Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback

Julian wore a class of 1958 U.S. High School gym uniform, the prescribed outfit for waiters at Park Avenue High—1958 had been last autumn’s discovery and was tired. It was easy to know what was passé but those said to have zeitgeist antenna, who could sense the next new thing, were treated as sacred prophets.

Julian was waiting on one said to possess that skill. Jack Reynard, an impresario also known as “the Fox,” was there with a party. About Reynard someone had said, “Cold whimsy is his style: he works with a chuckle and a blade between the ribs.” His current project— Macabre Dance, ballets about the famous deaths and mutilations of dancers—had the aura of a sure thing.

Julian saw no way he could be part of that scene. He was not graceful and members of Reynard’s party seemed amused by even the sight of his bare knees. So his attention was fixed on Puss.

Julian had heard stories of Veronessa bringing the Cat right into places that didn’t admit pets because she was Veronessa and he was extraordinary. So the first sighting of what seemed a plain black and gray tabby was a disappointment. Puss looked as if he owned the place. But what cat doesn’t?

In the dream Puss was much larger and stared right at Julian. In real life he hadn’t deigned to do that. Nor had he spoken.

Julian opened his eyes and immediately looked at his palm ? 132 ?

? Rick Bowes ?

(as everyone did on waking) to see if there were messages in his implanted feed. There were none. Julian gazed around the two-room studio on the twenty-fourth floor of a Chelsea high/low (high floor/low rent) with uncertain heat, hot water, air conditioning, and elevator service. He shared the place with a waitress/composer, a pedicab driver/dancer, and a tour guide/filmmaker. All four had come from various bankrupted suburban towns or small wrecked cities hoping to snatch a crown out of the gutter.

Lack of success and poverty had not united them. None of his roommates were close enough to Julian that he could wake any of them up and tell them his dream.

Then, suddenly, the Cat was back, ears twitching. Julian realized that what he was seeing wasn’t a dream but a kind of vision that was being sent to him somehow. Puss said, “My tale was born around fires in caves, given form before the hearth and came of age in palaces without an unscented breath of air. It has entertained sophisticated adults and small children for centuries.”


The tabby’s tail switched back and forth. “In the past I’ve swallowed monsters whole to help certain mortals whom I loved. Who knows what wonders are yet to unfold?”

The pedicab driver snored in the background as Julian watched Puss who regarded him through slitted eyes. “Whatever shall I do with this one?” he asked.

Veronessa was no larger than the Cat who sat beside her. “He’s nothing special,” she replied, propped on a pile of gosling down pillows and seemingly amused. “Okay-looking but not compelling. He isn’t someone who’d succeed without a lot of help. The simplest way would be what you do most easily: a quick pounce, a bit of play, and done.”

The Cat ignored her. “It’s easy to get attached to the memory of one’s first pet. Mine was a wonderful young oaf without an idea or plan. His imagining he was my owner was what charmed me most. I get sentimental about those who remind me of him.”

Veronessa shrugged. Puss stretched and bared his claws. “Cardinal Richelieu had a litter of kittens in a basket in his study at all times.

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? Tales That Fairies Tell ?

He found their antics amusing, and a distraction from the bloody murder of running France. When the kittens grew up he gave them as presents to favorites who cherished them.”

“As a pet,” she said, “everyone will say that this one seems an odd and boring choice.”

“They said that about me when we first went out in public,” he replied. “And will say the same about you when they know me a little better.”





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