The Ugly Stepsister (Unfinished Fairy Tales Book 1) by Aya Ling Read Free Book Online Page A

foot backward.
    “You!” I lose my footing and land on the floor.
    He floats in front of me, grinning from ear to ear. I try to punch his face, but he vanishes. A second later, he reappears on the mantelpiece, seated between the clock and the seashell.
    “The king sent me to check how you’re faring.”
    “Well, tell him I’ve nothing to report,” I snarl. “Not one thing is going well. Honestly, can’t he just lift the curse? I can easily get him a new Cinderella book at Barnes & Noble—they’re bound to have plenty.”
    “You thought that was the problem?” Krev lets out a cackle of laughter. “It wouldn’t be any use even if you gave him a hundred books. They’re all factory-made, mass-produced human commodities.”
    “Then I’ll mend the book.” I fling off the blanket and plop on my bed. “I’ll take it to a secondhand store to have it rebound.”
    “Tsk, tsk, you’re still not getting it,” Krev waggles his eyebrows. “The curse can’t be lifted by the human world’s touch, so quit making those useless suggestions. And it’s quite normal that you’ll have difficulties; you’re just in the beginning of the book! Every story’s protagonist has got to struggle before he can reach the happy ending.”
    “But I didn’t ask to be part of this,” I say desperately. “I didn’t know there was a curse on that old book! If I had known, I wouldn’t even have taken it out of the box.”
    “It became your duty when you damaged the book.” Krev shrugs. “It’s how the spell works. We can’t tamper with magic without disastrous consequences. Not even Barthelius himself. Now go and figure out what to do.”
    He grins, waves, and vanishes.
    I stare into the darkness around me. There’s no way out of it now. I’ve got to do something.
    I spring out of bed and carry the candelabra to the writing desk. I pull out the drawer and find some rough parchment—kind of quaint, almost like being in Harry Potter . But there aren’t any quills—fountain pens already exist. Whatever. I push the pen into my cheek and ponder the next step. A few minutes later, I begin to write:
    First, persuade the prince or someone in the royal family to give the ball and tell the prince he’s got to find his bride by then. (Yeah, considering what Bianca and Claire describe of the prince, this is gonna be reeeeeally simple.)
    Second, find out where the fairy godmother is. (Actually, why the heck doesn’t she appear in the story earlier? How can she just stay away while Cinderella works her ass off and only pop up when she needs to go to the ball?)
    Third, arrange for the fairy godmother to show up AFTER Bianca (would that include me?) has gone to the ball. Cross fingers and pray that the prince will fall for Elle. (He has to. He must.)
    I wad the parchment up in a ball and toss it into the waste paper basket. Then, on second thought, I scoop out the ball and throw it in the fire instead. God forbid that Martha or Elle come across my writing.
    I can’t do this. This is impossible.
     
    Martha comes to help me dress in the morning. I hope she doesn’t notice my eyes. I’m pretty sure it was way past midnight when I fell asleep. I’d been tossing and turning, trying to devise a way to finish the story, and the best I could come up with was making the fairy godmother my priority. In a situation like this, I need magic.
    “Where’s Elle?”
    “She went home today,” Martha says, buttoning up the back of my dress. “It’s her day off.”
    “She...has another home?”
    “ ‘Course she does, miss. Her mother and two brothers live in another part of town. I thought you’d know that already.”
    Huh? Cinderella’s mother is alive and she has two brothers? Isn’t Lady Bradshaw supposed to be her stepmother? Then…it hits me. Elle’s last name is Thatcher. Not Bradshaw. That explains her other family.
    Martha meets my eyes, and I can see that she’s frowning. Probably she’s still suspecting I have lost my mind.