Spelled

Chapter 2: When Statues Attack

** This is part 2 of a 10 part excerpt of Spelled, a young adult fractured fairy-tale being released by Sourcebooks on June 2, 2015 **

" The Rule of Apology: Being royal means never having to say you're sorry."

- Thomason's Tips to Ruthless Ruling

Sterling dropped his sword and shrieked like a milkmaid, running behind me. "It's alive! Why is it alive?"

I tried to yank the prince forward. "Quit being a puss in boots. There's your beast. Hurry and get it."

Sterling steadfastly refused to move from his cover while the dragon hopped off his pedestal and started advancing. I was about to grab Sterling's sword for myself when the creature stopped, rolled to the side, and started wailing.

"I've been wounded!" Its cries echoed throughout the grand foyer. "All these years of faithful protection and I am betrayed, stabbed in the back."

The poor thing thrashed around as if in death throes, its hollering pitiful and loud. And if it didn't shut its snout, it was going to get me in trouble.

I crouched down beside it, retrieving the missing chunk in the process. "Shh, shh. It's no big deal. I can fix it. No need to be upset." I spoke in soothing tones and tried putting the piece back in, hoping the magic that brought it to life would put it back to sleep once it was whole.

The chunk clattered to the floor the moment I let go.

"Farewell these mortal coils!" The dragon gave one last exhale and lay still.

"Oh, Mortimer, don't get your scales in a bunch. It's just a chip."

Between the wailing and shushing, I hadn't heard anyone approach. The Emerald Sorceress's gnarled green finger, complete with razor-sharp red- tipped nails, poked me under my chin, forcing me up until I stared at her warty nose. The single, wiry hair sticking out of the wart twitched, a signal I've come to interpret as meaning You're pixed.

Verte was the kingdom's head sorceress, oracle, palace grump, and the only reason I hadn't died of sheer boredom. We were often partners in mischief, unless I was messing with her stuff, and then I was on my own. One time, I blew up her cauldron trying to make soup. In retaliation, she sent me a billy goat that ate my entire closet's contents.

Mortimer, the carved emerald dragon, shook his scales and sprang up to his claws, scurrying into Verte's arms. While she was cooing and stroking him like a cat, I took the opportunity to try and sneak away. Just beyond the still-cowering Sterling, the entrance to the palace stood slightly ajar, even though I was less than three feet away.

It had worked...sort of. As I inched closer, the door remained frozen, but I could almost feel it wanting to shut, like it too was alive. The opening was small, but maybe if I sucked in and shimmied sidewa-

"Dorthea Gayle Emerald! Do not take a single step outside that door."