Fairytales for Wilde Girls by Allyse Near Read Free Book Online Page B

her.
    â€˜How come?’
    Mother’s eyes, bruised with sleep, had widened slightly. ‘You know, it could have been any number of things.’
    Beyond the magical man-repelling gate, in the convent gardens, three princes had been waiting to wish good lucks and goodbyes. Of course, this was a one-time-only allowance, given Alejandro’s usual stance on Isola’s non-Nimuean world, but he recognised that she needed someone fairer-sexed to squeeze her clammy hand goodbye.
    Ruslana stood by the fountain, her silver breastplate glinting in the sun and her braided hair roiling down her back.
    A bubble of pink light, Rosekin, hovered at her shoulder; Christobelle’s golden scales glimmered in the water of the fountain, tye-dyed pink at the tail’s fringe.
    â€˜You’ll be fine,’ said Ruslana, bending to tug the pleats in Isola’s plaid skirt straight.
    â€˜Stomp on anyone who’s mean to you!’ squeaked Rosekin. Stomping was her answer to all Big Problems; she had always assumed that anything bothersome could be squished underfoot by such large creatures as humans.
    â€˜Good luck, my darling,’ cooed Christobelle, blowing a kiss inside a bubble out of the fountain. Isola reached out to catch it and it popped wet and lovely in her palm.
    Dramatis Personae
    CHRISTOBELLE: The fourth prince. A beautiful mermaid and possible serial killer obsessed with romance, despite the consequences of her own tragic love story.
    Rosekin flew a loop-de-loop around Isola’s head, and Ruslana gave her school tie a final nervous tug.
    â€˜And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ warned Ruslana.
    Isola looked quizzically up at the towering woman. ‘But there’s nothing you wouldn’t do.’
    A grin split Ruslana’s black lips. ‘Exactly.’
    Isola had never learnt to call them sisters – a sister was a wicked nun who smacked Mother’s hands, and a sister in a fairytale was almost always evil. And so, Ruslana, Christobelle and Rosekin had remained brother-princes to Isola. Protectors who watched with proud wet eyes as their little sister-princess shouldered her schoolbag and assimilated into the steady stream of uniformed girls.
    Isola’s first encounter with authority went predictably. In one long breath a brick-shaped nun – Sister Katherine Vincent, later Sister K to Isola – commented on the state of her hair, the length of her skirt, and the height of her socks, which are mismatched by the way, young lady, do you want detention on your very first day you are a representative of this school what a terrible first impression you make .
    â€˜What’s your name?’
    â€˜Regan,’ said Isola sweetly. ‘You know, like the girl in The Exorcist.’
    Isola couldn’t stand horror films – they always seemed to find a way into her dreams whenever she dared watch them through her fingers – and she had never even seen The Exorcist , but was wily enough to employ a little pop-culture Satanism when threatened by one of Christ’s wrinkly brides.

 
    Unlocked Hearts
    Isola waited in her usual spot on High Street for Grape’s bus to arrive so they could walk the last ten minutes to school together.
    The bus stop was in a sleazy part of town, and was situated in front of an industrial-looking club called The G Spot. They rarely checked IDs here, and it was a commonly held belief that the only number that mattered to the doorman was not your age, but your bra size.
    Next to the club was a dingy old town hall that now masqueraded as a holy place; the neon sign over the doorway, reminiscent of a sleazy hotel, announced it as the ‘Church of the Unlocked Heart’.
    A lone man with gelled-down hair and an armful of paper fixed her in his sharky gaze just before the bus drove up. The pin on his collar showed the church’s symbol – a red heart with a golden keyhole in the centre. No sooner had they locked