Reawakened: A Once Upon a Time Tale (18 page)

She could see, at the back of the room, Mr. Gold stand, an impassive look on his face. He turned and walked toward the exit.

“This will probably cost me the election,” Emma said. “But I don’t want to win with a lie.”

• • •

Afterward, Emma and Henry went to Granny’s Diner. Sweets for Henry. A stiff drink for Emma. She hadn’t felt this low in some time.

Henry seemed okay with the outcome. After taking his last bite of pie, he wiped his mouth, reached into his backpack, and pulled out Graham’s old walkie-talkies. He gave one to her.

“What’s this for?” Emma said.

“I thought about it some more,” Henry said. “I think Operation Cobra should be back on. You stood up to Mr. Gold. You’re a hero.”

“You think?” Whatever the outcome, she was glad to hear him say it.

“I told you that he turned bad after he got his powers,” Henry said. “And after that, the one person he loved was afraid of him. So what if that same thing had happened to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if you got your power by being bad, like he did? That would mean that whatever you did, it would always be scary. Maybe you would win, but we would all start to be afraid of you.”

“So you’re revising your ideas about good and evil, then?”

“A little bit,” Henry said, smiling. “I guess I didn’t know you could win in the right way. Lots of these stories don’t have examples of that.”

“Aw. You’re melting my heart, kid.”

“I would rather be good like you and lose, than be bad and win.”

It was the first time Emma had felt good about anything in days.

The good feeling was ruined a few moments later when Emma looked up and saw Regina at the door, Sidney following close behind. Here they come to gloat, she thought. Just what I need.

“Victory party is in back,” she said.

Sidney didn’t respond; he didn’t look particularly joyful.

Emma looked to Regina. “Congratulations,” Regina said flatly.

“What are you talking about?” Henry said.

“It was a close vote, but people seem to have responded to a candidate who can stand up to Mr. Gold.” She shook her head. “Imagine that.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“She doesn’t kid,” said Sidney, sitting down beside Emma and Henry.

“You didn’t pick a very good friend in Mr. Gold, Ms. Swan. But he does make a superlative enemy. Enjoy that.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile just a little.

She was sheriff.

Sheriff of Storybrooke, Maine.

Everyone who helped out with her brief campaign began to trickle in to celebrate, all of them telling Emma that she’d done the right thing. As Emma smiled and accepted their congratulations, she couldn’t help but think:
I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar.
She was glad her son knew that, too.

• • •

Mr. Gold was already at the station waiting for Emma when she arrived. She had walked over from Granny’s, a little tipsy, intent on taking care of some paperwork before the start of her first official day. When she arrived, she saw it right away: Graham’s leather jacket, hanging on the hook beside his desk.

“I thought you might want it after all,” came a voice, and Emma jumped. Her hand went to her sidearm and she almost drew the weapon.

Gold was standing in the corner, grinning, resting on his cane.

“How did you get in here?”

“The doors were unlocked,” he said, strolling over. “Anyhow, I wanted to congratulate you on your victory. Very well done, Ms. Swan. Your performance tonight was commendable.”

“If you’re angry with me for throwing you under the bus, I’m not going to apologize,” she said. “I didn’t ask for the fire.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said. “And you didn’t ask for the opportunity to stand up to me. But you got both. And you used them well.”

Emma frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you needed something big to win,” he said. “And I gave you something big.”

Chilled by the look in Gold’s eyes, Emma considered his words. She could see what he was implying: that he had planned for more than just the fire. He had planned for her telling the truth, too. And she had done exactly what he’d hoped she would do.

“Why—I don’t understand,” Emma said. “Why would you want me to be sheriff that badly?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Gold, crossing the room, heading for the door. “You never know. You do owe me a favor, remember. Perhaps I just wanted you to be in a position to grant a good one. When the time comes for you to clear the books.”

“Clear the books,” Emma repeated, still processing the extent of Gold’s deviousness. Never trust him again, she thought. Never.

“We’ll find a way,” he said, opening the door. “Don’t worry.” He nodded once more. “Congratulations, Ms. Swan.”

Emma went to her desk, a little weak in the knees. She looked at her picture of Henry.

She didn’t know what to think.

After she and the prince went their separate ways, Snow White penetrated deeper into the forest, continuing to survive off the land as she concealed herself from the Queen’s minions, adding more rugged coats of dirt and toughness to her royal exterior, becoming a stronger and more self-sufficient woman. A bandit. Someone alone, but unafraid.

From time to time, her old friend Red Riding Hood would journey out to the woods to bring supplies to the small hunter’s cabin Snow White had occupied. And—though she did not like to admit it—to bring her news of Charming’s marriage plans.

She loved him. Somehow, out on that troll bridge, she had fallen in love with him, and it had taken her months to realize it. “What news do you have for me, then?” she asked Red one afternoon, when the two women met in a pasture, miles and miles from the kingdom, not far from the hidden hunting cabin.

“The wedding is happening in two days,” said Red with sympathy. “He will marry Midas’s daughter. He has agreed.”

Snow White felt her hope fade a little more. He was with
someone else—it was a simple truth. She was stuck in a fantasy, some silly story that did not resemble reality. It was the kind of thing a child might do. She disliked credulous people on principle, and now she was showing herself to be one of them.

“I only wish,” she said, “I could get him out of my head. It’s like a madness.”

“I have heard of a man,” said Red, “who is capable of even the unholiest of requests.”

Snow White was surprised. Could magic truly accomplish such a feat?

“What is this man called?” she said.

“Rumplestiltskin,” said Red. “Have you heard the name?”

“No,” said Snow White. “I haven’t. And what a funny name it is.”

• • •

It was Saturday morning, and the town was abuzz. There was a storm coming to Storybrooke, and Mary Margaret wanted to be ready. She also wanted to avoid the diner at all costs, as she had been going there too often. So had David.

She had developed a sort of hidden, totally deniable plan to “bump into” him at the diner every morning. At first, Mary Margaret had liked seeing him, as it was the only time she ever had with him, but she knew that it was unhealthy, dangerous, and stupid. Emma thought so, too. She’d caught Mary Margaret the day before, figured it out, and told her it was a bad idea.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” Emma said. “You’re playing with fire.”

“You’re right,” Mary Margaret said. “You’re right.”

So instead of the diner, she went to the drugstore soon after she woke up and stocked up on batteries, bottled water, and
a few other essentials. She hated storms and she always had. She couldn’t remember why—something to do with the way clouds swirled in the sky and the world seemed different and changing. She didn’t like the chaos.

She was thinking these thoughts when she came to the end of an aisle and ran smack-dab into Kathryn.

The two collided with such force that they both dropped everything they were carrying.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Mary Margaret said, going to her knees to pick up her own items and help Kathryn with hers. It was mortifying enough to see the woman, let alone talk to her, let alone run into her.

Judging by the nervousness plastered all over Kathryn’s face, she was feeling something similar.

“It’s okay,” Kathryn said. “It’s fine.”

She gathered her batteries, and Kathryn handed her the water. Mary Margaret reached for one more item, a small white box, and handed it to Kathryn, ready to apologize once more. Then she realized what she was holding.

It was a pregnancy test.

“Thank you,” Kathryn said, taking the box and offering one more tense and apologetic smile.

• • •

Walking home, Mary Margaret found herself fighting back tears. She dropped off her things and went out to the woods near the edge of town. She wanted to walk and clear her head.

She parked and headed off down the trail, still rattled by what she’d seen at the store. Why, though? She still hardly knew David, and had no understanding of why she’d fallen in love with him—love or whatever it is, she thought. A more
reasonable point of view would be to note that Kathryn was pregnant, feel a quick pang of envy, and move on, happy for both her and David. But when she’d seen the box, she’d felt devastated. She’d felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and shown to her. None of it made any sense. And even if—

Mary Margaret stopped.

In the brush, just beside the trail, was a dove.

The dove looked hurt, or sick—she couldn’t tell. It seemed to be caught up in a netting or a mesh screen, its feet tangled and trapped. It was upright and awake, but it was quivering, terrified, and struggling to move, raising its wings as though readying itself to take off, only to lower them again.

She knelt down.

“What’s wrong, girl?” she said. “What did you get bound up in?”

The dove simply cooed.

Mary Margaret picked it up. She had to take it to the animal shelter. That David worked there was irrelevant.

That said, she was fairly sure he worked on Saturdays.

She took the stunned and wounded bird back to her car and drove directly to the shelter, intent on helping it rejoin its flock. When she saw David, the sting of the pregnancy test was still on her mind and she asked for the head of the shelter, a veterinarian named Thatcher.

With David and Mary Margaret watching, Dr. Thatcher cut the webbing from the bird’s feet, examined the wings, and determined that there were no broken bones. “There is some bad news, unfortunately,” he told Mary Margaret. “This is a North Atlantic dove. Migratory species, very unique among American doves. They form strong, monogamous bonds, meaning—”

“Meaning she has to get back to her flock or she’ll be alone. Forever.”

“That’s right,” said Dr. Thatcher. “That’s not to say she wouldn’t be happy here, on her own, but with the storm coming, the window of time is closing for her to get back to where she belongs.”

“So I need to find her flock,” Mary Margaret said, “and release her as it flies by. I need to get her back out to where I found her.”

“It might work,” said Dr. Thatcher, getting a small cage from the closet. He brought it to the table and set it beside the bird. “I wouldn’t keep you from trying. It’s probably the happiest ending, anyhow.” He smiled and scrubbed his hands. “Good luck,” he said as he was walking out the door. “If you don’t find the flock, feel free to bring her back here.”

“Listen,” David said. “With this storm coming, I’m not so sure you should be—”

“Don’t look after me,” she said. “I don’t need your help.”

David watched her, a little hurt. “Did I do something?” he said. “I don’t understand what—”

“You didn’t do anything, David,” Mary Margaret said, gathering up the cage. “Nothing at all.”

She walked out the door.

• • •

It was a misty night on the lake when Snow White met Rumplestiltskin. After Red had told her of the mysterious wizard, she hadn’t been able to shake the idea of a spell that could free her of her love—or at least her thoughts—for a man who was not available to her. She sent word through the
birds of the forest and Rumplestiltskin obliged her with a meeting.

Snow had just tied off when she turned and saw him sitting across from her in her own rowboat. She jumped, sucked in her breath.

“You really are the fairest, aren’t you?” he said, a wry and terrifying grin on his shadowed face.

Snow White wondered what could compel a man to do such terrible things in exchange for magic.

She leaned toward him, tilted her head. She was afraid but fascinated.

“Looking at something?” Rumplestiltskin said.

“I am in need of a cure,” she said finally. “For love.”

Rumplestiltskin began to laugh. “Love!” he cried. “Such a fancy and beautiful thing. So wonderful, so painful. Am I right?”

“I would like to not be in love anymore,” she said. “Can you make a spell?”

“I cannot,” he said. “Love is too powerful to eradicate, unfortunately. What I can do, however, is create a spell that makes you forget your beloved. Perhaps not quite the same, I know. But it can do the job.”

Snow White considered this. What was the difference? To not remember love or to not be in love? To her it was the same.