Page 78 of Wickedly Ever After
Sebastian popped his eyes out at Hector. “Why, it’s all over the papers. Didn’t you hear?” He manifested a pair of bony arms and put on a horrible, cracked voice like a crystal ball broadcast when the magical connection was a bit staticky. “Dragon Kidnaps Common Princess; Prince Refuses Quest. Council Set to Burn Witches Over Magical Snafu. Is Happily-Ever-After Dead? Details on page four!” He cackled and his teeth clattered to the ground.
“That’s disgusting.” Ida shuddered.
“Oh, do you really think so?” Sebastian’s eyes leaked tears. “How nice of you to say that. Isn’t that nice, Tinbit? You’re never nice to me.”
“That’s because you’re a total ass, Sebastian,” Tinbit growled.
“Takes one to know one, Tinhorn.” The head floated up over the goblin pony and circled like a bat, complete with wings where ears should be. “Who’s the cutie in the baggage? I approve, I really do. Much better looking than the last clotheshorse you were with.”
“Shut up.” Tinbit picked up a rock.
Sebastian stuck out his tongue and waved it around. “Oooooo, look who’s talking, the guy who can’t close it with anyone, noteven if they come ready-packed in a casket. Does your sweetheart know all about your past romances? No? Dear me.”
“You’re asking for it!”
“Enough,” Hector said, pulling another cork out of the air and holding it up as a warning. “See that our rooms are ready. No booby traps.”
“Oh, you’re no fun.” Sebastian fluttered his eyelashes at Ida. “I’m sure the lady would love to see how beautifully I haunt.”
“No.”
“One tiny booby trap? I promise no one will die! No one will even be maimed, only terrified.”
“Sebastian.” Hector raised his staff.
“Fine.” The ghoul popped out of existence. “I’ll go turn down the bedsheets and hold the flesh-eating beetles. Poo.” Then the voice was gone too, and all that remained was the goblin pony’s exasperated huff.
“Flesh-eating beetles?” Ida said, and for a moment, she sounded almost like herself.
“He doesn’t get a lot of visitors, except for questing knights,” he explained. “The ones that get this far usually deserve the beetles.”
“Naturally,” she said with frost in her voice. “Just another one of your servants, I suppose, doing your bidding because you say it’s the right thing to do?”
Tinbit almost choked.
“He isn’t my servant,” Hector said. “Sebastian needed a place to live. His house burned down in town and left him half the ghoul he used to be. Somewhat literally.” He turned his back on her and resumed walking.
Servants indeed. He’d never felt angrier in his life, and itwasn’t his sore feet. Didn’t she know how hard he’d worked to improve the lives of the people under his protection? He ought to throw something back at her—something about how her whole “Save the Unicorns” campaign had worked out—but he didn’t want to get into a yelling match with her in a mountain pass where every one of their arguments would be broadcast from rocks and cliff faces for the entire Dread Mountains to hear, let alone a salamander snoozing in a firepot. But underneath the anger, a tremor, like the voice of his eighteen-year-old self, manifested itself with horrible clarity—yes, he had indeed thought it was right.
It was right that the dragons stopped cooking and eating knights and had contracted with the goblins to raise cattle in the mountain valleys. To pay for that, the dragons looted every dwarf mansion in the Dread Mountains. In protest, the dwarves moved north and eradicated the dragons there. Was that right?
What about the giants? Hector had found their hearts to be gentle, and he’d encouraged them to cultivate their skyfields and be the peaceful people he knew they could be. Then he’d had to erect a massive wasteland of thorns around the mountain roads that led into the clouds because the more cowardly of the king’s knights chose giants for their quests to prove their valor. Catch and release, but still.
Then there was Tinbit, who had once been like any other gnome, but now—
Hector gripped his staff firmly, stomping ahead faster than before. He’d never questioned his motives before. He’d never questioned Happily-Ever-After. The thing was done, and for the best, and it shouldn’t matter that he’d traded life, love, and happiness for the chance to make things better. Tucked in the foldsof his too-warm robe, his heart thudded unhappily in the box. It would be a relief to be free of this ridiculous feeling that Ida truly might be right about things after all.
36
Ida
Following the Morning-After, the Happily-Ever-After is concluded. The obstacles to love have been surmounted. The couple have indulged their carnal desires. They have reflected on the choices that led them to this place in their lives. But it would be premature for the witch to congratulate themselves on their success. Your love magic must be strong enough to combat a lifetime of argument, misunderstandings, and occasional just plain meanness.
True love can’t be a hothouse plant—sensitive to everything from a light frost to heavy rain. It must be more stubborn than a perennial weed.
Magic and Mischief—A Thousand Years of Happily-Ever-After: A Memoir
Ida North
