Fractured Fairy Tales (13 page)

The next morning, I awakened to an empty bed. I pulled on my robe and padded down the hall to find George laughing quietly with a much healthier looking Gregory. “Well, hello there boys,” I smiled and gave Gregory a light kiss on the cheek.

“You’re gonna spoil me with that,” he greeted me, his speech much clearer than the night before. “I want to thank you for what you did for me last night. I might have bled to death without your help.”

I clasped his hand and gave a gentle squeeze, gazing into George’s smiling face. For just a while, the upcoming events of the day were forgotten and we existed only in the moment. I wanted to stop time, to freeze the world and extort the moment, but I knew that wasn’t possible.

Reality, you are a bitch.

After talking with Gregory for awhile, listening to George outline the night’s plan, then arguing with Gregory over his participation in said plan, we headed downstairs for coffee and breakfast. I stopped in to throw on some clothes and met the two oldest brothers in the kitchen, the smell of coffee enticing me.

“Thanks for the coffee, honey,” I smiled at George over my shoulder before reaching for a mug out of the cabinet.

“I didn’t make it,” he nodded in Bryan’s direction.

I can’t believe it. He isn’t a complete jerk after all.
I thanked Bryan instead and sipped the delightful brew.

“What are we doing first?” Bryan immediately began, wasting no time.

“Well, first, we are going to have breakfast,” I interrupted, wanting to fake a sense of normalcy for as long as possible. I knew what was going to happen later, but wanted to hang on as long as possible to the happy morning before reality slapped me back into place.

“Agreed.” George smiled at me as he cracked eggs into a pan and pushed the toast down. We sat around the table like a family and enjoyed our meal, the men groaning after stuffing more food into their stomachs than should have been possible to digest. I fixed a small plate for Gregory and took it up to him.

“I brought you some breakfast,” I entered the room to find him sitting partially upright. His color was much better, a slight pink tint to lips that had been white and thin the night before, cheeks that had been sunk in and completely alabaster now a bit ruddy.

“Great. I’m starving.” He sat up with only a small grunt and took the proffered plate, immediately digging into the food without another word. I sat in the armchair next to the bed to keep him company and waited for him to finish his meal. His appetite was similar to his brothers’, and I worried I hadn’t fixed him enough to eat.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better now that I’ve got a full stomach,” he laughed and rubbed his stomach. His face took on a much more serious look before he continued, “You know he loves you, right?”

I knew who he meant, and I professed my own love of his brother to him. “He makes me feel things that I’ve never imagined were possible, even in such a short time, which should scare me, but feels
just
right,” I admitted for the first time aloud. “I am worried about something going wrong tonight, though.”

“I am worried as well, and he won’t allow me to be there in any capacity,” Gregory sighed.

I wouldn’t tell him, but there was no way he would even be able to stand, much less be a part of a high-risk heist. I felt the need to immediately leave and go to George, to spend as much time with him as I could before they began their preparations, but I knew Gregory was just as worried and couldn’t leave the bed, so I stayed a bit longer, the minutes acting as grueling little spikes driven into my nerve endings. Finally, I left Gregory to a nap and went to find my lover and his taciturn brother.

I found them sitting at the table, a hand-drawn map spread between the two of them. As they pored over the plans and plotted, I sat down to listen.
He may not want me there, but damned if I won’t know what’s going on.

“I think that will work, Brother,” Gregory smiled and rolled up the floor plans of the jewelry store.

I blew out a sigh of relief, knowing I would have a bit of time with him before the hour for them to leave was upon us. I was wrong.





Don showed up at my door, his pudgy frame blocking out the small bit of sunlight that managed to escape the overcast sky, which matched my mood. “I hope you have a plan of payment, because if I don’t have my money by midnight, I will come back here and show your lady the same courtesy I showed your brother.”

George had to be held back by Bryan as he lunged for Don’s throat. “Do
not
threaten Goldie. Not if you value your worthless life,” he growled.

While I knew he was standing up for me, I couldn’t help but cringe. He had just given Don confirmation that hurting me would be the best way to get to George, and the drug lord’s smile chilled me to the bone.

“We will have your money in plenty of time,” Bryan pulled George further from the door, standing between his brother and Don. “We’ll meet you in the usual place.”

“Fine. But you know the consequences. Midnight, and not a minute after.” Don finally left and George calmed enough to gather me in his bruising embrace.

I wished I had more time to show George how much I cared, but the hour of their departure was upon us, and I had to watch him leave with his brother no sooner than Don had vacated my driveway. “Please, please be careful,” I begged, tears threatening to overflow.

George never said a word, only tenderly kissed me, before leaving through the side door and piling into the brother’s vehicle. I watched as they pulled into the road, and I collapsed on the kitchen floor, sobs wracking my body. I felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding, and knew something was going to go terribly wrong. I couldn’t shake the grief, and sought out my couch where I could scream into the pillow without disturbing Gregory.

In such a short time, I couldn’t imagine losing George, or any of his brothers. I had taken them into my home, but he had taken me into his heart, and that was a far greater gift. Once my sobbing had subsided, I waited, the hours ticking by and welcoming me into my own private hell. Four hours later, the numbers on the clock began to blur as my eyelids tried to droop shut. I fought it for as long as I could before I succumbed to sleep’s embrace.





Goldie! Goldie help! Goldie, wake up!
My eyes snapped open, George’s voice ringing in my memory. I knew something was wrong. The clock showed after midnight, and I wasted no time in jumping up and running up the stairs to grab a jacket and my shoes. I couldn’t wait any longer.

I ran into Gregory’s room first, the look on his face mirroring my own emotions. “Go. I know it too, just go,” he pleaded with me.

I nodded and ran from the room, no time for words. I jumped in my car and headed towards the jewelry store where the heist was supposed to have gone down. A block away, was met with police and ambulance lights, the streets taped off with yellow crime scene ribbon. I felt my heart lodge in my throat as I pulled off of the road. I had to get inside the perimeter, had to see George. I needed to know what had happened, though a part of myself felt the loss already.

I stepped out onto the street and walked briskly down the block, trying to circumvent the group of police standing at the main street. I walked around the entire block, stopping to sneak through one of the fences belonging to a neighboring business. Once inside, I made my way through the parking lot and peeked around the building.

The ambulance was loading a gurney with a body bag into the back, and without thought, my feet carried me at full speed towards the vehicle. I heard screaming, and it took me a moment to realize that I was making the sound and sobbing as I skidded to a stop in front of the black bag.

“George! Oh God! Noooo!” I wailed and cried, the tears choking my words, my throat closing up in spite of the cries of rage and denial begging for release.

“Goldie,” I heard my name croaked from behind me. “Goldie, I’m here. I’m okay.” I swung my head around, intent on ripping out the throat of the man daring to pretend to be George. Red colored my vision as it zeroed in on a bloody man strapped to another gurney.

I stalked over to the second ambulance, but as I got closer, the man’s features came into view through my bloodshot and blurry vision.
Oh God! Thank you!
I ran the rest of the way and placed kisses on George’s face, heedless of the blood and injuries, before being yanked back my police officers.

“Let me go, damn you! Let me hold him! Fuck off!” Words that rarely left my mouth tumbled out in a colorful array, but still the policeman continued to drag me away. “I love you, George! I love you!”

My mind did the obvious math and I realized that the man in the body bag must be Bryan. My heart ached for George’s loss, but the relief I felt left a guilty hole in my heart. I had to find out what had happened. I had to know.

After hours at the police station in interrogation, I found out that someone had called in the attempted heist, and it had led to a gunfight. George was spared, lying somewhat safely in a hospital bed. Gregory had called me to tell me he had made it to the hospital after I had used my one phone call to contact him. I knew George was safe, and I no longer cared what the officers threatened me with if I failed to speak. I continued to give them different versions of the same answer, still in my colorful language.

Finally, the officers placed me in a cell. I sat and waited to be arraigned on charges of aiding and abetting, harboring fugitives, receipt of stolen property, collusion to commit a crime, amongst a handful of other charges. I didn’t care. All that mattered was that George was alive, and someday, I would see him again. We would be together again. I lay down on my flimsy cot with my thoughts of reunion and waited for that day.

Curse of the Witch

Nicole Daffurn

It has been two years since that day—the day that was my downfall. I try to think about the events of that day as often as I can, the grudge that I harbour for Joringel growing, twisting, and turning into a fiery passion for vengeance within me.

Joringel destroyed my life with a blood red rose, which possessed a single perfect dew drop, and he is going to pay for the courage that burned like a flame within him—the courage that led him to his one true love, and by extension, to me.

My life had been perfect before he entered it. My abilities were surmounted by none. By day, I could choose to adorn myself with the gift of transformation. At my command, my body could shift into that of an owl or a feline. Disguising myself as either of these animals, I could lure my prey with ease and eat for a week. By night, I was the most beautiful witch to have ever graced the lands. Other people saw me as an old hag, but it was just part of my disguise.

Now, though, I have no choice. I am bound by the owl’s body during daylight and my human form by night. That’s not so bad, you say. It’s not much different to what I had before, Wrong! Not having control over one’s body is the worst curse you could wish upon a person. Imagine being trapped inside your own mind, unable to speak for the rest of your daylight hours. It is a horrible burden to bear, and one which I intend to break. Just as soon as I figure out how.

Not only did Joringel and his love bind me to my feathered counterpart while the sun is in the sky, they also took away my beloved nightingales. The ones I had spent years in waiting to collect.

Every person in this land knew of the consequences for the maidens who strayed too close to my castle at twilight, and yet they still came. Lured here by the beauty of my gardens, they became trapped in the form of a nightingale by the powers of my song. They were my pride and joy, my pets, my companions—and they took them from me. You may think that I deserve to be bound to my owl shape, but I do not. The maidens that wandered in knew what would happen, they had warning. I did not.

Now, I have nothing. Loneliness is riddled throughout me, my life destroyed by the last nightingale, Jorinda, and her saviour. But never mind, they will pay dearly for their actions. No one curses the most powerful witch in all the land without paying the consequences.





It’s twilight on my seven-hundred and thirtieth day trapped in the feathered body. I sit upon my regular branch overlooking the flower garden that has ensnared so many maidens over the years. I hear rustling below, and dive from my perch to take a closer look at the person who dared encroach upon my territory.

Two years ago, this never would have happened. Any man who dared to meander into my garden would have been paralysed by the curse I had placed upon the land. Now, though, they walk about freely as if they own the place. It is despicable to say the least.

The tall man’s eyes meet with mine as he looks around at the sound of my screeching, and he appears as lonely as I feel.

“Hello there,” he says gently, tilting his head to one side. “Are you hurt?”

His piercing blue eyes gaze at me in concern, like he expects an answer. I am about to start screeching again, when I feel the familiar burn within my body that means the transformation back to human is beginning. I stare into the mysterious young man’s eyes for a moment longer before shaking my head slightly and flying away to transform in peace.

I struggle to get back to the castle, the change back to human taking over and becoming uncontrollable. My heart pounds as I bank right, feeling the rush of air over my wings. Shadows move under me, food rustles through the grass and my stomach gives a lurch, reminding me that I haven’t eaten today. That isn’t important now; I just need to get…

I jerk my gaze up and scan the tower. There is a ledge not too far away, if only I can reach it. But the weight of my body holds me down. A call wrenches from my mouth, cleaving through the night. It is a call of both desire and defeat.

The ledge is nearing with each beat of my wings. The cold air rushes through the grey, downy plumes against my body as I surge forward faster. My claws are ready, extended wide, my nails ready to grip what I can. The surface slides under my grip. I pierce the wood as my body shudders. My nails slip, the claws no longer enough to hold me. Long fingers replace my pointed talons as I hold on for dear life.

The thin ledge is a cold comfort. I wrap my legs around the surface and shudder. Feathers turn back to flesh. My skin, not made for this cold, puckers. I push myself up and slide from the window. My bare feet hit the cold marble floor, soft pads echo in my wake as I move through my bedroom and head for the hallway.

The glow of the corridor is weak, but enough for me to step across the threshold until I stop. Bare… I am bare. I spin back and race for the bed. In the dark, my robe is a splash of blood against the white feathered quilt. I grab it, shiver and slide my arms through. I head back toward the hall, but decide upon returning to the open window I had so recently clambered through. The pull within me to see the young man’s face once more, taking over.

The arched window faces the east of the Kingdom below me and frames the amazing sight.
Picture perfect
, I think as I look below. I’m surprised that the man is still wandering among my roses. Usually, though the curse is broken, they still don’t stay long. There are rumours about the Kingdom, of the castle being haunted. Which I, in fact, don’t mind in the slightest. I don’t like to be interrupted, so I encourage the whispers among the people.

This man though, he doesn’t appear to be weary at all. Curious, I peer down at him from my tower, and notice that he is picking my flowers. Rage boils inside me. This is my garden, my flowers, my life. All that is left of my life. I sigh as the rage dissipates into longing and sadness, and place my elbows upon the window ledge to watch for awhile longer.

“My love, my love she went away,

I tried though I could not make her stay.

My love, my love took all of me,

And in the dark stole my heart.

My love, my love she went away,

I tried though I could not make her stay.”

The young man’s musical voice is astounding as he sings of lost loves, and I wonder then, what loving someone feels like. I had loved my nightingales before they were stolen away from me, but it was a different kind of love. I have never loved a human. I have never even liked humans. This human though, seems different.

He turned then, his gaze meeting mine peering down from the window. I draw in a sharp breath and turn to run. The tower, in which my bedroom resides, is littered with thousands of wicker-work baskets, and as I run, I stagger into them in my haste. The first sets off a chain reaction of falling wicker baskets, and I fumbled to get through them.

The stairs that spiral down the side of the tower and lead into the main castle are steep, and I take them two at a time. I feel more like my owl self now, as I soar with my arms outstretched, my fingertips gliding along the banisters.

I come out in the large kitchen, the brickwork untouched since the day my mother had commissioned this castle built. I push the memories of my mother to the back of my mind. She was a cruel lady, crueller even than I am. I do not wish to remember her right now.

I find my escape in the rear garden, but I am not alone for long.

“Excuse me,” says the man. “I’m sorry if I scared you. It wasn’t my intent. Is this your castle?” he asks like he doesn’t know who I am.

“You very well know that it is, and if you had heeded the warnings from the Kingdom, you would know not to be here.” I say the words with as much malice as possible in an attempt to be rid of him.

“Warnings? I know of no warnings. I am new to the kingdom. I was passing through, and I saw your garden. I was unable to continue without stopping to smell your roses. They are remarkable.”

“I…” I don’t know what to say. I have never in my life been paid a compliment, and I’m not sure how to react.

“You…? Are you alright?” he asks tenderly, his hand outstretched as if to touch my arm. I move back two steps out of his way. No one is allowed to touch me.

“I’m fine,” I snap, unable to find any other words. I am infuriated at myself for allowing a mere human to render me speechless. I straighten out and glare, projecting my anger towards him.

“My name is Alexander Shiltz. It is a definite pleasure to make your acquaintance…?” his introduction ends with a question. He wants to know my name.

I search my mind for a minute before answering him. It has been such a long time since any person has uttered my name that I have almost forgotten it myself. “ Abrielle,” I say quietly.

“Do you have a surname, Abrielle?” he asks, though I am shaking my head before he finishes his question.

“No. I was never gifted with one.” Alexander looks at me with curiosity in his eyes, but I know without a doubt that he will not ask the question he so desires.

“For you,” he says as he offers me the small bunch of roses he picked from my garden earlier. I take them without thanks and turn on my heel to enter my castle, and be left in peace.

I watch from the tower once more as Alexander makes his way through the dense forest that surrounds my home. He is gone. My rage flares once again as I remember his low voice, the stubble on his face, his wavy brunette hair. Everything about the man now infuriates me. How dare he render me speechless? How dare he ask my name?
My name
! He asked the greatest witch in history for her name, like I was some commoner. I am disgusted with myself for allowing it. Two years of solitude has made me soft.

“Damn you, Joringel! Damn you to Hell!” I scream at the top of my lungs out the arched window, and hear birds ruffling their feathers in the distance. “Tomorrow, when the sun goes down, I will hunt you, I will find you, and you will tell me how to break this curse, or you will die.” I finish quietly, my head still reeling from the outburst of anger.


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

Twilight, again. This time, though, I see no sign of Alexander ferreting around my garden. I dive down to the grassy land below me, and await the transformation. I am ready for it this time, and the burn that resonates through me matches the fiery anger that resides within me. I snatch my robe from a low hanging branch and fasten it around my waist. The shoes that have not adorned my feet for two years, now sit at the base of the tree, and as I pull them on, I squint at the unfamiliar feel of the boots.

My legs carry me through the forest faster than possible; the human fear of running into obstacles does not apply to me. I am one with the forest; it is part of my witch heritage. I close my eyes and allow my body to take over as I glide through the dense trees. The wind on my face is like a breath of fresh air, and I relish in the crunch of leaves underfoot.

Before long, I am in the marketplace. It is abuzz with life, night time vendors call out, trying to make a living from selling their stock and goods.

“You!” I say, pointing at the burly man at the first stall. “Where will I find Joringel?” I demand to know.

“I…I don’t know. Can I interest you in some chickens though, ma’am?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Chickens? Chickens! No you
cannot
interest me in your damn chickens!” My hand is suddenly around his throat, and he is gasping for air. I release him, finger by finger, my nostrils flaring at the audacity of him.

“Fine!” I spit, “If you will not tell me, I will find someone who will.” The chicken vendor says nothing, but shrinks down under my gaze. He knows nothing.

Five stalls later, I have as much information as I entered with, and I am beginning to lose patience with the daft townsfolk. The next vendor is selling bread of all sorts. The delicious smell fills my nose, and I wish I had time to stop and eat.

“Do you know Joringel?” I ask softly. My voice is lower now, but still holds the same amount of malice.

“Yes. He’s a frequent customer. Why? What do you want with the boy?” the baker asks wearily.

“It’s a personal matter. I’d appreciate if you point me in the right direction.” I’m nicer now. I finally have what I want, there is nothing stopping me at this point.

“He lives on the other side of town. Small brick house, flowers out front. It’s hard to miss.”

“Thank you,” I say as I leave the stall, a smile plastered to my face.

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

“Welcome, Abrielle. Please come in.” Jorinda is more than accommodating. I wonder if she would be still, if she knew who I really was.

“Thank you. I have walked a long way tonight, my body is weak.” Though I’m not weak at all, quite the opposite actually, I feel like I am buzzing with life. Joringel is not home, so there is only one thing to do while I wait.

“So, Jorinda,” I start, the young girl’s soft, pale face looks up to me, glowing with the light of the fire. “How long have you and Joringel known each other?”

“Forever. Our parents were acquainted long before Joringel and I were born.” Her voice is sickly sweet, and I want to empty the contents of my stomach all over the rug under our feet at the sound of it.