Many thanks to all reviewers and my beta, KaitlynFall.

Enjoy!

Return to Aysel: Another Grimm Tale
Alicia Blade

Chapter 8: Swan Spell
The father answered, "Your brothers have hurt themselves with it.
Leave it alone, you do not understand anything about it."

from The Golden Goose

Serena shivered, dread welling inside of her. "The sorcerer?" she whispered, staring down at Amy's still form.

Beside his wife, Zoicite tried to shed the effects of his deep sleep, and slowly sat up. "What—? Did I just hear—?"

"Yes, the sorcerer has chosen Amy for his next victim," said Serena. "But how? We don't have any mirrors."

"Be quiet and listen," Amy said in hushed tones. Her face was lined with a frown, but she did not seem afraid. Merely thoughtful. "It's like a dream that is fading by the moment. I've been trying to recall as much as possible . . ."

Serena gulped. "Go ahead, Amy. What do you remember?"

"I did not go through a mirror," she said. "I went into the lake."

Serena glanced at the calm waters down the shore from their camp, and humility struck her. Of course, Queen Beryl had been able to use any reflective surface as the conduit for her plans; why wouldn't the sorcerer have the same ability?

"And I went to the sorcerer. I could not stop myself. But at first, he didn't look like a stranger. He . . . he looked like Zoicite."

Serena's gaze flicked up to Zoicite's horror-struck face.

"We went to a castle, and then we danced and danced . . . it seemed never ending. At first I was enjoying myself, but then my feet and back started to hurt so bad, and I couldn't stop. And then . . . I don't know when, but, he stopped being Zoicite. He became someone else. Someone cold."

"Amy . . ."

"At the end of the night, he was dancing with the mermaid—she was there, but she had legs. And when they stopped dancing he . . . he . . ." Amy looked on the verge of tears, her voice quivering as she told her story. "The poor girl looked so terrified, but she didn't scream. And then . . . he . . ." She curled her body tighter, pressing her chin into her knees. "He took her heart."

Serena gritted her teeth.

"You could tell that she was in such agony, though she didn't make a sound. Then she collapsed, and the sorcerer put her heart into a box. He put the mermaid in a coffin. A traditional glass coffin, and I . . . They were all there. Luna, Lita, Mina . . . little, innocent Cytherea. . . . All kept in those horrible coffins."

And Briar Rose, too. And Serena's mom. . . .

"Could you tell if they were dead?"

Amy shook her head. "I don't know. There was not much blood, even when he . . . And the girls did not look dead in their coffins. They all looked asleep, like they were under a spell. But I don't know. . . ."

"Amy, I promise I won't let him—"

"There were others, too."

Serena hesitated. "Others?"

"Other princesses. Two of them. My memory is failing, but I'm sure there were two. One fair-haired and petite, but not a child, not like Cytherea. And the other had black hair, as black as the mermaid's. But fairer skin, and I remember feeling that I knew her . . . that I loved her. I . . . I think it was Raye."

Serena sat back on her heels. "Do you remember anything else?"

Amy's brow furrowed as she tried to grasp at the last escaping tendrils of the dream, but she finally sighed and opened her eyes. They were dark, almost as dark as the circles below them. "No. That's all."

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Focusing her gaze on Serena, Amy sighed. "Like I've been dancing all night."

"Her shoes."

Serena didn't know when Darien and Melvin had awoken or when Endymion had set aside the breakfast to join them, but they all stood behind her now. In his hand, Endymion held Amy's boots. The soles were filled with holes and were separating from the rest of the leather.

"Good thing you won't be doing much walking," Serena said.

"I don't know that I could even stand at the moment."

Zoicite took his wife's hand. "You will have to ride. You can ride with me if it is easier for you."

Amy's eyelashes fluttered as he peered up at her husband. "Yes, that will be best."

"How far is Cashlin from here?" said Serena.

Zoicite cast his eyes skyward. "If we'd gotten a decent start, we could have been there by evening. But being so late in the day, I doubt we'll be there by nightfall."

"We'd better get going then."

They quickly ate the bacon that Endymion had prepared and divided two loaves of bread to eat on the road, before packing their supplies. No sooner had they saddled the horses did Serena hear the lulling, melodic sound of singing. She followed it to the edge of Cerulean Lake and saw the torsos of two mermen just off the shore. She could not tell if they were the same messengers that had come for her the day before.

They stopped singing when she had approached.

"Guardian, you ungratefully disregard the gift of our king."

"Excuse me?"

She thought perhaps the merman was trying to smile as he waved an oyster shell at her. At her frown, he threw the shell at her and she caught it with only slight fumbling. It rattled in her grip. Noticing a silver hinge on one side, she opened the shell to see three small pearls rolling around inside.

Closing the shell, she nodded at the merman. "I'm sorry. I dropped them."

"You are forgiven for matters beyond your control."

"The serpent?"

"Gone, but not defeated. Our warriors are brave and strong and cornered the creature by the north end of the lake, but then it disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Yes, in a cloud of black ink, like a giant squid. We are sure it was sorcery."

Serena's heart jumped as she remembered the creepy man in the tower—the man who reeked of evil and disappeared in a black cloud. She shuddered. If it was the same man, then she had no doubt that he had come for her, not the merpeople.

And that he was more powerful than she'd guessed.

"And . . . Princess Sirenetta?"

The man stared at her, his deep eyes expressionless. "Also disappeared."

Lowering her gaze, she rubbed her thumb over the hard-ridged shell.

"You will bring her back to us."

"I will try."

She heard a splash and raised her eyes to see that the mermen had disappeared, leaving only rippling waves of foam upon the water.


Amy dozed against Zoicite's chest for the entire journey, apparently undisturbed by the bumping and clopping of the horse. She awoke only for a late lunch—nuts and berries found on the way, along with cheese and crackers from their packs—but otherwise remained silent and still. Zoicite, guiding the horse while embracing his wife, was clearly distraught. They all knew the trend of the missing princesses would not cease with Amy. How many nights would it take before she disappeared for good? And what would become of the baby?

Serena was determined not to let it happen. All day she tried to figure out how to stop it, racked her brain for the solution, but it would not come to her.

The merfolk's gift of the three pearls would assist her in crossing the lake. But when she reached the castle, how would she find the princesses, open their coffins, awaken them, and bring them home, all without the sorcerer seeing her? Especially when she couldn't kill him. Even if she'd had the strength and the ability to kill him, she couldn't, as the mermaid princess had told her. Killing him could bring the whole castle and underground cave tumbling in upon them, trapping her and the princesses for good.

She tried to trust in the powers bestowed on her by Jacob Grimm. She was the Guardian of Happy Endings, and she would ensure that the princesses were returned to their rightful places in the world—to their rightful stories.

Everyone was depending on her. Her friends. Her mom . . .

It was clear that they were finally approaching Cashlin when they saw lights twinkling through the trees. Hundreds of them—thousands of them. A whole city's worth of them. The journey plodded on. The elevation began to rise, almost unnoticeably at first, and the path became rocky and steep. They found themselves passing by towering cliffs as they neared the Eternal Mountains.

Thent hey crossed a riverstone bridge over a burbling river that set them down right in front of the luxurious, white-stone city of Cashlin.

The streets wound back and forth, slowly making their way up the mountainside and to the castle that was built into the rocky cliff; some of the walls had been carved directly from the mountain, emerging as if magically coerced from the rock, becoming stacked-stone walls and towers and bastions. It was impossible to imagine that man alone had crafted the structure. It seemed as eternal as the mountains it belonged to.

Massive iron-hinged doors greeted them when they reached the end of the zigzagging road. They were illuminated by a sconce on either side, each sconce holding six candles that spread both light and shadows along the wall.

"Who goes there?" bellowed a voice before Serena could even knock.

The travelers craned their necks. On top of the castle's battlement stood the shadowed form of a soldier with an arrow cocked in his bow.

"I am the Guardian of Happy Endings."

The man did not lower his weapon, but he did have the grace to look surprised.

"I have come to speak with the king and queen. My companions are Prince Zoicite and Princess Amy of Aysel, and . . . and Prince Endymion of Aysel, and two friends from the world of the storytellers."

She could see the man squinting, trying to make them out in the dim torch light.

"Halt. I will come down."

The man disappeared and it was not long before they heard the creaking of hinges as the gigantic wooden doors were opened. When the guard appeared, he had exchanged his bow for a torch. Behind him stood a half dozen other guards, and Serena did not doubt they were a blink away from drawing their own weapons.

He instantly turned a studious gaze to Serena. His brow was furrowed as he looked at her, but he soon nodded.

"I can see you clearly now, Guardian, and I remember you," he said, his voice low and respectful.

She blinked. "You do?"

A smile, almost shy, flittered across his lips. "I am embarrassed to say that I was among the soldiers who attacked Aysel two years before, under the direction of Queen Beryl and the false Guardians. I . . . I died that day." He pulled down the collar of his tunic to show Serena a white scar on his chest. "Slain by the brave citizens of Aysel. But you bound my soul to that of my beautiful wife, and saved me. I am forever grateful, as we all are."

Emotion welled up in Serena. In all the misery of that time, the loss she suffered, the horrors she had seen, it was easy to forget all of the good that had also come from her being given the power of a Guardian.

"What is your name?"

"Sam. And my wife is Isabelle."

"I'm glad that I could help you, Sam," she said, adding with a glance at the silver-white aura that hovered over the soldier's head, "I am glad to see that you are both living happily ever after."

His grin widened, as if Serena had just given him an award. Then he stepped aside and gestured toward the door.

"Please, enter, and welcome to Cashlin. Their Majesties are sleeping, though I will send a servant to wake them if the Guardian wishes it."

"Please do send a messenger, but ask them to knock only three times. I suspect they will not be able to waken the king and queen. In which case, if you could set us up with lodging for the night, that would suffice."

Sam passed Serena's orders on to the soldiers beyond the door as a stable boy appeared and took the horses.

They were led into a sitting room with a fire on the hearth. Serena was grateful to sink down into an overstuffed chair with a contented sigh. She guessed it was nearing midnight, and her entire body ached. She was just beginning to doze off, fantasizing about a warm bed, when she noticed Amy curled up beside her husband, fast asleep.

The sight instantly awakened her and she sat up, ignoring her muscles' complaints.

One of the guards returned to the room. "I apologize, but we have not been able to awaken King Jadeite or Queen Snow White."

"I expected as much," said Serena. "Please, do you have a place for us to stay tonight?"

"Of course." The man gave a quick bow. "If you'll follow me."

They were led down several long corridors and up two flights of stairs before they reached the guest wing.

Carrying Amy in his arms, Zoicite ducked into the first room that was offered up.

Serena claimed the next room, but stood fidgeting in the doorway while Endymion, Darien, and Melvin disappeared one by one.

But she noticed that Endymion did not shut his door, even after the guard had left the corridor. A roaring fire crackled on the hearth at Serena's back, and she could hear another from Endymion's room. Pale light from the two open doorways flooded the shadowed hallway, otherwise lit only by a few sparse sconces.

Serena could not help but wonder, could not help but believe, that Endymion was waiting for her beyond that halo of firelight. Wanting to speak to her, to see her. And she could not deny the yearning she felt. The way her feet began treading toward his doorway almost of their own accord.

A full day had passed, and hardly a word between them. Only the occasional glance, the clashing of gazes, the flustered blush that flooded her face time and again. And now here they were, alone—finally. They were but a few steps apart, and miraculously away from prying eyes.

Her heart thumped, as if it would leap out of her chest and—

Serena sucked in a breath and pulled back. She braced herself against the door frame and cast an anxious glance toward Amy and Zoicite's room.

Evil, shape-shifting, heart-stealing sorcerer . . .

Suspicions surged inside her. Was Endymion trying to distract her from the more important mission?

Clenching her fists, she ducked into the hallway and headed in the opposite direction, toward the closed door of Amy and Zoicite's room.

Footsteps on the marble floor froze her and she spun, half-expecting to see the white-haired sorcerer leering at her from Endymion's doorway.

But no. Kind blue eyes greeted her. Endymion was frowning, his eyes vivid with worry.

"You are going to follow Princess Amy."

She took a hesitant step away from him. "Yes," she said. "I am."

He stepped farther into the hallway and, in a single clean movement, drew his sword.

Fear seized Serena. A scream filled her throat—but it sizzled almost immediately.

Her reaction did not go unnoticed, and Endymion openly gaped at her, even as he turned the sword so that the handle was poised near Serena's wrist.

"I am sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I-I noticed you don't carry a weapon."

He trailed off and waited until Serena took the sword in both shaking hands.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I just thought—"

"It's all right." His lips quirked into the half-smile that had never failed to weaken her knees, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I hope it isn't too heavy for you."

Gulping, she looked down at the blade. It was heavy, but there was also a comforting presence about it. And something about the way Endymion stood unflinching before her. The sword tip was now aimed at his gut, but he didn't shy away from it. As if he trusted her implicitly.

Of course, he had no idea that she had wielded his sword before.

"Thank you," she said.

"Promise me you'll be careful?"

His gaze sparked in the torchlight and for a moment she could believe that he honestly cared, that he maybe even loved her again, and a gentle warmth spread out along her limbs.

"Yes. I promise."

His features softened. "Lady Serena . . ." he murmured, his voice filled with uncertainty. Her pulse rushed through her veins as her feet inched toward him, the sword forgotten. His hand crept up toward her face.

He did not know her. Did not remember her. But when the pads of his fingers breezed against her temple, pushing back a stray curl, the touch was electricity down to her toes, and for a breath she believed she did know him.

She gasped and jerked back, suddenly remembering why she was standing in this dark hallway. Even at this very moment Amy could be traversing the long stairwell to the sorcerer's enchanted castle.

Serena spun away from Endymion and pounded on the bedroom door.

It was mere moments before Zoicite opened it, still dressed. He looked as if he'd been expecting her.

"Come in," he said, gesturing toward a sleeping form on the bed. "I've decided that I will follow her too."

"Oh." Serena turned back to Endymion, so that he would know she was not going alone—but the hallway was empty.


Melvin fell back against the closed bedroom door with a relieved sigh.

What an insanely long, tedious day it had been. Riding those slow horses, surrounded by people, only able to sneak glimpses of his new spell book when no one was paying any attention and he wouldn't look suspicious.

Now, finally, he was alone.

His heart pounded with excitement, his palms were sweating with impatience, and he wasted no time in digging the book from his pack. He'd already decided on the spell he would try, a spell that he'd known from the start would be easy to complete. The ingredients were common enough that any well-stocked guest room would have them. Now all he needed was a subject.

He turned to the page of the spell he'd chosen and laid it out on the room's writing desk. He barely noticed the luxurious apartment: the gold veining in the white stone walls, the velvet curtains overhanging a floor-to-ceiling window, tall taper candles set into silver sticks on the nightstand.

These things were elementary. Melvin was going to perform magic. Real magic.

But first—a subject.

Any living creature would do, but where would he find a living creature? Dare he venture into the castle, in search of a mouser cat in the kitchens or a sleeping pigeon in the rafters? He would almost certainly get lost.

But he wasn't about to test the spell on himself.

Then he heard it—and his heart lifted. Fate was on his side.

A fat black housefly was buzzing against the window, repeatedly smacking itself into the glass in an attempt to escape the confines of the castle.

A grin spread over Melvin's lips and he anxiously pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

He found a teaset on a small table and, taking one of the porcelain cups in hand, approached the window. The fly paid him no heed.

A clatter, and it was trapped.

Breathing hard, Melvin slid the saucer under the cup's mouth and brought it back to the writing desk, setting it beside the book. The fly continued to buzz, angrier now, but he ignored it as he read through the ingredients list.

One strip of pure-white cotton fabric was ripped from a pillowcase on the bed.

A feather (any variety, though swan is best) came out of the same pillow, though Melvin had no idea what kind of bird it was from.

A wand. This object had nearly deterred Melvin entirely, until he'd discovered the glossary in the back of the book that explained a "wand" could be any stick of pure wood that a magician chose, though some woods—particularly aged oak and young birch—were undoubtedly most efficient. For his purposes, Melvin had picked up a twig of the unknown-wood family while they'd been stopped for dinner in the forest.

And the subject. Melvin beamed at the teacup.

He read through the directions twice before beginning. First, he took the swatch of cotton and used it to tie the feather to the stick. He wrapped the cotton twice and secured it into the tightest knot he could, exactly as the instruction said. Then he held the wand with the tips of his fingers, careful not to touch the strip of cotton, and turned to the teacup on the desk.

"Snow-white down and feather-soft; ebony mask and golden beak; swooping neck and head aloft; water, land, and sky you'll seek."

Melvin held his breath. The stick was trembling, though he didn't know if it was magic or his own nervousness that was causing it. Holding the wand aloft, he stretched forward for the teacup. Inside, he could hear the fervent buzzing of the insect as it bounced off the walls of its tiny prison. His fingers brushed the cold ceramic. He began to lift the cup from its saucer.

A large hand fell onto his, smashing the cup back down to the saucer with a clatter. Melvin squeaked. Looking up, he found himself captured in a glacial scowl.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" the man hissed.

Melvin shrunk back. The man released his hand, but Melvin remained immobilized, gawking at the stranger who towered over him by a full head.

"You have something that belongs to me," he said, casting his horrible silver-blue gaze to the desk where the black leather book was opened to Melvin's spell. "I should turn you into a toad for your thievery."

Melvin gulped and watched as the man reached his bony hand toward the book and closed the cover with a flick of his wrist. Melvin couldn't tell if he'd actually touched it.

Clearly, the man had more magic than could be garnered from The Book of Transformations.

"Wh-who are you?"

The man did not look at him again; he was too busy inspecting the book, ensuring it hadn't been harmed.

"Someone you do not want to steal from again," he said.

"You're the one stealing the princesses, aren't you?"

The man said nothing.

"And you were by the lake. Y-you killed those fish, to . . . to transform into the sea serpent that attacked the merpeople, didn't you?"

Those brilliant eyes flashed toward him again, now tinged with amusement. "And what makes you think I won't kill you too?" His hand was drawing the book closer, ready to tuck it into the folds of his stark-white tunic.

Pure-white cotton fabric . . . snow-white down and feather soft . . .

Melvin sucked in a deep breath and stabbed the end of the stick at the man's chest.

The sorcerer's surprise was immediate—and brief.

A puff of white smoke billowed up from the end of the broom and then the man was gone, replaced with a pristine white swan.

Melvin blinked down at the bird as it fluffed up its wings and hissed at him in fervent irritation. Pride swelled in his chest. His first spell was a success—and against a practiced sorcerer no less!

Melvin the Magician, indeed.

The swan snorted and lunged at him with his beak. Melvin yelped and danced away, then dipped down and snatched the book off the carpet and rushed for the bedroom door.

"Help!" he screamed, darting into the hallway. "There's a swan in my—"

His voice died out when he turned and instead of seeing a bright white swan in his room, he saw only a cloud of black smoke, quickly dissipating in the air. The room was silent, save the constant buzz of a trapped fly.


Though she had slept like a drugged rock the night before, Serena felt exhaustion gripping her yet again. An entire day of riding and worrying had taken its toll. She tried to shake it off—literally, by shaking her head every once in awhile, and rubbing her arms, and stretching her legs, anything to keep the blood flowing.

Zoicite seemed significantly less concerned with dozing off. He stood behind her, still as a statue, and every time she glanced back at him, he was wide awake, his eyes glued to Amy as the night wore on.

It seemed that hours had passed before Amy finally stirred. Serena held her breath and watched as the princess went through the same motions that Mina had gone through—rising from the bed and changing into a dress and a pair of slippers. The dress was the only other dress she'd packed, and the slippers were cotton night slippers that had come with the guest room—hardly the extravagant ball gown that Mina had chosen, but the best that Amy could do here in Cashlin castle.

Serena waited while Amy stepped toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and, without hesitation, disappeared into the glass. Gripping Endymion's sword, Serena paced across the room, Zoicite right behind her.

Her fingers had just touched the cool, liquid surface of the glass when she heard yelling in the hallway.

Serena withdrew her hand and turned toward the sound. Zoicite was staring at the bedroom door, his brow drawn. They exchanged puzzled looks.

The yelling grew louder, gaining clarity. Someone was calling Serena's name.

Her heart thumped. She looked at the mirror, innocently reflecting her concern back to her. Then she recognized the voice.

"It's Melvin," she whispered. She took an unsteady step toward the door, but hesitated, torn.

"I will follow Amy," Zoicite said.

Gritting her teeth, Serena again looked at the mirror.

"No," she said. "It should be me . . ."

"She is my wife." The murmured words sparked sympathy in the pit of Serena's stomach. "I will protect her. Go. Perhaps something has happened."

Melvin called her name again, and she heard pounding on a distant door—he thought she was in her own guest quarters.

"Fine. But be careful," she said, opening the bedroom door and slipping into the hallway.

"Serena!" Melvin yelled from the other end of the corridor. He was breathless, but his eyes were a mix of fear and excitement.

"Melvin, what happened?"

"The sorcerer. He was here."

Serena blinked, barely acknowledging the soft click of the bedroom door as it shut behind her.

"He came to my room," said Melvin.

"Melvin, calm down. You must have been dreaming."

Irritation flashed behind Melvin's glasses. "It wasn't a dream. I was wide awake, and he came to my room and threatened to kill me."

"Why would the sorcerer threaten to kill you, of all the people in this castle?"

"Well, because . . ." Melvin hesitated.

With a groan, Serena leaned the sword against one wall and pushed her bangs back from her face. If she lost her chance to save Amy because Melvin had had a nightmare . . .

"Look, Melvin, I have to go. Amy could be—"

"Because I have his book."

Her gaze returned to him, though her hands stayed against her forehead, warding off an incoming headache.

"What book?"

"His book of transformation spells. I found it by the lake. I . . . I didn't realize it was his. But he came because he wanted it back."

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming all this?"

"Positive. He was tall and skinny and had white hair and strange ice-blue eyes and he appeared out of nowhere and said he wanted his book back."

Serena gulped. White hair and strange ice-blue eyes. Yes. That would be him.

"God, Melvin, are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

Melvin opened his mouth to speak, but then froze. "Umm . . . yes, I'm fine."

Serena quirked an eyebrow.

"He, um . . ." Melvin's eyes darted to the bedroom door behind her. "He seemed to remember he had somewhere to be, and he disappeared before he could do anything to me."

She leaned against the doorframe, her gaze dropping. "You mean he remembered he was supposed to be kidnapping princesses."

"I guess so."

"What else about this book? You said it was a book of spells?"

Melvin nodded. "Transformation spells. I . . . think he's a shape-shifter."

"Yeah, I knew that. But I had no idea he would need a book for it."

"Well, I don't think he needs the book, at least probably not for his favorite spells. I'm sure he has those memorized. He probably just uses the book for the more obscure ones that you wouldn't need very often. Like . . . a sea serpent."

"A sea serpent?"

"Yeah." He pushed up his glasses. "I-I'm pretty sure he was the serpent that attacked the merfolk when you and Darien were down there. And he left the book on the shore and I found it. . . . I'm sorry, Sere, I should have told you earlier. I guess . . . I just thought it was kind of cool. Like a fairy-tale souvenir."

"Too bad he came back for it, because that could have been useful."

When Melvin said nothing, Serena sighed and turned back to the doorway. She grabbed the hilt of Endymion's sword and suddenly froze, her breath catching.

She looked back to Melvin, and he took an uncomfortable step back from her penetrating stare, before she glanced at the closed door to Endymion's room. "You say the sorcerer was the serpent?"

He shrugged. "I think so. There was a sea serpent spell and it called for two fish tails and I saw—"

"But Endymion—he was up on the shore with you guys the whole time, wasn't he? While you set up camp?"

She could tell Melvin was considering the question, trying to remember the details of the night before, but finally he nodded. "Yes. He was on the shore with us the whole time."

Serena's heart jolted, expanding with hope. If Endymion couldn't be the sorcerer . . . !

"Although," Melvin said, scratching his chin. "It's always possible the sorcerer used a different subject to create the serpent. Just about any animal would do. It would be difficult, though."

Serena's hopes dissolved. If he had the power to create an entire underground castle, how hard could it be to make one miserable sea serpent?

"I need to try and save Amy," she muttered, already knowing she was too late.

Especially when she tried the knob, and found the door locked.


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