Chapter 21

Astrid could sense Leroy's tension when he met her at Ashley Herman's daycare after work. "Let's get a coffee," he said, and though he was smiling, there was no disguising the strain behind it.

"Uh… sure, Leroy," Astrid said, falling into step beside him. She tried not to feel nervous, but one of her guilty pleasures at the convent had been watching romantic comedies on late-night TV. (She'd had a TV, but had been expected to restrict her viewing to the news and public television offerings, hence the guilt factor.) Leroy had something to tell her and it wasn't good. She swallowed hard and wondered whether, after they'd finally found one another again, she was about to lose him.

He was going to break up with her. Oh, he'd be gentle and apologetic about it, tell her that she wasn't the problem, but that it just couldn't work. That Bossy and Blue had actually been right and that dwarves couldn't love. That…

"Astrid? This okay, here?"

She blinked. He'd stopped in front of the same diner she'd been in the morning Belle had found her. Her heart plummeted. She liked this place. She didn't want to get dumped in it! Well, she didn't want to get dumped at all, of course. But… But she found herself nodding. If he was going to do it, then no point putting it off. Granny's strawberry milkshakes were nearly as good. She could always go back there. "It's fine," she nodded.

Leroy led her, not to the counter, but to a booth and waited for a server to bring them each a menu, before he leaned across the table and took her hands in his.

"I-I went to see Dr. Hopper today," he said in a voice that carried no further than her ears.

Astrid pressed her lips together. "You did?" she managed.

"Yeah. About what we talked about the other night."

His hands were tight around hers and starting to sweat, but she squeezed back as best she could. "And?"

"And," Leroy sighed. "And it turns out, I'm not an alcoholic. But," he continued, even as Astrid's lips began curving upwards, "but that doesn't mean everything's okay."

"It-it doesn't?" Astrid echoed, wondering now where this was going.

Leroy shook his head. "He asked me a bunch of questions. Stuff about how often I drink and how I feel when I'm not drinking and whether it's been hurting my work and…" He took another breath. "Well, after I got done answering them, he told me I probably have got a problem with alcohol. Now, he did say it was mild," he added quickly, "but that it's still a bit of an issue. So, he wants me to keep seeing him."

He watched her carefully for a moment, trying to gauge her reaction. Then he blinked. "Sister? I-I know it's not terrible news, but why are you smiling that much?"

At least he hadn't yet noticed that her eyes were watering. She blinked rapidly. "I-I thought you brought me here to br-break up with me!" she managed with a ragged laugh. "You seemed so serious that… that…"

Leroy blinked again. And then, he got up from the table and came around to her side of the booth, slid next to her, and wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. "How could you think that?" he asked incredulously. "These last eleven days have been better than any I can remember since I hatched. And now that the curse is broken and I've got my memories back, that's saying a lot. No, I don't want to break up with you. But I don't know if I'm going to be everything you want me to be for the next little while."

"I just want you to be the best person you can be!" Astrid exclaimed.

"That's what I want, too," Leroy nodded fervently. "But until I get there, while I work on this, I think things might get a little intense. Could be some storms ahead."

"We'll weather them," Astrid said. "Together."

Leroy clasped her left hand in his and squeezed. "Together," he repeated.

"He's with them," Ursula snapped, entering the farmhouse with a sour expression on her face.

Lily and Cruella looked up from the TV. Lily muted the volume, as Cruella asked, "Are you quite sure, dahling?"

Ursula hesitated. "Mostly. It's just barely possible that he's got his own game and he's happy enough to sit back and watch us and the Dark One have a go at each other. But I don't think so. The captain may play his cards close to his chest, but he usually likes flashing a trump or two. So either he's gotten very cagey—"

"You met him over a century ago," Cruella pointed out. "He couldn't have lasted this long without becoming a little more devious over time."

"True," Ursula acknowledged. She sighed. "That's the trouble with trying to be sneaky. You start assuming everyone else is, too. Maybe you're right. Well."

"Isn't there some spell you could use to know if he's lying?" Lily asked.

Ursula gave her a look that was midway between annoyance and approval. "There's one," she admitted. "It's a potion that works much like truth serum; it makes its drinker talkative and less able to hold things back. It doesn't make lying impossible, mind you; just a good deal harder."

"Can you make it?" Lily asked. "I mean, it sounds like something useful."

Ursula considered. "I suppose I could," she said reluctantly. "I know the recipe. A couple of the ingredients are only found in Neverland, but I can cross realms easily enough."

"So…?"

"So, all magic comes with a price and concocting that potion is going to take a lot out of me, especially the way I've been tossing glamor spells and concealment spells about like they were cheap as sand and clamshells. It's not just a question of stirring a few ingredients in a pot; that's simple enough. But I'll have to infuse it with a bit of my own power in order to get it to work. As low as my reserves are, I don't think I'll be able to brew up more than a single dose, and even that will drain me for a few days. So, as much as I'm enjoying wrapping the pirate about my suction cup—"

"Uh… Bad mental image," Lily muttered with a disgusted look.

Ursula smirked. "Pinned and wriggling on a rack any better?"

"Not really."

"Tough tilapia." Her lips twitched when Cruella giggled. "As I was saying, watching Hook squirm may give me a warm fuzzy feeling. It looks to me as though he's been trying to escape his past and I was kind of enjoying the idea of helping it catch up with him. All the same, when push comes to shovelnose? Hook's not worth what that potion would cost me."

Lily hesitated. "I think I might know somebody who is," she ventured. "If we can figure out how to get him to drink it…"

"You're pretty quiet," Emma said, as she watched Killian attacking his fish and chips at lunch the next day. "Everything okay?"

Killian finished what was in his mouth, chewing slowly and carefully as he tried to find the right words. "I suppose," he said with a pained smile, "I've been thinking on my past. For all I've tried to put the man I was behind me, at times, he does seem to loom ahead, blocking my path."

Emma sighed. "I guess I know what that's like," she admitted. "I think I've gotten a little better about letting my walls down, but opening up is still… hard sometimes." She smiled. "You make it easier."

His answering smile was warmer than it had been and the breath he exhaled sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "Perhaps, that's part of the reason we're so compatible, love. We've each been shaped by our pasts and we're both trying to break free of those molds."

"Yeah. So, is this the kind of thing that might be easier to talk about? I can be a pretty good listener."

Killian nodded. "Aye, that you can, love. But I fear it might take more time to discuss than either of us has at present." He looked away diffidently. "Later, perhaps?"

Emma nodded. "Sure. Just name the time."

Once I've managed to ensure that the threat posed by the sea witch has been neutralized, Emma, I promise you I'll tell all. But until then, I dare not risk it. And should her insinuations prove true, if Rumpelstiltskin is yet bent on settling our old score, then regrettably, telling you anything at this juncture would be unwise. You trust him far too much now. Perhaps enough to warn him of my suspicions. No, for now, I'll play my hand close and hope for a time when I can freely reveal its cards.

Aloud, he said only, "I promise you, love, I shall when I'm able."

Evidently, keeping secrets wasn't enough to set off Emma's superpower, for she only smiled, clasped his hand, and leaned in for a kiss.

As he brought his lips to hers, he wished he could trust her enough to tell her all he wanted to right now, at this very moment. But prudence—a much more positive term than cowardice, he reflected—won out.

Belle was reading in the living room when she heard Rumple's footsteps on the cellar's wooden steps. She set aside her book as the door opened and he emerged, a cork-stoppered glass phial clutched tightly in the hand not gripping his cane.

"Is that…?" she breathed, her eyes hopeful.

"The potion," Rumple nodded.

"And… and it'll work? I mean," she added hastily, "is it something you can test?"

Rumple smiled approvingly. "Well, it wouldn't be as effective on you or me; it's meant for young children, after all. But the fragrance is right; the color is right; and you and I both double-checked the measures earlier. At any rate, none of the ingredients are toxic. At worst, I've brewed up a placebo that tastes marginally better than most such draughts."

"Marginally?" Belle repeated.

"It's medicine, Belle," Rumple pointed out. "As much as it's meant to be palatable enough for a recipient who, perhaps, might not be old enough to understand the necessity of ingesting such a tonic, no amount of flavoring can eradicate the bitterness of some of the components." He shook his head. "It can't be helped. I even consulted Tinker Bell's volume to see whether it had any suggestions."

"And?"

Rumple sighed. "It advised adding a spoonful of sugar. To a brew that's already more than one quarter treacle." He shook his head. "I suppose it's to be expected when consulting a book of spells penned by a race that considers blackberry nectar a basic dietary staple."

Belle laughed. "Astrid prefers strawberry milkshakes, actually."

Rumple considered. "I suppose there's some small saving grace in that. Perhaps."

Belle smiled at that. "I guess I'd best head upstairs. I need to be up early for kickboxing." She took a breath. "Rumple… would you like to come with me?"

He blinked. "To the gym?"

Belle sighed. "You've seen me practice here. And-and I know I'm not very good yet, but I thought you might want to watch me, well, try to keep step with the rest of the class. The lesson's at nine, but I know that the shop opens later on Saturday."

"An hour later," Rumple nodded. "But if I were to accompany you, I still wouldn't be back in time to…" He paused, seeing disappointment flit across Belle's face to be replaced a moment later by an understanding nod. This wasn't right. Clearly, these lessons were important to Belle and she was trying to share them with him. As he'd been willing to share such magic as remained to him with her. When he looked at matters in that light, how could he not accompany her? And yet, he had certain responsibilities.

But he also had an assistant who had promised to come in early tomorrow.

He frowned for a moment as he considered his options. Then he smiled. "Well. I suppose I can have Henry open the shop in my stead. I meant to work him a bit harder than usual, seeing as he's to have the afternoon off…"

"Is he?" Belle asked.

Rumple shrugged. "Some school play he wants to rehearse with his friends," he explained, trying to sound casual about it. "I asked if I might see the scenes after they'd polished them, though I suppose I'll only have the opportunity if his friends are bold enough to step foot in the shop."

Belle smiled sympathetically. "If they don't, it's their loss."

"And if they do," he smiled as inspiration struck, "perhaps they'll be less intimidated if you're present as well?"

Belle's answering smile made his heart leap, and he quickly pulled out his phone to text Henry about the change of plans. Once he had, he murmured, "I suppose I ought to ask Emma to supervise as well. As remarkable a young man as our grandson is, the shop tends to draw in all manner of people and I'm not certain it's safe for him to hold down the fort on his own.

Belle felt her smile freeze on her face, but she merely nodded. "Of course."

He's opened up to me more in these last weeks than he ever has before, Belle told herself furiously, when she was alone in her room. He's being honest with me, even when he's not sure if it's what I want to hear. But I didn't want to hear that!

What was the matter with her anyway? Emma was a friend, both to her and to Rumple. And asking her to be at the shop in case Henry ran into something—or someone—he couldn't handle was far less problematic than the breakfasts they often shared at Granny's, right where anyone could see them.

And yes, Belle knew that was the whole point—that they were meeting publicly to make it plain that they weren't doing anything sordid behind her back. They'd even invited her along. They'd even offered to meet someplace other than Granny's, but Belle knew that as open and above-board as Rumple was trying to be, there were some things that simply felt he couldn't discuss with her, but could with Emma. She had a feeling that if she'd accepted the invitation, it would have been more of an intrusion.

And why shouldn't she intrude? Rumple was her husband, after all! He should be able to discuss anything and everything with her. He…

Her hands formed fists and she ground her knuckles into her temples. She was doing it again! She was making it about her. She wanted to be all Rumple needed. She wanted to be chosen. She didn't want to feel as though there was some rival for his attentions, not his dagger, not his power, and not Emma Swan!

But whether she liked it or not, Rumple needed more than her support. He needed someone who could relate to the loneliness and isolation that had shaped his early years and Belle, for all she'd often felt different from the other noble girls with her love of reading and her yearning for adventure, didn't have the same frame of reference. Rumple hadn't grown up with the love and encouragement of doting parents. He needed someone who had lived on the outskirts, their presence at times resented, at times barely tolerated. It wasn't something Belle would have suspected of the Emma Swan she knew now, but during their time in New York and afterwards, the sheriff had been quite candid about her early life. And those experiences had helped Emma to connect with Rumple in a way that Belle couldn't. Belle might deny and resent it all she liked, but it was the truth.

But it wasn't fair!

And she was being silly. She knew that whatever was between Emma and Rumple was no threat to her marriage. It might even be the opposite. She knew that Rumple probably would have called Emma to accompany Henry tomorrow, even if the two hadn't been meeting regularly. And he'd been completely up front with her about who he was calling and why. And he was coming to the gym to watch her practice tomorrow, not meeting Emma for coffee before opening the shop.

She was being silly and she knew it.

But no matter how clearly she recognized it and how firmly she told herself so, she couldn't completely banish her hurt and resentment.

"It appears to be standing yet," Rumple murmured as he and Belle approached the shop the next day.

"Did you doubt it?" Belle asked with a laugh.

Rumple shook his head. "Of course not. But I've been wrong before. And Henry has gone poking about in the past."

"What, in the shop?"

Rumple shook his head. "Regina's vault. I've heard he almost released an Agraban viper once."

Belle frowned. "Why on earth would Regina keep an—"

"I imagine for the same reason she keeps an undead dragon under the library," Rumple remarked tartly. "Can you think of a safer place?"

"Well, Pandora's box for one," Belle replied.

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "I don't believe she knew I had it at the time. I could suggest it to her, I suppose. Well. Care to come inside?"

Belle shook her head. "I think I'd best open the library. Later?"

Rumple nodded. "I'm not entirely certain what time Henry and his friends will be finished with their practice. Let's say three o'clock for now and I can call you if it's sooner." He smiled at her. "I did enjoy watching what you've been up to," he said warmly.

Belle flushed. "I get so out-of-step with the rest of the class."

"With the three or four individuals who seem to be the most talented," Rumple corrected. "The others seemed to be closer to your level of proficiency, perhaps even slightly beneath it."

Belle shook her head. "I'm trying not to get discouraged, but it's frustrating."

Rumple reached into his coat pocket and removed the stoppered phial he meant to give to Robin Hood when the thief returned. "I quite understand the sentiment," he murmured, giving the bottle a slight shake for emphasis.

Now, Belle did smile. "Thank you," she said. Then she leaned forward and bent her face toward his for a kiss. "Three o'clock or thereabouts, then," she repeated.

As she walked toward the library, she was still beaming.

Once inside the shop, Rumple greeted Emma and Henry and went into the back office to hang up his coat. When he returned to the floor, Emma was already in the process of shrugging into her jacket.

"Guess I'll head over to the sheriff station and see what's doing," she said. "The Apprentice still hasn't given us an update."

Rumple nodded. "The town line is quiet, I take it?"

"Yeah, my folks have the dwarfs watching it. And every day, they're drawing straws to see who gets to take a step over. So far everyone's come back safe and sound."

"Well, that's a relief," Rumple said with a good deal more sincerity than sarcasm.

"Yeah. Of course," Emma rolled her eyes slightly, "my mentioning it probably jinxed something somewhere, and any minute now, Leroy's going to come barreling down Main Street yelling about terrible news."

Rumple made a scoffing sound. "If you should ever choose to make that a field of study, I think you'll learn that jinxes aren't nearly so capricious. Fate on the other hand…"

"Terrific," Emma's groan was mostly exaggerated. "I'll catch you both later."

Once she was gone, Rumple busied himself with arranging a tray of better quality fashion jewelry, while Henry continued cleaning the glass display cases. A few minutes later, the boy gave a small start and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. As he read the message, he exhaled resignedly.

"Trouble?"

Henry shook his head. "I guess we knew it was going to be rough anyway, rehearsing at Cicely's with all those little kids, but she just texted me. One of her sisters has an ear infection."

"Not serious, I hope," Rumple murmured.

Henry shook his head again. "Cis doesn't think so, but her mother says it's the wrong time to have a bunch of other kids coming over." He frowned. "At least, she's still okay to rehearse. If we can find a place, I mean. Nicholas is looking, but he's not allowed to have friends over when his dad's not home and Mr. Tillman's working today. I think Marie's also trying to find a place." He sighed. "If it were warmer, we could go to a park or the woods—"

"I think you'll find that the acoustics would leave something to be desired in the great outdoors," Rumple murmured. He hesitated. "How brave are your friends?"

"Brave?" Henry repeated. "What do you mean?"

Rumple smiled sadly. "Let's not pretend to be unaware of my past reputation. I'm well aware that my name has been used in the Enchanted Forest for many years to frighten young children into model behavior. Rather effectively, I might add," he continued, "though I've always failed to understand why the Dark One would want leave well-behaved, good children alone." He shrugged. "This shop has a basement. It's rather dusty, but you've both the time and the equipment to rectify that problem, if your friends are amenable to practicing there."

Henry blinked. "Well, everyone was okay about showing you the scenes when we got them right," he said. "Hang on; let me ask them," he said, typing quickly into his phone. Then he set it on the counter and picked up the spray bottle of glass cleaner again. A few minutes later, he picked it up to check his messages and broke into a smile.

"Good news?"

"Cicely, Amy, and Nicholas said 'Yes'. Paige is checking with her father. Marie," Henry hesitated. "Well, she says if everyone else is coming, she will too. Still haven't heard from Perry or—" He looked down at his phone again. "Paige can't make it, but she and Cicely don't have a lot of scenes together anyway. Perry's in… Okay!" He met his grandfather's eyes, still smiling. "We've got enough people. We can make this happen."

"Yes," Rumple said, adding a bit of tartness for form's sake. "Provided that the basement can be scoured of dust and cobwebs. You'll probably need to bring a lamp or two down, as well."

Henry nodded. "I'll get to it. Thanks, Grandpa."

"You are quite welcome."

Henry's schoolmates began to arrive slightly over an hour later. Rumple found himself glancing through the slats in the Venetian blinds on the shop windows every few minutes, watching them assemble, somewhat nervously, about the bench across the street.

He had half a mind to find some excuse to go into the back room before they started coming in, but something about Henry's demeanor stayed him. His grandson, he realized with no small measure of astonishment, didn't want or expect him to hide himself away. Still, something made him say, "Perhaps it would be best if you were to greet them yourself."

Henry turned to him then, with the same look on his face that Bae had borne all those centuries ago, when Hordor had accosted them on the road to Longbourne and pretended to guess at Rumple's name.

"I know you, don't I?" Hordor feigned puzzlement, but Rumple saw the gleam in his eye and knew what was coming. This was a cat-and-mouse game, and Rumple knew full well who the cat was this evening. "What was your name? Hm? Spindleshanks? Threadwhistle? Hobblefoot?" He forced himself to hold his tongue. He was no stranger to mockery or humiliation and he could endure both, so long as he and Bae could stay together even a little longer. He knew how to deal with the nobility. One cringed and groveled and let them enjoy their power, spoke as little as possible, and did nothing to provoke them. And if Bae followed his lead, then—

"His name's Rumpelstiltskin!"

Even as he tried to shush his boy, his heart swelled. He might be shunned and hated by the entire village, if not the district, but Bae still wasn't ashamed of him, still didn't see any reason why he ought to be. And though Rumple knew that the day was coming when that would all change, right now, he couldn't still the outpouring of love that suffused him, even as he hoped that Hordor would overlook his son's defiance.

"I want you to meet them," Henry said firmly.

"I don't…"

Henry came around to Rumple's side of the counter and gave him a smile that was slightly teasing, but bore no hint of mockery. "They're probably just about as nervous about meeting you, you know."

"I'm hardly nervous," Rumple lied. "But if your friends are, well then, I'd say that's all the more reason to spare them the ordeal."

"It's not an ordeal," Henry maintained. "It's your shop. You're my grandfather. My friends are here because you okayed it and I think you should—"

The bell over the door jangled then and Henry broke off from what he was saying, slid his hand into Rumple's and stood beside him, as a small knot of children stepped inside with varying degrees of bravado and trepidation. Rumple pressed his lips together, gave Henry's hand a squeeze and nodded.

Then he stood there, smiling in what he hoped was a friendly fashion as Henry made the introductions. So, this was the Zimmer boy, stooping at the back and trying to avoid holding eye contact for long. Rumple had seen him on the street from time to time, but never spoken with him. The plain girl with the mischievous glint her eyes, walking forthrightly toward the counter, one hand extended boldly toward him, that would be Amy—Amethyst, if he recalled correctly. The young man with the equally open face, only slightly more reticent must be Peregrine, who preferred to be addressed as Perry.

He'd been, it must be owned, more than a little curious about the girl of whom Henry had spoken most, all the while insisting that she was 'just a friend'. Physically, she appeared to be strong and sturdy for her age; like many young girls in the villages where he'd lived, no stranger to hard work and much of it physical. Unlike the boisterous Amy, her smile was demure. "And who's this?" he asked softly, his eye falling on the small girl who looked to be a year or so younger than Roland, who clung tightly to Cicely's hand. "Are you in the play, as well?"

The child giggled. "No!" she exclaimed. Then, she attempted to dart behind her Cecily's skirt, not quite managing to pull her hand free in the process.

Cecily sighed. "This is my younger sister, Aggie, sir."

"Tagalong!" a muffled voice protested from behind the skirt.

Cecily nodded. "Well, it's Agatha really, sir, but ever since she could walk, she's always wanted to go where we older kids—that is, me and my brothers and sisters—were. Tagging along, you know."

"Aggie-Taggie-Tagalong! Aggie-Taggie-Tagalong!" came the chant from behind the skirt amid more giggles, and Cecily's cheeks slowly flushed dark pink. "Yes," she mumbled. "We call her that sometimes. It's really Agatha, though. And well, when she found out that was going out today, she wanted to come and Mama said I should bring her, so…" She winced. "I'll keep an eye on her, really I will. She won't get into any trouble, I promise!"

Rumple nodded and smiled in what he hoped was a friendly fashion. "I don't doubt you," he assured her. "Well. Don't let me keep you from the task at hand. Henry will show you where you can rehearse." He frowned. "I'm afraid that the ceiling supports may be a bit rough; I can't vouch for their being free from splinters."

"We'll be careful, sir," Cecily said. She ducked her head slightly. "Our hut in Nottingham was much the same and we all learned young not to get stuck."

She ended her sentence with a slight curtsey, one that any well-brought-up child might have given to a respectable adult back in the land of their birth. In response, he inclined his head toward her with an approving smile "I don't doubt it. Well then. Off you go, the lot of you. I mean to order supper for six o'clock or thereabouts," he added. "So if you'll think on what you want from Granny's diner, I'll add your requests to mine when the time comes."

The girl that Henry had introduced as 'Marie' blinked. "For all of us, sir?" she asked. "I-if I'd known, I could have asked my papa for money. C-can I bring it tomorrow?"

Rumple shook his head. "This time," he assured her, "it's my treat." He hesitated. "If you should choose to make a habit of these get-togethers, I suppose we can assess the arrangement at a later date, hmm?"

The response was an excited babble of thanks, as they headed for the cellar steps.

"Your grandpa's nice," Rumple heard Amy say, as the door started to swing shut.

Before it finished its arc, he heard Henry respond, "Yeah, he is."

"It could work," Ursula said abruptly, startling Lily out of her book.

The irritation in the younger woman's eyes subsided almost at once. "The potion? You'll do it?" When she'd outlined her idea earlier, Ursula had been noncommittal, claiming that the idea was too half-baked to be worth consideration. When Cruella had challenged her to come up with something better, Ursula had grumbled something about not having an alternative not automatically making Lily's idea a good one. Now, the Sea Witch seemed more conciliatory.

"It could," Ursula repeated. "How do you propose getting it to him?"

Lily gave her a small smile. "Well, going by what we overheard, he's told the others to expect us. Well. Me, anyway. I don't think he knows about you and Cruella."

Ursula nodded. "With you so far. Go on."

"Okay," Lily took a deep breath. "So. They're all sitting there waiting for me to show up. Suppose I seek him out? Knock on his door, tell him I followed his instructions, but that you weren't so keen on coming with me, so I'm alone." She shrugged. "It's not even a lie. You didn't leap at the chance to find Storybrooke, and I will be alone when I show up on his doorstep. At that point, I can probably find some way to slip him the potion. Does he absolutely have to drink it, or could it be some sort of contact thing? Like, I mean, could I shake his hand if I'm wearing a glove to do it and the potion's smeared on it?"

Ursula's eyebrows shot up, but she shook her head almost at once. "It's got to be ingested," she said. "You can slip it into his coffee, or stir it into his porridge, but it's got to be taken orally."

"What if I baked it into a cake?"

"Well," Ursula said slowly, "heating it won't destroy it, but how could you be sure that he'll eat it?"

"I was thinking," Lily said, "If I made a layer cake, I could put the potion into one of the layers. Then when I suggest we sit down and talk about where things go from here… maybe over some refreshments, so long as I know which layer not to eat, I can even take the first bite. Sort of like the Grimm version of Snow White with all the poison in the red side of the apple."

"You know it didn't happen exactly that way in real life," Ursula warned.

"But it could have. Could have worked, I mean."

"Maybe," Ursula said. "So far, I'm with you. But have you given any thought to what we do with the old man, once we've learned all we can from him? I suppose we could kill him…"

"No," Lily shook her head. "I don't really have a beef with him. He's the guy who told me who I was and what was done to me. Even if he seems to be working with Snow White and company now, I don't really hate him enough to kill him. I just want him… out of the way."

"Well, there's the cage in the cellar," Ursula said. "But there doesn't seem to be any kind of magical lock on it. We can keep his hands tied, so he won't be able to cast a spell to escape, but if he should somehow work himself loose, he'll not only be able to break free; he'll lead the heroes right to us."

A throat cleared behind them and they turned to see Cruella, looking uncharacteristically nervous, standing in the kitchen doorway. She was holding a pair of diamond drop earrings in her hand as she took a breath. "You know," she said, with no hint of her usual blasé attitude, "I think I might have just the thing…"