Once Upon A Curse: 17 Dark Faerie Tales Read online

  Once Upon A Curse

  17 Dark Faerie Tales

  Yasmine Galenorn

  Anthea Sharp

  Alethea Kontis

  Annie Bellet

  Audrey Faye

  Christine Pope

  Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Donna Augustine

  Devon Monk

  C. Gockel

  Jennifer Blackstream

  Danielle Monsch

  Phaedra Weldon

  Alexia Purdy

  Julia Crane

  Sabrina Locke

  Fiddlehead Press

  Contents

  Once Upon A Curse

  Yarrow, Sturdy and Bright - Devon Monk

  Fae Horse - Anthea Sharp

  The Queen of Frost and Darkness - Christine Pope

  Bones - Yasmine Galenorn

  Magic After Midnight - C. Gockel

  Dance with the Devil - Donna Augustine

  No Gift of Words - Annie Bellet

  The Grim Brother - Audrey Faye

  Beauty Inside Beast - Danielle Monsch

  Faescorned - Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Drawn to the Brink (A Painted World Story) - Tara Maya

  The Variance Court - Alexia Purdy

  The Morrigan - Phaedra Weldon

  Alice - Julia Crane

  Still Red - Sabrina Locke

  The Final Straw - Jennifer Blackstream

  The Unicorn Hunter - Alethea Kontis

  Want More Boxed Sets?

  Once Upon A Curse

  17 Dark Faerie Tales

  Seventeen magical stories from NY Times and USA Today bestsellers and award-winning authors that will entice you to the darker side of faerie tales. More Grimm than Disney, in this collection you’ll find twists on Snow White, Hansel & Gretel, Rumplestilstskin, The Snow Queen, Cinderella, The Pied Piper, Alice in Wonderland, and Red Riding Hood, plus new tales paying homage to the old traditions.

  Shadows cannot exist without light, however, and you’ll find enough happily ever afters to lift your spirits in this anthology full of adventure, dark powers, and ultimately the enduring power of true love.

  YARROW, STURDY AND BRIGHT by Devon Monk – Sweet music cannot hide a wicked heart…

  FAE HORSE by Anthea Sharp – Faerie bargains can grant any desire, but be careful what you wish for.

  THE QUEEN OF FROST AND DARKNESS by Christine Pope - Her heart is the only thing colder than a Russian winter….

  BONES by Yasmine Galenorn - Sometimes, your most cherished dream can turn out to be a nightmare.

  MAGIC AFTER MIDNIGHT by C. Gockel – The Wicked Stepmother is about to meet her match…

  DANCE WITH THE DEVIL by Donna Augustine - When the devil makes a deal with a dancer, he gets more than he bargained for.

  NO GIFT OF WORDS by Annie Bellet - Never steal from a witch...

  THE GRIM BROTHER by Audrey Faye – Not all walks in the wood end well…

  BEAUTY INSIDE BEAST by Danielle Monsch - Happily Ever After ain't guaranteed when Once Upon a Time is here.

  FAESCORNED by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson - The Morrigan, Celtic goddess of war and strife, must relive a painful memory that reminds her of what she can never have.

  DRAWN TO THE BRINK by Tara Maya - Sajiana's job is to hunt down monsters brought alive from paintings. She never expected to meet one so handsome... or to need his help.

  THE VARIANCE COURT by Alexia Purdy - Anna, a struggling college student, discovers a mysterious ring that turns her quiet life chaotic when the ring's magic doesn't do what it's told.

  THE MORRIGAN by Phaedra Weldon – A young man discovers he has leprechaun blood – and is wanted by dark faerie forces.

  ALICE by Julia Crane - A twisted tale of Alice and Wonderland. Facing madness and an ominous prophecy, Alice chooses to follow her heart despite knowing her world is about to change forever.

  STILL RED by Sabrina Locke – When the Hunters come, can there be any escape?

  THE FINAL STRAW by Jennifer Blackstream - To banish a gold-spinning demon, first you must guess his name...

  THE UNICORN HUNTER by Alethea Kontis – Only Snow White knows what really happened in the forest…

  Copyright © 2016. All stories are copyright by their respective authors.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this collection are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.

  Yarrow, Sturdy and Bright - Devon Monk

  The town’s bells rang in strange harmony, mourning the last light of dusk and filling Yarrow’s heart with fear.

  Tonight, at the rise of the winter moon, she would go into the woods. Tonight, she would find the tailor’s son and bring him home. Tonight, they would be together again, and there would be no darkness to fear.

  He had promised her, on a summer’s kiss, that he would return in a month. He had held her hand so tightly that the thimble on his finger had pressed a small pattern into her skin.

  He had promised he loved her.

  But it had been a year and more, summer was gone once again, and so too, autumn. The world was covered in snow, trees plucked down to bony limbs by the bitter wind.

  She loved the tailor’s son, his kind golden eyes, his quiet words, his beautiful, graceful hands. Yarrow knew she was not beautiful or graceful or quiet. Rather, she was sturdy and bright and strong, like the flowering weed that bore her name.

  But here, in this trembling moment between day and darkness, she did not feel strong, did not feel brave. Beyond the edge of the forest, with the wild mountain rising at its back, was a twisted magic.

  Something dangerous.

  Something dark.

  Something that had taken the tailor’s son.

  The wild mountain had always made her feel safe, protected. But tonight it was a bitter shadow, warning. Warning her to return to her little house where her mother and old aunties slept. Return to the safe hearth of her grandmother.

  She was done waiting. Done wishing. She was done with endless days without the tailor’s son’s laughter, his voice, his touch. She was done being alone.

  She pulled her grandmother’s red cloak closer around her shoulders and stared at the forest’s edge. In one hand she clutched a lantern, in the other a silver dagger.

  The dagger had been a gift from her grandmother who had watched her with a knowing eye as Yarrow came home from the forest’s edge each night.

  Her grandmother had given her the dagger wrapped in a soldier’s kerchief.

  “This will light the shadows, sweet Yarrow,” she had said, pressing the dagger into Yarrow’s palm. It was warm, as if a fire smoldered within it. “This will burn the heart of the piper.”

  Yarrow had fitted her fingers around the dagger’s black hilt and wondered at how well it was balanced to her. “Was it grandfather’s? Did he carry it in the great battle?”

  Her grandmother’s eyes went distant as the firelight from the hearth brushed her softly in gold. There was more than memory in her eyes. There was steel. “No,” she said. “I did.”

  Yarrow saw then, not an old woman before her but an old warrior, strong beneath the creases and wrinkles of age. Patient, clever, and sad. “We could not stop him then, the piper. Could not stop him f
rom taking them away from us. So many. So many.”

  “What?” Yarrow asked, aching for tales of the great battle she had only heard in whispered snatches. “What did the piper take?”

  “Our children. Every child old enough to crawl. Drawn into the night by his call, his music. And we with our strong arms, our mighty shouts, our clever weapons, could do nothing to stop him, to break his song, to turn our children home.”

  “Did you hunt him?” she asked, her pulse beating too fast. “The forest is not too deep. It is not too dark.”

  “He didn’t take them to the forest, dear Yarrow,” her grandmother said. “He took them to the mountain, and the mountain swallowed them whole.”

  A shiver tripped down Yarrow’s spine. The cozy hut suddenly felt cold.

  And still her grandmother spoke. “The piper is a wicked creature with wicked needs. No matter the gold we threw at his feet, no matter the riches and comforts we gave to him, all he wanted, all he hungered for, was our children’s souls. He promised he would return when the stars fell from the sky and his hunger grew great enough. We have watched. We have waited. All these years.”

  Yarrow held her silence. Held her desperate questions. She did not want the truth stolen away by her grandmother’s regret. She wanted to hear the words no one in the town dared to speak.

  But finally, she could not wait. “Did he return? The piper?”

  Her grandmother shook her head, her snowy hair catching the yellow shadows of firelight. “He never returned. Just as our children never returned. Just as the tailor’s boy will never return.”

  Yarrow felt fear scratch into the spaces between her heartbeats.

  “You must find the tailor’s son.” Her grandmother gripped both of Yarrow’s shoulders with strong, warm hands. “Or he will be lost forever.”

  “Perhaps he is still looking for the ivory key that will unlock the mountain and destroy the piper,” Yarrow said, anxious for the comfort of hope. “Perhaps he hasn’t yet found the piper.”

  “Oh, child,” her grandmother said softly. “I am sure that he did. Otherways, he would be home. Tonight, the stars will fall. Tonight, the piper will slip free of the mountain and feast upon our souls.”

  “No,” Yarrow said. “I will find him. I will stop him.”

  “Then you must promise me three things.”

  Yarrow nodded, caught by the tears that pooled unshed in her grandmother’s eyes. She had never seen her grandmother cry. From the fierce expression on her grandmother’s face, she never would.

  “Take the silver dagger. Carry the copper lantern. Wear a cloak the color of blood. When you find the ivory key, you will find the tailor’s son. He will lead you to the piper so that you can cut out his wicked heart.”

  The old woman rose and drew a folded bolt of rich, thick cloth from the shelf hidden in the corner. This she shook out around Yarrow’s shoulders, a cloak the color of blood.

  “How will I know the piper?” Yarrow asked.

  “By his voice. By the magic within it.”

  “And if he is silent?”

  “There is a mark upon his neck.” Here, she drew one finger beneath her own chin. “Just below his jaw, a jagged scar that leads to his heart.”

  “How do you know?”

  A glint of fire sharpened her eyes. “Because I am the one who scarred him. And you, my child, must be the one who ends him.”

  Her grandmother’s voice echoed in her ears as she stood here, now, at the edge of the forest where no paths could be found. Yarrow ached for the warmth of her grandmother’s house, for the safety of her own room, her own bed.

  The bells had long gone silent, smothered beneath the weight of snow. The swollen yellow moon rolled over the edge of the sky.

  Here, in this dark night, here in this stillness, the moonlight seemed weak, a faint and far-away glow that did not quite touch the land. A light too fragile to break the deep darkness of the forest.

  She patted the crust of bread she had tucked in her pocket, and with a final glance back at the warmth and safety of her town, of her family, of her home, Yarrow walked into the woods.

  The shadows were so still, her own breathing sounded like an ocean, her boots in the snow like sand sifting through waves. The lantern in her hand burned a pocket of light around her, but it was only bright enough to reveal a few steps ahead.

  Soon, she knew she was lost. But she did not stop. Could not stop.

  The shadows drifted near, then dragged away, as if the entire forest were breathing, as if her feet were its heartbeat, as if she were the only thing alive in the world.

  Until above her she heard the faintest of wings and a soft hollow voice called out. “Who walks these woods of silence and darkness?”

  She held the lantern high overhead and saw a beautiful tawny owl with strange eyes the color of snow.

  “I am Yarrow, sturdy and bright, a weed of the field. I am looking for the ivory key.”

  The owl blinked, then tipped its head greatly to one side. “The ivory key is lost, is lost, but if you give me your cape to warm my nest, I will take you to one wiser than I.”

  Yarrow didn’t want to give away her grandmother’s cloak. She didn’t want to break her promise that she would wear it. But she had a sturdy coat beneath the cape, and did not fear the cold.

  She carefully unknotted the ties and the owl flew to her, lifting the cloak away and flying slowly deeper into the woods.

  Yarrow followed, her lantern high. It seemed she had walked swiftly behind the owl for hours before they came upon a small creek that crinkled like hammered pewter.

  There, beside the creek was a raven, black feathers glossy and soft as a summer’s night. Its eyes were the colors of beetle wings.

  “Who stands by this creek of frozen stone?” it asked in a voice like a rusted gate.

  “I am Yarrow, sturdy and bright, a weed of the field. I am looking for the ivory key.”

  The raven strutted away from the edge of the creek, walking a full circle around her before pausing. It tipped its head the other way, black eyes piercing. “The ivory key is lost, is lost, but if you give me your lantern that shines so pure, I will take you to one more clever than I.”

  This too, her grandmother had made her promise to keep. But her eyes had grown used to the darkness, and she didn’t need it. She extended the copper lantern to the raven who launched in a flurry of wings, clutching the lantern in its claws.

  Yarrow ran to follow the swift bird, the glittering yellow light flitting just out of her reach like the fae wisps of old. Her breath came more quickly, her cheeks burned from the cold of night, and still she ran, deeper into the forest.

  Finally they came upon a hollow tree, the roots of which were gnarled and black, covered in tufts of spongy green moss.

  There in the roots sat a rat, fur the color of fog, eyes glinting like wet agate.

  “Who stops at my hollow tree?” the rat asked in a voice like a child’s whistle.

  “I am Yarrow, sturdy and bright, a weed of the field. I am looking for the ivory key.”

  The rat twitched its pink nose, long whiskers shivering. It scampered up to Yarrow’s feet, then lifted on its back legs, one tiny hand softly braced on her boot.

  “The ivory key is lost, is lost, but if you give me the bread in your pocket, I will take you to your heart’s desire.”

  “The ivory key is my heart’s desire.”

  “No,” said the rat. “There is something you desire more.”

  Yarrow wanted to ask if it was the tailor’s son. Wanted to speak his name. But the shadows of the forest leaned in, breathing cold against the back of her neck.

  The silence was listening.

  She gripped the silver dagger tighter, felt the heat of the hilt against her palm. The bread was all the food she had. If she gave it to the rat, she would surely become too hungry and weak to find her way home.

  Still, she drew the bread out of her coat pocket and handed it to the rat.

  “He
re,” said the rat, as it ran up upon a tumble of boulders each covered in thick moss and snow. “Follow me.”

  Yarrow climbed the boulders, her hands soon covered in wet and slick, her boots sliding against the ice that crackled beneath her toes and heels. It was a tall pile of stones, ragged and old, as if the tears of giants had fallen and frozen here at the mountain’s feet.

  At the top of the pile, in front of a small opening, waited the rat.

  “Only in the full winter moon can this door be found,” the rat said, its voice a soft peeping. “The first touch of morning’s light will seal it away for a year full of days.”

  The moon had already traveled the ocean of sky, a baleful blind eye nearing the other horizon. And like glimmering sparks stirred by a heavenly wind, the stars began to fall.

  She had so little time left.

  “Thank you,” she said, as she crouched down. It was dark beyond the opening. Darker than the forest around them.

  The rat patted her face exactly where the tailor’s son’s fingers had last touched her, then scurried away before Yarrow could ask any questions of what, exactly, lay within the mountain.

  She had to find the key. With it, she might find the tailor’s son before the moon was gone and the sun burned the heavens from black to blue.

  She walked into the mountain. It was so dark, she felt as if she were wrapped in a fold of velvet, blinded. Still, she made her way forward, one hand dragging lightly across the cold stone wall, the other holding the dagger close to her chest.

  The stones leaned closer and she had to turn sideways to ease between the walls that crowded in. If she had been wearing her red cloak, it would have caught here and she would have been trapped.