But there were too many of them. They swarmed me, covering every inch and drowning out my screams.
Once again, I felt the familiar sensation of my plotline wrapped around my throat. Then it tightened like I was being lifted. As the bugs fell from my face, the first thing I saw were the white pupils flaring in the black abyss Morte had for eyes as he said, “I had hoped you would prove useful for my ascension. What a disappointment. There is a deadline to meet. I don’t have time to waste on a useless story such as yours.” With a flick of his wrist, he lassoed the knotted wire around my neck, then flung and discarded my soul in the forge of faceless shadows.
There aren’t words to describe the feeling of losing track of who you are. I couldn’t stop the forge from claiming the knots in my plotline as, one by one, they blurred and melted away, the memories that shaped my story erasing to nothing along with me.
For what felt like an eternity, I lay there, sinking and disappearing. Screaming until my voice was just an echo of a memory.
“I hear you!”
Dorthea’s voice rang clearly, cutting through the cacophony of souls. The white flames in the pit burst higher and turned green.
“No,” Morte cried out. “I can’t let you out intact.” He reached into the fires with his bare hand and pulled out a blackened and dripping line. Hurriedly, he started cutting off pieces with his scythe. I felt each and every slice like he was hacking away at my insides.
“Rexi Hood, vassal of Emerald, bound by blood, ink, and the curse in my veins. I name you as my creation and my other half. I order you to get your snarky self back here RIGHT NOW!”
Air filled my lungs so quickly, I broke into a round of coughing that made my ribs ache. I had been yanked out of the underworld.
“Welcome back,” Dorthea said softly next to me.
Sitting up to breathe easier, my palm hit something dry and prickly. It was grass, yellowed and dead, as if the very life had been sucked out of the ground.
Verte and Oz stood just outside the dead circle, which was about ten trolls across, where the rest of the grass in the clearing was still vibrant and plush. The Maker’s workshop looked like it had been hit with a cyclone. The chicken house was just gone.
What happened?
The opal necklace pulsed softly on my chest. Aside from one tiny thread of emerald running through its center, the stone looked orange and red, like a regular fire opal.
I turned to the side to ask Dorthea what had happened, but she collapsed flat on the dead grass. Her pale skin and flaming hair weren’t bright enough to compete with a lit match.
Her chest barely moved. Mentally, I tugged the end of the magical string that connected us. There wasn’t anything at the other end.
“Dorthea!”
I reached out for her, but Oz yelled, “Don’t touch her!”
He was too late.
The second I touched Dorthea, the opal and my vision exploded in green flames. I heard a voice, but it wasn’t Morte’s. It sounded like several people talking at once.
“So hungry. Feed us. Join us.”
The flames burrowed into me, which was different from before, when she’d used me like a battery. Drain can be recharged. But I was being consumed.
“Stop. Please,” I begged Dorthea, whose face was blank—but her eyes were wide-open and solid green.
The voices answered for her, braiding in and out of each other in a chorus. “More. We need to be more.”
I could hear Verte and Oz arguing in the background, but the curse kept talking. And a voice that sounded like mine joined the thread. “We must take it and become stronger. Power fixes all.”
No. I am a child of the trees…
“And we will burn.”
I could feel more than see Oz and his bright flare of power come closer. “My sincerest apologies, ladies,” he said and bashed our heads together.
Then, blessedly, there was nothing. Just the lightest pulse of red. Like a heartbeat. Getting dimmer.
“4 apples, 1/2 cup sugar, 1/3 cup flour, pinch of baking powder, a teaspoon of cinnamon and nutmeg. And 1 clove—to hide the poison.”
—Killer Kitchen Recipes
13
Food for Thoughts
I woke up feeling like how I imagine those dancing princesses did after hours of twirling in those ugly knockoff slippers. “Ugh,” I groaned, holding my head in a vain attempt to contain the throbbing. “Somebody kill me, please.”
“Meh, been there, tried that. It’s actually considerably more difficult than you might think.” Verte thrust a glass of something lumpy and brown into my hand. “Here, drink this. It will help.”
I turned my nose up at it and dumped it out on the floor. “Call someone to clean that up. I’m going back to bed. Wake me when the kitchen sends up a beverage that’s not poisoned. And preferably burrberry flavored.” I closed my eyes and rolled over, reaching for the blanket, but there wasn’t one.
“Dear Grimm, please tell me I was never that obnoxiously spoiled,” a girl said.
“Don’t worry, Dot, you weren’t. More like twice that bad. At least,” Verte answered.
I growled and sat up. “Would you two…” The sentence trailed off when I saw the girl standing by my emerald sorceress. She looked an awful lot like the Princess of Emerald having a really bad hair day. Which was impossible, because I was the Emerald heir, and I was sitting right here. “Who are you?” My breathing picked up. “Guards.” I couldn’t catch my breath and my chest burned. “Mother…” I looked down and saw that I was wearing some hideous necklace. Like a fire opal in a super-tacky pewter mount. But fire opals weren’t more than half green.
“Yup. I was afraid of this.” Verte stood up and grabbed my arms. “I’ll hold her down. You scoop the sap off the ground and shove it down her gullet if you gots to.”
The imposter princess did as she was told but hesitated when Verte warned, “Careful. I think she’s a biter.”
“Pixing right I am,” I said. “Don’t lay a filthy finger on me, you common street rat. Do you know who I am?” Opening my mouth to speak was just the opportunity they were looking for. The lumpy, viscous liquid was sticky, sweet, and absolutely didn’t want to go down my throat. But it was too gummy to spit back out.
The girl put a hand over my mouth and pinched my nose, so I didn’t have a choice but to swallow. “Shh, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Rexi. Please be okay.”
“Rexi?” I muttered behind her hand so it sounded more like “Mrphy.”
Who the spell was that?
“Rule #14: Whether in the castle or in woodsy exile, a princess must always look her best. Local wildlife can easily be charmed to help with most tailor work. Before adding local flora to your designs, be sure to make sure it’s not poison ivy.”
—Definitive Fairy-Tale Survival Guide, Volume 3: Enchanted Forests
14
Out, Out Glammed Spot
Until the sap gloop stuff made its way through me, I was Dorthea. At least in my mind. Losing myself one knot at a time had been a nightmare. But at least I didn’t know what I’d forgotten. Remembering things I shouldn’t know…