “Don't bother calling for help. Gretel's got friends in high places.”

The sheriff glanced upward to the swarm of bluebirds circling overhead. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly.

“Thanks,” I said to Gretel. “I owe you one.”

Without waiting for her answering squawk, I took off for the palace in search of a change of clothes and my one true love.

BOOK: Curses!

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