Page 33 of Wickedly Ever After
Ida’s pink cheeks turned maroon. “How dare you! You know damned well your gnome has been sending mine letters!”
“I didn’t know who Tinbit was writing to or I would’ve forbidden it!”
“Bullshit! Hari is like a son to me, and you allowed your butler to seduce him—” She drew her wand.
He didn’t even think. He waved his staff. A thousand spiders poured out of the sleeves of his jersey and galloped over Ida. They immediately set to work, throwing threads, spinning, pulling everything together they could—her shirtsleeves, her pants, the curls in her hair, her eyelids—
She screamed and blasted him.
Bright yellow butterflies descended on his head in a golden horde. They beat his face with their wings, hard as tiny hailstones. They stabbed him with tongues as sharp as needles.
He struck at her wand, catching it between his staff and the railing. It broke. Spiders and butterflies exploded, multiplying from hundreds into thousands, and from thousands into millions.
16
Ida
Exponentially, dear readers, this was a disaster. The spiders sewed up the players’ jerseys, starting with the Rogues’, no doubt a ploy the Wicked Witch of the West, Hector West, formerly Hector Prim, devised in order to give his favorites, the Thieves, the victory. They were thwarted by the myriad of attack butterflies, created by the Good Witch of the North, Ida North, formerly Ida Moonshadow, which descended on players and fans alike. The insects then infiltrated the royal box and caused much excitement when the spiders sewed up the queen and her ladies inside their dresses, while the butterflies, armed with curiously pointed proboscises, amputated the king’s nose. See related story on page eight: Rupert’s Magical Nose Job: Queen Says New Nose Matches King’s Member in Length and Shape!
—The Sorcerers’ Star
“How do I look?” Ida asked, turning around once in front of the glass.
The mirror said nothing. It wasn’t enchanted. But Hari,walking through with the blue robe she’d foregone in favor of the ecru one, spoke for it, and with much more candor. “White’s not for you. Makes you look like a ghost.”
She frowned. “I know, but it’s traditional, and after last night, I need to do everything I can to appear like I generally uphold law and order.”
“Instead of starting a riot?”
“I didn’t start the riot. Hector threw the first punch, metaphorically.” Hari was right about the ghost business. Gingers going silver probably shouldn’t wear white even to their own funeral. Maybe a band of ivy and pink roses on her hat would help.
“Heels or flats?” Hari asked.
“Heels,” Ida said firmly. She’d done enough looking up at Hector yesterday. Even an inch would be an improvement.
Hari returned from the wardrobe with her white pumps. His eyes were bloodshot this morning, and he squinted as if they stung. He’d been crying ever since she’d told him who Tinbit actually worked for and how everything must have been a trap to trick him. He stood listening while she confessed that she’d discovered it when Tinbit and Hector came to the garden, color draining from his face like she was a vampire sucking every bit of the happiness out of his body. And when she apologized brokenly for not telling him sooner, for not speaking up after the garden, he only said, “Thanks for telling me. I guess he didn’t stand me up after all.”
It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared—it was worse.
She’d already cancelled all of her engagements after the Happily-Ever-After except the annual Witches’ Council meeting this afternoon. Taking Hari home would help. Time cured allwounds—or at least she hoped it would. But she was worried. Two people couldn’t exchange letters and then fall in love the moment they met—that only happened with magic. Probably, Hector had put a love potion in the ink. He’d have found that incredibly funny—Gods, she wanted to smack him so hard.
“I’m ready. You may call the coachman.”
She rose, tucking her second-best wand in her robes. Hari would be all right. So would she. Everything would work out in the end.
***
The castle grounds were a splendor of gold and purple banners. Enchanted flowers sang in perfect tune from every flowerbed, and the lawn had been manicured into diamonds of spring green and emerald. Even in the carriage, she could catch a hint of fragrance coming from the ever-scented roses blooming on every trellis. A dance of dryads performed on the lawn, singing down charmed birds and bees for the little children of all the lords and ladies to play with, and even the common people, who had to be content with lottery seats on the west side, looked happy about the many kegs of dwarf-brewed beer on tap. Some of them had brought picnic baskets, and the meadow sprouted a tapestry of various checkered cloths.
It didn’t please her the way it would have a day ago.
She glanced at Hari sitting across from her, tiny hands folded in his lap, eyes downcast. “I wish you’d stayed at the hotel. A letter would do to break it off with him, surely. You don’t need to confront him. Hector put him up to it anyway.”
“I have to tell him why it’s all over,” he said. “Because Hector might tell him you did it on purpose, sent me to distract him,and I don’t want him to think that for a minute. He deserves the truth—even if he won’t give that to me.”
Oh, bless him, still wanting to see the good in everyone. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that this Tinbit was probably as much of an asshole as his witch. Instead, she reached for his hand. “Dear, promise me, whatever he says, you won’t take it to heart. I couldn’t forgive myself if this hurts you further.”
“This can’t hurt me further,” Hari said in a dead voice. He gazed blankly through the windows.
