Page 67 of Wickedly Ever After
Hector gently brushed the fern’s curling leaves. “There, there. She wouldn’t have really hurt you.”
It wilted.
He sighed. “It’s a sensitive fern…a relatively harmless species. It only kills people when it’s been slighted.”
“Oh.” Ida gave it the side-eye. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said, but it had already curled itself up into a ball. “Your library is magnificent, Hector. Any fern would be comfortable here.”
“It actually prefers the greenhouse,” Hector said, stroking its curled leaflets. “But it had a falling-out with a man-eating Venus flytrap, and I caught it trying to fertilize it to death. I decided I’d better keep it here until the drama dies down.” He bent over the fern. “And yes, pet, I know it didn’t properly appreciate you, no one does, but I love you, yes, yes, I do—”
Ida watched him, unsure if she should laugh or shake her head.
“I came to escort you to your room,” he said. “My housekeeper is taking down the cobwebs now, and I thought you might like a hot bath before dinner. Then, if you are willing, I’d like to discuss the spellwork on your side of the Happily-Ever-After and answer your questions about mine. I know it’s not done—discussing our magic with each other—and I fully expect you to take advantage of me the next time, but I can assure you, I won’t be doing the same things next time.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Ida said. “Rest assured, you won’t get any advantage over me, either. But this has to be solved together, I agree.”
“Splendid. Shall we?” He offered her his arm.
Well, it was his castle. She’d indulge him.
Hector led her up several flights of stairs, each gloomier and darker than the last. Long strands of blood-colored moss hung from the ceiling, torches burned fitfully, spluttering and casting creepy shadows on the walls, and once, a hellhound jumpedout of a hidden alcove and attempted to lick her to death before Hector told it to settle down, she was a guest and not to be eaten. It stalked after them both, drooling flames happily.
Hector opened a set of large, frightfully squeaky doors. He stepped aside for Ida to enter. “You can go right in. I’ve disarmed the trapdoor.” The dog frisked around him, and he scratched behind its ears. “No, Spot, she doesn’t want you on her bed to warm it.”
It whined.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Ida said. “As long as it doesn’t shed too much brimstone.”
With a happy bark, the massive animal jumped up on the huge, forbidding bed and wallowed around, black and red fur turning golden with heat.
“Spot?” she raised an eyebrow.
Hector watched, amused. “When the dog first came, Tinbit didn’t like her because she wouldn’t stay off the furniture. He took to calling her ‘out, dammit’ and I added the ‘spot.’ I didn’t know you liked pets.”
“I’ve had pets before. Once, a lovely Cheshire cat moved into our stable and had kittens. Of course, they all vanished as soon as they grew up, but the mother stayed with me in the castle for many years until one day, she remained visible while sleeping and I realized she was dead.” Ida stopped. She’d wept for weeks after that cat died. She didn’t keep pets after that. It was too hard to say goodbye.
The hellhound winked out, leaving a distinct smell of sulfur, a parting fart perhaps.
“I must see to supper, but if you would like to visit the gardens, I’ll accompany you later.”
“No. I think I’ll rest,” she said quickly. “I didn’t sleep very well at the inn.”
Hector drew a deep breath. “Ida, I must say it. I’m sorry—I never meant for it to go so far, and I deeply regret my actions. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”
She clamped her eyes shut. “Don’t apologize, Hector. The feeling is completely mutual.”
“Good, good,” he said, suddenly brisk and professional, not at all like the man who coddled sensitive ferns and let hellhounds hop on his beds. “I’d hate to think you saw anything untoward in what I did. I didn’t mean to…uh…touch you.”
“And I didn’t mean to enjoy it—” She cut herself off sharply. “Perhaps it would be better if we said no more about it.”
“I agree.” He turned his back on her. “Dinner is at six. Any skeleton can show you to the dining hall.”
Then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.
31
Hector
When I think back over the number of years spent in these mountains, I am humbled by people traditionally consigned to the lexicon of monsters—dragons, giants, goblins, even gnomes to a lesser extent. History may record I did a great deal to advance the protections for the folk in my care and improved their lives, but it wouldn’t be honest.
