Reawakened: A Once Upon a Time Tale (15 page)

She was quickly shuttled away from the castle by Regina and sent to one of the country estates. She slept fitfully on the first night there, dreaming of her father as a younger man. Her father, the man who’d showed her the world. The man who’d taught her to know reason, and kindness, and compassion. But in the dream, she kept losing him down on the beach; she would show him seashells, and whenever she would find one, she would turn, holding it up, but he would not be there.

She hardly slept.

The next morning, a knight—one of Regina’s guards?—awaited her in the gardens. He offered to escort her on a walk through the forest.

Snow White looked at him. He wore a helmet, and she couldn’t see his face, but she felt uneasy, and couldn’t place his voice.

She nodded at the man, and he nodded back. “M’lady?” he said.

“I keep a brisk pace,” she said, consenting. A walk would do her good. “Please try to keep up.”

He nodded again, and they set out toward the woods.

They walked in silence for some time. She had seen that the man was uncomfortable in the heavy armor.

The forest was calm. Her thoughts went again to her father—this time, to the man whom she had watched fall in love with
Regina, all those years ago. He was still kind and still compassionate then, but Snow—young as she was—had seen how loneliness had worked away at his spirit. Even the wisest man could become… something else. After heartbreak, anything was possible.

When they were far from the castle, Snow White began to speak.

“When I was a little girl,” she said, “the summer palace was my favorite place. The mountains surrounding it were like a cradle. They always made me feel safe. I look forward to returning there, I do.” She paused in her speech but continued to stroll. “But I wonder now whether that feeling of safety didn’t come from my father, not the palace itself.”

The strange knight studied her through the slit in his helmet. She stopped walking and turned to face him, studying him right back.

“Go on,” she said. “You can take it off.”

The man did as he was told and pulled the helmet from his head.

She studied him. He was handsome, gaunt, and stern-looking. A ragged beard covered his jaw. He said nothing.

“Much cooler this way, isn’t it?” she said.

He nodded, tucked the helmet under his arm.

“And you are not a royal knight, are you?” she asked.

“How would you know that?”

“Because without fail, whenever I mention my father, I receive condolences from a knight. But you are someone else, aren’t you?” she asked. “You are who she chose. To take me. To get me out of the way.” She took a deep breath, readying herself.

“You have good instincts,” he said, dropping the helmet. He reached for his sword.

“And you have too much armor,” she said.

Before he could react, she coiled up and exploded toward him, both arms out. She caught him in the stomach, enough to send him stumbling backward. Not used to his center of gravity being so high, the stumble turned into a crash. She had a good hundred-yard head start before he was on his feet again, chasing her.

• • •

“You know that I’m a good person, don’t you, Mary Margaret?” Graham was at the school. Class was over. He and Mary Margaret stood outside of her classroom, the trickle of remaining students whispering through the halls. She was looking at him with tender concern in her eyes. Apparently, he’d been a mess since this “incident” with Emma last night. Mary Margaret couldn’t tell what was going on with these two, but she wanted to help. Somehow.

“Of course, Graham,” she said. “Of course. And you—are you okay? You’re covered in sweat and white as a sheet. Have you not been sleeping?” She felt his cheek. “You’re burning up. What have you been doing all night?”

“I’ve just been having this sense that you and I used to know one another,” he said. “In some kind of—in some kind of other life. I don’t know. It sounds crazy.” He shook his head, looked down the hallway. “I’m sorry for coming here. I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Last night,” he said, “when I kissed Emma, I saw this whole vision. Of… of something. Another world. And you were there, and we knew each other. Somehow. I was—I was attacking you. With a knife. I think? I don’t know. I don’t know why I would be doing that.”

“You sound like Henry, actually,” she said.

“Henry?”

“He thinks that we’re all characters from his storybook,” she said. “And that we just can’t remember.”

“What kind of storybook?” Graham asked.

“Fairy tales,” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Snow White and the dwarves, that kind of stuff.” She rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “That boy. How insane.”

• • •

Emma Swan was sitting with her feet up on the sheriff’s desk when Regina stormed into the office. Emma glanced at her and didn’t move.

“So wonderful to see you, Regina,” she said.

“Wonderful,” Regina said with disdain. “Doing your civic duty, then?”

“I’m on break, lady,” Emma said, scowling at her. “What do you want?”

“I want to make things clear,” Regina said. “To you. About Graham. Stay the hell away from him.”

Emma absorbed this, wondering what Regina must have thought was true. Had word gotten out about the kiss? Maybe. Or maybe Graham had said something to her.

“He’s my boss,” she said finally. “And so I can’t. If you’re talking about what happened last night,” she added, “that was unsolicited. So I don’t know what to tell you other than telling you I’m not interested. You can have him.”

“You’ve been disruptive since you got to this town, Ms. Swan,” Regina said. “If I were you, I’d be very careful that you don’t paint yourself as the town slut.”

Okay then, Emma thought.

“Do me a favor, Regina,” Emma said flatly. “Get the hell out of my office. And don’t ever talk to me that way again.”

Regina seemed satisfied that she’d hit a nerve. She smiled and left without another word.

Emma watched her go, locked the door, and did some paperwork for a few minutes, letting the irritation cool down. She was used to Regina barging in on her and saying incendiary things—that was apparently part of the job—but this time it was a little different. This time it was about her romantic life, not her son. Emma could see that Regina’s anger had a new edge to it this time around.

But it wasn’t just that.
She
felt something, too. Maybe Mary Margaret was right. Maybe she did have some kind of wall up. One so seamless that she didn’t even know it was there, much less see over it. Did she have feelings for Graham?

She was shaken from her reverie a few minutes later by the sound of her son calling her name.

“Emma! Emma!” cried Henry, running into the station, his backpack flopping behind him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid,” she said, standing. “Calm down. What’s wrong?”

Henry, panting, pulled the backpack from his back and dumped it on the floor. “It’s Graham,” he said. “I think he’s starting to remember!”

“Remember what, kid?” she asked. “Sit down. Catch your breath.”

She got him some water, and Henry eventually sat down at her desk and gathered himself. Graham had been to see him, he told her. Been to see him to ask about the storybook and ask about the fairy tales.

“And what did you tell him?” Emma asked.

Henry looked down.

“Henry?”

“I told him what I thought had to be true,” Henry said. “I told him that he was the Huntsman, and that those flashes he saw when he kissed you were flashes of him remembering that time.”

“He
told
you about
that
?”

Henry shrugged. “Yeah,” he said. “But I heard about it anyway.”

Small towns, Emma thought. That solved the mystery of how Regina knew.

She didn’t like the idea of Graham, who was obviously not himself, running around town having visions of anything, and she certainly didn’t like the idea of him going to a child and
believing
what the child had to say about the intersection of fantasy and reality. Graham was potentially in the midst of a psychotic break, she realized. She had to find him.

“Where did you send him?” she asked.

“I didn’t send him anywhere,” Henry said. “I told him about how the Queen trapped him into a bargain and that she ordered him to go kill Snow White.”

Emma furrowed her brow. In Henry’s universe, the Queen was Regina and Snow White was Mary Margaret.

“And why did she do that?”

“Because the Queen killed Snow White’s father, and she knew that she had to get rid of Snow White as well. But she couldn’t do it herself because she couldn’t risk being found out. So she went looking around the countryside and found the Huntsman.”

“Okay.”

“That’s where the wolf thing comes from,” Henry said. “He loved them, and he had one as his friend. And Regina knew
that, and she promised to protect the wolves if he helped her kill Snow White.”

“And so what happened?”

“He dressed up as one of Snow White’s guards,” Henry said, “and almost killed her, but she ran away. While he was chasing her, he realized he didn’t want to do it.”

“How good of him,” Emma said, leaning back in her chair. She looked over at his backpack. “You really know these stories cold, kid, don’t you? You don’t even need the book.”

“I know them all,” he said. She didn’t like the way he said it.

“So where did he go when you were done?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Henry said. “He got really upset when I told him that the Queen stole his heart when she found out that he—”

“So you don’t know where he is?” she said.

“All he said,” Henry replied, “was that he had to find that wolf. Before it was too late.”

A wolf.

Sure.

Emma had seen one of those things. Once.

• • •

She was faster than he expected her to be—men were always underestimating her. She knew that she would not be able to outrun him forever, but she had enough time to do what she needed to do. After a few minutes of tearing through the woods, Snow White found a tree to hide behind, crouched low, and began composing the letter to the Queen. So long as she could say what she wanted to say, she could accept her death. So long as the message got through.

Within minutes he had found her. She had already completed the note.

She hardly looked up when he came around the corner.

Panting, he took her in, saw what she was doing, and shook his head. “You’re running for your life and you stop to write a letter?” he asked. “I will never understand people. Royals or otherwise.” He raised the dagger.

“You would have caught me eventually,” she said, setting aside her quill and beginning to fold; the man paused. “This was a better use of my time.” She looked up and held the letter toward him. “Please deliver this to the Queen after you’ve killed me.”

“What does it say?”

“You can read it if you like,” she said. “It’s not a trick,” she added, seeing the skepticism on his face. “Read it first, then you can kill me. I’m ready.”

Cautiously, he reached out with his free hand and took the letter. While he read her words, Snow White watched as he slowly let the dagger fall to his side.

And then, a surprise: She saw a tear in his eye. She watched as it trickled down his cheek.

Snow White said nothing.

The man stuffed the letter into his tunic.

“Take this,” he said, holding out a reed. “It will work as a whistle. Blow into it when you need help. Help will come.”

“You’re letting me…?”

“Yes, go,” he said, straightening up. “I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

“But why?”

“Run,” he said. “Don’t ask another question. Just run, girl.”

• • •

Graham was running away from Regina’s house when Emma spotted him. She drove past him, back toward his truck, and parked, waiting for him. Soon he trotted up.

“Hey, Sheriff,” she said. “You look stressed. Can I have a second?”

He glanced up and saw her standing in front of his car, arms crossed.

“Not now, Emma,” he said, continuing. “I’m busy. You should be at the station.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“You’re not.”

“Hey, stop,” she said, coming toward him. She put a hand on his arm and told him that he needed some rest, that it was no good to listen to a ten-year-old. Graham, frustrated, told her that Henry was the only one who seemed to make any sense. He tried to tell her about the wolf—to tell her that it somehow fit, that he couldn’t feel anymore; he hadn’t felt much in a long time.

“I have no heart,” he said. “I can’t say it any other way.”

“You do,” Emma said, shaking her head at him. How had he descended into
this
much of a tailspin after one awkward interaction on the street? Sure, he’d crossed a line, but it was just one bad moment. They could fix it. She didn’t understand what had happened to him.

“Graham, come on,” she said, stepping close. She took his hand and put it on his own chest, held it there. “Feel.”

He closed his eyes, breathed in.

“That’s just the curse,” he said. “It’s not real.”

“No,” Emma said. “It’s not. That’s you. That’s your heart. You’re fine.”

Looking over Emma’s shoulder, Graham said, “Am I?”

She frowned at this, twisted, and turned to look. She gasped.

The wolf. The wolf was there, standing on the sidewalk not ten feet from them.

“I’ve seen that wolf before,” Emma said.

Her first evening here. In the middle of the road, when she had tried to leave Storybrooke. Graham had made fun of her. And now here he was, chasing it.

What in the hell is happening?
Emma thought.

“That makes two of us,” Graham said. “Come on.”

• • •

They followed the wolf into the woods. Graham retold Emma the story he’d heard from Henry—that in the other world, the Queen had taken his heart—and he said that it had occurred to him that the wolf was taking them back to his heart. “This wolf was my companion at one point,” he insisted. “I think it’s trying to show me where to find it.”

“You
have
it, Graham,” Emma said.