1 Dewitched (26 page)

The front door of the castle is unlocked. I kick it open and pull him inside, hoping  not to wake up Calla. She’ll freak out if she sees her father in this state. Marcella doesn’t concern me. I remember what Calla told me. She sleeps with earplugs. Nothing could wake her. Not even a cannonball blowing through her window.

 Taking a deep breath, I rest for a moment. Now, all I have to do is get The Prince up to his chamber. Forcing myself back to work,  I slide him across the entry hall, then lug him up the grand staircase. Each step is torture. Pure torture.

Finally, we reach the top of the stairs. I’m a sweaty, wheezing, woozy mess. I take another breather, then haul him down a long, dark corridor. It seems much longer than I remember. And he seems to be getting a lot heavier. His chamber is unfortunately at the very end. When my head slams against a wall, we’ve hit a dead end and made it.

The door to his chamber is unlocked. Swinging it open, I poke my head inside. It’s pitch-black; the drapes must be pulled. I can’t see a damn thing. I glance down at The Prince lying by my feet; he’s still out cold. It’ll be easier to leave him here at the doorway and come back for him after I locate his bed.

This is my first time inside Gallant’s personal quarters. The room must be very spacious because I can’t find his bed. Stumbling blindly, I knock into chairs, tables, candelabras, and statues. When I dip my hand into a water tank filled with finger-nibbling fish, I almost take a fall. Let’s hope he doesn’t have any loose swords lying around.

A thought crosses my mind. A new problem. If I ever find the bed, how will I remember my way back to it with Gallant in tow? I remember the story Winnie told me about her two kids. How they got lost in the woods and left a trail of bread crumbs to find their way home. That’s what I’ll do! But wait, I don’t have any crumbs or bread. Maybe I can find some parchment and make spit balls.

  But why get ahead of myself? I still can’t even find his bed. Weary and wasted, I’m about to give up when I stumble over what could be a boot and tumble head first into a mound of fluffy down. Heaven! Gallant’s bed! It’s fit for a king with its luxuriously thick duvet and array of luscious, plump pillows. And it smells so fresh and inviting. I wish I could curl up right here, right now, and call it a night.

I force myself to get up. Rolling out of the bed, I knock something over.
Crash!
It must have been a vase because water is seeping through my shoes. I scoot down, find the vase still luckily in one piece, and fumble for the flowers scattered on the plush rug. They smell like roses. And there’s dozens of them. Brainstorm! Forget stinky beer-breath spitballs. I’ll scatter rose petals along the floor.
Jane, you clever, clever, girl!

Creating a fragrant path with the velvety petals, I crawl back to the entrance and retrieve Gallant. With one hand gripping his collar and my nose to the floor, I inch back across the rug, sniffing away. My little plan is working though not exactly like a charm. By the time we get to the bed, my knees are stinging from rug burns; the smell of roses is sickening me, and I’m exhausted from lugging Gallant. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if my arms fell off.

Staggering to my feet, I gaze down at Gallant. How the hell I’m going to get him into the bed? Without over thinking, I grab him by his wrists and miraculously manage to heave him onto the duvet. 

Okay, I can get out of here. I so need to get sleep. My head is swirling, and I don’t know how much longer I can stave off waves of nausea. As I creep away, Gallant groans. He groans again, this time louder. Of course! He must be miserable in his tight britches, those boots, and that buttoned up jacket. 

I start with the jacket. Yet another challenge. Fumbling for the buttons, my fingers run down his chest, feeling the ripple of every finely honed muscle along the way. My fingertips feel like they’re on fire. With each button, I find myself growing hotter and fighting the urge to rip the jacket right off his body.

Grabbling for the last one, my fingers graze a hard bump between his legs. This is
not
a button. I hastily pull my hand away.

Suddenly, Gallant comes to.

 “Branch, I want you. Come to me,” he mutters. At least, that’s what I
think
he’s saying. Holy crap! He’s into that tree-hugging game too?

I’m out of here. As I pivot around, he grips my arm and pulls me on top of him. To my shock, he gropes my breasts and strokes my neck with the tip of his warm tongue as if he’s painting me. The sensation arouses a divine tingling deep inside me. Moving his fluttering tongue to my chest, he wraps his muscled arms firmly around me. I struggle to break away, but he’s too damn strong for me in his drunken stupor. Or I’m too damn weak in mine. Rhythmically, he slides his body against mine. Up and down. Slowly. Then faster. I find myself rocking in perfect harmony. Inside, I’m throbbing. Moaning. I don’t want him to stop. It feels good. So good. Oh God! Too good!

The Prince lets out a long, loud sigh and falls back to sleep. I tiptoe out of the room, careful not to knock anything else over and relieved that I didn’t take his britches off first. 

I hope The Prince remembers none of this tomorrow. And I hope neither do I.

CHAPTER 26

I wake up early again the next morning with a pounding headache and my tongue pasted to my palate. How many beers did I drink last night? I stopped counting after the first.

 Downstairs in the kitchen, I encounter the last person I want to see. Not Marcella. Gallant!

Given all he went through last night, he looks miraculously good. There’s only a faint bruise on his forehead where Hook whacked him and a small, almost indiscernible gash on his neck from Hook’s sword. But that’s all. Even his blue eyes have regained their clarity. Let’s hope his memory hasn’t.

“I must have fallen off my horse last night,” he says, sipping a cup of that fragrant tea.

Oh shit! He remembers!

“I am sore all over.” He rubs the back of his head. “And I have this bump. But I honestly cannot recall when or where it happened.”

Phew! He doesn’t. I do and turn my head away. After last night, I can’t look him in the eye.

He pours me a cup of the tea.

“After learning how much Calla enjoyed her picnic with you, I have decided I need to spend more quality time with her. So I have planned a special outing.” 

Great. He’s going to take her shopping at The Trove. I saw lots of fathers and daughters there.

“We are all going apple-picking this afternoon.”

What?

“It should be great fun.” He finishes his tea. “You, me, Calla, and Marcella.” 

Marcella?
Great fun? This is what I call misery. Pure misery.

“And perhaps tonight, you can make another delicious apple pie.”

I toss my tea into the sink.

***

“I can’t wait to go, Papa!” squeals Calla as we finish lunch. She’s already holding a basket with Lady Jane tucked inside.

Marcella, on the other hand, isn’t the least bit excited about apple-picking. She protests it will wear her out for the ball.

“The exercise will invigorate you,” says The Prince.

 “My love, picking apples is for peasants.” 

Great! Her Royal Skankiness hates apple-picking. Maybe she won’t go.

Her face brightens as she gulps down the last bit of my liquid diet potion. “On second thought, my love, you’re so right. I’ll burn lots of calories and lose weight!”

Dragonballs! She’s coming along. I think of Winnie’s mantra: “Look on the bright side.” An image of Marcella falling out of an apple tree and breaking her neck pops into my head. Maybe it will be fun.

“The coach is waiting,” says Gallant, rising from the table.

Why are we taking the coach when there’s surely an apple orchard on The Prince’s property, only a short walk away?

***

 Inside the coach, Calla and I sit opposite The Prince and Marcella. I gaze out the window to avoid eye contact with Gallant. The bumpy ride does little to calm my nerves.

Calla rattles off her secrets to finding the best apples. The best ones are always on the tree; the “yucky” ones on the ground.

Marcella, bored to death, sips more of her “diet” (Ha!) potion and reads the latest
Fairytale Tattler
.

“I can’t concentrate,” she grumbles. “Calla, can you
please
shut up.” 

Calla makes a face but complies. Maybe it’s because Marcella said “please” for once.

 The PIW tears through the tabloid pages. “Jane, why isn’t there any gossip about what I’m wearing to the ball?” Venom fills her eyes.

I make a mental note. Add to To-Do List: Leak Marcella’s gown.

The route we’re taking is familiar. It’s as though we are going to The Trove. We pass Midas this and Midas that. I swear the number of Midas properties has multiplied since I last traveled down this road. When I get back to my castle, maybe I’ll invite him over and have a little chat about expanding my empire.

 My cliffside castle soon soars into view and that burning desire to reclaim it surges inside me. My eyes grow wide when the coach turns into the narrow road that leads to it.
What is going on here?

The road is long and lined with potholes, bumps, and debris. With each fault we pass over, my heart slams harder against my chest. Is this some kind of surprise? Am I finally free to live in my castle?

“Are we there yet?” asks Calla.

“Almost,” smiles the Prince.

We’re at the base of my property. The moat is gone, completely filled in. No big deal. It was a nuisance to cross anyway. My eyes travel up the jagged hillside to my majestic castle. It’s shrouded by a thick, billowy cloud.

My eyes stay peeled to the window as the coach circles halfway around the mountain. I want to jump out, run up to my home. As the coach comes to a sudden halt, my stomach lurches.

 A large sign with bold, gold writing is posted into the earth.

SOLD!!

ANOTHER MIDAS LUXURY HOTEL COMING SOON!

What! They’ve sold my castle to this Midas creep? Without asking me? My mouth opens so wide I think everything inside me will leap out.

“There is an amazing apple orchard here,” says The Prince.

I should know. This is
my
castle!

“The owner shall not mind,” Gallant continues.

Why don’t you ask?
my head screams.
You’re looking right at her!

***

The apple orchard is exactly as I remember it. Hundreds of trees ripe with fragrant red fruit line the base of the cliff. As I stand in its midst, memories mingle with madness.

I’m going to sue that Midas bastard. Take him to court. With luck, I’ll get that whack-job judge, and she’ll take off his head.

On second thought, forget about suing. It’ll take too long. I’m going to hunt him down and destroy his life the way he’s destroyed mine. Poison him if I have to. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get my castle back.

 “How about we have a contest to see who can pick the most apples,” says The Prince, oblivious to the rage blazing inside me. 

“That’s ridiculous,” scoffs Marcella.

For once, she’s right. I’m in no mood for fun and games to say the least. Unless the prize is Midas’s heart.

 “Papa, I’m going to win!” shouts Calla who’s already running to a tree abundant with fruit. Using a long stick she’s found, she knocks off several apples.

“Look, Papa!” she says with excitement. “I already have five apples!”

“Excellent!” says The Prince.

Marcella rolls her eyes. She clearly can’t wait for this day to be over. Neither can I.

The four of us scatter around the orchard. I spot The Prince and Calla in the distance, but Marcella’s nowhere in sight. She’s probably gone back to the coach to read her tabloid. 

I wander aimlessly from tree to tree. Rage mixed with shock is ravaging me. Just wait until I get my hands on that Midas! 

My heart skips a beat. Straight ahead of me is that one unforgettable tree--the tree that bore that one unforgettable perfect apple. The apple I picked and dipped into poison. The apple I gave to Snow White.

Calla, carrying her basket with Lady Jane, runs over to the tree.

 “Don’t pick apples from that tree!” I sprint up to her, almost knocking her down.

“What’s wrong with this tree?” asks Calla, puzzled.

 “Nothing.” 

 Yes, nothing. Except the thought of eating apples from this tree is making me even sicker to my stomach. Ignoring my plea, Calla shakes the tree, and an apple falls into her basket. A big red rosy apple. Exactly like the one I gave to Snow White.

“Jane, look at this apple!” exclaims Calla. “It’s perfect!” She raises it toward her rosebud lips.

 As her mouth descends on its shiny exterior, I yank it out of her hand and toss it as far as I can.

Calla gives me another bewildered look. “Jane, you’re acting all weird today. Are you feeling sick?” 

 “No, I’m perfectly fine.”
Perfectly fine?
Chances are I’ll never make it through this day.

***

 What has this madman Midas done to my castle? I’m desperate to find out.

 When Calla skips off to check on her father, I hurry off. Every nerve in my body is charged with anticipation as I stomp up the steep, winding road that leads to my home. Yes,
my
home! Kicking rocks and debris in my way, I’m surprised how easy it is for me to make the climb. The daily trek up to Shrink’s office has gotten me into better shape than I’ve ever been. I can be thankful to Faraway for that. But that’s all. Shrink led me to believe I could go back to live in my castle, but now that’s just another wicked lie.

  The cloud cloaking the castle lifts as I make the ascent, and by the time I get to the top, my home is in full view with its myriad of towers, spires, and towers.

 My heart plunges. Walls are crumbling; windows are cracked; the vegetation runs wild. It’s a ghost of its former glorious self.