Fairytale (3 page)

Bridin covered his hand with hers. “Raze,
what’s the matter? I know something is.”

His pale blue eyes met hers. So sad! Bridin
felt a shiver go up her spine, but ignored it. Nervously, she
fingered her pendant, sliding it back and forth on its thin silver
chain.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll tell you. I
have to, sooner or later. Bridey...” He looked straight into her
eyes. “I’m leaving. They’re sending me away, tonight.”

She felt her eyes widen, felt them burn.
“Leaving?”

He nodded, looking as upset by this as she
was.

“But Raze, you can’t! Where will you go? What
will you do?”

He smiled, to reassure her, she knew. “Just
like you to worry more about old Raze than yourself,” he told her.
“I’ll manage. I got by just fine before, and I can do it
again.”

Swallowing her tears, Bridin brought her chin
up, forced a smile. Tried not to think about Raze returning to the
life he’d led before he’d been brought here. A lonely man scraping
a living from the streets. He was older now. He’d never survive
that way again. “Well,” she whispered. “It was only a matter of
time before they wised up. I should have been expecting this.”

“Yeah.” He put the boot back where it had
been, and moved his race car.

“Are you in danger, Raze? Do you think
he
knows your mind isn’t his anymore?”

Raze gnawed his lower lip for a moment. “I
think he suspects that his hold on me is slipping. I think he
believes he’s getting rid of me before you have a chance to get
through.” He met her eyes, gave his head a shake. “But you did,
Bridey. I know the truth. I won’t let him brainwash me again.”

“I know.”

Raze reached a hand across the table, covered
hers with it. “I’d rather be shot than leave you. You know that.
I’d stay if I could.”

“I know that, too.” Bridin would not cry in
front of Raze.

Though he was like a grandfather to her, he
was as much a child as she was—more so, in a lot of ways. She loved
him. Crying would only hurt him more, and she refused to do that.
“We’ll see each other again,” she told him.

“Sure we will. I’m not going far, you know.
I’ll stay close, try to find a way to see you, make sure you’re
okay. I just don’t know why he had to catch on.”

Bridin shrugged. “Me neither, Raze. But
everything happens for
some
reason, right? Maybe...” She let
her words trail off, and vaguely knew the dice she’d been holding
had fallen to the floor. But she wasn’t seeing them. She wasn’t
seeing anything that was here or now. Instead, she saw flames. She
heard cries. And she knew something she hadn’t known before.

“Bridey? Baby, you okay?” Raze was there on
her side of the table now, gripping her shoulders. She ought to be
smelling the minty ointment he used for his achy joints, but she
was smelling smoke instead. Raze yelled for Kate, but she barely
heard that beyond the roaring and crackling of the flames, and the
screams of the children. She knew she was shaking all over and
staring off into space. She felt the sweat trickling down her face,
and stinging her eyes. She screamed, very loudly, shrilly,
endlessly. And she knew it was her voice, but it didn’t feel as if
it was. She felt apart, separate, as the vision unfolded in her
mind. Episodes like this one were what had made her uncle question
her sanity in the first place, and left him ripe for the subtle
influence of the Dark Prince’s power. But she watched the vision,
despite her terror of it. She explored its every aspect.

Kate’s gentle hand gripped her arm, and she
felt the sharp jab of a needle. It overwhelmed the feeling of that
searing heat on her skin. And in a few seconds, the vision faded
away.

It was such a silly way to treat people of
magic, she thought, as the drug began to fog her mind. She knew it
was happening to others, in other places. The mortal world just
didn’t understand them, so they locked them up, and labeled them
crazy, and tried to medicate their visions away. Made no sense at
all.

The nurse was picking her up, but she
squirmed, reaching for Raze.

“Please,” she heard him say. “Let me.”

And then she was shifted into his bony arms.
Good. She had to talk to him, and she wouldn’t be awake much
longer.

“I know the reason,” she whispered, hooking
her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.

He stopped walking and looked down at her. Of
all the people in the world, Raze was the only one she dared share
her visions with. Because he was the only one who no longer
discounted them as imaginary. He was the only one she trusted not
to report all she said back to the Dark Prince. He’d seen her book,
too. He’d told her he thought it was something sacred.

“It’s my sister, Raze. Just like in the
story. She’s real. I...wasn’t sure before, but now I know.”

“Another vision?” he asked, and his voice was
a low whisper. He started walking again, staying a few steps behind
Kate as he carried Bridin from her playroom, through the double
doors and into the room where her bed lay waiting.

“She’s in danger,” Bridin rasped. “You have
to go to her, Raze. You have to save her. Tonight.”

The old man blinked, but she didn’t see
disbelief in his eyes. Only surprise.

“She’s still at the orphanage. St. Mary’s.
You remember. There isn’t much time.”

Raze nodded.

“You have to believe me, Raze. It’s real. I
know it is.”

One of his hands smoothed her hair. “Now
haven’t I always believed you?” His smile reassured her, and she
relaxed a little. “I’ll see she’s all right, Bridey. Don’t you
worry.”

Bridin’s eyes fell closed, but she popped
them open again. “She doesn’t know...about me...and you can’t tell
her. Not yet.”

“But—”

“If she tries to come to me now, they’ll get
her. They’ll find a way to get her locked up somewhere, like me.
They’ll think she remembers, and they’ll do anything to stop her if
they believe she might try to go back.”

Raze didn’t ask who “they” were. He knew.
Bridin sensed he’d understood everything she’d ever told him. She
didn’t know how she’d broken through the Dark Prince’s spell over
him, but she was sure she had.

“But what about you, Bridey?”

She sniffed, lifted a hand to stroke his
whiskers. He was lowering her into her bed now. She didn’t want to
let go of him. But she had to. “Keep her away from me, Raze. It’s
me they’re watching. I’m the one they see as a threat right now,
not Brigit. We have to keep it that way.”

“But—”

“When the time is right, I’ll know. And I’ll
get a message to you both. I’ll send you some kind of sign. I’ll
know how to find you. You know I will. I can do it.”

Raze nodded as the nurse came to the other
side of the bed to pull the covers over her.

“Poor little thing, always ranting like
this,” Kate said softly, her cool palm stroking Bridin’s forehead.
“She thinks she’s some kind of fairy, you know.”

And Raze nodded, because he knew it was what
was expected of him, and one never knew who might be watching. “I
know. It’s a shame.”

“Just when we think she’s coming out of it,
another delusional episode,” Kate went on, and she lovingly tucked
the covers around Bridin.

“Come on, Raze,” she said when she’d
finished. “Time for you to go. Bridey needs to rest.”

Bridin met Raze’s eyes, and nodded. “Go. Go
to her. Do it for me.”

He nodded back at her, then turned to Kate.
“Be kind to her,” he said, and there was no plea in his voice. More
like a command. It was very unlike his usual, gentle tone.

“She’s my special angel. Raze. I’ll take good
care of her. Go on, now. Mr. Darque is waiting downstairs with your
last week’s pay.”

“Darque?” Bridin whispered, her eyes widening
a bit, though she was barely awake now. “He’s here?” He, like Uncle
Matt, rarely put in an appearance. Bridin knew why. He was busy
running the kingdom of Rush.
Her
kingdom.

Raze turned back to Bridin. “Don’t worry,
Bridey,” he whispered. “He can’t hurt you. You know that.”

“I know...”

“If you need me, child . . .”

“I’ll let you know. I promise.” Her eyes fell
closed, at last.

***

Darque

Razor-Face Malone was gone. Expelled, because
his will had been stronger than Darque had realized. Malone had
been quietly repelling the spell for some time now, and Darque
would have known that, had he been here. The fools he’d left to
watch over things should have seen it, sensed it. But of course,
they hadn’t.

Maybe the child had got through to Malone.
Unlikely, but possible, Darque knew. He probably should have simply
killed the old man. Would have...but the child adored him. Killing
Malone would only solidify that fairy child’s hatred of him. And
that was not the plan. Not at all.

He’d keep her here, his prisoner, until the
fight had gone out of her. And then he’d use her. He’d use her to
regain control of the kingdom he saw as rightfully his own. The
kingdom his family had been banished from a thousand years ago.
Banished. Condemned to life in a part of Rush where the sun’s light
never ventured. Renamed, even. The family name dropped, out-la wed,
forgotten. They’d become the Dark Ones.

Darque stood over the bed of the sleeping
child, and looked down at her. He shouldn’t do so. It was unwise,
because looking at her beautiful, innocent face might soften his
heart, and he could not afford to allow that to happen.

When his father’s armies had stormed the
kingdom of Rush nearly a decade ago, the fay king had been defeated
at last. This child’s mother, heir to the throne, had been killed.
And the twin daughters, next in line, driven from the realm of
magic altogether. But his own father had lost his life in that
battle as well, and still they hadn’t regained power in Rush. Oh,
he held the throne, yes. But there was constant rebellion.
Countless pockets of those loyal to the fay, hidden in the forests,
always stirring the citizens to battle.

He wanted his rule solidified, dammit. He
wanted power over all of them, and he wanted peace. A verdant land
filled with citizens who’d be loyal to him unto the point of
death.

And he’d have it. He’d have all of that, and
more.

He’d have it, because he had her. She’d
return to Rush, one day, though she believed it his desire never to
let her. The only way she could return would be at the side of her
twin sister. Such was the way of the magic, that the twins could
only reenter Rush if they did so together. Which was why he must
keep them apart, just until the time was right.

They’d return, though, eventually. This
one...he looked down at her golden curls again, and quickly averted
his eyes, hardened his heart. This one would return at the point of
his sword. He’d find a way to liberate her of that enchanted
pendant, and she’d no longer have any protection from him. He’d
have her kneeling at his feet, for all the kingdom to see. And then
those damned fay folk would bow to him as well or watch their
precious princess die.

***

Brigit

April 1988 A Brooklyn slum

Ten years had come and gone for Brigit since
that horrible night. Ten years, and she’d been living on the
streets with the homeless people like her. She was nineteen, now,
but God, she felt so much older. Older than Raze. Older than Sister
Mary Agnes had been.

Brigit remembered it as if it were yesterday,
every word, every line in Sister Mary Agnes’s face, and the sound
of her aged voice rustling like dried leaves at the hand of the
wind, as she read that ridiculous
Fairytale
night after
night. Brigit still knew every word by heart. Sometimes she’d open
the book, reading it in a whisper late at night when she couldn’t
sleep, and she’d imagine Sister Mary Agnes there beside the bed,
draped in that black habit from head to toe.

So many vivid impressions, all instigated by
one tiny scrap of paper. Why had she saved the thing anyway?

Against her will, Brigit scanned the
clipping, reading the words again, reminding herself why she had to
go through with this scheme of Mel’s. Her hands trembled, and tears
blurred her vision, but she blinked and made herself read.

“Fire swept through St. Mary’s last night,
destroying the church and leaving the children’s shelter heavily
damaged. So far only one death is reported, that of Sister Mary
Agnes Brockway, seventy-two, formerly of Queens. One child is still
listed as missing, and Father Anthony Giovanni, parish priest,
theorizes the nine-year-old girl ran away in panic. He does not
believe the child’s body will be recovered by fire fighters as they
search the premises today. ‘Brigit is a special little girl,’ he
told reporters at the scene this morning. ‘Too special to be taken
like this.’ “

Special?

Brigit folded the yellowed newspaper clipping
exactly the way it had been folded before, and returned it to its
spot in the bottom of the cardboard box where she kept her clothes.
The physical act of putting it away helped her to put away the
memories as well. None of them mattered. Not now. They might as
well be as fictional as the
Fairytale
that lay in the box
beside the clipping. The elaborate creation of some kind soul
determined to placate a lonely little girl.

Sister Mary Agnes herself might have created
the book, for all Brigit knew.

She’d called Brigit’s talent a gift. A
miracle.

“If she could see me now, she’d turn over in
her grave.”

“What’s that?”

Brigit turned, looking through the sagging
doorway with its peeling gray casing. The folding card table in the
next room seemed to be holding Raze up as much as the stool beneath
him. Even beyond the stubble, and in the shadow of his ever-present
Mets cap, she could see the grayish tinge to his face. The green
shirt that had once been part of someone named Bob’ s uniform, hung
on Raze as if he were a stick figure. He coughed, and Brigit
thought the rickety table would collapse.