Once Upon a FairyTale

Chapter Five: Maxwell

The hospital loomed over me. I had only ever been inside twice. Each time, someone called an ambulance on either Peter or myself. Each time, the people who put us there had to pay.

This time it was that new girl. I heard people talking about it, she ran my best friend over with her car. I was fuming. This was not the last she would hear of me.

I stomped into the hospital. The nurses glared at me. I shouldn't be there, I know. I was bad luck, but they would have to suck it up. My best friend was in one of those rooms, and I intended to find him.

I stepped up to the desk and rested my elbow on the counter, "Peter Pan, what room?"

The nurse behind the desk glanced up at me. Her dark eyes were cold. She was a stocky sort of person, but her legs couldn't touch the ground. She tapped her extra long, crimson nails on the counter top.

"Get outta here, Grimm," she sneered, "You're bad luck."

I wrinkled my nose, "No shit, Sherlock. Cut the crap and tell me where my friend is. I'll be out of your hair in no time."

The woman stared at me for a moment, "Room 3B. Visit, and get out."

"Of course."

With that, I sauntered in the direction she pointed me in. The people in the hall continued to stare as I went by. One old woman was hunched over in a wheelchair. She twisted her knotty fingers together and rocked back and forth.

"Witch," her voice was quiet and shaky, "Witch."

I snapped my fingers, causing her wheelchair to go flying down the hall. Serves her right, don't accuse people you barely know. I mean, she's right, but it was still wrong.

I'm one to talk.

When I arrived at Peter's door, I quietly entered. Once the door was shut behind me, I touched the lock with a magic finger. Nobody would ever enter this room ever again.

"It's about time," Peter laughed from the bed.

I walked towards him, "Yeah, well, I found out like twenty minutes ago."

Peter laughed. He was bound to the bed, most likely to keep him from flying off. Or vanishing, or any other form of escape he could conjure.

"Can you get me out of here?" he asked, "The nurses keep feeding me goop."

I sighed, "I suppose that's what hospitals do."

He shrugged. I pointed my finger at the binds and some form of magical force cut them with delicacy. When Peter was free, he tried to stand. Unfortunately, he nearly fell.

"I'm fine," he assured me, lying through his teeth.

I rolled my eyes, "Peter, you were hit by a car, you need some major healing."

"The only good thing you do."

I shrugged. I wrapped one of his arms around my shoulders and we hobbled to the window. I opened it, and used my magic to slowly lower us to the ground. We were able to hobble off the hospital lot.

"Did you bring a car or something?" he asked.

I frowned, "You know the answer to that."

Peter sighed. That was the downside of being unable to purchase a car. It wasn't our fault, no one would sell to us.

Eventually, we were able to get to the house. I helped him into the tattered building and to his bed. He fell down with a groan.

"Wait here, I'm going to make a healing brew," I frowned.

Peter laughed, "Whatever you say, Miss Nurse."

"Shut up."

I headed towards my bedroom. The walls of the room were lined with books. Some were old texts, written before human history could record. Others were stories I enjoyed reading. The one I wanted was my favorite book. It was thick, as thick as my hand. The book was bound in black leather with a crimson seal. Various symbols were etched on the cover. Supposedly it would ward of any who bid this book ill will.

Normal people would find that odd, considering it held every secret of how to control black magic. Black magic, in itself, was the pure embodiment of ill will. I don't really understand how the symbols warded off what they protected.

I flipped open the book. Quiet whispers could be heard, but only to me. This book would only ever react to me.

A long time ago, when my Father was still alive, he said this book could only be mine because of the blood that coursed through my veins. It would only obey to me. Supposedly, there was another, one that told of all the good magic in the world. Unfortunately, that was lost long ago. If I could ever find it, I could rule everything.

For now, this book was all I needed. The Brothers Grimm has passed it down from generation to generation. Supposedly I was a descendant. Who am I to disbelieve it, the proof is all at my fingertips.

This book, despite being full of evil magic, told how to heal someone. I used this concoction to heal Peter. It was a simple brew made of zebra feces, rat tears, orange shavings, a baby's last breath, and the hair of the recipient. Peter was reluctant to hand over the latter.

When I finished the brew, I poured it into a mug. It was green, and smelled of rotten flesh. Maybe the good magic healing was better, who knows. Personally, I don't care.

I carried the mug to Peter. When he saw it, he wrinkled his nose.

"This is going to hurt like a bitch," I stated.

He sighed, "I've had worse."

He took the mug from me and began to drink it. Almost as soon as every drop was in his system, he began to groan in pain. His skin became paler than usual, and sweat beaded his forehead. I looked down at him with my arms crossed.

I wasn't much of a people person. In fact, I have this constant resting bitch face. Never has a smile crossed my face, that I can remember. Nobody has ever cared for me, nor have I ever cared for anyone. Not even my Father. He was more of an abusive teacher rather than a parent.

But, Peter was different. He was the only one that truly cared for me, and that I actually cared for. I was far from in love with him, no, it wasn't a romantic love. Like, I don't hate him as much as other people. I suppose that's why I was determined to help him get better. And to confront the girl who hit him.

It took Peter several hours to finally fall into a deep sleep. Through the entire time, I sat on a nearby chair, reading a book. Due to his magic, he could go flying at any second, it was my job to make sure he stayed in one place. Luckily, I didn't have to go chasing him.

When he finally was calm, I shut my book and stood up. The person who did this to him deserves justice. If he weren't immortal, and best friends with a witch, he probably would have died. Technically, that deserves justice.

I'd confront her, find out who she is, then reek my revenge.