Crimson in the Very Wrong Fairy Tale by Liz Jasper

Author:Liz Jasper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paranormal, romantic, princess, teen, awardwinning, humorous, crimson, demon princess
Publisher: Liz Jasper

Chapter Nineteen

If dirty looks could kill, my evil relatives would have reduced me to a pile of ash the next morning as we waited in the antechamber for the king to come in and open the portal to Pasadena. Apparently he was the only one who could do it. We'd been waiting for a tense, silent five minutes when he strode in, halted before the wall, and with a covert swish of hands and a murmured incantation created a shimmering door to my old living room.

"You're not coming today?" I asked as he continued on toward the throne room.

His only response was to let the gold doors shut behind him. It felt like a slap in the face. Brock snickered softly.

Last night when he'd introduced me to the clan, I thought he was growing to like me. Was even a little proud of me. Apparently he was a better actor that I'd realized.

I relaxed a bit when I saw a couple of guards were lining up to go across with us. My relatives wouldn't off me in front of witnesses. Probably.

The second I crossed into my old house, I raced upstairs to change out of my black-and-red day-robes and into human-wear. I only had two pairs of jeans left, so choosing what to wear didn't take long. I sat down at my desk and quickly scribbled out something I hoped would pass as evidence I'd at least tried to do my math homework. I made sure all my books were packed and then, when I knew I couldn't stall any longer or risk someone coming up to get me, I left.

As I passed the locked door of my "mother's" room, something drew me over. A moment later, I found my hand on the doorknob, my fingernail eagerly working on the flimsy lock.

An image of the wildly cheering crowd under the balcony flashed in my head. My fingers fell from the doorknob. I needed to let her go.

I turned my back on her door and steered my reluctant legs toward the kitchen. They were seated at the table, eating breakfast. Aunt Lucinda was force-feeding herself spoonfuls of the twig cereal as if she expected the king to materialize any second and judge her on her willingness to digest bran. Uncle Eblis had figured out how to work the coffeemaker and aside from taking the occasional sip of inky brew strong enough to melt a spoon, he didn't move.

Brock had plunked himself down at the seat closest to the fridge and was shoveling down anything he could find. Cold casserole, green beans, ketchup, jam, twigs, milk, coffee, juice, pink frosted cake—

I flew over to where he was sitting and yanked the fork away before it reached his open mouth.

"Is that my birthday cake?" I demanded. "Are you eating my birthday cake?"

Brock looked at me as if I were crazy and started moving the fork back to his mouth. It was loaded with a couple of green beans and, I saw with increasing fury, half a fat pink frosting rose.

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