FAIRYTALE Read online

  Killian sucked in a breath and stood on his toes, his left hand gripping into the rung as he stretched out as far as he could go. His fingers grazed the spine. The book was wedged in tight. He eased in just a little closer, heart trembling as the ladder began to groan.

  Just a little bit more. He dug his fingers beneath the book edge, wiggling it loose. If he could just get a proper grip on it. Almost there.

  A loud bell clanged in his ear.

  Killian held his breath and lunged. The ladder cracked and swung out beneath him. He grasped for the shelf, but it slipped through his fingers and his hold on the ladder gave way completely.

  For a split second Killian was falling, the distance to the ground so much longer than he remembered. Air rushed past his face and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact. He landed against something solid yet soft. Heart racing, he snapped his eyes back open, looking up into an icy stare.

  He gasped for breath before realizing that Fedya held on to him with ease. He looked down at Fedya’s hands, but there were no claws, or soft, cat-like paws. Just the hands of a man, long fingers and flat nails, clutching him tight. And there was something else too, though he couldn’t be sure if it had been there before. Fedya still had his mane, his fangs and his horns, yet they were different somehow. Almost humanlike if that were possible.

  Fedya scowled and quickly placed Killian back on the ground before backing up. “What were you doing?” he growled.

  “I...” Killian stumbled back, his legs still shaking. He looked at the ladder and jerked back. The ladder dangled on one hinge, as he expected, but he could see the top now, and the ceiling which once seemed to have stretched on forever, now barely grazed the top of Fedya’s horns.

  He swallowed and looked back at Fedya. “Was it always like that?”

  Fedya glanced at the ladder, frowning. “No? You broke it.”

  “What? No, I don’t mean that. The ladder, it…” He stopped and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes. Then he noticed the lantern, sitting on the ground by Fedya’s feet, completely undisturbed, and he couldn’t remember when it had slipped from his wrist. He sighed and shook his head. “Never mind.”

  Fedya nodded gruffly and looked ready to turn around and leave when he paused. He glanced up at the broken ladder, eyeing it slowly. “What exactly were you looking for?”

  Killian studied Fedya closely. He wore a mauve velvet cloak, embroidered in gold and silver thread, a gold brooch at his throat, and Killian couldn’t help but wonder if the mansion had provided it just for him. His thick, glossy mane was pulled back behind his ears and horns, fastened with a ruby clasp. Killian almost smiled. It looked like Fedya had tried to pull his mane back into a bun, just as he had when he had been human. In a way, he looked so much like the man he used to be, and Killian’s heart ached deeply.

  “There was a book,” Killian answered, forcing himself to glance back up at the shelf. “It looked different than the others.”

  Fedya frowned again. “How so?”

  Killian smiled and inched cautiously closer, but stopped the moment Fedya’s sharp eyes flicked back to him.

  “It’s completely black, even the pages. There.” He spotted it, zeroing in on its inky black spine, easily twice the width of the surrounding volumes. “Do you think you can get it for me?”

  Fedya eyed the book, and as he peeled it off the shelf, Killian’s heart leapt. Yes. Hands. Fedya definitely had human hands. Fedya rested the book against his arm, studying the blank cover, and slowly opened it, rifling through the pages. “What type of book is this? You don’t strike me as a literary type.”

  Killian ignored the insult. Tension squeezed Fedya’s voice, and Killian chose his words carefully.

  “I don’t know for certain. But it looks like something that might have some insight about...” he hesitated, “…fairy magic.”

  A low growl percolated deep in Fedya’s throat, his lip curling up to reveal a long, glistening white fang. He burrowed into his cloak, the book disappearing from view. “You don’t need to know about fairy magic.”

  Killian eased forward and spoke evenly. “Fedya, please. If I can learn more about what has happened, or where we are, maybe there is still a chance to change the future.”

  “I said no!”

  Fedya’s voice swelled to a chest-thundering roar. Both fangs shone bright now, sharpened like knives as his ears pinned back, pressed against his skull.

  “I don’t want anything more to do with magic,” Fedya growled, and he took a step back toward the open door. “Look what it’s already done to me. And you want to go chasing after more of it?”

  The sound of Fedya’s roar still rattled deep in Killian’s chest, and a solid lump of guilt lodged in the bottom of his throat. Fedya suddenly looked taller than before, towering over Killian, casting him into a long, black shadow.

  “Fedya.” His voice shook. “Please.”

  “Stop, Killian! There will be no more talk of magic!” Fedya fled the small room, taking the book with him.

  Killian gasped and raced after him. “Wait!”

  He was momentarily blinded as he toppled out of the room. He blinked, waving away the white spots, catching a glimpse of Fedya as he fled down a corridor. Killian sprinted after him, but the rows of books no longer seemed endless, twisting and turning, Fedya always just out of sight until he was back to the beginning, ragged breaths tearing his chest.

  “Fedya, please—”

  The book flashed beneath the velvet cloak, then back out of sight as Fedya growled and dashed out the enormous double doors. Killian chased after him, and instantly collided into a grand piano. He grunted and looked around. The music room. The fireplace was lit, and Fedya stood before it, holding out the book in one huge, meaty paw.

  “Stop,” Killian wheezed, yanking away from the piano. “It might help.”

  “Do you really want to help me?” Sharp claws pierced the leather-bound cover, the pages trembling against the heat. “Then leave magic alone.”

  Fedya thrust the book into the flames. Killian yelled and ran forward, dropping to his knees. He reached for the book, and the heat stung his flesh. He hissed and jerked back, and tore off his jacket, beating it against the flames. The book crackled, the blackened pages curling up as the fire consumed it whole.

  Using the jacket as a shield, Killian snatched the cover and flung it onto the carpet, stamping the last of the blaze out. He sat beside it, panting hard, sweat dribbling down his face. The fire continued to crackle cheerily in the fireplace, and he stared down at the charred remains of what might have been his only cure. When he finally looked back up, Fedya had already gone.

  K

  illian sat at the foot of his bed, cradling the charred remains of the book in his lap, delicately flipping through the crisp pages. The edges flaked with each turn, and he winced as pieces of brittle paper scattered across the blanket. Still, he tried to take solace in the fact that because the book was so large, most of the middle pages were largely unmarred.

  He focused on the text, but it always seemed to blur together, swirling into an endless stream of questions and frustration. Fedya’s roars still lingered in his mind, crashing around his skull like a team of angry bulls. Why couldn’t he just listen for one moment? Did Fedya want to stay like this forever? If they could have a civil conversation maybe they could actually find a way out of this.

  Biting his tongue, Killian closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. No. He had to be patient. Fedya just lost his brother. He was cursed and alone. Fedya needed patience right now, not more anger.

  Killian sighed and reopened his eyes. Just a little more patience. He turned another page and ran his fingers across the text. This book wasn’t like the others in the library. The ink seemed blacker, richer, as though it were about to lift off the page and whisper in his ear. But still the words seemed like another language, spells and strange creatures he could only begin to comprehend.

 
Sighing, he set the book down and rubbed his eyes. He had to keep trying. He couldn’t give up. The only reason Fedya was even here was because of him. He was running out of time, and so far, this book was the best option he had. Or rather, it was the only option he had.

  He cracked his eyes back open and glanced out the window, but then instantly looked back away. He hated watching the sun lift and fall from the sky, counting the days, the dwindling hours until the curse would set in forever. Grimacing, Killian kicked out his legs from under him and stood, seeking out the paintings on the wall, hoping to recapture some of their enchantment and life from before. They didn’t disappoint.

  The moment he spotted the jagged coast of Freyye, his heart began to ache, yearning for the salty scent of the ocean and the tinning melody of the street vendors’ carts. Or perhaps the crowded roads in the capital of Prydell, the uneven cobblestone streets beneath his feet, twisting through endless shop windows, each one bursting with a colorful array of gems and precious treasures. He wanted to step inside them and feel their warmth up close, hear the voices, soak it in and escape this awful place.

  He stepped in front of the next painting and stopped. He didn’t recognize it from before, and his brows furrowed as he examined it closer. A frozen tundra filled the frame, jagged snowcapped mountains far off in the distance. He saw no buildings or people, no animals or even tracks in the snow. The sky was cloudless, a solid hue of frosty blue.

  “Strange,” he muttered. He’d looked at hundreds of maps in his lifetime, seen millions of photographs from around the world, but none that resembled anything like this. He knew the countries to the north were sprawled with such deserted places, but why include a painting that offered so little among the other rich tapestries of color and light?

  He shook his head and stepped back. He wasn’t supposed to be looking at paintings right now anyway, especially not of places he might never visit if he was trapped in this mansion for the rest of his life. He turned back to the open book, flicking past a few more pages when a silver page fell to the side.

  He stared, wide-eyed at none other than a large illustration depicting the Winter Rose. Killian traced his thumb across its petals, half expecting to feel their silky smoothness, and he stopped just before he reached its thorns.

  Beneath the rose was an embellished box, and inside, the simple title MOONSTONE. Five lines followed:

  - Ginger Root

  - Horse Hair

  - Wormwood

  - Salt

  - Rose Thorn

  Killian read them each three times, each time his brows furrowing deeper. Was this all there really was to magic? The Winter Rose seemed to leap off the page, its delicate petals practically burning with energy. His eyes dropped to the bottom of the page where a simple, small inscription gleamed in gold lettering:

  Bathe in moonlight in the darkest hour, reveal the Moonstone but take heed of its power.

  Killian frowned. Take heed of its power?

  A gleam of pale light swept across the page, and Killian looked up, back out the window. The sun beamed high in the sky, the day still young, but a wave of goosebumps cascaded down his arms. There was no time to waste.

  Killian carefully peeled the page from the book. The charred edges crackled against his hand, but as the page tore free, a pop of energy fizzled his nerves. At last he had a plan. It wasn’t much, but it was the only lead he had. Whether Fedya wanted him to or not, he needed to at least try.

  The hallway seemed wider somehow, brighter. Killian picked up the pace, all the while going over the five ingredients in his head.

  Salt. Horse hair.

  Those would be easy enough to get.

  Ginger root. Wormwood.

  Trickier, but not impossible. Surely he could find them somewhere on the grounds.

  Rose thorn.

  Killian slowed. He reached into his pocket, fingers sliding across the crisp, folded paper, though he didn’t pull it out. Certainly any rose would do. He thought of the illustration of the Winter Rose, as perfect as a photograph, beautiful in its simplicity. He shook his head and kept walking. He would use whatever rose he could find.

  A heavy footstep thudded behind him. Killian halted, jerking his head down the hall, though it remained empty. A chill prickled his flesh.

  “Hello?”

  He waited for a bell to ring. Instead, a door swung shut. It sounded close. Killian hesitated and crept toward it, back from where he’d first come. He held his breath and peered around the corner, hoping to find his usual bedroom door waiting on the other side.

  But his bedroom was gone. Still, there was a door. Green and entirely made of glass, it shimmered like a gleam, and slowly Killian released the tense air from his lungs. A large, shadowy figure moved on the other side; muffled footsteps and a strange, humid warmth emanated out from the glass. Then the figure disappeared and Killian walked closer, reaching for the knob.

  The door opened with barely a touch, and a warm breeze filtered out, kissing Killian’s cheeks. The sound of trickling water came next, and as Killian stepped inside, he almost laughed in relief.

  The greenhouse was entirely made of thick, shimmery glass, casting everything in a shade of emerald. Long benches created rows in front of him, overflowing with bright yellow carnations, pink orchids, tulips, and bluebells. Thick moss and ropey vines crawled up iron trellises, spotted with tiny purple buds.

  Killian stopped and inhaled deeply, taking in the rich soil as he brushed his fingertips against the soft, full petals of a group of peonies. The sweet aroma filled his head and he picked up a pot of deep violet dahlias, taking in a deep whiff. The perfume made him dizzy.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The sudden voice nearly made Killian drop the pot as he whipped around. Fedya sat on the other side of the azalea bushes, cloak pulled tightly around him. He looked smaller than before, but still just as guarded. He eyed the dahlias as though he expected them to sprout fangs and attack at any moment.

  Killian almost grinned, but then he remembered the burnt book page hidden in his pocket and he quickly set the flowers down instead. “I just found this place. I hadn’t seen it before.”

  Fedya merely snuffed in response, though he didn’t get up or walk away. He just turned away, staring into the cheery faces of a bundle of sunflowers. Killian watched him, then quickly slid his gaze away, trying to speak as smoothly as possible. “Do you like to garden?”

  “No.” Fedya glanced away. But then he hesitated, shifting uncomfortably where he sat before giving a small, uninterested half shrug. “I don’t know, maybe. We don’t have a lot of flowers in Eskor. Not real ones, anyway. It’s too cold to grow most of them.”

  Killian nodded. He bit the inside of his cheek, the words spilling out. “I’m sorry about the book. I was only trying to help.”

  Fedya’s eyes shot back to him, sharp, defensive. Killian tensed, but once again Fedya stayed put, and turned to glare into the blossoms. The air fluttered from Killian’s lungs, but he didn’t press his luck. Still, in a strange way it felt good to simply be standing here, close to Fedya, even in complete silence. Though Fedya had sounded gruff when he spoke, he hadn’t yelled, and Killian could remember that intriguing lilt of his accent, the gravelly roughness that was both hard yet sweet.

  He slowly took a step down the aisle, skimming the pots, and tried not to notice as Fedya leaned forward in his seat, watching him with intent.

  “What are you looking for?”

  Killian glanced up. Fedya’s ears were pricked forward in interest, and Killian bit back a smile as he answered, “Roses.”

  “Oh.” Fedya instantly thumped back onto the bench. “There aren’t any.”

  Killian stopped walking. Fedya’s shoulders were slumped, gazing back at the sunflowers with feigned disinterest, and he gave a half shrug as he glanced over at Killian. “I already checked.”

  “I see.” Killian nodded again, sweeping across the rest of
the greenhouse. There must have been hundreds of flowers, all somehow in full bloom in a cacophony of color—violet, emerald, ochre, sapphire—but Fedya was right. Killian didn’t see a single rose.

  His heart sank, remembering the list, but he forced a smile and it felt strained on his lips. “It’s still beautiful in here.”

  Fedya cast him another sideways glance, but he didn’t speak again, pulling his cloak tighter around him like a shield. Killian wavered, wanting desperately to pull out the book page and shove it in front of Fedya, prove to him that there was still hope. But Killian’s chest tightened and he swallowed back his desire. Fedya still wasn’t ready to hear it. Not yet.

  He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s nice to talk to you. You know, like this.”

  Fedya blinked, brows furrowing. Killian faltered, and then walked back to the door. He wasn’t going to find what he needed in here. “I’m sorry again. About the book.”

  He waited a second for Fedya to answer, but when he didn’t, Killian walked out the door. He stood outside, cold air whipping his face and making his teeth clench and ache. His mare watched him expectantly from its corral. Killian stared back at it, clinging to the final shred of hope that withered in his pocket. Horse hair.

  Only four more ingredients left. He could do this.

  K

  illian waited until the clock struck midnight before he couldn’t stand it anymore. He kicked off his sheets and nearly leapt out of bed. He was already dressed, and he fumbled for his shoes in the dark, not daring to even light a candle. Throwing on a coat, he squeezed the folded-up book page in his pocket one final time as he walked out the door.

  There were no stars in the blackened sky, no wind or clouds either. Just a tiny crescent of waxy yellow, cushioned in a bed of thick, gray pillows. Killian tried not to look at it, nestling deeper into his coat and warming his hands with his breath. Every few steps or so, he glanced behind him, ensuring the mansion still loomed behind him as he walked further and further away. The snow crunched beneath his boots, the only sound that disturbed the otherwise silent early morning.