Page 61 of Disenchanted
“Try to enjoy yourself tonight.” He grinned.
I glared at him. I swear I would have given him a shove if he had not already found purchase among the vines and started his scramble downward. I hurried away from the window and set the shoes down carefully beside the bed. I took a deep breath to compose myself before I unlocked the door and opened it.
Imelda burst over the threshold, her satin ball gown rustling as she darted suspicious glances about the room. “Tell me that you never allowed that wicked young man to—” My stepmother broke off as she got her first good look at me.
Her stern demeanor melted at once. “Oh, Ella!” she breathed.
I fanned out my skirts, displaying the shimmering fabric.
“Oh, Ella!” She squeaked again, clapping her hands together in an expression of wonder and delight.
“Then you approve of the gown Mal gave me?”
“Approve? Oh, Ella! That wicked young man. That wonderful wicked young man!” Imelda inspected me from every angle. “The gown is stunning. You are stunning.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes welling with sentimental tears. “You are every bit as beautiful as I imagined you would be.”
Imelda flew at me, and I thought she meant to embrace me in a huge hug. She contented herself with touching my cheek and then carefully smoothed out a stray curl. “You will break hearts tonight. I know you will.”
“I suppose it will be better if I break hearts instead of my shoes,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I smiled at her. “I only remarked how beautiful you look, Em. You will put all of us in the shade.”
“Oh, well.” Imelda preened a bit, patting the feathered headdress that confined her dark hair. “You must not talk nonsense, dear. My day is long past,” she added somewhat wistfully. “Tonight is all for my three lovely daughters.”
“Are the girls ready yet?”
“Almost.”
“You had better hurry them along, Em. I believe our coach will arrive at any moment.”
Imelda nodded, took one more look at me, sighed and kissed me on the cheek. As soon as she had bustled out of the room, I closed the door. I was relieved that Imelda had been so distracted by my gown, she had never thought to ask how I had managed to do up the hooks and eyes by myself. Explaining that would have required more ingenuity than even I possessed.
I crossed the room and stared down at my glass slippers. I regarded them dubiously for a moment. Clutching the bedpost for support, I eased my feet into them. They were about as stiff and uncomfortable as one would expect shoes spun from glass to be. I wobbled a little as I accustomed myself to them.
I minced over to the mirror.
“Well, here goes,” I said as I clicked the toes together three times. I held my breath, waiting. My image in the mirror did not even waver. Had I rightly recalled what Mal had told me to do? I was certain that I had, his instructions were simple and clear.
All you must do is slip the glass slippers on, click your toes together three times and you will completely vanish.
I braced myself, this time making each tap slower and more deliberate. Still nothing. I tried clicking very fast and then slower again. I tried tapping softly, then harder, and finally so forcefully I feared the shoes would crack.
Throughout each attempt, my reflection peered stubbornly back at me, a look of disgust on her face as though she wondered how big of an idiot I could be.
“Oh, Mal,” I groaned. His magic shoes did not work. Had I ever truly believed that they would? A foolish part of me had hoped that for once Mal might have succeeded with one of his enchantments. If I could have turned invisible, it would have made the daunting task that lay ahead of me so much easier. Now I would have to rely on my own wits.
I lifted the hem of my gown, peering glumly down at the shoes. I had to admit the glass slippers made the perfect complement to my extraordinary gown, but they were so transparent, I could see the hole in the toe of my left stocking.
I tried to imagine dancing in them, but I had this dreadful vision of Horatio making a misstep and treading down hard on my toes. The horrible crunch, the warm spurt of blood, my pain-filled shriek as shards of glass embedded in the tender skin of my foot.
I shuddered and removed the shoes. I carried the glass slippers over to my wardrobe. Shoving clothes aside, I hid them at the far back of the wardrobe. Then I located my old dancing slippers. They were more scuffed than I remembered but considering the length of my gown’s hem and how crowded the ballroom would be, I doubted anyone would notice.
I eased into my old shoes, reveling in the feel of soft, well-worn leather embracing my feet. “Ah,” I breathed. At least now, I would be able to move quickly, even outrun the palace guards if it became necessary.
A commotion outside my window, the clatter of wheels and horses’ hooves on the street below alerted me that Long Louie had returned with the carriage. I grabbed up my fan and cloak and bolted from my bedchamber to herd my stepmother and sisters downstairs to the waiting coach.
