Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback

“Then bring it hither. I demand proof before I agree to consider this bargain. And I am not saying I will . . . ”


Fifteen minutes later, when the giantess had attempted and failed to entirely consume the loaf and the wine three times, Emer thought her troubles were over.

“And so, my dame? Do we have an accord?”

“Let’s not be hasty, little speck,” said the woman slyly. “What’s the point of eternal food and drink without companionship? It’s been decades since I’ve had a chat—what with my tendency to eat my guests. Stay awhile.”

“My lady—” began Emer, aware of the night’s hours bleeding away.

“My lady, this young one is no fit companion for you—she has not lived long enough. What stories could she possibly tell? How she once wet her bed nightly, what frocks she has worn?” The raven began to wax lyrical. “I, on the other hand, am no mere bird.”

Looking into the creature’s swirling, sparking eyes the giantess admitted this fact. She seemed to nod more than was necessary. It was no wonder the woman normally shot birds out of hand; it was dangerous to listen to them. Bertók’s voice swooped low, its ragged edges barely discernible as he promised hours, days, weeks, months, and years of conversations. The woman, Emer thought with a tinge of sympathy, had no idea what she was getting herself into.

By the time the raven had finished, the giantess leapt to her feet, removed the delicate crown from its cushion, and held it toward Emer.

“Thank you,” Emer said, as she reached out. “Thank you.”


“You’re welcome,” growled the giantess and snatched the crown away, while wrapping one meaty paw around both of Emer’s wrists.

“Did you think me a fool to fall for sweet words? Anyway, what’s a sandwich without meat?”

? 210 ?

? Angela Slatter ?

Emer’s heart hammered, and her mind emptied of all thoughts but these: feathers and air, lightness and flight. Just as her memory retained the language of birds, so too her flesh kept recollection of their form. This time the shape was her choice—no one else’s to give or take or impose. She gladly shifted, shrank, sprouted plumes.

Within seconds, the giantess clutched only emptiness, for the girl had slipped the fleshy bonds and snatched the crown of feathers with her beak.

The door to the chamber remained shut. Emer flew around the room, faster and faster, higher and higher, knowing the giantess was reaching for her bow. She heard the nocking of an arrow, curses thundering from the woman, the twang of a bowstring. She braced herself, heard a thud, but felt no pain. Risking a glance, she saw another black body hurtling downwards. Resolute and determined not to waste Bertók’s gift, she raised her head and aimed towards the stained glass.

The raven-girl pierced the dome, raining colored shards on the giantess. She shot upwards, a shadow against a pallid sky. With the dainty adornment gripped tightly in her beak, she flew on, tracing the snake of the river back to whence she came.

If the Black Bride had been surprised to see Emer feathered once more, she did not show it. The girl landed and transformed, steadfastly meeting her captor’s gaze.

“Give it to me, girl,” said the Black Bride, her tone limned by longing, and not a little desperation.

Emer shook her head. “My mother first. Restore her.”

A brief, tense standoff took place while the Black Bride insisted her niece hand over the artifact before anything else occurred. Emer remained adamant. In the end, a rage-induced coughing fit tipped the balance in Emer’s favor. The Black Bride was forced to concede that she did not have enough time left to indulge in a battle of wills.

When her mother at last stood beside her—shaking, dazed—Emer held the out crown. The Black Bride snatched at it greedily, turned it ? 211 ?

? Flight ?