With a Kiss (Twisted Tales) by Stephanie Fowers Read Free Book Online

to help it off my head. I skipped back a couple of steps, and fought them off with a false sense of bravado. “I have to wear it for the . . . uh . . . pictures. It’s really not that bad.”
    “Of course not,” my dad said.
    Mom nodded. “Well, it looks beautiful.”
    My sisters beamed at me reassuringly.
    “Are you adopted?”
    I turned on my heel. So, there he was! Mr. Mellow-No-Matter-What-Happens leaned casually against the stage platform, jutting his hip out in his amused, know-it-all way. Now that we were no longer in the darkness, I could see the logo printed across his black punk shirt: I’m the guy your mom warned you about . Nope, definitely not ethereal. I knew exactly what he was getting at, though. For lack of a better analogy, my family could’ve been faeries, they were so beautiful, and I was . . . well? Me.
    “And why do you say that?” I asked.
    “They’re nice.”
    He got me there, but I wasn’t about to introduce him to my family after insulting me. I waited for them to come to my defense, but they uneasily ignored the argument. As a rule, they didn’t like contention.
    “We’re just concerned. That’s all,” my father said. He treated me to a wink.
    The baby hit me in the head with her swirly toy, and I winced. So did everybody else. Her fat fingers barely fit in the handle. I smiled when I saw them. Such cute fat fingers. I gave a tired laugh. The faery queen must’ve put quite the powerful spell over me.
    The swirly toy was just inches from my eyes and I gave it a good cross-eyed look. The mirror was gone from the face of it, and something else replaced it. It looked like a fuzzy TV screen or dancing ants. I squinted at the toy, and a face shot into view. I sprang back. The toy clattered to the worn, red carpet. My head shot up and I saw my co-conspirator give me an amused look. That jerk had stolen the toy from the baby and threw it.
    “What did you do that for?” I asked.
    “Now now, it wasn’t on purpose,” my mom chided me. No matter how much they spoiled me, they never allowed me to be rude.
    But he had done it on purpose. Not that I blamed him. Why was there a face in the mirror, anyway? I didn’t see who it was, but it was female and terrifying. I peered at the blond under my lashes. “Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?” He shrugged and reached for the toy. The baby whimpered and I leaned down and grabbed it before he could. “Get away from that,” I told him. “It isn’t yours.”
    My family made disapproving sounds, each of them looking startled in their own innocent and gentle ways. My mom managed a stern look, her soft brows floating together like clouds. “Really dear! Give the baby her rattle.”
    I folded the baby’s tiny hand over the handle, giving the blond my coldest shoulder. It just figured Mom would take his side.
     

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Five
 
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.
 
—Alfred Tennyson, Lady of Shalott
     
     
     
    I rushed through the school hallway, fuming. I looked like a complete jerk in front of my family because of that crack head and even though I was used to it, this time it wasn’t my fault. My mother’s keys jangled in my hands. She had decided to go home with Dad while I tried to find the baby’s mother. But where was she? I rushed backstage with my new baby in tow, past a worried Puck, past the techies and scenery painted with pretty forests and bright clouds.
    The hallway to the dressing room was silent besides loud sweeping. I ducked my head, not wanting to talk to anyone. The broom came to an abrupt halt. The band on my head whispered a warning and my stomach lurched when I looked up and saw the school janitor staring down at me. He wore his gray uniform, neatly pressed. I noted his muscular forearms, the large hands holding the broom handle in a killing grip. His