A/N: *checks calendar-two months later* Sorry, guys, that this chapter took so long for me to update. If it makes you feel any better, I have been working hard on it throughout those two months. It was never fully satisfying to me, so I kept editing and rewriting certain parts. The good news is that there is a very strong chance that you'll have two chapters for this story this week. Fingers crossed.
Also, I want to take the time to thank everyone that read, reviewed, and favorited recently. It makes me happy to see that so many people still enjoy this story, even when it takes me some time to write up the chapters. If anything, it makes me write a little faster. Many thanks to those that left reviews: victorious1314, CharlotteAshmore, beverlie4055, CrypticCobra, orthankg1, and AllisonDiamond.
Now onward to the chapter.
It must have been the middle of the night when Cora stirred to the uneasy sensation of rocking beneath her pillow. She would have felt like a newborn baby in a cradle, if she ever had a cradle. Instead, the rocking simply made her queasy, her stomach flipping endlessly. She moaned into her pillow, clamping her red lips shut so she wouldn't empty her stomach. She wasn't sure she even had anything in her stomach to empty. There were those strawberry tarts from that afternoon in Wonderland, a few slices of bread, and...alcohol. Too much alcohol.
Even worse than that: the veins in her forehead throbbed with the onslaught of a severe headache. It felt like someone was slamming a hammer against her head in an attempt to crack it open. She was incredibly thirsty, the roof of her mouth parched, but the very thought of a frothy mug of alcohol made her stomach flip again. When she opened her eyes, even the flicker of the lantern was too bright to bear.
This was precisely why she distrusted alcohol, apart from the miserable reminder of her drunken father. It was heavenly when it went down, but an absolute nightmare in the morning.
How did pirates and commoners put up with such horrendous side effects? Or did they simply drink so much that they became immune to the foul effects as time went on? She was a queen; she couldn't afford to make her senses so vulnerable. She should have known better.
It was this unfamiliar heart beating inside her chest. This painful, impulsive heart that warped her senses and desires, it seemed. She was so tempted to rip it out again, even brought her hand to her breast, but the memory of Regina stopped her from carrying it out. Besides, she lacked her own true heart to replace this stolen heart with.
If she was being honest, it was more than the heart that drove her to drink. It was her own woe; incredible woe that she had denied for so very long. As it rushed to the surface all at once, she longed for a way to suppress it.
Everything she had to do now was for her daughter. She did not want to forget her a second time. If she had still been alive, she might have been enough.
But Regina wasn't alive. She was cold in the ground, dead, murdered! Murdered by that goody little Snow White and her imbecile followers. She should finish what Regina started. It was time to shake off this vulnerability of a hangover and continue on the right path.
Cora touched a finger to her forehead. All at once, the tightness of her brain and throbbing of her veins relaxed. This time, she was able to open her eyes widely without being blinded by the lantern swinging beside the bed. Unfortunately, the rocking continued.
Only when she sat up and took a good look around did she realize where she was: aboard a ship. The world beneath her legs swayed unsteadily as it bobbed on the water. There was a slight grinding sound as a couple of gold coins slid back and forth across a desk along the opposite wall. The windows were black with night. The room she was in was fairly large, with a desk, an open area that could be fit for dancing, massive bay windows, and a bed meant for two people.
This must be the Captain's quarters.
And the Captain...was snoring next to her in the bed.
The arm that normally sported the hook partially obscured his face, but he had detached it sometime last night. He was spread-eagle over the sheets, his legs entwining with hers, rubbing and kicking as if he were doing a jig in his dream. Oh, yes, and he was naked. He wasn't all that terrible to look at, if one got past the minor battle scars, but the sight of his body without a stitch of clothing troubled her. She lifted the sheets from her own body and gasped, blushing like a young maiden.
What had she done? Why, she had not only lost her senses to the alcohol, but she had lost every ounce of self-respect she ever had! She didn't even have any memory of it and that was somehow worse! Couldn't she have done better than a pirate? How many other women had he brought into this bed for exactly one night? The sheets must be filthy.
Oh, this must be what my mid-life crisis feels like! Or is this it? She thought, flustered. I'm doomed to do mad, impulsive, nonsensical things, aren't I?
Quickly she jumped up from the bed, snapped her fingers, and donned that midnight blue gown again. There were several pieces of fabric shredded and hanging by her hips like tentacles, all thanks to that hook. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Snapping her fingers again, the dress was repaired-good as new.
The sudden noise caused by her movement woke the pirate. His hook hand swung out and flopped on the mattress. It pounded the sheets, searching for her body. He lifted his head and grumbled: "Wha' izzit? Where d'you think you're goin'?" He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked up at her sleepily, as if he did not recognize her. She imagined that happened quite a lot.
"The sun has not yet risen, but I am putting an end to this...adventure we've been having. What's done is done and now we part ways. As a pirate that makes himself known to anything remotely resembling a woman, I expected you to be more familiar with this custom. And for the sake of the gods, put your clothes on when you speak to me."
"Because you don't trust yourself to be around me otherwise. I understand, love. Happens all the time," he murmured. Cora sneered at his self-confidence. The nerve of this pirate, addressing her like she was any other common tavern maid.
The pirate shifted his legs to the edge of the bed and stretched slowly, like a cat waking from an afternoon nap. He dressed quickly, retrieving the clothes that were strewn about the floor. Only up to his waist; his chest he left bare. Then he attached that silver hook to his hand and intended to pursue her. At this point, Cora didn't even need magic to escape him. The previous night's drink had made him tipsy on his feet and sluggish in step. Even now, he swayed side to side and she did not fully believe the ship was to blame.
"Come, now, love. We were just getting to know each other. Why spoil the fun? Ah, well," he moaned.
Stumbling to his desk, he rummaged through a drawer and retrieved a dusty bottle of rum, popped the cork, and took a long, loud swig from it. Cora wondered if a day ever passed where the pirate did not taste rum on his tongue, but then he was far from a clean, honorable man. The only way he would avoid the drink was if it ran out completely or he lost that tongue.
"Do you believe that's wise after you drank your weight in rum the night before and did only-the-gods-know-what with me in that sorry excuse of a bed?" She snapped as he took another gulp.
"I did not drink my weight in rum. Trust me; if I did, you'd know it because I'd be swinging from the mast and doing a musical number. I can hold mine much better than you can hold yours. And are you telling me you have no memory of our date last night? That's a shame. It was quite a show."
Cora's eyebrows soared. "It was not a date. For one thing, I don't remember writing you a personal invitation," she snapped.
How could the pirate remember anything about their time together when she could not? Or did he truly have the upper hand since he was more experienced with the drink? She almost asked about the truth of what had happened, if anything, between them, but clamped her lips together. She refused to beg the pirate.
"You can't leave yet," he continued, tilting the bottle toward her. He slapped on one of those wide, sly grins. "We've had our pleasure. There's still business to be done. For starters, you are Queen Regina's mother. That's hardly a title to be proud of."
"And you are a foul rum-soaked pirate that would sell anyone out for a bottle of rum or someone to warm your bed. Furthermore, I am the Queen of Hearts of Wonderland and you will treat me with the respect I deserve. Otherwise, the next bottle of rum you drink shall be poisoned."
The pirate gulped loudly and coughed on his rum.
"As you wish, Your Majesty. Since we're being formally introduced, I am more than your average rum-soaked pirate. The name is Killian Jones, though nowadays people seem to know me only as Captain Hook. You can guess why." He waved his silver hook. Cora smirked. It was an appropriate name, if not too creative. "And for the record, it would take more than a bottle of rum or the promise of a warm bed to make me betray those I value. I do have my standards."
"Duly noted," she muttered and edged a little closer to the door. More than anything, she wanted to leave the pirate behind and be on her way. After all, what could the pirate ever do for her?
"So what is it you hope to do for Regina now that she's dead?" The pirate asked.
Cora debated whether she could trust Killian Jones enough to tell him what she was planning. Pirates weren't very loyal; pirates could spill the beans for the right price. Every instinct warned Cora not to tell the pirate a single word...and yet the opportunity was tempting. She was carrying the burden on her shoulders alone and it would be nice to unload some of its weight. The emotions she felt were still intense-the heartache of losing her daughter, the rage toward those that had killed her, the desire not to deal with it alone.
So she sighed and turned away from the door.
"My daughter is dead, yes, but those who are responsible for her death and misery are not. So many people have caused her pain. I wish to make them feel her pain. It is the least I can do since I have disappointed her as a mother."
Surprisingly, the pirate chuckled deeply before tossing back more of his rum.
"It doesn't hurt that taking down Regina's enemies will also likely secure your position as queen of the realm, isn't that about right?"
Cora felt a trickle of uncertainty run down her neck. The pirate was clever, more than he looked. She wouldn't deny that the thought crossed her mind-in slaying Regina's enemies, she would be free to conquer this land. It'd be hitting two birds with one stone. However, she remained silent and let the pirate ponder.
"You must have quite a death list," he pointed out. "Anyone I know?"
"That all depends. Are you friends with Snow White, her prince, or any of their friends? How about Rumpelstiltskin? There are very few that fail to recognize his name." She noticed it when the pirate clenched his teeth in anger. None of the first names affected him-it was Rumpelstiltskin's name. Even the rum did nothing to soothe his quiet fury.
"I have very few friends," he admitted. "I have never met Snow White, her prince, or their friends, nor do I care to make it a priority. That last one, though...I call him the Crocodile. He's the one that took my hand and killed my true love. I have been hunting him for centuries."
It surprised Cora for a moment that the pirate was centuries old. No wonder he was so experienced. The way he threw down the bottle and stroked the silver hook was alarming. And the wheel turned in Cora's head.
Perhaps the gods were on her side.
"It seems our interests are aligned. You want to kill your...Crocodile. So be it. Join your strength with mine and you shall get your chance. You have my word." The pirate picked up the bottle again, though not to drown his sorrows. Instead he held it up like he was making a toast.
"I shall drink to that." And he took another swig.
...
From the minute Emma laid eyes on Regina's castle, she felt like she didn't belong there. Climbing out of the carriage, there was no sudden burst of sunlight to blind them. Either the sun had already sunk into the earth or very little light touched the Queen's kingdom.
The castle itself was a towering black structure rising from the ground. Narrow spikes surrounded the entire thing, giving the impression that no one was meant to tread anywhere near it. The forest surrounding it was too silent-no birds whistling, no sticks snapping underfoot of animals or humans, not even the howl of the wind. There seemed to be no life at all and maybe it was fitting, what with the Evil Queen being dead.
Ever since she was young, she had heard rumors among children in other kingdoms and small villages that the castle was haunted by Regina's ghost. It became a popular challenge for children across the Enchanted Forest to get close enough to the castle one day and sneak in for a night, to prove there was no ghost. Some of those children claimed there was a mysterious voice, deep within the castle, telling them to get out.
No child had ever made it the entire night in there.
Luckily, Emma didn't believe in ghosts.
"Scared, dearie?" Rumpel taunted while she gawked at the shining ebony pillars. He laid a hand upon the castle doors.
"I'm not scared, but I won't blame you at all if you need my hand to hold," she teased. Rumpel turned up his nose. She caught sight of his lips rising as he turned his head away. More often than not, she suspected he liked it when she challenged him so daringly. Not many people ever stood up to the Dark One. Or potentially flirted with him.
Or kissed him.
The front door creaked loudly as Rumpel pushed it open. The bolts were rusted. It had been years since anyone properly cared for this castle; after Regina's death, it had been abandoned and left to rot. There had been too much pain and betrayal, too many unwanted memories to convince Snow White to step foot in it again.
The interior was hauntingly cold, every lantern snuffed of flame. Emma shivered and pulled the folds of her cloak tighter around her arms. A grand staircase spiraled in front of them, leading upwards to countless forgotten chambers.
"Where do we start?" She asked dubiously. This was a castle, not a one-bedroom hovel. There were dozens of guest rooms alone, not to mention the secret passageways buried within, the dungeons, the kitchens, the baths, and the closets. Searching for one magic hat was like finding a needle in a very large haystack.
"Her room, of course," Rumpel responded confidently and made a beeline for the staircase.
"You know where the Queen's room is?" What sort of queen would invite the Dark One into her most private chambers unless their purpose for meeting was intimate? He paused and wiggled his fingers. She had begun to decode his actions; he did this one whenever he was working out how to say something he otherwise did not wish to reveal.
"Yes," he answered simply.
"You mean you visited her room before?" He stopped mid-stride again and she had to catch herself from bumping into his back.
"Yes..."
"Mind if I ask why?" Mostly, she was interested in whether or not he and Regina had been...involved. Like mother, like daughter? He exhaled heavily through his nose and turned on the third step to glower down at her.
"Okay, I admit it. I once snuck into her bedroom, sniffed her flowers, drank her tea, impersonated her, and made funny faces in her mirror. There, satisfied?"
She had to hold back a bubble of laughter. How much had he actually enjoyed doing that? In her mind's eye, she saw Rumpel in the guise of a queen, primping his long dark locks, sticking out a tongue like any admirable queen never should, and maybe even painting his face with her best makeup and looking like a court jester. Was that the kind of amusement he resorted to when time dragged on for centuries and the Dark One grew bored?
"Did you assume I warmed her bed as I may have warmed Cora's?" He sounded more than a little miffed at that. A disgusted look crossed Emma's face. "Don't worry. Regina was never my type. Too...thorny."
Rumpel's eyes scrolled over her body. Am I your type? She had to wonder.
From the stairs, they took a sharp right. Rumpel appeared to know exactly where he was going, even through the darkness, so Emma followed closely on his heels. The tattered moth-eaten curtains billowed from an invisible breeze, tickling her ankles as she passed.
They navigated their way down an endless hallway. Several empty gilded frames hung on the wall. It wasn't until her foot kicked aside a shard of glass that Emma realized the empty frames were once glorious mirrors. There had to be at least twenty on the wall. The shards of glass glittered in the dim moonlight and crunched under their feet.
"She really had a thing for mirrors, didn't she?" Emma murmured as she crept around the river of glass in her way. Rumpel cackled.
"Monuments could be erected from Regina's obnoxious ego and nosiness," he exclaimed. "It was her way of spying on the people in her kingdom as well as her enemies. Beware-she's always watching."
Rumpel's eyes rolled back and forth in their sockets, like a paranoid imp on the lookout. Emma knew he was trying to get the better of her, so she smiled instead of show her discomfort. The idea of some evil queen spying on the entire Enchanted Forest was unsettling.
Regina's bedroom was no more subtle than the broken hall of mirrors. One giant mirror took up one wall, the glass smooth and unbroken. There was a fireplace filled with gray ash, but it had long since cooled of flame. A bouquet of white roses filled a vase on a table in the center, though the stem was now severely bent, the once creamy petals dry, browning, and crumbling on the tabletop.
A wardrobe of dresses stood against another wall, the door slightly ajar. When Emma opened it, several moths flew out. The fabric was riddled with holes. She pinched the fabric with the tips of her fingers as she examined the Queen's dresses. How did she even wear half of these outfits? They were so gawdy, so outrageous, so impractical. Even Emma was more accustomed to simple dresses.
There were floppy hats with feathers, bejeweled headbands, tight leather pants that she almost mistook for Rumpel's, knee-high boots with slim heels, corsets that were meant to flaunt a woman's cleavage to the maximum, gowns in seductive red and black silk with slits that ran up to the thigh and down to the navel. It was tasteless, more suitable for a fancy mistress than a queen. She must have enchanted many a guard and ally by her body alone.
"Someone should donate these to the tavern wenches," Emma muttered. The secret wages they earned from men alone would sky-rocket with these outfits. Scrunching her nose from the smell of mildew, she stepped back from the closet of old clothes and slammed the door.
"Never mind donating clothes. How about a heart or two?" Rumpel said and pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a circular room of cabinets. They lined the walls from top to bottom.
"These are all...hearts," Emma mused, her eyes scouring over the countless drawers. Some had symbols that glowed, others had symbols that were black and dark.
"She's the daughter of the Queen of Hearts and yet you're surprised she takes after her mother? She shares more in common with Cora than magic and her looks." So many hearts taken between Cora and Regina. So many people wandering the world with holes in their chests.
"When we're done with our journey, we're coming back here and we're going to return these hearts," she stated. She would travel to Wonderland and do the same with the hearts Cora had stolen, if she could. It was impossible to forget the sight of those glowing drawers.
Rumpel sighed.
"How did I know that would come out of your pretty mouth? Heroes are so much work." Emma shot him a glare. Does that mean you consider yourself the villain? "I'm not arguing with you. Merely making an observation. Here's another example: that scarlet dress in Regina's closet would have looked so much better on you. In fact, let's put that theory to the test."
A simple snap of his fingers and the red dress magically materialized on Emma's body. It was a little big and long on her, the sleeves covering her hands and hem trailing along her feet, but Rumpel was practically breathless as he gazed upon her. Emma's cheeks burned the same color red as the dress.
"Well?" She asked hesitantly. Rumpel continued to stare, amazed, as though he were in the presence of an actual goddess. She rotated for him so that he could view the dress from every angle and that only seemed to make him more excited, his tongue anxiously licking his lips.
"Oh," he blurted out, coming back to reality. "Um...hmm...yes. It looks much better on you than it ever did on her. Turn for me again." And she did. Slowly, she rotated and blushed harder under his intense scrutiny.
"I think I prefer the green dress. It isn't so...overwhelming," Emma said. She thought she caught a hint of disappointment in his eyes. Surely he didn't expect her to wear that red dress from now on? It was far too showy, noticeable, and tight around her breasts and waist.
"Very well." Rumpel changed her back to the green dress and she found it was indeed more comfortable.
"I agree with the imp. Red is definitely your color. I can already tell. In that dress, you looked fabulous," a deep voice mysteriously interrupted.
Emma had no idea where it came from. Her head swiveled to inspect the ceiling and the floor at her feet for tiny living creatures, but there were none to be found. Rumpel simply looked annoyed. His stalked over to Regina's only unbroken mirror.
"Oh, come out, already! I never enjoy people spying on me!" Emma tilted her head as he flung accusations at...the mirror? He even knocked on the glass, as though to wake it up.
"Who are you talking to? There's no one there," she protested. She crossed the room to stand beside him, just to prove it. The only reflections in the glass belonged to her and Rumpel. His hands grasped the frame, intending to remove it from the wall. It was stuck fast, most likely by magic.
"It's an illusion," he replied over his shoulder. "The mirror is magic. Regina once trapped a genie inside and from then on he acted as her special looking glass to spy on the world. Now you know why I detest shiny objects in my castle."
"Careful with that mirror, imp," the strange voice commanded.
Emma heard it better this time-the voice was coming from the mirror. The blurry, bodiless face of a man formed beneath the glass. Rumpel darted back and shot Emma a look that read I told you so.
"If you break the mirror, that will be seven years worth of misfortune over your head! I mean...whooo! I am the ghost of Queen Regina's castle! Her spirit walks these halls even in death! Get out...while you still can!"
Emma and Rumpel exchanged puzzled looks. Neither of them ran screaming for their lives.
"Really?" Emma moaned. "You're the so-called ghost? You don't look scary to me." The man in the mirror grumbled under his breath.
"It worked better on the children. Many people have come through here, picking the castle clean. No respect for the dead. I wanted to put a stop to it, so I took it upon myself to scare them away." Rumpel faked a yawn.
"I'd give that performance a one out of ten. And that's being generous. You shouldn't even be here. When Regina kicked the bucket, all of her previous magic wore off, which means you would have transformed into a genie again. Unless..."
The man in the mirror averted his eyes, looking quite guilty.
"I didn't want to leave," he admitted. "Even if Regina imprisoned me in this mirror, serving her and being so close to her made these days my happiest. No one shall miss her more than I. Why, her poor father died the same day she did, from a heart attack."
"No way," Emma whispered. Something about the way the genie said Regina's name, with so much longing and tenderness..."You were in love with her."
"Yes. I would have done anything to please her," the mirror cried.
"Even tell her whether she looks unappealing in a dress?" Rumpel snickered. Emma swatted the back of his head. She felt sorry for the man in the mirror. Left behind by Regina and content to protect her abandoned kingdom. What sort of existence was that?
"If you knew Regina so well, maybe you can help us. We're searching for a magic hat that once belonged to a portal jumper named Jefferson. We believe she may have kept it here." The man in the mirror wrinkled his nose.
"That old thing? Regina never had a specific place for it. Or any of the magical trinkets she kept. She was always too paranoid that someone would steal them and use them against her. Sometimes she would keep it here and take it out of the box. Other times she took it away and I never saw where she hid it."
"Thanks for your help," Emma said to the man in the mirror, even if he wasn't much help at all. To Rumpel, she turned and said: "You check this room and I'll start searching the other rooms in the castle. That way, we'll find it faster." She retraced her steps to the hall of broken mirrors, but he followed.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Rumpel protested, waving his hands. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You wanted my oath of protection. You've got it."
"There's no one in this castle but us. As for your protection, all I wanted was for you to be able to keep your word. I can handle myself."
Just as she boldly turned away, she accidentally tripped into a black statue of a knight with a sword, positioned like a guard outside Regina's room. It wiggled and then toppled over, the sword aimed straight at Rumpel's head. Emma grabbed a handful of his vest and yanked him out of the way. The statue crashed on the ground, making the floor vibrate under their feet.
Together they stumbled into the wall, his body pinned against her, his hands planted on either side of her head. She could feel every aspect of his body as it pressed against hers protectively. Both of them were breathing heavily.
Not a word passed between them. Only a shy glance or two. Rumpel stared down at Emma's hand, which still clung to the material of his vest. Slowly, her hand bloomed and she let go.
"Why did you...?" Save me? He let the words hang unspoken in the air. If she hadn't reacted the way she did, he might be crushed beneath that statue by now. Perhaps he wouldn't have died, as it was incredibly difficult to kill a Dark One by ordinary means, but it would have harmed him to some extent. Emma shrugged.
"The statue was falling. You weren't moving out of the way, so I pulled you aside. I guess it's...in my nature. Anyone else would have done the same," she said, though that last part did not ring true even in her ears. Pulling Rumpelstiltskin to safety seemed like the reasonable, right thing to do at the time, something deeply instinctual inside her. Others, however...
"No, they wouldn't have," he replied grimly. He brushed off his vest and stepped over the fallen statue. It became a barrier between them, which Emma was sure was exactly what he wanted. Rumpel seemed to have a problem with being close or vulnerable to anyone.
"You're welcome," she said coolly. He sighed.
"Thank you...for making the statue fall in the first place. Just so you know, I could have easily avoided danger by stopping that statue with my magic. You should try it sometime," he said with a renewed flourish of pride. Emma curled her fingers, struggling to ignore the itch of magic that started ever since she first used magic in Wonderland. Rumpel had awakened something inside her and she could not put it back to sleep again.
"Good. Then next time I won't have to worry." For protection, she slid that sword from the statue's grasp and marched on down the hall, her walls as tall as the other statues that stood armed in the shadows. That was what she got for helping someone like Rumpelstiltskin. Sass and ingratitude.
"Oh, you were worried about me?" He called out. Emma only glared over her shoulder and gave the sword another menacing swish through the air. When she was gone, Rumpel grinned devilishly, his fingers tented beneath his chin. "She's so worried about me."
...
Rumpel returned to Regina's room to search for clues of the hat's whereabouts. It was here somewhere-Regina would have preferred to keep it close, just in case. One of the many trophies of her victims.
Emma had already poked through the wardrobe, but he checked it again, picking apart and shaking down every piece of fabric. He even knocked his knuckles against the wood in the back, in case she had a secret panel back there. It was unlikely that Regina could fit a gigantic, awkward hat box in the wardrobe and he didn't see a top hat among her accessories. The vanity table was covered with assorted creams, powders, combs, and tints, but no hat. The bed was empty and cold, even when he pulled back the sheets and the pillows. He pivoted in the middle of the room, lost and confused, and scratched his head.
If I were Regina, which gladly I'm not, where might I store a magical hat?
His eyes were drawn to the fireplace. There were times when Regina resembled her mother, but how strong was that connection? He wondered.
Rumpel ran his fingers across the fireplace, up and down and all over, searching for any hidden buttons or switches. His fingers traced the sides, looking for any cracks that would suggest a hidden room. He stomped his feet over the stone floor in front of the fireplace. When he stepped on one just right, it pushed deeper into the ground and slid away from his foot. There was a wide space where the stone had been.
Inside the hole was the mystical top hat, handmade by Jefferson so long ago. Gently he lifted it out and the stone slid easily back into place, perfectly concealing any suspicious space underneath.
I knew it, he thought. Grinning gleefully, he blew the dust off the brim and considered this a victory. Perhaps he would even get to share a proper drink with Emma after all of this was over. Oh, Regina. So predictable sometimes. You truly were your mother's daughter. Cora used to hide her precious hearts under the floors, too. It was a wonder the sound of their beating did not drive her mad with guilt.
"Is that really all you're after?" The annoying genie in the mirror spoke again. What did it take to make it stop buzzing in his ear? A sledgehammer? "That other thief always takes twice as much. And he claims he only takes what he needs. Does anyone buy that excuse? Mark my words: he'll walk out of here again with another sack over his shoulder."
A spark of recognition ignited in Rumpel's brain. Frankenstein might have mentioned that fellow before or was it Jefferson? The memory was cloudy. Hard to tell when he mastered the habit of tuning them out all the time.
"Big man, red suit, makes a living out of breaking into houses at night?" How could someone be so praised when he was committing a crime? If he ever tried that, his head would be resting beneath the guillotine in no time. No one ever applauded him when he popped up unannounced and certainly not with a plate of cookies.
The genie rolled his eyes.
"No. I have no idea who you're talking about. Try black leather and an impressive bow strapped to his back." Rumpel tilted his head. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and his blood quickened. That sounded like a hunter or assassin, but what would they be doing in Regina's castle? What use did they have to pilfer the place if they were paid through contracts for taking out assigned targets? Hunters certainly held no high regard for the luxury of royals.
"This man...is here? Right now? Show me," he ordered.
"You know, please would go a long way," the mirror shot back. Rumpel raised his hand threateningly and the face in the mirror flinched. After all, it would only take a second to conjure a hammer or any other object useful in smashing glass. "Okay, calm down. Ever heard of a joke? Here, watch."
The man in the mirror shifted and soon disappeared altogether. In his place was some gloomy chamber in Regina's castle, a tower if Rumpel had to guess. Winding stairs, a miserable cramped room with a single window. Barely enough room for one person to reside.
A man in worn black leather sifted through a bed and drawers, stuffing priceless trinkets and gold coins into a sack that he balanced on his shoulder. A bow hung from his back along with a quiver full of fresh arrows. When he finally turned around, Rumpel got a look at his face. Rage instantly shook along every nerve in his body, even making his teeth grind together, and he could not hold back from driving his fist into the smooth surface of the mirror, shattering it to pieces.
The genie would live, but he would be forced to find a new looking glass. Rumpel brushed some of the shards and dust from his cloak.
That familiar face was seared into his mind, his fist quivering with fury.
"I hate that guy," he growled. The hat was tucked under his arm, but he suddenly remembered Emma wandering alone in some part of this castle with only a rusty sword to defend herself. It would be so easy to take the hat and run, but he swore he would not break his promise of protection twice. Besides, he wasn't afraid of this man like he had been wary of Cora.
With the hat in his possession, Rumpel hurried out of Regina's room to find the princess.
...
Emma cast the sword in front of her as she ventured away from Regina's room and Rumpel's sworn protection. It felt surprisingly good having a sword in her hand. The blade was steady and debilitating, even though it had been sheathed in the darkness too long to gleam.
All too soon, she reached the last door in the opposite wing of the castle. Most of the rooms were stripped bare by thieves. Now those rooms were reserved for broken mirrors, cold beds without blankets or guests to warm them, and the occasional rat squeaking somewhere in the corners. It reminded her of Rumpel's castle, so lonely and hollow. Except Rumpel's castle was not caked in so much dust.
She took a set of winding stairs to a tower. There was a quiet cell at the very top, with no soldier left to guard its prisoner. The heavy door was already halfway open, but she edged it open with her shoulder.
Something terrible happened here, she thought with a feeling of alarm when she stepped inside the cell. Something terribly cruel. It wasn't just the draft that gave her goosebumps.
The cell was hardly the size of a broom closet and much too dark for human eyes. It took several moments for her sight to adjust to the shadows, but when it did, she wished she was blind again. This was a place of misery, torture, and death. There were crude chains attached to the gray wall, spiraling over the rumpled sheets of that thin bed like two long black snakes, their clasps open to ensnare the next victim. Thick, oppressive chains that no one could hope to break or escape.
Her eyes adjusted a little more to the moonlight shimmering through the narrow window and that was when she noticed the scratches.
Scratches on the walls. Dozens of them, hundreds of them, crookedly and faintly carved with someone's nails, it seemed. There was nothing else they could have used for a tool. There had to be at least three hundred tallies. Someone was counting off the days of their imprisonment. The question was...did they only stay for merely...she counted silently...a year? Or did they give up hope after that? What if they had died by Regina's command? Did anyone even remember the poor souls that had been trapped here in the darkness?
She felt eyes on her back. A natural impulse made her listen closely, her ears straining to catch the slightest sound, and she detected a footfall at the door. At first she assumed it was Rumpel, sneaking up on her for a good scare. The twisted imp. It would be something he would do, just so he could giggle like a dying lamb. No one else was in the castle with them.
Or so she thought.
"Having fun?" She called out to him without bothering to turn around. The steps paused. "Did you find it yet?" The hat wasn't in this pitiful cell as far as she could tell.
The steps started up again, this time much swifter, and a hand covered her mouth. Her body was restrained against another person, a man taller and stronger than her. The hand covering her mouth was gloved and all she could taste was sweat and leather. Why would Rumpel wear gloves now? Or was this part of the act?
No, this wasn't Rumpel.
For one thing, Rumpel wasn't much taller than she was.
She swung the sword up, but he wrestled it from her hand. It clattered somewhere on the floor, though she could not focus enough to find it. She was too busy trying to turn her head to see even a fraction of her attacker's face. It was impossible when he held her so firmly against his chest. She screamed, but it was muffled by the gloved hand.
Suddenly every muscle in her body became paralyzed as she felt warm breath, hot as a wolf's, on the lobe of her ear.
"My sincerest apologies, milady, but it's for your own good."
...