Her reaction was the same as it always was when she looked upon her laboratory: a mixture of pleasure and pride. She had spent years making the space into what it was now. Every piece of gleaming equipment had been handpicked. Every specimen was there at her orders. Every experiment was done at her request. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room for Lickspittle. Spotting the pixie hunched over a workbench, she made her way to him.
He didn’t hear her at first. His big yellow eyes were focused on the microscope in front of him. Long, thin fingers were wrapped around the black tube that led to the lenses. As he gazed into the eyepiece, his fingers tightened and loosened, reminding Ingrith of a spider making a web. Lickspittle’s skin, which had once been smooth and the color of moonlight, had long since turned to a spongy yellow. It was mottled with spots and scars earned in various mishaps in the lab over the years. Even his clothes had taken on the same yellowish hue. The apron he wore over his chest was stained, and its large pocket was full of various equipment — none of which looked particularly clean. Ingrith hated how dirty Lickspittle appeared. But she tried to ignore it. After all, she needed him to work, not escort her to a ball.
Lickspittle was the only other soul who knew of Ingrith’s lab. Captured years earlier by Ingrith, he had lost his wings — and his soul — and become her lead experimenter. He seemed to have forgotten over the years that he was even a pixie at all. He often referred to himself as though he were a human, and Ingrith had stopped correcting him. It served her purposes better if the creature did not feel any connection to the faeries and pixies he worked on in the name of science. Or rather, in the name of Ingrith. Without an ounce of remorse, he spent his days and nights hidden in the bowels of Castle Ulstead, performing crude trials on his own kind.
He lifted his head from the microscope, and donning a pair of safety glasses, he turned his big yellow eyes to a glowing red flower. He hummed as he continued to work, tapping the center of the flower over a dish, causing a gold powder to float down. The beautiful flower seemed out of place in the darkness of the room and in the spongy hands of Lickspittle. All around him were dozens of glass jars, and inside them were trapped faeries of every shape and size. This was where the Moors’ faeries had been disappearing to — all by Ingrith’s order.
Hearing Ingrith’s footfalls, Lickspittle finally looked up. He blinked his eyes rapidly as he bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said.
“You need to move faster, Lickspittle,” the queen replied, not bothering with pleasantries. She hesitated and quickly looked at the flower before moving toward a nook in the back of the lab.
Inside, the floor was piled high with all manner of mythical relics. More items had been placed carefully and intentionally on shelves that stuck out from the walls. There were wooden bowls filled with dusty objects long since rotted to unrecognizable, jars labeled “unicorn tears” and “Pegasus teeth,” and even what appeared to be the skull of a dragon. It was like walking into a museum of mysterious objects from all over the world, all remnants of a long-ago time when people believed in myth and magic. In the heart of the nook, separated from the other pieces, was Ingrith’s most prized possession. She had tracked down the item nearly five years earlier and secreted it away to the lab. Even now, in the dark and dank laboratory, it appeared to shine with untapped magic. She stepped closer, her eyes locked on the spinning wheel.
Behind her, Lickspittle appeared. Following her gaze, he shook his head. “I’ve never understood your search for a spinning wheel, Your Majesty,” he said.
Ingrith didn’t turn her head, her eyes still focused on the wheel. “It’s the only treasure I’ll ever need,” she said. In time, Lickspittle would understand. In time, everyone would understand.
Maleficent had spent a good part of the afternoon at the cottage that had once been Aurora’s home. When Aurora had become queen of the Moors, it was abandoned and taken over by weeds and wildflowers that grew up through the floor and wrapped around the decaying furniture. Dust covered what bare surfaces remained, and when beams of sunlight made it through the dirty windows, they caught and illuminated the specks that floated in the air.
Despite the state of the cottage, it still felt comforting. A nod to Aurora’s time there, perhaps, and the love she had put into the house and everything she did. Standing beside the window to Aurora’s room, Maleficent looked at the small cradle that still sat in the far corner. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered watching the little girl slumber, her tiny hands tightening and loosening on the soft piece of fabric she had carried with her everywhere. She remembered how Aurora’s nose twitched in her sleep, as though she were smelling something delightful. And how she always woke up smiling. Even as a child, Aurora had found the good in everything and everyone — including Maleficent.
Maleficent couldn’t let the girl down — even if it meant going to Castle Ulstead and dining with the enemy.
Maleficent flew away from the cottage and returned to Aurora’s castle. Summoning Diaval, she made her way to a small reflecting pond. For the past hour now, she had been practicing her smile.
Pulling back her lips for the hundredth time, she turned to Diaval. In his human form, he stood a safe distance away. He had learned that when Maleficent asked for feedback, she rarely took it well. “And now with slightly less fang,” he suggested.
“How’s this?” Maleficent asked, lifting her upper lip so that it perched awkwardly over her fangs.
Diaval shook his head. “Mistress, I can smile nicer,” he said, “and I have a beak.” Maleficent raised her hand, her fingers twitching, to turn the infuriating man back into a silent bird. But before she could, Diaval stopped her. “Wait,” he cried, attempting to save himself. “Try the greeting again.”
Maleficent sighed but lowered her finger. Diaval was right to push her. Although she had no desire to go to this dinner, she wasn’t doing it for herself — she was doing it for Aurora. And that meant playing the part, down to the smiles and forced hellos. Maleficent took a deep breath, then tried again as she nodded ever so slightly. “How kind of you to invite me this evening,” she said, her voice sounding grating even to her own ears.
“Remember,” Diaval said, “not a threat.”
Maleficent nodded and tried again. She thought of every sickly-sweet nice thing she had ever heard Aurora say. She thought of the way the young girl’s voice always became a bit higher when she was trying to reassure Maleficent she was okay. Channeling Aurora, Maleficent said, “How kind of you to invite me this evening,” her voice now creepily nice.
“Better,” Diaval said. “And now the curtsy.”
Maleficent was done. She didn’t even have to raise her finger to make Diaval step back. She had had enough. This was as polished as she would ever be. It was time for a break.
Diaval sensed her frustration, and his face softened. “She loves that boy very much,” he said gently. “You’re doing her a great kindness.”
Maleficent opened her mouth, a snide retort on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself when Aurora came into view. Wearing a simple gown of the lightest pink that brushed the ground, its neckline dipping ever so slightly and with no added adornment, she looked every inch the elegant queen. A few flowers were tucked into the top half of her hair, which was pulled back, accentuating her large eyes and blushing cheeks. The rest of her long blond locks hung free and swayed in the gentle breeze that blew through the clearing.