Storymakers: Wanted Part 9

Hydra asked me where I was headed. And when I didn't have an answer, she took me in and gave me this advice: "If ya 'ant to know where yous goin', you gots to know where yous been." Well, as I looked back at the roads I'd been down, there were wrong turns, giant sinkholes, and crevices where the path was just plain missing.

How could I possibly know what to do with myself when I didn't even remember all of my own history?

"History..." I said slowly. "Nottingham's Museum of Magical History." That's where all of Fairy Tales's magical artifacts were stowed away. Surely there had to be something there to give me a hand in getting a happy ending. Or at least a not entirely sucky one.

"Okay. What do you think?" I asked the air. Thus far, magic and I had not been a good mixture. "Yo, Storyfaker, you around? If this is a bad idea, send me a sign."

Nothing.

"All right, if this goes wonderlandy, I blame you." My stomach growled again. "Now, first step on the road to a fresh start should always be...food. And I know a hexcellent little bakery on the way, just outside the forest."

Head held high, I aimed to walk proud and start my new life of freedom. I made it all of five steps. Heels were not made for hiking. They sunk into the ground, knocking off my center of gravity, pitching me forward to face-plant in the dirt.

"That's not a sign. That doesn't mean anything." Determined, I got up and, slowly, strolled out of the clearing, heading toward Nottingham. "This is way harder than Dorky made it look." And madder than a hatter with a mouse in a teapot, I made small talk with myself the whole way. Because hearing my own voice was far less creepy than the uncanny absence of sound that stretched over the forest.

Nothing tweeted or peeped. In fact, not a single animal seemed to remain in the dying forest. The ironwood trees no longer moved either. Perhaps their last bits of wild magic had left with Dorthea. But instead of returning them to the proud giants they once were, they seemed more like empty corpses. Like the petrified Forgotten.

"Ugh. Not my problem anymore." I needed to stop thinking. I'd already established it was a dangerous habit that didn't lead anywhere good. "I know." I cleared my throat and started to sing. "Let it go. Let it goooo."

"Yes, for the love of Grimm and all our ears, let it go."

I looked down to where the voice and accompanying snickers came from, but I still didn't have a shadow. The boots seemed to be doing their job, keeping Morte away. Except perhaps Dorthea had added a little something extra to enhance them. I hadn't been walking long enough to have made it out of the forest, yet I had covered far more distance than seemed possible. Especially considering my balance on the hexed heels was about as good as a deer on a frozen pond.

A line of guarding gnomes formed a barrier between me and Nottingham p.a.w.n.

"Hey, pal," one with a blue, pointy cap said, hopping over to me. "Move it along. There's nothing to see here."

Oh, but there was. Something had happened to the shop. The thatched roof of the front porch lay on the ground like a doormat. The support beam was busted and splintered. Hex, the front wall had a person-size hole in it. Bigger than me...and I sorta had a vague feeling I had a significant hand in it being there. Though I didn't remember it happening.

Not to mention every tree, crossroad post, and building had a collection of wanted posters on them-Dorthea's, Verte's, Kato's, and mine, to be exact. Dorthea's and Verte's were dead ringers. Kato's had a drawing of a beast that looked like a lizard lion. And mine...well, I needed to send an apology card to my cousin, Red, when I had a chance.

Before the gnomes could ask any questions, I pulled my hood down and wobbled past them into the rest of the village. I didn't need a good memory to know where I was going, just a good nose. One sniff and I wondered if all the birds from the forest had ended up in the baker's four and twenty blackbird pies. My stomach rumbled, as if saying, Who cares?

The pies were waiting on the windowsill of the baker's mill. The baker himself was outside fiddling with his water wheel. Every few seconds, he'd peer over to his window, his lips moving in a silent count. With a satisfied nod, he'd go back to his tinkering.

I still had the pewter b.u.t.ton I'd nicked in my pocket. There was a metal bell just to the baker's left. If I could hit it...

I took aim and flicked it with all my might. The b.u.t.ton soared spectacularly-in the wrong direction. It hit the blue, pointy gnome hat with a loud shatter that made me wince.

"Bogies, bogies. I'm hit. Gnome down. I repeat, we have a gnome down," the little guy hollered and hopped around before the cracks reached his mouth.

The other gnomes started angrily yelling, calling for vengeance, torches, and pitchforks. The villagers of Nottingham stepped out of their homes and their shops, staring openly and whispering to one another. They all gathered closer to the p.a.w.n shop. Including the baker.

Not what I intended. But it would work. A little bit of glue and the gnome would be fine. Ish.

With everyone's attention elsewhere, I hurriedly stuffed a full pie in my mouth and grabbed an extra for dinner later. Then I walked away, leaving town and heading the back way toward the museum.

A crack of lightning broke through the sky. The sound reverberated through my chest, down into my shaking legs.

"No...she's dead. Griz is dead."

But it wasn't the storm witch who soared through the sky. A giant black-and-purple dragon circled overhead before settling itself around the tallest spire of Nottingham castle.

Malevolent had returned to the world of Story. And with another crack, she called down lightning and shattered the sign that had stood in front of the castle for ages. Nottingham's Museum of Magical History was no more. In a puff of white mist, a new sign appeared.

Academy of Villains: Fairy-Tale Campus.

Well, there goes the neighborhood.

"If you want to win big, you've got to scheme big. Have you ever heard of an evil overlord content to rule the trivillage area? No."

-Seven Habits of Highly Evil People.

16.

Hook, Line, and Sinker.

I stared at the newly formed Academy of Villains and cursed at Oz, who, I had no doubt, was laughing somewhere. "You pixing rat, you know this is not what I meant when I asked for a sign."

My heart ached. Where were the Storymakers when I needed them? I had prayed all these years, faithfully hung Muse Day stars.

I shook my head and blinked away a slight haze of green from my vision. Me, myself, and I, Rexi Hood, had never once hung a twink-blasted Muse Day star like those suckers in the Emerald kingdom. Dorthea's memories had taken over, more wily and sinister than any villain in that castle.

Without thinking too hard about it, I screwed off the cap of the drinking skein and gulped down a heaping dose of my daily sap medicine. Blech. As I shuddered at the taste, my sudden urge to pray to the Storymakers vanished. And Dorthea's memories with it.

I sighed in relief. "That's more like it."

"I couldn't agree more."

Very, very slowly I turned to see who had spoken. The Evil Queen stood right beside me.

Without so much as a good once-over, she snapped her fingers and strode toward the castle. "It's been a while. Only fitting that you be my first minion in the new age."

"Me?" I coughed, my throat still slick with goop.

She stopped in her tracks and turned, rolling an apple back and forth over her knuckles. "Do you see anyone else, Huntsman? I'd hoped you'd gotten a bit brighter since our Snow White days." She narrowed her eyes and looked down at my heeled boots. "No, not my Huntsman. His daughter perhaps. Well, no matter. You are what I have. Not remotely fair of face, so I have nothing to worry about. Now chop, chop. The empress wants all the artifacts cataloged and secured by the third sun."

My options were pretty slim. I needed to get inside. And you don't say no to the Evil Queen, unless you are in good with a half or so dozen dwarfs. Or you can run very fast. Currently, I wasn't in good with anyone, and running was not an option in these boots.

Suppressing a shudder, I followed. "Yes, my queen."

"Perfect. I've so missed hearing that." She smiled, blew on her apple, and offered it to me.

I declined, saying I'd just eaten.

"Suit yourself. Now, get to work." As I pa.s.sed, she grabbed my sleeve. "And one last thing. When you find my mirror, be sure to bring it straight to me."

The mirror. You know, the one famously on the wall. The one that could tell you anything you wanted, way better than any oracle. I smiled. "Yes, Your Heinous. I'll be sure to look for the mirror right away."

"Well done. I like a minion that's a go-getter. So let's just keep this between us. The White Empress never needs to know."

I stopped walking when I made the connection. "Blanc? She's here?"

The queen's face stilled, her wicked smile quivering to stay put. The smile didn't reach her eyes. "No, she is away temporarily on another matter. Apparently the museum was broken into and certain artifacts were stolen on the same day our empress was liberated. Speaking of which, as you catalog, if you, say, happen to find that mirror was looted...I doubt she would question it." Her eyes were smiling, if you could count a wicked gleam as glee. "So unless you want your heart carved out, let's make sure that is exactly what happened and when you don't find it, take great care not to speak to it." With that she turned away, dismissing me.

Super. Blanc was bad enough to make the Evil Queen shake. And I was walking into the villains' new headquarters to steal from both of them. Swell idea, Rexi.

While the queen walked away, I took a deep breath. Slip in and get out. Just like any other heist. I'd find the mirror and be gone before Blanc ever showed. She'd probably blame the apple-obsessed royal anyway.

With a flick of the Evil Queen's wrist, the heavy double doors to the castle splintered into a thousand pieces. In the entry, there was a plaque: "Let this sword stand for truth and goodness, repelling all evil. Whosoever pulleth this sword from this stone is the rightful heir and king of all Story. Long live the return of the king."

Behind the plaque was neither stone nor sword. Looting indeed. Whoever pulled that robbery was a pro. But I had no interest in kingdoms or swords. While the queen retreated to the tower, I wandered the former museum's halls. Either looters or Dorthea's wish had trashed the place, hard to know which. Things were either missing or ...off. The gla.s.s slipper was gone, but the fairy G.o.dmother's wand was still in its case. Sort of. It looked like it was made of chocolate. There was no genie, but then again, Aladdin's lamp looked like it belonged in a carriage shop, since it was full of oil. William Tell's leather huntsman bow had changed into a gold crossbow. It was tempting to make that last one go missing since, according to legend, it never missed its mark...but that's not what I was here for. I sped through the hall of heroes and went straight for the evil artifacts.

As soon as I entered the villains' wing, I could see why the Evil Queen had sent me. The black cauldron was a distinctive shade of puce, and its gooky contents were spilled all over the floor. Like a moat inside the castle. On the opposite end of the giant room was the mirror. It wasn't exactly an opulent wall hanging anymore. More of a handheld. Like one of those makeup compacts Dorthea toted around.

I looked around but didn't see anyone. "Hey, mirror." It didn't flash or respond. I called to it a little louder. This time a small comedy mask appeared in the silvery surface. Its hollow eyes managed to look at me, nonplussed. It stuck out a tongue then the surface blanked again.

Of course the mirror had att.i.tude.

"I'm gonna have to come get you, aren't I?"

The face didn't reappear, but a voice rang through the expanse. "Why oh why do I get the dumb ones each time?"

"Hey! And that doesn't even rhyme."

This time, a tragedy mask appeared with a single tear. "Thanks to that wish, I've got a bit of a glitch."

Great. I planned on trusting my future to a broken magic mirror.

"Whatever, let's do this." If the skulls floating in the acid moat were any indication, crossing the puce cauldron sludge had been tried and wasn't a viable option. But where there's a will, there's an escape route. Running back through the museum, I grabbed Tell's bow, some of Rapunzel's hair, and the lamp after emptying out the oil. And yes, for the record, I tried rubbing it first. Bubkes. With a little effort, I rigged up a grappling system. Sort of.

"You better still have perfect aim," I said to the crossbow. Targeting the mirror's stand, I shot the lamp I'd pierced with the modified crossbow bolt across the moat. The lamp-bolt hit the stand, knocking the compact into the lamp opening. The mirror murmured its unhappiness, but I didn't have time to care. The acid had already started melting the rope of Rapunzel's hair I'd tied to the bolt.

Hand over hand, I pulled the mirror to me, the acid residue on the hair burning my palms. Just as the tin bottom of the makeshift lamp boat started disintegrating, I yanked hard, flipping the compact in the air. I s.n.a.t.c.hed it before it shattered on the ground.

"There," I said to the mirror. "I'm holding you now. Show me what I want, so I can have the happy ending, blah, blah."

With a misting effect, the smiley face mask appeared on the shiny surface. "If truth you want to see, then you need to be rhyme-y."

"Oh for the love of... Fine." I thought for a minute and spit out the first thing I could think of. "Mirror, mirror, in my hand, show me what I need...most...in the land."

Seemingly satisfied, the compact tinkled, the reflection on its surface rippling like water before a scene came into view. Verte, Oz, and Dorthea were underground somewhere surrounded by chimeras. They were laughing and joking while Dorthea scribbled in her grimmoire, making Bob, the chimera butler's mane braid itself with bows and fire flowers. They seemed like they were having a great time. Without me.

I bopped the mirror. "You must be broken. Those guys are the last thing I need."

The scene vanished, the sad mask reappearing. "I hate this gig. Always the messenger's fault. It's rigged."

I put my nose up to the compact. "Look, you manic-depressive mirror, I'm gonna try one more time. That last answer was way too sappy. Show me what would really make me happy."

This time, a face appeared, and my breath froze in my chest. Kato. His eyes were full of emotion...full of...love. "No." I dropped the mirror like it was covered in the cauldron's acid. Letting go of the mirror didn't stop the flood of emotions and memories. But they weren't mine. The feeling of his wing around me. I mean around Dorthea. The feeling of his breath mingled with mine. No. Hers.

With fumbling fingers, I ripped off the top the leather pouch around my neck and gulped down the sap, not caring about the taste.

"This far from Neverland and I still can't help but run into you lost boys." Something metal sc.r.a.ped across the floor. "I'll be taking that."

Lost? He had no idea. I'd been too clouded by Dorthea's memories to notice the approaching pirate with a hook for a hand. I put my palms up. "I don't want a fight. Take the rotted thing. It lies anyway."

The pirate twirled his black goatee with his hook and cradled the mirror in his hand. "Mirror now small as a clock, show me how to beat the croc."

The mirror remained silent.

"Maybe it broke when I dropped it." I took a step back to stay clear of the villain. But the acid moat stopped me from fleeing.

"Or maybe the mirror bonds to whoever talks to it until the person's death."

"That's...uh...parlay?"

"Wrong pirate and we aren't in the Caribbean. Nothing personal," he said with a smirk before pulling me close.

"Unhand my daughter."

Even though it had been years, I knew that voice. It had a musical quality, a rise and fall that charmed my ears. The deep tones made me think of his rakish smile and warmed my spirit like the autumn sun. But before I could catch a glimpse of my father, Captain Hook's smirk twisted.

"As you will. No hands." Then without a further word, his namesake appendage ripped through my chest.

"New study suggests that 70 percent of fairy-tale heroes come from broken homes."

-Headline from Huff 'n' Puff Post.

17.

Hex on Heels.

One minute, I was being gutted like a codfish; the next, I felt the sprinkle of something cold on my face. As soon as life flooded back into my body, I sucked in a huge breath and a little bit of dirt.

"Blech." Cough, cough. "Stop. Not dead. Well, not anymore." I brushed the dirt out of my eyes and looked up.

Robin Hood stared down at me. His beard was scragglier, with far more gray than the last time I'd seen him six years ago. But his eyes were still the color of spring moss, putting Dorthea's best emeralds to shame. And those eyes were very, very wide. Mouth too.

"Dad!" I cried and, in one motion, jumped out of the shallow grave and threw my arms around him, knocking us both to the ground.