Belle’s Quest (Fairytale Bureau #3)

Prologue

Agatha, AKA Fairy Godmother, left the ball hosted in honor of the Corsican prince quite pleased with how things had turned out. She’d managed to put another cursed Grimm story back in the book where it belonged. But it hadn’t been easy.

It took much to counter the Grimm Effect’s attempts to force Cinder and Prince Killian to marry. The curse kept trying to force the issue, even as it became quickly obvious Cinder had feelings for another. It hadn’t been easy getting the reluctant Knight, Levi, to admit he loved Cinder, but now the pair were married and quite romantically too. When faced with possible death or marrying the prince, Cinder eschewed her safety and chose true love.

With Cinderella having foiled the Grimm Effect quite spectacularly, The Little Ash story returned to being just fiction. However, too many stories remained at large, with more being added. See, the Grimm Effect reenacted its own perverse version of the stories it had absorbed since its arrival from space.

Yes, space. A tiny little rock that Agatha had plucked from her garden, never realizing what she’d unleash.

Agatha glared at the side table in her study piled with books, a stack that had grown despite ridding her home of literature. The villagers kept popping by while she was forced to do her godmotherly duties. Although the true blame belonged to the alien stone at the heart of all their problems. It kept finding ways to add to its cursed magic. The latest addition? A compilation of Mother Goose’s rhymes. Only the image on the cover remained to identify the tome that sat atop the pile, the pages in it blank, as the old lyrical poems were set loose on the world.

“Naughty stone. You’ve been busy while I was gone.” She shook her finger at it but, of course, received no reply?—

“You shouldn’t be working against me.”

The monotone voice startled. Agatha just about fell over, whipping around to see the strangest sight—which said a lot considering the things she’d observed since the stone’s arrival.

A figure stood by the bookcase, not human, not even alive. The papier-maché simulacrum of a person crossed its arms as it stared at her—or so she assumed. Hard to tell since it lacked eyes.

“Who are you?” she exclaimed. “What are you doing in my home?”

“I am here because that is where my kernel of existence landed. I am known on your world as Methuselah.”

“As in Methuselah from the bible? Or Methuselah the star?”

“Neither. Your astronomers have long miscategorized my existence,” it corrected. “The only thing they got correct was my galactic origin.”

“So not a star, but an alien.” A chill went through her at the realization the tiny meteor she’d found in her garden was even more than she suspected. “But that makes no sense. Rocks aren’t alive.”

“There are many kinds of existence. The flesh-based version being the most basic.”

“Basic and yet you made yourself a golem in our image,” she pointed out.

“Because it seemed the most practical shape. And I am not a simple golem. Those are usually mindless puppets, whereas I am sentient. This”—it waved a hand at its body—“is merely a temporary container for my spirit.”

“And why do you need a container?” Up until now, this so-called Methuselah had been screwing over the world just fine without hands.

“That I might further my goals. It took longer than expected to gather the needed energy to create a vessel that could communicate. But I have plans to upgrade.”

That sounded ominous. “I’m not sure I understand why you need a body. You’ve been meddling for decades without one.” She couldn’t help that sour observation.

“Because it is time for the next step in my conquest.” The thing cocked its head, and she’d have sworn it sounded amused when it said, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you trying to thwart me?”

Rather than deny, she lifted her chin. “Can you blame me? You’re ruining my planet.”

“Ruining it how?”

“You’re forcing people to act out perverted versions of fairytales.” The Grimm stories could be dark enough without the alien rock twisting them into a curse.

“I don’t see the problem.”

“Do you even care you’re ruining lives?” she blurted out.

“No.”

“So what is your end goal?” Because she couldn’t see it.

“To feed until I regain my former glory. I used to be known as the devourer of worlds until I ran out of sentient planets. I spent an eternity starving, shrinking into almost nothing. I thought I might expire until I heard your planet crying out.”

“You’re here to destroy us,” she dully remarked.

“Hardly destroy. I’ve learned from my past mistakes. Absolute destruction leads to starvation. Therefore, I shall preserve your planet that it might feed me and make me strong enough to seek out new worlds.” The monotone delivery of its manifesto made it all the more chilling.

“When you say feed, you don’t mean actually eating people, though?”

The paper body tilted its head and the face crinkled as if it tried to smile. “Nothing so messy. I seek energy. The more chaotic and emotionally charged, the better. What luck humanity has so many different stories that give me exactly what I need.”

“You didn’t need to curse people for chaos. Our world is already a boiling pot of emotions.”

“I can only feed from those that I’ve linked to what you term the Grimm Effect.”

Which explained so much, except for one thing.

“Why were you trying to keep Cinder and Levi apart? I would think that their love would have been a boost if you like emotions so much.”

The head definitely grimaced, quite the feat since it lacked an actual face. “True love is anathema to turmoil and destruction. It is stronger than my compulsion. Poison to my plan.”

It sounded dumb, and yet had it just admitted love could defeat this alien invader?

As if it read her mind, the paper body took a step toward her and murmured, “Don’t think I haven’t seen you thwarting my storylines. You cannot win.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.”

She aimed her wand and lit the paper golem on fire.