The Wickeds (Faraway collection) by Gayle Forman

Author:Gayle Forman [Forman, Gayle]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Published: 2020-12-13T16:00:00+00:00

7.

Jack had already groomed, saddled, and bridled the horses when the Wickeds arrived at the stables later that morning. He wanted to leave early, as they were venturing through some unsafe areas with some unsavory types.

“Unsavory types don’t scare me,” Marguerite bragged, surprised to find that the words were nearly true.

They set off at a lazy canter, Jack leading the way and the three Wickeds lingering behind. As the afternoon wore on, the clouds rolled in, the air took on an electric tang, and Jack suggested they wait out the storm under a grove of trees.

“Wouldn’t we be better off in that tavern?” Gwendolyn pointed across the way to a redbrick building. Several horses were tied up in front, and smoke was billowing out the chimney.

“That’s not a tavern; it’s the Godmother’s headquarters,” Jack explained. “Seeing as we are not looking to borrow money or vanquish an enemy, there’s no reason to disturb her.”

“Wait, are you talking about the Fairy Godmother?” Gwendolyn asked. Jack nodded. Gwendolyn leaped off her horse and strode into the pub. “I’m here to see the Godmother,” she announced, making her way through the smoky room.

“What business you got with her?” asked the dwarf who was tending bar.

“Tell her Cinderella’s wicked stepmother is here.”

The bar went quiet as the men’s eyes turned to her. She could hear the chain of whispers carrying the news back, until suddenly the fireplace—which held no fire; the smoke up the chimney was from the cigars—swung open, revealing a secret back room.

Gwendolyn walked through and found herself in a disappointingly drab office: a wooden desk piled high with scrolls, glass bowls filled with coin. But the woman sitting behind the desk and chomping on a cigar was anything but drab. She wore no finery, but she had the majesty of a queen. She did not disguise herself as a man, yet she had the command of a king.

“Help you,” the Godmother said without looking up.

“I’m . . .” Gwendolyn’s voice trembled. “I’m Cinderella’s wicked stepmother.”

She waited for the usual look of disgust. But the Godmother’s face remained blank. “That s’posed to mean something to me?”

“I believe you helped my stepdaughter marry a prince.”

The Godmother blew a plume of smoke. “I help lots of girls marry princes.” She pointed to a price list on the wall. And right there, between “Procure a poisoned apple” and “Dwarfs for hire,” was “Bewitch a prince.”

“You gotta date?” she asked.

“Why, yes, it was just a short—” Gwendolyn stopped herself and counted, shocked to realize that fifteen years had passed.

The Godmother rang a gong and ordered an ill-tempered dwarf to bring her all the bewitch-a-prince files from fifteen years ago. “Now, what was that name again?” she asked when the dwarf returned with the papers.

“Cinderella.”

Her ink-stained fingers flipped through the pages. “Ahh, now I’m starting to remember.” She rang the gong again and requested the gambling invoices from the same year, and when the dwarf returned with the files, she pulled out a bill and handed it to Gwendolyn.

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