My Unfair Godmother(102)

Rumpelstiltskin held the book up, opened to the end of his story.

The picture showed the queen smugly holding her baby while the 305/356

dwarf figure representing Rumpelstiltskin raised a fist in defeated anger.

He snapped the book shut. “Interesting story, though truly I can’t imagine myself flying off anywhere on a cooking spoon. Too undigni-fied, really.”

I breathed hard. My ears rang with fear. I couldn’t speak.

Rumpelstiltskin brandished the book at me. “My fate was already decided by the fay folk. They wrote this story and gave it to you, didn’t they? It’s instructions on how you were to deal with me.” I shivered and couldn’t stop. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. What had I done when I changed the story? What could I do now?

His smile turned to a grimace. “I found their book and I don’t intend to follow their script. You already know my name. I won’t be tricked into asking you that question. In fact, I won’t ask you anything at all.” He tossed the book to the ground in disgust. It lay there like a wounded animal, its pages blowing limply in the breeze. “I will make no bargains with you. Give me the babe.” I took a step backward. This was happening too fast. Hudson probably hadn’t even reached Robin Hood’s camp yet. He wouldn’t be able to help me.

“Chrissy!” I called. “Chrissy, help!” If ever I needed a fairy godmother to show up, it was right now.

But there was no sign of her. No glimmering, no fountain of lights.

Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes. “By law, she can’t interfere with another fairy’s bargain. And besides, Chrysanthemum Everstar is only a chit of a fairy anyway.” He paused, his gaze sliding around the forest, checking to make sure she really hadn’t come. When he saw we were alone, he smiled again. “Fairy girls, like mortal girls, are best suited for growing flowers and having babies. You’ve done admirably in that regard. I was expecting to have to wait nine months for you to produce 306/356

an heir. It’s so considerate of you to come up with one sooner. Was it dark magic or just incompetent magic that made it so?” I didn’t answer. Rumpelstiltskin had been close enough to my baby that he could have reached into the sling and grabbed him, but he hadn’t. Perhaps the spell wouldn’t work if Rumpelstiltskin took the baby from someone, perhaps the baby had to be given. I wouldn’t do it. “Our contract was made under duress,” I told him, taking another step backward, “and technically I didn’t give birth to this baby in the time period we agreed on, so the contract isn’t valid.” I wiped at the words that clung to my arm. They didn’t come off.

“I still have magic,” he said. “Enchantments I’ve taken from trolls and goblins. Did you know trolls can turn things into stone?” He took a step toward me, grinding his graying teeth. “Chrysanthemum may have told you that I can’t take the child by force, but that doesn’t mean I can’t turn you to stone and lift the child from your arms. In fact, I should turn you both to stone and you can keep your babe company for eternity. Either way will break the spell. I bought love that can’t be bought. All that’s left now is to take the baby to the vault.” To emphasize his threat, Rumpelstiltskin put a hand on a nearby tree and chanted, “Oak tree, stone, stone, stone.” Underneath his fingertips, a gray color grew and spread, simultaneously rushing down to the ground and up through the branches.

Rumpelstiltskin dropped his hand without even looking back at the tree to see his stone creation. “I hope you didn’t miss the lesson in that example, Mistress Miller.”

I nodded, an idea forming in my mind. “Yes, it’s a very important lesson—if you happen to be a tree. I suppose that will teach the rest of the shrubbery to tell you what’s happening in the forest.” He stepped toward me, his eyes churning with even more ferocity.

Anger toward me, anger toward the other fairies. Rage had blinded 307/356

him. Otherwise he would have understood the warning in the fairy tale when he read it. I was only frustrated for not figuring it out before.

Chrissy had hinted at it the last time I’d seen her by warning Hudson to remain a nameless character.

“Enough of this,” Rumpelstiltskin roared, and the leaves on the trees around us shook on their branches, sounding like vengeful rattlesnakes. He strode over to me and grabbed hold of my arm. I didn’t stop him. At the same time that he said, “Mistress Miller, stone, stone, stone!” I said, “Rumpelstiltskin, gold, gold, gold!” He let out a sharp breath as though he’d been struck. Where he held on to my arm, I could see his fingers turning to gold.