Disenchanted (15 page)

"How old is she?"

"She's just been born."

"I don't want a baby!"

"Do you want a sleeping
beauty or not?"

I scowled. "What if she
pricks her finger as a child?"

"Her father's ordered every
needle to be destroyed. I've hidden one. When she's old enough, I'll put it in
her holiday home. She'll be so curious, she'll touch it. And you'll have your
sleeping beauty."

"What if she grows up
ugly?"

"The fairies have seen to it
she'll be beautiful, kind, sing like an angel, play every musical
instrument."

"I don't want her CV, I want
her unconscious."

"Spells like this aren't
cheap."

I frowned. "You can have half
now and half on completion."

I watched her walk out, wondering
what the hell I would do for the next few years.

***

Nineteen years passed. The
honeymoon suite had more brides – Gretel, Beauty, the one I called Frog
Princess because she'd been talking to a frog when I met her. I seriously
questioned her sanity. There were others, but they didn't deserve coffins. I'd
buried them in the woods. I was helping the council with their cemetery
overcrowding problem. Somehow I doubted my efforts would earn me a key to the
city.

There was a knock at my door. It
was the witch. "It's time."

My heart raced. "She's
asleep?"

She recited an address. "One
of the fairies put a hedge around the manor house to keep her safe. Sprinkle
this on it and the hedge will fall away." She relinquished a pouch.
"I want my money."

I smashed her head in with a
Faberge egg. Drastic measures must be taken during a recession. I wheeled my
trail bike out of the garage and sped towards the house. When I arrived, I saw
the tall thorny hedge that protected the princess from intruders.

It couldn't protect her from me.

I sprinkled the powder and
watched the hedge crumble. The gate creaked open. I walked to the house, my
hands trembling. I shoved open the door. It protested loudly, but eventually
yielded.

Staff were asleep on the floor,
stairs, wherever they happened to be when she pricked her finger. I tiptoed
past them, convinced they'd wake. I snuck upstairs and along the corridor. I
stepped over a maid and stopped at the door at the far end.

I took a deep breath before
nudging the door open and stepping inside.

My bride was laid out on the bed,
her long brown hair fanned out on the white pillow. Her pale skin was flawless.
I eased myself down and lay beside her. I stretched a quivering finger towards
her and brushed her hair from her forehead.

I kissed her perfect lips. She
didn't respond. I moaned, exploring her slender body with one hand. I pulled
away. I didn't want to ruin this moment. I had one chance to fulfil my fantasy
for the first time. There was plenty of time to do other things to her.

I had a hundred years.

I had my Sleeping Beauty.

Girl All the Bad
Guys Want

Candles flickered in the castle's
eyes making it resemble a twisted, blackened pumpkin. Snow White knew this
pumpkin couldn't banish evil spirits – one lived within its fortress walls. A
poisonous witch so malignant she made
Vlad
the
Impaler
look like a children's entertainer.

Snow White watched the castle
from the protective embrace of the surrounding woods. The candles' flames
conjured images of Hell's fires burning the souls of sinners and saints. Her
stepmother smiled, posing before her hideous mirror. A smile on her face was as
rare as a tragic ending to a Rom Com. She was plotting something. It probably
wasn't her next Botox party.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who's the fairest of them all?"

"Although you haven't aged a
bit, Snow White is looking pretty fit," the mirror responded.

"What?" Crows took
flight and dogs howled. Snow White left. "
Gothem
Shitty? You think she's prettier than me? She looks like the living dead!"
The mirror stayed silent. "She's allergic to colour! She thinks skulls are
a fashion accessory! Only vampires would find her attractive."

"She's a goddess of the
underworld."

"If she likes the underworld
that much she can bloody well live there!"

The queen stormed out in a swirl
of silk and festering rage. Candles extinguished as she passed, smoke deserting
their wicks like dying spirits. Snatching the sharpest knife from the kitchen,
she rushed into Snow White's room and stabbed the figure under the black
covers. Fifty stabs later, her fury fled and she sank onto the bed. A skeleton
hung in a corner like a condemned man. Skulls and swords decorated the violet
walls. It looked like Dracula's castle had regurgitated the room.

She yanked back the cover.
"Not so pretty now, Princess of Darkness." The blank eyes of Snow
White's life-sized Corpse Bride model stared back.

"You little bitch!"

She tore the bride's blue head
off and flung it into a corner where it knocked over a coffin jewellery box.
She marched out, her wrath stalking her like a malevolent shadow. She
surrendered to its spreading poison. She paced the drawing room until a revenge
plot crawled from behind its dungeon door in her mind and whispered in her ear.
She smiled.

Snow White wouldn't live to see
another sunset.

***

In the morning she summoned her
favourite huntsman. As she waited she deliberated which smile to use. Playful
minx, sultry seductress or cold assassin? She chose playful minx. She was still
young enough to carry it off.

"I need a favour." She
stroked his arm. "Take Snow White into the forest and kill her."

"Kill the king's
daughter
?"

"No, his prized pot plant.
He won't even notice she's gone – she only comes out at night like other
monsters. I want proof. Bring me her heart."

"Wouldn't a photo be
better?"

"Like some
pervy
Victorian death shot? Bring me her goddamn heart or
I'll roast your chestnuts on an open fire. Capuche?"

Snow White tiptoed to her room
and selected her favourite dagger. The haft had a skull with ruby eyes.
Finally, spying on the queen was paying off. She was sick of hearing her moan
about her cellulite and she'd never get the image of her doing a strip tease in
front of the mirror out of her head. If the queen wanted a heart that badly,
Snow White could cut out the queen's and hand it to her gift wrapped. She
wouldn't miss it – she'd been functioning without a heart for years. Snow White
suspected it wasn't blood running through the queen's veins but battery acid.

She slipped the dagger up the bat
winged sleeve of her top, securing it with her spiked wristband. "Bring it
on, Queen of Tarts."

The huntsman knocked her door.
"The queen asked me to exercise some horses but my groom's injured. Any
chance you can come?"

Kill him now or get the jump on him in the woods?
She fingered the
dagger.
Woods. I'll never get bloodstains
out of my carpet.

Her horse, Midnight Kiss, was
already tacked up. She mounted and trotted after the huntsman. When they were
deep in the woods, his horse swerved and he hit the ground with a crunch. Kind
of how she imagined the queen's head would sound if she bashed it in with her
spooky tower snow globe. She dismounted, unclipping a chain strap from her
trousers. As she neared him, he sprang up and grabbed her. She spun away,
kicked him in the back of his knees then wrapped her strap around his throat as
he dropped. He clawed at it, gagging, his skin turning an unhealthy shade of
crimson kisses.

"Drop it, punk!"

He dropped his dagger, gasping
and trying to free himself. She yanked the chains tighter. He was like a mood
changing ring - first pink promise, then ruby dreams and now a lovely shade of
violet fusion, like a furious sunset. She guessed his mood was 'slowly
asphyxiating'.

"You have two choices. Die
and be eaten by bears or tell the queen I'm dead." He gasped. She pulled
the chains. "One or two?" He shakily raised two fingers. "If you
break your promise, I'll gut you like a pumpkin and hang you somewhere to ward
off evil spirits."

She unwound the chains and drew
her dagger. He coughed, dropping to all fours. She considered kicking him over
and ramming her stiletto into his eye but her boots were custom made by the
best Gothic designer. She didn't want them ruined with eyeball gunk.

He rose, rubbing his throat.

"Put ice on that," she
gestured to his throat with her dagger. "Now piss off and tell the wicked
witch I'm dead." She grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and pressing
her dagger to his throat. "If you hear things going bump in the night,
you'd better lock your door, because I'm about to become the queen's worst
nightmare."

She shoved him away. He scurried
to his horse, grabbed Midnight Kiss' reins and galloped off.

"Calls himself a huntsman.
He couldn't kill a daisy."

The horses' hooves faded,
replaced by loaded silence. She walked away. The trees' skeletal branches
snatched at her hair, whispering nefarious secrets only they understood. A
hundred eyes watched her but every time she whirled around, she was alone. The
sun exploded, splattering the clouds with its scarlet blood. The moon lowered
its veil, mourning the death of another day.

Her designer boots, although
perfect for stamping out eyes, weren't designed for dark woodland treks. The
silver heels glinted when moonlight struck them. The chains on her boots and
trousers rattled like a ghostly gaoler's keys. She shivered as night's cold
caress stroked her skin. She'd brought a dagger but left her coat behind. Now
she'd freeze to death and be eaten by bears. No way would she live that down.

Twigs crunched under invisible
feet. A wolf howled, answered by a pack.

"All I need's a basket and a
hooded red cloak then my life would be a
fairytale
."

A light flickered ahead, as
though Hell's burning brands were guiding sinners to its darkest lair. Anyone
lighting a fire in these woods was either a serial killing cannibal cooking his
(they were always male. What happened to feminism?) latest victim or boy scouts
on a camping trip. She'd rather take her chances with the cannibal. At least
she'd have supper after she'd killed him. The sugary sweetness of boy scouts
would ruin her cholesterol.

She crouched behind a tree,
peering over a rock. Below sat a cabin looking as innocent as a judge caught in
a brothel raid. A man walked past the window. She shrank back into the shadows.
A cannibal could live in a cabin. Just because he ate people didn't mean he
wasn't civilised. Estate agents didn't require decency ratings alongside the
fixtures and fittings.

Snow White spent the night
watching the cabin. She saw seven men come and go, a couple returning with
women. She wondered if she'd discovered a male brothel. Seven men didn't live
together in the woods for tax reasons. When daylight reared its ugly head, she
had cramp, was starving and her bladder was threatening to explode. She found a
quiet spot then returned to watch the cabin.

***

The queen paced, clenching her
glutes
. Goths hated exercise so she'd soon win back the
mirror's heart. The huntsman returned.

"It's done."

"Where's her heart?"

He relinquished a
tupperware
lunchbox. She removed the lid, wrinkling her
nose. She held the box up to the light.

"How can I be sure this is
her heart?"

"See if her name's imprinted
on it?"

"Don't get smart with me and
don't tell anyone about this. Remember who killed her."

She stashed the heart in the
fridge, to feed to the king later.
Let's
see how delightful he finds his daughter when she's lodged in his intestinal
tract.

She headed to her mirror.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

"You think she's dead, but
she is not. Snow White is looking pretty hot."

"Her heart's cooling in the
fridge. You think I'm second best to a
corpse
?"

"Snow White's alive."

"Where is she?"

"In the woods, playing
soldiers."

The queen emitted a scream a
horror movie blonde would be proud of. "Let's see how much she likes
graveyards when she's buried in one."

***

Snow White abandoned her hiding
place. Nobody had left the cabin for five hours. She circled it. The curtains
in the back were open a slit. Seven coffins lay in a row. She'd wanted a coffin
bed but she was a fitful sleeper and coffins didn't allow rolling room. There
was no sign of the men.

The front door was locked, but
not for long. If that spoilt brat Goldilocks (she'd have to dye her roots or
her name would be false advertising) could break into the three bears' cottage,
she could lock pick a brothel. The air was as still as an undisturbed crypt.
Apart from the coffins, nothing about the cabin screamed 'gothic chic'. She was
disappointed. She opened the fridge. Once she'd eaten she'd get as far from the
castle as possible.

Vials of red liquid filled the
fridge. She took one out and pulled off the stopper. She sniffed it. It smelled
faintly metallic. She took a sip then spat it out.

Blood.

She scoured the cabin for
weapons. If she was going to survive alone she wanted to be better armed than a
warrior. A warrior wouldn't get molested by a
pervy
man wandering the woods waiting to find a damsel in distress so he could take
her to his castle, chain her up and indulge in his darkest fantasies. She
barricaded herself in an upstairs room and made a bed out of blankets and
clothes.

When she woke, it was dark. A
muffled shriek fractured the silence. She cursed, removed the barricade and
crept downstairs, dagger poised for bloodshed. The only sound was her heart,
betraying her with every creaking step. Her breath escaped with treacherous
noise. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, remembering the horror film rule
- the bad guy was always behind you.

She whirled around. Nothing but
uninviting darkness. She moved towards the kitchen, stubbing her toe on a
coffin. She swore, rubbing her foot and hopping, wishing her boots had steel
toe caps. She moved through the pulsing darkness and eased the door open, fear
like a bed of nails pricking her skin.

The door slammed shut. She spun
around, stabbing her dagger forwards. Her wrist was grabbed so she retaliated
with a kick, sending her attacker stumbling backwards. She drew the huntsman's
dagger.

"Bring it on, bitch."
She hoped she sounded more
hardass
than she felt.

Silence. The type of silence that
only comes when a murderer is waiting in the shadows for you to turn your back
so he can grab you, throw you in a cage then boil your skin to remove it and
recover his furniture because he's too tight to buy fabric. Flames danced
seductively to life, their swaying orange bodies casting writhing shadows on
the walls. She blinked in the sudden light. The cabin now resembled the dungeon
she'd feared.

A body pressed against hers as
her head was wrenched back. She struggled uselessly.

"Who are you?" A voice
asked from the shadows.

This was the perfect time to
reinvent herself. She could never return to the castle and she'd always hated
her name. Any parent who named their child Snow White should be arrested on
cruelty charges.

"Bandit." Nobody would
mess with a girl called Bandit. Six men stepped forwards. "Who are you?
Brothers Grimm?"

All wore black and were as pale
as she was, with dark hair. She wondered whether her father had repopulated the
woods and stashed his secret sons here. That would be typical – they got to
live out here playing outlaws while she was forced to be a princess and live
with old Hag Bags.

"This is our cabin,"
one answered. His lips were scarlet. Like he'd been…she saw a girl sprawled on
the floor behind him. Blood edged around her like a chalk outline.

Shit
. "It needs redecorating." She wriggled, but the man
holding her tightened his grip. "I told you my name, it's only fair you
tell me yours."

The closest one smiled, a smile a
rattlesnake would be proud of. "Tudor." He pointed at the others in
turn. "Doc Carl
Vorkian
, Ryan, Zack,
Jez
,
Iolo
and your human shackle
is
Rhydian
."

A knock on the door broke the
spell. Zack, who blocked the door, opened it.

"Have you seen a girl in the
woods?"