Page 13 of Wickedly Ever After
“You would really refuse this test as a person who has beenthe recipient of Happily-Ever-After your whole life?” Ida stared directly into Amber’s deep brown eyes. “The magic will choose. Not you. Not I. Not some committee who gives out favors to those who can buy them. Isn’t that what you wanted? Why you came?”
Amber’s face turned red and her frown deepened into a gulch, but she slowly held out her hand.
Ida held the rose out like a wand. She touched Mildred’s left hand. The rose shivered between her fingers, but nothing happened. Then she touched Amber’s.
For a moment, Ida thought perhaps nothing would happen at all. She was on the verge of stepping back, calling Hari and telling him to send all the other girls back into the room. That would probably be the right thing to do, the fair thing. Then the rose warmed in her hand, first the stem as it filled with magic, and then the sepals, the petals, the stamens. With a sudden burst of dark smoke and the smell of a rose garden, the rose flared with crimson light.
Amber’s mouth fell open. Next to her, Mildred Cheapstreet broke into silent sobs, stamping her feet and yelling soundlessly at Ida and Amber in turns. Well, that would never do. She’d not be able to make herself heard over that once she lifted the spell.
A flick of the rose and Mildred was a match. Ida picked her up and tucked her gently in her pocket. It would do the girl good to spend some time reflecting on her life and what she might want to do with it now. Perhaps a room full of matches in which she needed to find herself would be just the thing—Ida used to do that with grains of wheat sometimes. Very meditative, sorting wheat. But right now, she had a princess to deal with, and a very angry one to judge by the color in Amber’s cheeks.
“Congratulations,” Ida said. “The magic chose well. I wish you the best Happily-Ever-After, my dear.”
Amber’s red face turned purple. She opened her mouth, as if uncertain whether or not she could speak, but the words poured out in a torrent. “I told you, I don’t want it! I have a life. I don’t want to marry some prince. That’s not my idea of a Happily-Ever-After! You can’t force me to do this!”
“I’m not forcing you to do anything,” Ida said. “The magic—”
“The magic can go get—”
“Listen to me,” Ida said, holding up her hand. “You’ve been chosen, Amber Smith. You can either embrace your destiny or you can run away from it. That’s the real choice you have to make now. Is it really so bad to be saving the world?”
If Amber’s glare were turned into a sword, it couldn’t be sharper. “You’re going to regret this.”
She threw the rose down on the floor and stomped out.
6
Ida
My advice to any young witch—always maintain a polite, friendly demeanor when corresponding with rival witches.
Unless, of course, they are complete assholes.
Magic and Mischief—A Thousand Years of Happily-Ever-After
Ida North
For the remainder of that day, Ida had not known exactly what was wrong with her. She left the room, feeling vaguely that she’d made a mistake. Still, it was oddly satisfying to have picked, regardless of the circumstances, the most suitable girl for the position. Amber, clearly from the most middle of the middle class, a blacksmith with a stable career—and here she laughed at her own bad pun—was as common as common got. And yet, the girl had an uncommon temper, a fine sense of morality, and clearly cared about the downtrodden. She would make an excellent queen.
But she began to suspect something wasn’t quite right that evening, far too late to save the day.
As usual, Hari was involved.
***
Ida had a frank discussion with her chef about the petit fours in the kitchen. “I really feel serving so many sweets at these functions sets a bad example.”
“But—but you’ve always liked my Angel’s Dream Cake!” the tearful man protested, twisting his chef’s hat into knots, and glancing around the kitchen nervously. The cooks kept their attention on the stoves, but the housekeeper left her station where she was consulting with Hari over the folding of the napkins—delicate white swans on a blue bifold—and came over, looking concerned.
“Actually, I’ve never liked your Angel’s Dream Cake. It’s more like a sugar-spun nightmare, in all honesty—how much butter can you cram into a cake before it’s a frosted heart attack? From now on, I want a simple fruit tray and crudités. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lady.” He sniffed.
“Good,” she said. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I believe I will skip the princesses’ dinner and ball. Make sure the soup and salad are served first, not with the meal.”
The housekeeper protested. “But, my lady—it is traditional for the Good Witch to congratulate all the girls for their participation! You must attend.”
Ida waved her off. “Gods, can’t a woman buck tradition once in a thousand years? She touched the rose, the spell is set, and nothing in my job description stipulates I must be present for a dinner I don’t want to eat, and a ball at which I won’t dance; and I simply can’t deal with all the fragrances girls wear nowadays.”
