“Who has she been kissing?”
“I’m not a tattle-tale. You’ll go and tell her mother, and then Alysia will tell Sarah not to play with me after mass no more. And little sisters listen to big sisters; at least that’s what Alysia told me when I threatened to tell on her for kissing Tai—” The girl clamped a hand over her mouth.
Isadora chuckled. The town was small enough she knew Tailor was who her friend’s daughter had been fooling around with. He was a charming young man, she’d admit; the favored in the town. But he was a little too charming, and Isadora had no problem interfering if it saved Alysia from being ruined. “Ladies don’t kiss boys until they are married to one,” she said finally.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll never kiss a boy; it’s disgusting. Now forget about kissy Alysia and tell me more.”
Isadora let out a breath. “Well, the princess and her escort went on a journey, and then one day, she finally discovered he wasn’t a good prince.”
“What did she do? Did she kill him?”
Isadora pursed her lips. “She didn’t want to, but she stabbed him.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “In the heart?”
“No. In the gut.”
“Why? Did she find out he wanted to free the magic?”
Isadora was tired of her granddaughter taking over the story. Maybe it was a little petty, but she was the one telling this tale. “No . . . she found out he wasn’t human.”
Her granddaughter eyed her warily. “Grandmother, your story is getting a little far-fetched.”
Isadora smiled. “It’s what happened, and if you don’t want to hear it, then you don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Isadora continued, “She found out he wasn’t human—”
“How? Did horns sprout out of his head?”
“No . . . he, ugh, had sharp teeth.”
Her granddaughter’s eyes widened. “Like fangs?”
Isadora shrugged. “Sort of.”
“What do you mean ‘sort of,’ Grandmother? You cannot ‘sort of’ have fangs. Either you do, or you don’t.”
Isadora sighed. “I didn’t take you for a fang extraordinaire.”
“What’s an extraordinaire?”
“Someone who knows a lot about something.”
“Oh. What was he, if not human?”
Isadora smiled. “It’s a secret.”
Her granddaughter groaned. “Tell me!”
“You need to be patient. Maybe if you are good and don’t fall asleep in mass tomorrow, I’ll tell you.”
The girl pressed her lips together. “It isn’t my fault that Father Mathews’ voice puts me to sleep, Grandmother. I’m not much older than a babe, anyway. And they’re allowed to sleep in the chapel.”
Isadora laughed. Her granddaughter was younger or older, whichever served her purpose.
The girl tilted her head in thought. “Did he die when she stabbed him?”