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Fairytale
By Maggie Shayne
Part One
Once Upon A Time...
AdamJune 30, 1968
Seven year-old Adam Reid raced through the forest, zigging and zagging like a mad bumblebee, arms spread out at his sides. The summer breeze turned into a wind that whooshed past his ears and tangled his hair. He pretended he was flying. He liked pretending. Even though his father was always telling him how bad it was, how foolish. He got the strap for it sometimes, when his tall tales got a little too tall.
But only if his father had been drinking.
He buzzed around the base of a giant maple tree three times, then came to a halt when his keen eyes picked out a barely visible path beneath its broad, leafy limbs. No longer interested in playing bumblebee, Adam lowered his arms. He hunkered down and squinted at the almost invisible trail in the mossy ground. No matter how many times he came out here, he never failed to find a new adventure to pursue.
Adam loved these woods. He wasn't supposed to be here. The forest was not on his father's property, but on the state land that bordered it. And he'd been warned repeatedly to stay away. But that hadn't stopped Adam.
Now he began following that trail, wondering what it might be. Deer trail, he decided, his seven years of wisdom assuring him it was so. Maybe he'd see a big whitetail if he went really slow and quiet.
The path meandered for a ways, wriggling this way and that in S-patterns and loops and figure eights. Then it vanished into a patch of mean-looking blackberry briars, with deceptively pretty white blossoms that smelled so good he wished he could taste them. But when Adam squatted on his haunches, he saw that the thorny, flowering briars sort of arched over the trail. If he bent really low, he could still follow it. So he did.
Bending almost double, even crawling on all fours here and there, he continued to follow the path. It was like a covered bridge now. Or a tunnel. The ground beneath him slanted upward, taking him over a small hill and partway down the other side before the brambles finally thinned out. He emerged on a grassy slope that seemed to be one side of a big old hump in the ground. And about halfway down that grassy hump, he saw a dark hole, sinking back into the mound. It looked like... Adam ran closer and stopped, bracing his hands on his knees and breathing fast from excitement. It was! A cave! He'd discovered a cave. Maybe pirates had holed up here. Or a dinosaur! Or cave men, a zillion years ago. Neat!
Without hesitation, Adam crawled inside. The opening wasn't big enough to go in standing up. It was kind of dark, and a lot cooler than it was outside. But Adam wasn't afraid. Not much, anyway. He had his penlight, which he was never without. Just like his jackknife. He flicked the light on now, and ventured deeper. The farther he went, the wider the walls opened out, and the ceiling got higher, too. He came, at last, to what looked like the very back of the cave. A room about the size of his tree house, and big enough so he could stand up. This was the best discovery he'd ever made.
He played in there for hours. He explored, and carved his name in the stone walls, and yelled really loud to hear his voice echo, until he got tired. And then he decided to take a short nap before heading home. It was a long walk, after all.
So he sat on the ground and leaned back against the cool wall, and he closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, Adam wasn't sure if he'd been asleep or not, or if he had, how much time had passed. Not wanting to be late for dinner and risk another walloping, he hurried to the cave's entrance. He had to crouch low again, of course, but he made good time, scuttling closer to the bright yellow sunlight he could see up ahead. He stepped out, stood up straighter, and brushed the dirt from the knees of his jeans. Then he brought his head up, blinking first at the brightness of the sunlight, and then in shock.
This was not the same place he'd been to before. This was ... this was different.
Everywhere he looked there were flowers like he'd never seen before, blossoming in every color he could imagine and a few he never had! And they filled the air with their smells. Wonderful smells! There were pebbles and stones on the grassy ground. But they were no regular stones. Every rock he saw glittered. Like . .. jewels or something! Adam turned to look back at the cave entrance, wondering if there had been another tunnel in there, one he hadn't noticed. He sure as heck hadn't come out the same way he'd gone in.
Okay, then. He'd take a look around, really quick, and then he'd go back inside and find the right way out. If he dawdled out here much longer he'd be in hot water with his father for sure. But gosh, this place was too much to resist. Like something out of The Wizard of Oz!
He ventured farther, and took a closer look at the trees. Squinting, moving closer, he looked again. Heck, there were pictures in the bark! A moon. Some stars. A sun. A fairy.
What the heck?
Adam moved through the trees, curious, amazed. This was no normal forest. This was ... this was . ..
"This is Rush, young man. And you are most certainly not supposed to be here."
Her voice was like music. Like bells. Adam whirled to see a woman... a beautiful red-haired woman whose belly was swelled like she'd swallowed a basketball. He guessed she must be expecting a baby. She wore the kind of glittery, gauzy dress you'd expect to see in a fairytale, and her eyes were just about the bluest he'd ever seen in his life.
Something moved behind her and Adam narrowed his eyes. Then he thought he was going to drop dead in his tracks. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and looked again. She had wings! Fragile-looking, like a dragonfly's wings. You could see right through them, but they were there.
"Who are you?" he managed to ask her.
"Maire," she said, smiling. It sounded like "May-ruh" to Adam. But he didn't have time to ponder it long. She was leaning closer, squinting at him. "Few mortals can see the doorway to this place," she told him. "It's enchanted, you know."
Adam looked around, nodding. "Yeah, I was starting to figure that."
"Maybe you are supposed to be here." She tapped her chin with one dainty finger. "After all, there's no such thing as coincidence. So, there must be a reason for your coming here, mustn't there?"
"Uh—I don't think so, ma'am. I—I ought to be getting home." He took a step backward.
She sighed. "Yes, that's probably for the best."
Adam agreed. He didn't want any part of any enchanted forest or any fairy godmothers or whatever the heck she was. Sheesh, he'd read about fairies. They could be dangerous. He turned, feeling lucky he was going to get out of here unscathed, but then he got a chill right up his spine. Because he didn't see the cave. He'd wandered too far.
"Oh, don't worry. I'll show you the way." The lady took his hand in hers, and then she went still, and stared down at him, her eyes sparkling, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Now I know why you're here!" She smiled, looking at him like she was seeing something awfully sweet. One of her hands rested lovingly on her swollen belly, and she ran her other hand through his hair. If she pinched his cheeks, he was outta here, he decided. Then her smile faded, and she even looked a little sad. "You must be a very strong little boy. And a brave one, too."
"Well, sure I am," he confirmed, wondering how she could tell.
"Tell me, young Adam. Would you like to see your fate before you go?"
"My . . .fate?"
"Your future. I can show you, if you want."
Adam swallowed hard. His heart was racing, his hands were sweaty, and he really wanted out of here. Now. But he'd be awfully dumb to pass up a chance to see his future, wouldn't he? He'd particularly like to know if he'd missed dinner, and whether he was going to get beat when he got home tonight because of it. Trying for a nonchalant shrug, he said, "Okay."
The lady smiled again. She drew him off through the trees a little ways. Then she stopped and pushed aside a dense tangle of branches. "Look through here," she told him.
Adam looked.
There was a pond there, with water as blue as the winged lady's eyes. This side of it was dense with dark green reeds. But there was no mistaking the splashing and the laughter he heard coming from beyond them. And when he squinted harder and looked, he saw a woman.
Bunches of long black curls trailed over her back and shoulders. She was playing in the water like a little girl, only she was no little girl. He couldn't see all of her, which was a good thing because he didn't think she was dressed. Looked like she was skinny dipping to him.
All of a sudden she went still, and turned her head in his direction. Her eyes were black as coal as they met his through the gaps in the reeds. And Adam felt a shudder work its way right to his toes.
Then Maire let the branches snap back into place, cutting off his view.
"Who is she," he asked.
"You mean, who will she be," the woman corrected him. He frowned hard at her. "She will be your future, Adam. Your fate. She'll come into your life when you least expect it, because she needs you to show her the way."
"What way?" He was more confused now than he'd been when he'd spotted her fairy wings.
"The way to her sister, and then the way back home."
"Oh," he said, as if he fully understood, though he didn't.
"Whatever you do, Adam, you mustn't let yourself fall in love with her. She'll break your heart if you do. She has to leave you in the end. Don't forget."
"Don't worry. I don't even like girls." Adam turned and yanked the branches aside again, but when he looked now there was only more forest. No pond. No woman.
"What the heck?" He turned back to Maire again, but she was gone as well, just like the vision. And right beyond the place where she'd been standing was the cave he knew would lead him home again. Though Adam was certain it hadn't been there before.
Brigit
March 21, 1978 St. Mary's Orphanage Maybourne Row, Brooklyn 9:00 p.m.
"Read it again, Sister Mary Agnes."
Sister's gentle smile added creases to her lined face. One withered hand ruffled Brigit's curls. "All right, little one. But this is the last time."
Brigit snuggled more deeply into the small wooden bed. Her pillow was lumpy, and her blanket none too thick. She ran her hands lovingly over the intricate embroidery on the book's cloth cover, her fingers tracing the elegant scroll of the title, Fairytale. Her parents must have loved her very much, to have made such a wonderful book for her. Brigit knew that because Sister told her so often. She opened the book to the first vellum page, with its brilliantly colored, hand-painted illustration. The one showing the mystical forest, with the crystal water in the center, and way off in the distance, the castle spires. Brigit looked at the picture for a long time, before pushing the book into Sister's powdery soft hands.
"Once upon a time," Sister began, "not so very long ago, two princesses were born. No ordinary princesses, though. These babies were special. These babies were fay."
"And that means fairy, right Sister Mary Agnes?" Brigit didn't need to ask. She knew the Fairytale by heart. But her comments and questions had become a part of the ritual.
"Yes, Brigit. That means fairy." Sister Mary Agnes turned the page, and let Brigit take a good long look at the next picture. This one was of the beautiful fairy princess holding her twin daughters in her arms. One had raven's wing curls just like Brigit's, and the other had hair as yellow as spun gold.
"Their mother was Princess Maire, the only daughter of the Fay King Padraig. And their father was Jonathon, the mortal man who'd come through tike invisible curtain to find her. 'Twas the hand of Fate that led him there, for the enchanted realm is invisible to most mortal eyes."
Despite the thinness of her blanket, Brigit felt warm when she thought about Maire and John, and the love they'd had between them. So strong it had crossed worlds to find fulfillment. Sister Mary Agnes often said Brigit was too young to think about love the way she did. But Brigit didn't think so. She thought nine was plenty old enough to understand matters of the heart. Sister would think so too, if she knew about Brigit's dream. One dream which came to her over and over again. A lovely dream in which the fairy princess Maire appeared to her and whispered, "Would you like to see your fate, little one?" And Brigit always answered yes, and waited as Maire parted some mists with a wave of her dainty hand, and pointed. When Brigit peered through she saw a man. A golden-haired man who looked very sad and confused, and she felt an instinctive urge to try to comfort him. He needed her, that man with the hurt in his deep blue eyes.
But she couldn't tell Sister about that dream. She'd never understand.
Sister had turned the page, and was reading again. "Their home was the forest of Rush, which lies beyond the mortal world. And the princess's daughters were born at a time of peace. But alas, by the twins' first birthday there came a period of great turmoil in Rush. For even in the enchanted realm, evil exists."
A little shiver raced up Brigit's spine. The vellum made a whispery sound, and Sister's voice came again, as raspy and soft as the paper.
"The Prince of the Dark Side was never content to live in the part of the enchanted realm to which his family had been consigned. That part beyond Rush, where daylight never ventured. Always, those dark ones had coveted the fay forest and kingdom. They'd raised up an army of trolls and goblins and all manner of dark beings, and together, they laid siege to the castle of the king."
Brigit didn't look at that picture. It was too scary. A mishmash of nightmarish creatures storming those pretty castles, wielding swords and maces and looking as fierce as death itself.
"Princess Maire was killed in the battle, and poor John was beside himself with grief. Only wise King Padraig knew what must be done. He ordered John to take the wee princesses away from Rush. To part the invisible curtain once more, and to return with his daughters to the mortal world, where they would be safe from the Dark Prince's blade."
Brigit nodded. "And before Jonathon left..." she prompted.
Mary Agnes smiled and turned another page. "Before Jonathon left, King Paddy gave him two books, fashioned by Princess Maire with her own hands. She'd been blessed with the second sight, Maire had. She'd been able to see into the future. And she'd crafted the books for the time when her daughters would have to get by without her."
"And is this one of them, Sister?"
Sister made her eyes very big, as she always did when Brigit asked the question. "It might very well be, Brigit."
Brigit nodded. It was fun to think her mother might have been a fairy princess.
"The king told John to see to the children's safety. For one day, when they were grown, they would be called to return, the eldest to take her place on the throne of Rush. And the younger to assist her in regaining it. As firstborn— though only by a minute—the eldest had inherited the largest share of her mother's magic. And when the time came, she would regain some memories of the kingdom. The youngest, though, would likely remember none of it. The accepting of her fate might well be more difficult for her."
Mary Agnes flipped to the last page, the page depicting Princess Maire, with her cascades of red-orange curls and her glittering gown. Her love-filled, sea-blue eyes seemed to stare at Brigit from the page.
"Trials and turmoil await you, little princesses. But when things seem hopeless, turn to the Fairytale to remind you of who you are. And remember, if you be true to your heart, happiness will greet you at the end of your journey."
As always, Sister Mary Agnes left the book open to that page and laid it in Brigit's lap.
Brigit traced Maire's beautiful face with her fingertips, blinking tiredly. "Do you think she really was my mother?"
Mary Agnes sighed. "I only know what I know, child. Father Anthony found you and another tiny girl sleeping at the altar one morning. And each of you had a book just like this one. Yours with the name Brigit inside, and the other with the name of Bridin. And tucked into a little pocket sewn within each cover, was a pendant for each of you."
Brigit fingered the necklace she never took off. A dainty pewter fairy, embracing a long, narrow crystal, with points at both ends.
"The note Father Anthony found beside you said simply, 'My time on this earth is ending. Please, take care of my girls. Jonathon.' "
"And what happened to Bridin?" Brigit knew, but asked again anyway. Sister's tales seemed more real when Brigit made her tell them right to the end.
"Bridin was adopted right away, darling. But you'd taken ill, and were in no condition to go with her. One day, though, you'll find a fairytale all your own. One day you'll have your happily-ever-after."
"Will I really, Sister Mary Agnes?"
For years Brigit had trusted utterly in the Fairytale. She'd had to, because she'd had nothing else. And she adored the woman who told it, knew Sister Mary Agnes would never deliberately lie. But Brigit wasn't a baby anymore. And the longer she remained here at St. Mary's, the harder it became to believe in fairies or enchanted kingdoms or ... or especially happily-ever-afters. She closed her eyes as Sister's crinkled palm slipped repeatedly over her hair.
"You will, Brigit. I promise you will. No girl with a gift like yours will be alone for long."
Brigit frowned, her eyes popping open again. "I have a gift?"
Sister Mary Agnes lifted her head to stare at the picture, and Brigit followed her gaze, still unsure what was so special about it. The rectangle of construction paper hung a little crookedly above the painted white headboard of the bed. Brigit had discovered her knack with a paintbrush for the first time today, when Father Anthony had brought boxes of brushes and paints and paper for the orphans here. Sister Mary Agnes had seemed to think she'd witnessed her first miracle. She'd been a little breathless earlier, when she'd caught Brigit in the act of balancing on a stack of pillows while trying to Scotch tape her painting to the wall. To cover that crack in the plaster.
"Yes, child. Make no mistake, you have a gift."
"Who from?"
The tears that came into Sister Mary Agnes's eyes made Brigit frown. Why did she get so choked up over a construction-paper lady? It was just a copy of a picture Brigit had found in an art book. Some lady with two first names. Mona Lucy or something like that.
"From God, Brigit."
Ah, well, there was no understanding grownups. Even Sister Mary Agnes, though the sister was better than most adults, in Brigit's estimation. She rolled over, sliding her storybook under her pillow as she did every night, and pulled the worn blanket up over her shoulder.
"You're a blessing, child. You've brought an honest to goodness miracle right here to Maybourne Row. In a shelter nearly falling down around our ears, beside a church with chipped paint and folding chairs instead of pews. A miracle, Brigit."
But Brigit was tired, and thought Sister Mary Agnes was overreacting a little. Or maybe she sensed that Brigit's belief in the Fairytale was getting shaky, and now she was trying to invent a new one. Give her something else to hang on to. How could a picture be a miracle, anyway?
"Sleep, love. And tomorrow we'll show your painting to Father Anthony. He'll know what to do."
She crossed herself before leaving in a rustle of black fabric.
Only, for Sister Mary Agnes, tomorrow never came.
BridinMarch 21, 1978 Binghamton, NY 9:00 p.m.
Big guys all dressed in black stood around the place like sentries guarding a border. One in the hallway outside her rooms. Two outdoors, below her bedroom window. Bridin didn't mind them. They treated her like gold, being that she still wore her pendant. They didn't dare do otherwise. If any of those dark ones tried to hurt her—if they so much as touched her—they'd suffer. Die maybe. She couldn't be sure, since none of them had ever tried. They were afraid of her, those big, dark beings. So the Dark Prince had needed mortals to care for her. Weak ones, whose minds he could control.
The nurse, Kate, of course, had no idea who the guards really were or who they worked for. She simply believed what she'd been told, that Bridin was sickly, and not quite right, and needed constant guarding and protection and care. Her kindness to Bridin didn't come from fear, the way theirs did. Hers came from her heart. She was good inside. Bridin was surprised the Dark Prince would tolerate her presence.
But he did, and Kate adored her, was constantly trying to please her. Always bringing games and toys for her. Making sure she got to eat the things she liked, and often sneaking in ice cream for dessert. She even rented film reels and a projector now and then, and showed Disney movies on the stark, white wall of her room. But even so, Kate couldn't see the truth. Despite all Bridin's efforts to reach her, her mind remained clouded by the Dark Prince's magic.
They'd let her keep her book. They'd had no choice about that, because it was protected by magic. They couldn't touch it anymore than they could touch her. Even though poor, confused Uncle Matt still believed it was the book that had driven her insane in the first place.
She wasn't insane. And she knew that Uncle Matt was no longer thinking for himself. His mind was just as weak as Kate's had been, that was all. It had been easy for the Dark Prince to take over, so she couldn't hate her uncle too much. He'd tried to give her a home after her adopted parents had been killed. And really, if she'd only been older and wiser, she would have known better than to make such a fuss when her dreams told her their car accident had been no accident. That the Dark Prince was behind all of it. That he was trying to orchestrate things so that Bridin would never be able to return to Rush. Really dumb of her to blurt all that. But she'd only been eight then. And the visions ... the memories had come as a terrible surprise.
She was older and wiser now. Nine. And she knew better than to try to explain her visions to just anyone. Better she not even admit to them, when she could hide it, since doing so only reinforced Uncle Matt's belief in her insanity.
So Uncle Matt went about his business, which took him all over the world, and Bridin rarely saw him. He was convinced he was providing the best possible care for his poor, confused little niece. Convinced by the control the Dark Prince exerted over his mind. As for Bridin, she remained here, a prisoner in her uncle's home, held captive by forces her uncle didn't even believe could exist.
She was wiser now. Wise enough to know she had to bide her time. She'd just stay here until she was old enough to return to Rush. She'd just pretend to have resigned herself to life as an inmate in her own bedroom. At least that way, her enemies would have no reason to take further action. And it wasn't as if she could leave here, even if she tried. Oh, the others could come and go as they pleased. The unaware mortals could cross through the invisible barrier the Dark Prince had erected around this place, and not even feel it there. And those men in black, the prince's henchmen brought over from the other side, could pass freely as well. Evil didn't harm evil. But no fairy could pass. The force of the negativity would crush her. The house that looked to mortal eyes like any other house was in truth a pretty cell to Bridin. But when the time was right, she'd find a way to escape.
She looked across the table at Raze, who'd been sitting in quiet contemplation of the Monopoly board for some time now. Of the handful of mortals in her uncle's employ, he was the only one not completely blinded by the Dark Prince's spell. She'd reached Raze, enchanted him, and gradually made him see the truth.
Who'd have believed the formerly homeless man, the bum who used to sleep in the park across from the orphanage, would turn out to be the strongest of them all?
"Aren't you gonna shake the dice? It's your move, you know."
Razor-Face Malone snapped to attention and ran one hand over his graying stubble. "Sorry." He scooped up the dice and tossed them. Then promptly moved the boot, which was her token, instead of the race car, which was his.
Bridin covered his hand with hers. "Raze, what's the matter? I know something is."
His pale blue eyes met hers. So sad! Bridin felt a shiver go up her spine, but ignored it. Nervously, she fingered her pendant, sliding it back and forth on its thin silver chain.
"Okay," he said softly. "I'll tell you. I have to, sooner or later. Bridey ..." He looked straight into her eyes. "I'm leaving. They're sending me away, tonight."
She felt her eyes widen, felt them burn. "Leaving?"
He nodded, looking as upset by this as she was.
"But Raze, you can't! Where will you go? What will you do?"
He smiled, to reassure her, she knew. "Just like you to worry more about old Raze than yourself," he told her. "I'll manage. I got by just fine before, and I can do it again."
Swallowing her tears, Bridin brought her chin up, forced a smile. Tried not to think about Raze returning to the life he'd led before he'd been brought here. A lonely man scraping a living from the streets. He was older now. He'd never survive that way again. "Well," she whispered. "It was only a matter of time before they wised up. I should have been expecting this."
"Yeah." He put the boot back where it had been, and moved his race car.
"Are you in danger, Raze? Do you think he knows your mind isn't his anymore?"
Raze gnawed his lower lip for a moment. "I think he suspects that his hold on me is slipping. I think he believes he's getting rid of me before you have a chance to get through." He met her eyes, gave his head a shake. "But you did, Bridey. I know the truth. I won't let him brainwash me again."
"I know."
Raze reached a hand across the table, covered hers with it. "I'd rather be shot than leave you. You know that. I'd stay if I could."
"I know that, too." Bridin would not cry in front of Raze.
Though he was like a grandfather to her, he was as much a child as she was—more so, in a lot of ways. She loved him. Crying would only hurt him more, and she refused to do that. "We'll see each other again," she told him.
"Sure we will. I'm not going far, you know. I'll stay close, try to find a way to see you, make sure you're okay. I just don't know why he had to catch on."
Bridin shrugged. "Me neither, Raze. But everything happens for some reason, right? Maybe..." She let her words trail off, and vaguely knew the dice she'd been holding had fallen to the floor. But she wasn't seeing them. She wasn't seeing anything that was here or now. Instead, she saw flames. She heard cries. And she knew something she hadn't known before.
"Bridey? Baby, you okay?" Raze was there on her side of the table now, gripping her shoulders. She ought to be smelling the minty ointment he used for his achy joints, but she was smelling smoke instead. Raze yelled for Kate, but she barely heard that beyond the roaring and crackling of the flames, and the screams of the children. She knew she was shaking all over and staring off into space. She felt the sweat trickling down her face, and stinging her eyes. She screamed, very loudly, shrilly, endlessly. And she knew it was her voice, but it didn't feel as if it was. She felt apart, separate, as the vision unfolded in her mind. Episodes like this one were what had made her uncle question her sanity in the first place, and left him ripe for the subtle influence of the Dark Prince's power. But she watched the vision, despite her terror of it. She explored its every aspect.
Kate's gentle hand gripped her arm, and she felt the sharp jab of a needle. It overwhelmed the feeling of that searing heat on her skin. And in a few seconds, the vision faded away.
It was such a silly way to treat people of magic, she thought, as the drug began to fog her mind. She knew it was happening to others, in other places. The mortal world just didn't understand them, so they locked them up, and labeled them crazy, and tried to medicate their visions away. Made no sense at all.
The nurse was picking her up, but she squirmed, reaching for Raze.
"Please," she heard him say. "Let me."
...
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