Page 21 of Wickedly Ever After
Ida brushed her short hair and surveyed herself in the mirror. “What do you think?”
The mirror image compressed her shell-pink lips back at her. In a sultry, provocative tone very different from Ida’s own, it said, “Delicious, my dear, but may I suggest the white hat with the lilacs would go better with your purple blouse and—”
“No, you may not,” she said, adjusting the brown hat with the violets. Hari had said it made her look like a wee mouse. Very well. She felt like a mouse, a mouse who wished more than anything to crawl into a hole in the wall in her castle and stay there. Hari was right. She should’ve refused the Young Witches. After her packed schedule, she wouldn’t have time to do much more than unpack at the hotel, get a bath, and change from her sensible slacks, shoes, and blouse into witch’s robes, then climb back in the pumpkin to drive to the palace for a dinner she didn’t want to eat.
Hari poked his head around the door. “The white horse is lame. The coachman wanted to know if the gray would be all right with you—he’s almost completely white except for his nose.”
“I don’t think anyone is going to be checking horse noses at the palace.” She sighed. “Tell him it’s fine. I’m ready as soon as he is.” Her coachman had a prickly disposition, and he tended to get his beard in a knot if she appeared on the steps of the castle two minutes before or after he pulled the coach up. Sometimes she wondered why she kept all these temperamental staff, but nearly all of them came to her with a hard-luck story she couldn’t ignore. This man was the youngest of seven dwarves, all living in the same house, mining diamonds for a living, but diamonds weren’t as easy to come by as they used to be, and his share wasso small that when he finally retired, he couldn’t even pay the rent. It didn’t help that he and his brothers almost went bust supporting a sleeping maiden they’d found in the woods. Gold digger if Ida ever met one!
She rose and followed Hari out the door. It was only a few days. And she had the game between the Thieves and Rogues to go to on Moonsday. She’d packed her Rogues jersey. Nothing like a game of good fae hurling to take the edge off her worry over the princess selection fiasco.
Hari’s mother had told her that Princess Amber had left in a huff without even making an appearance at the ball, and when the enchanted clock himself offered to turn into a footman to escort her home, she clocked him. The poor old grandfather was still getting his gears repaired. What had been in the Happily-Ever-After magic to select that spitfire, she’d never know. Hector might—he’d been there at the beginning after all—but she wasn’t talking to him. She picked up her valise and left the room.
She found Hari waiting for her in the coach, sitting back comfortably in his soft leather breeches and flowing white smock, a letter dangling in his hand and a dreamy expression on his face. It had been ages since she’d seen him so happy.
“From your friend?” she asked, taking her seat opposite him.
“Yes. He—well, Tinbit says he’s looking forward to meeting me.” He sucked in a great gulp of air, let it out, pulled it in again. “I know I shouldn’t be this nervous. I mean, it’s only dinner. But Gods! I want him to like me. And I want to like him as much as I do when I read his letters. And I’m scared I won’t. Then I’m scared I will. Oh, Ida! It can’t be love if you’re scared, can it?”
“Well, now, that’s something I can answer,” she said, smilingalthough she ached inside. “All happily-ever-afters are scary in the beginning, even the natural ones.”
“Really? You make it look so easy.”
She picked at a frayed red thread in the cushion. “It’s actually quite complicated. The variables are difficult to control. For instance, it’s hard to get two people who truly hate each other to fall in love. And it’s just as difficult to get two people to fall in love if they are already close in some way.”
“Close?”
“Friends,” she said. “Some friends can’t be swayed in a romantic fashion at all. Others must be friends before they can be in love. I do a full analysis on every princess and prince before casting—or I used to.” Once upon a time, she spent about six months in matchmaking for every Common Princess applicant and made her selections based on science and her good intuition, not committee—a committee that would probably want her wand for not sticking to the established protocol. She’d have to do something nice for Mildred’s family. Fifty years of perfect ale ought to be a sufficient bribe, and after all, she had to trust that the magic really had chosen well. The prince was handsome, and soon enough, Amber would see what a good thing it was to be given this opportunity. She seemed to be a smart, ambitious girl—rather like herself when she’d been that age…
Hari’s voice recalled her from her musings. “If I asked you, would you cast a love spell for me?”
She laughed. “Oh, no, honey, you don’t need me to do that. Magic is a tricky thing to get right. It’s better to let your heart do the magic for you. They’re powerful things, hearts. That’s why we witches take ours out. They aren’t safe to be carrying aroundinside—we are too easily moved to make magic where there shouldn’t be any.”
If only she’d remembered that a day ago! While she didn’t have her heart inside her, she kept it at home, locked in a golden chest. Most witches destroyed them—she bet Hector had taken his to the highest peak in the Dread Mountains and fed it to an eagle who’d probably died of indigestion a few hours later. She should have done away with hers more humanely, but she didn’t feel right about not having a heart. Surely Good Witches should keep them, albeit in a safe place. So it stayed in that chest under her bed, covered in dust, keeping safe all the memories of the people she’d loved over the years.
Hari set his little hand on hers. “But how will I know if this love is real? I’ve met so many people I thought I would love, and then it just didn’t happen. They were nice guys, good guys. But when it came down to it, I never really felt like I was in love. Does that make sense?”
“If love made sense, my job would be simpler. But it doesn’t. And like most magic, it won’t take if it happens at the wrong time. Or with the wrong person. Why do you think love potions are outlawed?”
“Maybe love should be outlawed too,” Hari said, folding his letter up. But he tucked it in his breast pocket, which was a good place for it to be. Love letters carried a magic all their own, and if the man Hari was interested in did indeed work for a witch, residual magic probably was in the ink.
Many witches employed gnomes. They were highly devoted, friendly, and best of all, not afraid to speak their minds, qualities witches respected—at least good witches. Wicked ones like Hector probably barbecued a gnome once a week to feed hiscockatrice or something. He still kept a cockatrice, didn’t he? He used to talk about it, a bantam, with black wings and a yellow head-crest that liked to scream at one in the morning. He’d compared it to her going on about brownie rights in the Council session. Horrible, horrible man.
Hector might be staying at the Golden Dragon. He preferred out-of-the-way places, but his usual inn, Mage Suites, was being renovated. If it hadn’t been for Hari meeting his young man, she’d have changed her reservation, even stayed at the palace perhaps, regardless of how she despised Annabeth. But if this man was Hari’s match, it couldn’t be helped. One thing Ida knew—never interfere with a happily-ever-after in progress.
Hari would meet his man. He’d see if it was right for him or not. And they would go home at the end of the week with a resolution either way.
She sighed.
It was a big hotel. Maybe she wouldn’t see Hector at all.
11
Hector
It’s that time again! Happily-Ever-After, the most magical time of the year, when wedding bells ring for the king- and queen-to-be. But don’t be too sure! This just in, Prince Archie in love with the Captain of the Guard! Exclusive to The Star, Prince plans to jilt the Common Princess and propose marriage to his lover over the dragon’s corpse! Full article on page eleven!
Rumors continue to circulate of a snafu in the selection process. Heartbroken “real” princess Mildred Cheapstreet reveals all to The Star! Good Witch Ida North, formerly Ida Moonshadow, implicated in the mix-up! This paper wonders if a thousand years of magic has led to senility. Should witches over the age of five hundred be compelled to retire?
