CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

OGRE’S WRATH INDEED

“GOT YOU!” The ogre laughs.

Filomena grimaces as his laughter washes over her. The ogre is practically breathing in her face. Trapped in his grip, she can’t reach for her sword. All she can do is endure the smelly and clammy assault. The stench is enough to almost make her pass out. “Ever hear of a breath mint?” she asks.

The ogre tightens his grip and looks Filomena straight in the eye. “Shut up about snacks before you become one,” he says menacingly.

Filomena wonders if this is the end for her. Then a thunderbolt crashes to the ground next to her. The earth cracks, and the rumble knocks everyone off-balance. The ogre drops Filomena just as another thunderbolt strikes. This one crashes into the cave wall, breaking the first layer of the surface into pieces. As the rock topples and settles on the ground, more thunderbolts strike in rapid succession, followed by the maniacal laughter that Filomena has heard before.

In the chaos, Filomena grabs the tiny lamp and stuffs it into her pocket. “I have it! I have the lamp!” she cries. But there’s no time to celebrate.

“She’s here!” the ogres cheer. “The queen!”

The legendary ogre queen, the one who has kept all of Never After in fear of her growing power.

“It’s her!” cry the wolves, back to their human selves again.

One more flash of lightning and the ogre queen appears in the cave.

Queen Olga of Orgdale is as beautiful and as terrible as she had been on the day of the christening.

Her golden locks are flying, her face as cold as winter. “Where is it?” she hisses in a voice like snakes and sandpaper.

“Where’s what?” says Jack bravely.

Olga turns to him and gasps. “YOU!” she screeches. “You’re the little thief who killed my husband!”

Jack stands his ground without flinching. “Your ogre husband was starving all the villages. I stole what we needed to survive, that’s all. And I didn’t kill him. He fell!”

“You little worm! I’ll have my revenge yet! Now, hand it over!” Olga screams.

“We don’t have it,” says Alistair.

“LIES!” she yells as she transforms into the horrible ogre that she truly is, bulbous and oily and rotten. “HAND ME THE LAMP!”

“Never!” yells Filomena. “You’ll never have it!”

Olga laughs again, and this time the laughter is low, throaty, and intimate. “And who in all of fairyland are you?”

In answer, the mark on Filomena’s forehead shines in the darkness. “I am under the protection of the fairy Carabosse!”

Olga laughs again. “Oh, Carabosse, she tried her best, didn’t she? Thirteenth fairy. Protective aunt. Vengeful sister. Fairy godmother. Prophecies and curses and claims to the throne. She thought she was so clever. But all the mortals believe my lies! Her story is ended! The fairies are gone. Never After is mine!” She seethes and stomps. “NOW, ENOUGH! GIVE ME THE LAMP!”

The cavern plunges into darkness once more, and this time when the light returns, Filomena sees that all her friends have an ogre’s blade at their throats.

“Don’t give it to her,” says Jack. “You can’t. Or we will be lost forever.”

“The story can’t end here,” begs Alistair.

“Do what you need to do,” advises Gretel. “Don’t give that old bag anything.”

“The wolves are with you,” Rolf promises.

Filomena grips the lamp, so small and sweaty in her fist.

“Choose, mortal. Your friends or this lamp.”

In the end, Filomena remembers that she’s never had friends. And so it’s an easy thing to hand over.