Upon A Time

Part One

The Stories Start

Chapter One

Transformation

Crack!

The coach tumbled and rolled, over and over, while Cynders and the Godfather scrambled about, trying to find something to hold onto: a strap, a bag. Thrown against the Godfather’s bulk, Cynders tried to keep his nose and mouth free. He could get crushed in here. Squashed into tiny pieces, and they’d have to pick him off the floor.

Thump!

The coach stopped its rolling. It lay on its side, wheels in the air, and one door in a ditch.

Damned drivers. Always unreliable, grunted the Godfather.

So now Cynders’ door was in the roof. Reaching up, the Godfather opened it and, setting his feet on Cynders’ back, scrambled out. Cynders, feeling queasy, hesitated; the cold, stormy night was not inviting. Awkwardly he pulled himself up onto the side of the coach and jumped into the darkness. Luckily, he landed on something soft. The Godfather.

Sorry, sir.

Beside the ruined coach, the horses clustered, making tiny sounds of fear. The moon flickered behind clouds ringed with silver and the wind was cold. Cynders yelped when a sharp point was thrust into his back.

Now, gents, leered the coach driver, a woman with foul breath and an eyepatch, this ain’t a hold up. It’s a fair exchange. You’ve got something I want, and me? She raised her pistol. I ’as something for you.

Scum! roared the Godfather. Ungrateful villain! After all I’ve done for you!

Oh, scum is it? hissed the coach-woman. Scum! Look at him. She turned to Cynders as though seeking an audience. And what is it he says he’s done for me? Naught but take me from me and mine. Here’s a new life for you, mistress, is what he says, and bam! There I am driving a coach and four, when I could be curled up nice and warm at home, with a place by the fire to call me own. The trouble with men like you, she turned to the Godfather, you’re only after the main chance. Not a thought for anyone else.

What do you want? asked the Godfather, quietly. Too quietly. In the dim light of the moon his hand swiveled on his cane. Cynders ducked. No ordinary cane, this. When the Godfather waved it, stuff happened.

Stow it! She hit the old man with the pistol-butt.

Owf! Dropping his stick, the Godfather cradled his hand against his chest.

Cynders had himself under control. Or he hoped he did. H-h-here, he handed her the old man’s cane. Take it.

She looked at him, seemingly surprised at his movement, and for a moment Cynders had the uncomfortable feeling of seeing himself as other people saw him; a decorative youth, good for nothing but dancing. He felt curiously small.

It is what you want, isn’t it? he asked.

Ta. She gave a quick bow.

Without his stick the Godfather seemed less threatening. One day, the old man said, I’ll find you. And when I do, it’ll be back to the alley with you. Where you belong.

The coach-woman smiled, her teeth gray in the moonlight. Her one eye gleamed. An’ where, she asked, do you think I’m going? She turned the top of the cane, click click clack. Never been happy here.

Cynders thought she was talking to herself, but then she looked at him. Want to come, lad?

He thought of his old life. Back before the Godfather had come, he’d been busy. Happy. Cleaning chimneys might not be the most respected profession, but still, he’d been proud of his craft. It had felt good to know he’d done his job well. Folk could sit by the fire, and be warm and comfortable. He’d been cleaning chimneys until that meddling Godfather had waved his cane. And now it was parties and fine clothes and handsome princesses and out every night until midnight. He was tired of it all.

You can’t go back, darling boy, pleaded the Godfather. "I made you."

Cynders looked down at his shoes. In the moonlight they twinkled, two startling stars that slid and danced when he moved. Dancing with the stars, he thought. That’s me. In shoes made of glass.

He slipped the stupid things off his feet, reached out and grabbed the driver’s hand. I’m with you.

She smiled, showing blackened teeth. Rightio. Best look out then.

She thumped the Godfather’s cane down hard, onto the rough stone road. Steam swam from its base, enveloping the coach driver, the coach and Cynders in a warm cloud that pierced the skin, making it tingle. The world seemed to shift.

See you later, she called to the Godfather as she shimmered and shrank.

The night cleared, the clouds parted. Four horses, freed from their harnesses by the transformation, squealed wildly and ran down the muddy road, dwindling until they disappeared into the darkness. The white light from the full moon showed a young man carrying a cat and a staff, fleeing to freedom.

And in the middle of the road stood an old man, staring at a ruined pumpkin.

Chapter Two

A Charming Man

You’re the new girl, ain’t ya? She chewed her gum slowly.

Hi! I held out my hand. I’m Ashley.

Ashley, is it? Looking at my hand, she moved the gum to the other cheek. Think I’ll call you Ash. It’s shorter. Hey, Zelda. It’s the new girl.

Out from the back came another shop assistant, pushing the curtains apart with a white shoulder. Hello.

Hi. I’m Ashley.

We’ll call her Ash, though, said Gum-chewer.

Zelda stared at me intently. Tall and skinny, with her white skin and black hair, she looked kind of like a zombie. An alive zombie, that doesn’t shamble and eat flesh. Like an extra in a zombie movie.

I realized I was staring back.

So, Ash, said the first girl. I’m Bernice. This here’s the shop. We sell shoes, okay? That’s what we do. We put shoes on people’s feet. We get shoes from out the back, put them on display. When we run out, we order more. Okay?

I nodded.

The shop was called Charming and the dot above the i was a crown. You’ve probably heard of us; we’re in most high-end shopping malls. And not just shoes, there’s Charming Furniture, Charming Fragrance, even Charming Travel, which specializes in travel to romantic destinations, generally places with rivers, woods, and big stone castles. There’s a feel to the Charming Brands – kind of old-fashioned, almost fairytale, but with an edge of technology and glamor. They don’t do appliances or electronics. There’s nothing fairytale about a fridge.

This was my first job on leaving school. I’d been desperate to get away from my teachers for two years, but Mom had done a deal – stay at school until I was sixteen and she’d buy me a car. On my sixteenth birthday she handed me the keys and I started looking for jobs.

I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to find work. The only thing I could find was dead-end hospo jobs – waitressing in grotty burger bars and delivering pizzas. So when I’d seen the advertisement for a shoe store I was kind of excited.

Excited, until I met my colleagues. Zombie-fied Zelda and gum-chewing Bernice. Bernice chewed gum all the time. I never saw her putting a fresh stick in her mouth. Just chew, chew, chew on the same old piece. I think Bernice felt she was the queen of the Charming Shoe store and Zelda was her sidekick. Which left me as the maid.

I did the vacuuming, the dusting, washed the dishes, and sold the shoes. The other girls watched, commented, and told me what I was doing wrong.

We were out the back. I was eating lunch and Bernice was poring over photos of models on a red carpet. Her horrible feet were up on a stool. She wore stilettos to work, but she had a bunion and rock-star shoes hurt her feet.

Ash! Bernice jerked her head at the store. Customers! Go!

It was my break time, not hers. Can’t Zelda?

She’s doing the stock-take.

Zelda was always doing a stock-take. I sighed, put down the magazine and went into the store. An older woman with white-blond hair and a leopard-skin suit was eyeing the merchandise.

Can I help you, ma’am?

She smiled at me, her smooth forehead barely moving. What a pretty child you are!

Um. Thanks. I guess. Are you looking for anything special?

No, not really. I’m just … looking. She studied me carefully. You’re new here, aren’t you?

I nodded. I started last month.

Ah. I thought there was something different. She ran a finger over a glass shelf. Look! It’s clean!

I smiled.

I’m going to a dance. The store lights glinted on the stones on her wrist, her fingers. Were they real diamonds? "There’s a man. Much younger than I. Much younger. Quite lovely, in fact. I’m looking for something to wear."

Heels, I said. But not too high, or you might twist your ankle. That’s not a good look.

No. Not smart at all.

And sparkly. I looked at her jewelry. Something with rhinestones, maybe? Or sequins?

Sequins! Oh yes.

Please, have a seat. I’ll measure you up, then see what we have.

This woman looked about the same age as Mom, but much better maintained. Not a nice thing to think about your mom, but it’s true. I was always nagging Mom to put more make-up on, to get her hair cut and wear nicer clothes. But she’d just smile and shake her head and say she had other things she needed to spend her money on. There’s no reasoning with Mom. She’s more stubborn than me.

Still, this cougar-woman looked pleasant enough, and she seemed real polite. Maybe I could sell her something expensive, make my sales target for the month; she looked like she had plenty of money. We all have sales targets. I’m the only one that makes mine – the others can’t be bothered.

You’re a size nine, I said.

I took a few boxes of sparkly high heels over to her, but she shook her head. She was looking for something special. Something that sang.

I sat back on my little stool, stared up the customer. What are you going to wear to the dance?

She pulled at her skirt, looking suddenly nervous. I was thinking, this.

A suit? I said. Oh no.

I always wear leopard print.

Tell me about the dance. Where is it?

At the castle.

I nearly choked. At the castle? Are you talking about the Charming Ball?

Why, yes. Have you heard of it?

Have I heard of the Charming Ball? Well, who hasn’t? Every year the Charming Stores have a full-on ball: long dresses, candles, and an orchestra. The works. All the rich and famous go to it. And every year the top franchisees and sales staff are invited. Zelda and Bernice were hoping for an invitation. They were dreaming.

"You can’t wear leopard print to a ball."

Why not?

Stay there, I said. I’ll be right back.

I barged out the back, grabbed Zelda’s magazine – it was our store one, called A Charming Life – from her fingers. She hissed at me but I ignored her.

I passed the Life to the customer. There are photos of the ball in here. Have a look.

Another customer – a mother and a whining daughter – came into the store. I went to serve them, while my cougar-customer looked through the photographs. The whining daughter seemed happy enough with the designer sneakers (the same as the ones from the discount store, but with an extra logo added) and Mom and daughter went away happy.

I went back to cougar lady. What do you think?

I think, she said seriously, that I need to go shopping.

Tell you what, I looked around quickly to see if Zelda or Bernice was watching. Take the magazine.

Are you sure?

Quick. Pop it your bag. I rolled it up into a tube and pushed it into her velvet bag. You can show the photos to the store assistant.

Thank you. You’ve been very kind.

You’re very welcome. Come back when you’ve decided on a dress. The shoes should always match the dress, shouldn’t they? I stopped. Thought about that for a moment. Although, I added carefully, there’s some new stock just in. And they just might work for you. I’ll have a look out the back.

In the storeroom, Zelda was smoking. She ignored me and stared up at the cigarette smoke, watching it twist and curl into the air. Was she on drugs? Or just really bored? I found the new shoes tucked right at the back of a shelf. They were hideously expensive. I mean, hideously. And we are a high-end store, so hideously means lots and lots of money. But they really would go with anything. And they sparkled, glittered, and looked fabulous. Their heels were not too high, but high enough. The person wearing these shoes could dance on forever.

I took them out to the store. Zelda watched me leave.

Here they are. I removed the box lid with a flourish. Aren’t they fabulous? They’re made of a new bio-illuminate. There’s an article about them in that magazine I gave you. They conform to your feet, so they grow more comfortable the more you wear them. I took one from the box and held it to the light. What do you think? I turned it; light sparked, refracting into rainbows. They are pretty, aren’t they?

Oh yes! They’re beautiful! And you’re right. They would go with anything. Please. Can I try them on?

Of course. We have them in just your size.

It’s a wonderful moment when a hard-to-please customer finds exactly what they want. It’s a relief, of course, for the shop assistant, but it’s also a satisfaction; like helping someone achieve a goal.

My cougar lady slipped her feet into the glass slipper and smiled. She glowed. Oh, my! I could dance to heaven and back in these! How much are they?

Ah, they are quite expensive, I said.

You can’t sell those. Zelda emerged from the curtain like something from the Addams Family. Bernice wants them.

Hearing her name, Bernice came storming out. You can’t sell the glass shoes. They’re mine.

My