Belle was going through Rumplestiltskin's notes on the hat once again, trying to decipher the old texts. Unfortunately, Rumplestiltskin had copied down most of what he'd found on it in whatever original language the text happened to be. There were several, small snippets of information he had found here and there. Had the sorcerer who made the hat used all these languages? Or were these bits and pieces gathered from other wizards and scholars over the ages? Or other Dark Ones?

Will, meanwhile, had volunteered to put away the bottles Professor Longneaux had brought, so long as Belle ate the food Granny had sent. Belle took a sip of her tea and pushed a bit of food around with her fork. Some of the writing seemed to be pictographic, some of it seemed to be phonetic, but it used the same symbols for both. Unless it didn't. Unless everything she'd translated so far was wrong and useless.

She shoved the food and the book away, frustrated. She wasn't even sure the text was all in the same language. There were times it didn't seem to be. Even the rules on the pictographs seemed to change.

Maybe the writing was nothing more than Rumplestiltskin's idea of a joke, bits and pieces cobbled together from a dozen other writings while the real spells were hidden somewhere else. Maybe she was wasting her time.

The bell rang, and she looked up to see Emma coming in. "Hey, Belle, how's it going?" the sheriff asked. "Having any luck? Killian said he thought you were having trouble."

Meaning Killian sent the sheriff over to make sure Belle stayed on task, Belle thought. Then she chided herself. Jones wanted this done as badly as she did. Her husband had forced Jones to trap the fairies, among other innocents. He'd almost trapped Emma. She was Henry's mother, and he'd been willing to do that to her.

Had Belle ever known him at all?

"Not really," Belle said. "At least, I have some new potion ingredients. I suppose Jones told you how Professor Longneaux brought them over?"

"What?" Emma said. "No, I hadn't heard. Uh . . . what kind of ingredients?"

Belle recognized that hesitation. It meant, How gross are these ingredients? And, Am I going to have to arrest somebody if I know too much about it?

Did Emma really think Belle would have something like that here? Belle thought of all the eyes that seemed to be always following her, judging. She thought of the whispers, the ones she wasn't supposed to overhear and the ones she was. Did Emma think Belle had been helping Rumple? That she had been in on his plan to kill Jones, only to turn on him at the last minute? Why? It didn't make any sense.

Belle had used Rumple's dagger against him, exiling him from everything he knew and loved. None of this made any sense.

"Plants," Belle said. "She's a botany professor. She has samples and records on everything growing around Storybrooke. You didn't know about her?"

"No, should I?"

When Jones had found her at Granny's, he'd talked about 'the rest of us' solving the town's problems. It had sounded to Belle as if the whole, royal family had been waiting by the door.

Will said he just liked to boss people around—to boss her around. Because she'd saved him. Because she'd seen him at his weakest, and he couldn't forgive that.

"It doesn't matter," Belle said. "It's just that she's been a great help. Was there something I could do for you?"

"No, not really. I just—look, I thought maybe you should know. Keith got arrested this morning. He may have committed a burglary. He was found passed out in the alley behind your shop. I know you like him, but it's possible he may have broken in here or in one of the other stores. I'm checking if anyone has any stock missing. It could be especially bad if he got anything from your place."

"I . . . no," Belle said. "Not that I've noticed. What—what did he say he'd been doing?"

"He hasn't," Emma said. "Not yet. He, uh, he was pretty drunk when I took him in." The sheriff looked uncomfortable. Of course, she thought Belle liked Keith Notting, as unbelievable as that was."

Will stepped over. "Oh, yeah, that's the Sheriff of Snottingham for you. The man never could hold his liquor."

Emma's eyes widened. She either hadn't noticed Will or had just assumed he was a nameless customer wandering around. "What are you doing here?"

Will held up a container of stinging-nettles. "Community service. What's it look like? I was caught ripping up library books, remember?"

"He's helping me stock the materials Professor Longneaux brought over," Belle said.

"Seriously? And you trust him not to steal you blind while he's doing it?"

"Hey!" Will objected. "I wouldn't rob this place. What do you think I am?"

"A thief. Remember? You told me that yourself the first time I met you."

"See? Only an honest man would have admitted that, right? So, you know you can trust me."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. . . ."

"Oh, that hurts, Sheriff. That really hurts. Man's inhumanity to man, that's what this is."

"No, inhumanity is when I lock you in jail again. Did you have anything to do with Notting's break-in last night?"

"First, I work alone. Second, we'll get a postcard from Ice Queen Ingrid about how fun it is making her new home in Hell freeze over before I would ever work with Snotty—sorry, Keith Notting. You've got your bloody super power. Tell me if I'm telling the truth or not."

Belle could see Will had scored a point. She could also see Emma didn't want to concede it, so the sheriff changed the subject instead. "Why do you keep calling him that? Snotty, Snottingham? Did you know him back in the Enchanted Forest?"

It was Will's turn to roll his eyes. "Of course, I knew him. I told you I was with the Merry Men, didn't I? I know the secret handshake and everything. Not that it's that secret. It's just that they cut your hand when you join. Great way to say hello to a bloke. Keith was the bloody Sheriff of Nottingham. You two ought to sit down and discuss locking up people who haven't done anything. Bet you'd be like soul mates or something."

"The sheriff of Nottingham?" Emma said. "Wait—was he one of the people who are like the stories? Or one of the ones who aren't? I mean, was he like Hansel and Gretel almost getting eaten by a witch or was he more like Red Riding Hood being the Big Bad Wolf?"

"Huh? I thought that was Doctor Who. Or Rose Taylor."

"He was like the stories," Belle said. "Or he was when I met him back there."

"Huh? I thought you liked him?"

All the exhaustion and numbness inside of Belle started to boil over. No, I can't lose my temper, she told herself. Emma would just think she'd gotten hysterical. Belle remembered when she'd lost her memory and been put back in the hospital. She'd seen magic and hadn't understood what it was. People thought it was easier to drug her into sleep rather than find a way to answer her questions.

People, she thought. Not Rumple. Rumple had tried to tell her, had tried to explain it to her. She'd been afraid at first. But, in the end, she'd known she trusted him—trusted him more than the strangers who said they were her friends who stood by while a nurse put a needle in her arm when she accused them of lying to her.

Rumple had told her the truth. She thought he would always tell her the truth, the one person in this town she could trust not to lie to her.

That's why it had cut so deep when he had. Ruby, Emma, even her father, they'd all lied to her. They said it was for her own good, but their real reason was that it was so much easier than telling her the truth. He'd never done that to her.

Until he had.

"I don't like him," Belle grated. "Jones likes him. You'll have to ask him why."

"Huh? But—"

"Do you want to know why I'm sure nothing was stolen from this shop last night, Emma? Because—" No, she couldn't tell Emma what Keith had done. Hadn't done. Had almost—No, she couldn't say it. Wouldn't think about it. But, there was something she could say that maybe Emma would understand. "I—I saw him." There. That was safe to say. Wasn't it? "Outside the store. I was tired and I didn't want to—to—I didn't want to deal with him. And there was work to do here. I stayed. I fell asleep in the backroom. I would have noticed Keith trying to break in."

Emma looked at her uncertainly, but nothing Belle had said was a lie. Her sixth sense or whatever it was would be telling her Belle had spoken the truth. She just didn't want to believe it.

"Killian says he's a good guy," Emma said unsurely. "Maybe he's changed? A lot of people have since the curse."

Will gave a snorting laugh through his nose. "Oh, paper-masks, is that what you're thinking?"

Emma was at sea again. "Paper-masks?"

"It's a story from our world," Belle said. "There was a man, a mighty warrior, who fell in love with a beautiful maiden. But, he was a man who had nurtured hate and anger all his life, and the marks of it were written all over his face."

"Like Conan the Barbarian," Will said, trying to be helpful. "Or maybe the Terminator. Arnold Schwarzenegger on a really bad day."

"So, he went to a mask-maker, the best one in all our world. He made him a mask that looked like a real face. Every line in it looked kind and gentle. But, the mask maker warned him. It was made out of paper so thin and delicate that if he ever let anger or rage show on his face, it would break the mask and the truth would be known.

"The warrior wore the mask and won the maiden's heart. For forty years, he was patient and kind. Then, his wife died. He gave way to terrible grief and pain at his loss. The mask crumbled away. He was terrified. He thought his own children and family wouldn't recognize him. But, when he looked in the mirror, he saw that, after forty years, his face had become the mask."

"Yeah," Will said. "There's a Twilight Zone episode in this world that tells almost the same story. Except, those were bad masks. Unless it was Outer Limits. No, the Outer Limits was an alien. Anyhow, Snotty never watched those. And he's still a drunk and a jerk."

Emma was still giving Will suspicious looks when she left to check on the other stores, but Belle supposed she was trying to be helpful. All the same, she heaved a sigh of relief when the sheriff left.

"She's trying," Will said. "And she can tell when people are telling the truth. If you told her what Snotty did—"

"No," Belle said. "Emma's power doesn't always work. Especially when she doesn't want to believe it." Magic and belief, they went hand in hand with each other. Sometimes, Belle wondered if the World Without Magic was the way it was because it had no magic—or if it was this way because people believed it had no magic. And that made it true.

"Why wouldn't she want to believe it?"

"You saw her. She can't believe Jones was that wrong about one of his friends."

Will gave another snort. "Oh, I don't think he was wrong. I think he knows exactly what his friend is like."

Belle nodded soberly. "Yes. And I know what it's like when you need to believe the person you love isn't—isn't like that."

"Oh," Will said. He looked away. "Yeah. I get that." He looked over at the counter and Belle's stacks of books and notes. "What is that you're working on, anyway?"

"The spell for the magic hat," Belle said. "I'm trying to free the fairies. But, I can't understand more than one world in ten—and I'm not sure I have those right. I'm making some progress," she added. "When I started, it was barely one word in twenty. But, no one in Storybrooke even knows these languages. I only have Rumple's notes, and it's so hard. . . ."

Will walked over to the counter while she was talking. "You ever see Alien vs Predator?" he asked.

"Did I ever see what?"

"Alien vs Predator. It's a great movie. Uh, except just about everybody dies. But, they go down fighting Aliens and Predators. It's great."

"Will. . . ."

"But, see, there are these hieroglyphics or something that have all this weird writing. It's supposed to be a mix of Egyptian and Mayan and Chinese and stuff. Some of these are like that. And Stargate. Stargate had stuff that was supposed to be like Egyptian writing. Sort of. It took their professor guy maybe a quarter of the movie to figure it out."

"You—you think this looks like writing from this world?"

"Really old stuff, yeah."

Belle stared at her books. Could it really be this simple? "How?" she breathed. "How could someone from this world know ancient language from our world?"

Will shrugged. "How do people from this world know stories about people in our world? You really think dreaming written notes is harder than getting the right names for seven dwarves you've never met?"

"But—but—it's incredible—how—"

"OK, fine, maybe we dreamed up their language. That's not the point. The point is maybe somebody in this world can figure this out even if we can't. Just find a professor or something."

"A professor," Belle whispered. It couldn't be this easy. Could it? "But . . . we can't leave Storybrooke. How can we even find one?"

"Internet still works for some things, doesn't it? Try that," Will said. Since Storybrooke had been cut off, some things would cross the town line and some wouldn't. Even words. Even information.

"I tried," Belle said. "I tried to find out what happened to Rumple. Regina's tried to find out about Robin. He said he would call her, if he could. She said she would try to send him more money. It doesn't work."

"But, food gets in," Will said. "Stuff gets delivered the way it's supposed to, and money pops out of accounts to pay for it. Something normal could get through."

"Normal," Belle said. "We're looking for the translation of a spell."

"The sheriff can still get calls from other sheriffs and lawyers and stuff," Will said. "A couple came through while I was locked up. And I know she was checking her email. What about that professor, Longneaux? If the curse told her she knew other professors, maybe she does. Or they think she does. Maybe she can get a message to one of them. It's worth a try, ain't it?"

X

Some days before, Rumplestiltskin had walked down a dark street, reveling in the lack of pain in his leg. It was late, but he wasn't a man for taking risks. Besides, Storybrooke had a larger share of creatures that walked the night than most small towns. Small bits of magic diverted the eyes of anyone who might otherwise see him pass.

Maleficent, meanwhile, growled with impatience. "You promised me my body, Rumplestiltskin," she reminded him.

"And you will have it," he said. "Very soon. But, things must be done in order." He looked at the dilapidated building they were approaching. "There are some things that will make life back in Storybrooke easier for both of us. Once you're alive again, that is. How many times have you been killed in this world? Three? You really must be more careful, dearie."

Maleficent growled again. "And what is it that will keep me from dying a fourth time?"

"A bit of paper," the Dark One said. "Be very careful not to break it."