Once Upon a Time: The Villains (8 page)

I fell deeper into my mind until reality was only a dream. I thought myself a princess in a castle. My every desire granted instantly…until the rats came. Then I was given a broom and told to kill the nasty creatures. Whack, whack, whack. I went after them with gusto, but they never died. Crying, I collapsed in a corner and hid under my royal robes. A terrible scurrying assaulted my ears. I peeked out and saw that the rats had brooms and were stalking me. I cried harder. Begged for escape, for rescue…for wings. As I huddled there, my arms grew light, and feathers appeared.

Once again my desires were granted. A thrill of salvation zinged through me. I leapt into the air and beat my fledgling wings. I could fly. And fly I did — away from this rat house and into the heavens.

A rare smile graced my face, and I opened my eyes. Odd. I was flying, yet Korb’s ugly face loomed over me. He actually looked concerned as he whispered to a shadow next to him. “I paid eight pieces for her. She can’t die. Not yet.”

“How fast a proud man falls,” rasped the hovering shadow, “when faced with a dilemma he can’t control.”

His jaw tightened, and he leaned closer to the shadow, his whisper harsh and just as threatening, “Don’t play the lady with me. You’re just as dirty as the rats I kill.”

“Don’t you mean
they
kill, Korb? Without the children, you’d be less than nothing yourself.”

The tall man snorted. “Good hunters are hard to find these days. I just trained this bunch and they’re already inching toward the sky. And this one,” he said nodding my way, “she had potential, but she’s proven stubborn.”

“A good beating will cure her of that, they say,” the woman offered.

He snorted his agreement, but shook his head. “If she hadn’t come along, I would have had to steal me one.”

“A trick that comes naturally to you.”

“You’re one to speak of natural. What
you
do is unnatural, but I’m willing to give it a go.”

“Even if it’ll damn your soul?”

He rocked back on his heels and laughed. “At least I’ll be warm.”

“I should’ve never said anything to a man like you.”

“Knowledge is power, or so you say. Just think what the villagers would do if they were to find out about your special hobby?”

The silence that followed grew deadly cold, and finally her voice rasped, “So be it.” The shadow shifted and the face of a beautiful young woman came into view. She dug through a bag and brought forth a piece of paper, which had been folded into a small square. “I’ve translated the spell for you. It’s complicated. It will take you weeks to learn.”

She was a witch? I must be dreaming. The woman looked nothing like the witches my mother used to threaten me with if I didn’t do my chores in a timely manner. She wasn’t ugly or wicked looking, or stooped with bad teeth. In fact, this woman glowed like an angel.

“Don’t worry about me,” Korb said, snatching it from her hand. He tossed a small pouch of money in the witch’s lap. “What about the little one? Can you save her?”

After stuffing the pouch in her bag, she scooped me up — dirty, thin blanket and all — into her arms and smiled. “She’ll outlive you, I vow.”

Korb waved the paper back and forth, “Maybe. Maybe not,” and laughed.

Snuggled next to the woman, I closed my eyes. I was dreaming. I knew it because my dreams always ended on a much sweeter tune than the raw reality of my life. As the unknown woman carried me from that horrible place, I just knew I was going to heaven.

Heaven smelled like sticky buns, gingerbread and gumdrops. The witch didn’t live in town, but in a small house more than a mile down the forest road. I slept on the rug near the hearth, ate and slept some more. Often, when I was awake, I pretended to be asleep, hording my newfound warmth and life of ease. The woman would come in and check on my progress, but mostly, she would tend to her “business.”

People came knocking at her door day and night. Many came for a weeks-worth of sweets, but some … oh, they came for something else. Their futures told. The misery that was their life eased. Oh yes. When the desperate appeared, the clink of many coins could be heard and the palming of small vials caught my notice. Whenever the witch caught me looking, she’d smile and bring me a cup of sweet mead — the best thing for the weary and the sick, she’d say — and soon I was asleep again.

One night, a week to the day of my rescue, I thought I heard the rat catcher’s voice. I cringed under my covers, scooting even closer to the fire until the warmth turned uncomfortably hot. His voice was sharp and demanding; hers scared and pleading. But when morning came, I was still snug in my new home. It must have been a nightmare. Yet the next week, he came again. And again for two more, until within the darkness of my sleep, her answers turned hard, her words threatening.

“You can’t have her.”

“You’re keeping her for yourself, aren’t you?” Korb accused.

“I do what I must. After all, I haven’t your talent.”

“Damn my soul? Well, yours be damned now.”

She tossed a pouch of money in the air and he caught it. “Leave, or I’ll cast more than one spell tonight. Trust me, you won’t like the results.”

The door slammed shut and the house grew quiet and I, snug in my cocoon of warmth, slipped back into my dreams. After that night, my terrible night fears faded, and visions of Korb rarely came at all.

While I was sick, every noon, the woman would bring me a cup of her special mead and I’d take a nap, and then again, every evening before bedtime. In no time I was feeling better than I’d ever felt in my short misery-filled life. That terrified me, for I’d come to adore this woman — Evie.

Soon after, Evie came into the room, pulled a chair near the fire and sat. Her soft brown eyes studied me. “Your color has returned. I think you are finally on the mend.”

If I felt better, would she give me back to the rat catcher? I put my hand to my mouth and coughed, then looked helplessly up at her. “I don’t feel mended.”

Surprise lit her face. “You can talk?” She grinned. “Korb didn’t think you could.”

“I don’t like him.”

“No one likes him. But he serves a purpose, so we tolerate him.” Her eyes grew clouded. “Once he was very grand to many a village girl’s eyes, but…”

After a moment, her gaze refocused on me. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Soup? Or do you fancy something more substantial? Beef and potatoes?”

Beef and potatoes? I’d never had that before, and the way she said it made it sound wonderful. “Please.”

“Good.”

From that day forward, Evie’s only objective seemed to center on fattening me up. I didn’t complain. I ate whatever she put before me. Since it pleased her, I took my fill and asked for more. Day by day, moment by moment, I inserted myself into her life. My goal was to ease her burdens, to make her laugh. To make her love me. I would become so necessary, she wouldn’t be able to give me back. Soon I was up and about, helping her with house work, at which I excelled, and in her kitchen, where I showed signs of promise.

I followed her instructions exactly. She praised me, and I lapped it up. Yet, every so often, a frown marred her countenance. Those days my heart fell, and my stomach ached horribly.

“What’s wrong? Is the bread too salty?” I’d ask.

“Nay.”

“Too sweet?” I’d worry. “I put in exactly what you said.”

“Nay. You’ve done well.” Evie looked me up and down and her frown would grow even deeper. “Eat more,” she urged.

I took another bite of a hot dumpling smothered in gravy. With effort I swallowed. It was getting harder to eat as much as she demanded. Quietly, I pushed my plate away, my gaze focused on my shoes.

“Surely you can eat one more bite?”

I shook my head. “I’m full.” I lifted my head, dread piercing my heart. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

She pushed her own plate away. “I don’t understand. You should be as plump as a little piglet and at least a few inches taller by now.” She examined my thin legs and counted the ribs sticking out of my chest. “Something is not right.”

I didn’t understand it either. I ate constantly. If ever a person should be fat, it should be me.

She bit her lip and sighed, “How will I keep the fox at bay if the chick refuses to grow? Hmm. This is an unexpected dilemma.” She slid her chair away from the table and stood. “Problems atop problems. I think best when I work.”

Her disappointment in me burned my cheeks. My heart thudded heavily in my chest, as if it would stop beating from fear any minute. I shot to my feet and grabbed her plate and mine. I didn’t want to be a problem. I would work my fingers to the bone if she asked me too. At her surprised look, I said, “I like living here with you. If I could get fatter, grow bigger, I would. Just for you.”

The frown disappeared, and she squeezed my arm. “I know you would. You’re a strange little thing. But it’s the way it is. I guess we’ll just have to live with it.”

The days grew longer and the weeks extended into months, but within the back of my mind the fear of returning to the rat catcher kept me on task and edgy. Evie noticed. No matter how I tried to hide my concern, she saw, and in turn, grew concerned.

“Come,” she said one afternoon and pulled me along behind her.

She sat me before a small table she kept tucked in the parlor. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” In a few moments she returned with a round object wrapped in black velvet cradled in her hands. She set the orb on the table, slowly uncovered it and pulled a chair close. “Whatever I say, your future is still yours to make.”

I’d heard women ask Evie to see their futures. Never would I have guessed this was how she’d done it. There was so much Evie had yet to show me. I leaned forward, excited and terrified to see who I’d become, and where I’d end up.

Evie clutched my hand as she stared into the ball. Silent, painful minutes passed before she finally peeked up at me and gave me a sad little smile. “Your life has been one of pain. So much pain, so much heartache. Poor thing.”

Tears sprung to my eyes. I didn’t want to think of the past. I wanted to know my future. I had to know.

Her gaze returned to the ball and my gaze followed. I saw nothing. Only milky white swirls. “How do you—”

“Shhh,” Evie said and peered deeper into the ball. My life played before her in little snippets, and she relayed comfort in small doses. Our sweets would become sought after — our potions legendary. I could feel the tenseness in my shoulders ease.

Evie suddenly frowned and pushed away from the table. Her eyes had grown large, as if she’d seen something she couldn’t quite believe. Her gaze snapped to mine.

“What did you see?”

“Nothing. It just stopped.” She covered the ball with the velvet cloth.

By now I knew her as well as she knew me. She was lying. “What’s wrong?” All manner of horrors jumped within my mind, but the one that terrified me the most would not be silenced. It pounded my brain raw, and leapt to my lips on the tail of desperation. “Are you going to send me back?”

“Send you where?”

“To the rat catcher.”

“Korb?” A light of panic flashed behind her eyes, but it quickly faded and she cocked her head. She looked at me, a deep soul-probing look that warmed and chilled me with its intensity. Everything I wanted hinged on her reply. I would die if she sent me back. I knew it and I hoped she did too. After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, wet it with the tip of her tongue and dabbed at my dirty cheek.

“The things our future holds for us are like dirt on skin. We can either live with it or wash ourselves clean and start anew.” When she was done, she smiled. “I suppose, if you do all I ask, I’ll keep you with me.”

“I will behave. Oh, I will. I promise.”

She cupped my cheek and a flash of worry entered her gaze. “You’re still so young. Time can change fate, they say. I pray they’re right.”

“I’ll be whoever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“We shall see…”

She didn’t look convinced. With an imperceptible shake, she brought her attention back to me. “Worry brings on warts,” she said. “And though I want a nap, alas, we have things to do. Sweet things. Let’s go to the kitchen and finish the cakes.”

I trotted after her in a haze of euphoria. She would keep me. Whatever she’d seen would never come to pass. I would behave. I was safe, warm and well fed. My life was indeed sweet.

I had known so much bitterness; one would think I would know true happiness when presented to me. As the years passed, and I learned to create every conceivable confection, dissatisfaction weighted on me. No matter how much I did, or how much I pleaded, my angel of mercy, my special Evie, would not teach me her deepest secrets — the ones for which the desperate in our region came to her so readily.

Year after year, nobles and ladies continued to knock on her door, and I was shuffled into the darkness, away from their eyes. I was relegated to the backroom while she took care of our visitors. And such long visits they were. The women of our village sought comfort for their problems when they grew too heavy to bear alone. Word had traveled that Evie had a soft ear and a few special tricks to ease their pain. I could only guess at what transpired. When the visitors left, I naturally questioned her. Not once did she give me a concrete answer. At times like those, a chasm as wide as a canyon separated us. She held her secrets tightly. “One day I’ll tell you,” was all she’d say to pacify me. The older I grew, the more I’d wonder, till one day I asked, “When?”

Her gaze would grow distant and her lips sad. “Not now. Some secrets need only one pair of ears.”

I nodded, as if I understood, but I didn’t. Not really. Maybe when I grew older she would trust me.

And older I grew. I turned from a gawky child into a confident youth. I devoured all Evie taught me and I became a master at creating sweets to lure the most jaded of palettes.

Yet my discontent still lingered. What confused me even more was not knowing when Evie had time to create her potions. We lived side-by-side. We shared every waking moment and not once did she sneak off to brew her secrets. It was a mystery, one I longed to know. The more I pestered her, the more tight-lipped she became. As I grew ever older, I grew bolder. I snuck to the parlor door and listened. Rarely did I hear what I longed to know, and all too quickly, my voyeurism was discovered.