Chapter Text
Warm late summer rain fell across New York City. It was one of those gloomy days where even before noon somehow felt like evening. Even in a magical borough like Fabletown the weather was glum.
Inside the Woodlands, a so-called ‘luxury’ apartment complex, was the Fabletown Business Office. Unlike the wooden walls and yellow-lit halls outside, the Business Office was a sprawling series of stonework rooms far too large to fit inside of the office’s ordinary geometry. Its ceiling was impossibly high with intricate archways while its floors were a maze of bookshelves full to bursting.
Bigby Wolf, the appointed protector of Fabletown, stood before a long wooden table with about a dozen tomes of various sizes strewn open across its surface. He’d been at this for hours, poring over volumes, flipping back through pages he knew he’d combed all the information he could from, just in the hopes of finding anything they could work with.
The longer he stared at the text the more it meshed together until even modern English was as indecipherable to him as an old Elvish hand. Sighing, Bigby pinched the bridge of his nose. He rubbed at his eyes and a low grumble escaped his throat.
“Any progress?”
The question came softly, quiet enough to not carry amid the silence and gentle enough that no one could be annoyed by the interruption.
Fabletown’s deputy mayor sat at the adjacent desk, with clear blue eyes, hair as black as night, and skin as white as snow―at least that’s how she was described in the old stories. Truthfully, Snow White’s skin was rosy and her dark hair, tied back in a neat bun with only a stray wave here and there, brought out the color of her eyes and lips.
When Bigby only managed a dull stare in response, Snow apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your thoughts, you just looked kind of… stuck.”
“It’s okay. I was.” More than she knew.
“There’s a lot of people who haven’t had contact with the Business Office in a long time,” the sheriff answered with a clear of his throat, “and more we can’t even confirm made it to Fabletown at all.”
Snow White nodded, eyes downcast at her own collection of papers. “On the bright side, we do have a lot of confirmation on fables who we know got out of the Homelands, even if we don’t know where they are now…”
“We need to do a census on the Farm, too,” Bigby noted. There was so much to keep track of and the previous deputy mayor let it all pile up.
Where the hell was Mayor Cole when they needed him?
“I’d like to send out some reminders, if we can,” Snow said, “but our records are pretty outdated.”
“No kidding… I’ve gone through all of Fabletown’s registered citizens since the founding and cross referenced our current records. Most of ‘em we already knew, some of ‘em are bunk.” Crossing his arms, Bigby turned away from the books and leaned against the table. “But we got a couple updates corroborated.”
The deputy mayor closed the folder she was looking through and straightened up in her chair. “Really? Who?”
“According to Johann the Butcher, there’s a food pantry in Queens called Hubbard’s Cupboard. Three guesses who runs that.”
“That makes sense… If we could help Mother Hubbard keep stock, that would give a lot of disenfranchised Fables a hand.” Snow brushed a curl from her face. “Anyone else?”
“Some bag lady who goes around Central Park at night. People are saying she might be Frau Holle but I’ll have to check that one out myself.”
“Right, that’s too vague…”
“Besides that, those swan ladies―”
“―Odette and Odile? Really?”
“Yeah, Cindy found them abroad. She’ll bring both of ‘em back with her once she’s finished her… vacation.”
“I see…” Snow did not hide her skepticism concerning Cinderella’s whereabouts but chose not to press the issue. “Is that everyone?”
Bigby glowered at the floor, hands on his hips. “We’re still missing contact with a few we have files on… Either they’re too scared to show their faces after that crooked bastard hung them out to dry, or―”
“Right… Thank you, Sheriff.”
Snow didn’t want to give credence to the possibility that even more fables were now lost. Bigby couldn’t blame her.
“They’ll reach out to us when they’re ready, or… we’ll confirm their status another way.”
She glanced at the large oval mirror standing across the room. Bigby’s eyes followed, and his gaze lingered even after Snow flipped open the next folder on her desk and took up a new sheet.
For lack of anything else to do with his hands, Bigby adjusted his tie. “Actually, Snow… there’s been something on my mind.”
Snow lowered the paper to meet Bigby’s eyes; he was still looking at the mirror.
“What is it?”
He shouldn’t ask.
That’s what he kept telling himself. He’d talked himself out of it for weeks. If anyone had the right to keep tabs on her, it damn sure wasn’t him. But if he didn’t, who would?
“We know there are a lot of Fables still in the Homelands, right?” Bigby managed to push further than the last time he tried, which had ended up as nothing more than a lame ‘nevermind.’
“Yes,” Snow confirmed, “Though, a good number must have found their way out by now and just never made it to New York… I mean ― the Swan Princesses prove that.”
“Right.“ They’d had a slow trickle of refugees over the last few centuries.
“Did you have someone in mind…?”
He scratched his beard and grumbled. “Well, you know… There’s me and there’s Woody, but…”
Bigby trailed off. Snow glanced at her desk.
Their story was about a trio but in the aftermath of the Exodus only the Wolf and Woodsman were accounted for. How strange it must have felt, to be separated from fated companions―whether they were your allies or your enemies. And here, in this place they’d built together, those titles were rarely set in stone.
“…It wouldn’t hurt to check,” she offered. When Bigby looked up, Snow was already on her feet. “Ask the Mirror. I’ll see what our records show.”
“Thanks, Snow.” He managed a tired smile, which Snow White returned.
“Of course. Just― doing our due diligence.”
She didn’t wait for a response; Snow walked past the table covered with books and disappeared between a collection of shelves containing even more volumes. Bigby headed in the other direction and stood in front of a large oval mirror, much taller than himself, ensconced with an ornate gold frame.
His reflection was almost always the same but it was still strange for Bigby to look at after all these years; it was his face, his shape, but part of the man looking back at him still seemed like a stranger at first glance. Today he looked even more tired than usual. Bags hung heavy beneath brown eyes, a bushy brow creased his forehead, and the thick stubble across his face was threatening to grow into a proper beard. Bigby scratched at it and shifted his weight, lingering where he stood.
Asking the mirror always felt a little invasive. Unlike tapping recorded security footage, the process was more comparable to watching a live feed of someone via hidden camera. That damn sure came in handy on time sensitive cases, but for this… It felt like another way to wrong her, even if his intentions had changed since they last met.
“Hey, Magic Mirror,” Bigby spoke to the glass. “Can you give me a hand with something?”
Green light flashed from within its frame, consuming Bigby’s reflection. At the glass’s center appeared a large floating head with pale skin, sunken cheeks, and a bald head; it looked thoroughly unimpressed.
“I trust by now you know my limitations and the sanctity of these traditions.” The Magic Mirror’s voice echoed without traveling far.
Bigby huffed. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your damn rhyme… I just want to know first: Can you see Fables who are back in the Homelands?”
“Magical barriers may block my sight from friend and foe alike,” the Mirror rebuffed.
“May… Meaning there might be some holes?”
“Indeed. And though I’ll admit it made me feel sick, it can’t quite compare to that bloody bi―”
One of Bigby’s eyebrows raised.
The Magic Mirror closed its mouth.
“That almost sounded like a limerick,” Bigby smirked. “What was the last word gonna be?”
“Are you certain this Fable is in the Homelands?”
"That’s what I want to find out.”
“Well then… let’s try and see. Don’t hold out on ceremony now, Bigby.” The Mirror smiled, subtle yet smug.
Bigby grumbled and adjusted his tie. He always hated this part: so damn embarrassing.
“Mirror, Mirror, if you could… show me… Red Riding Hood.”
As soon as Bigby named his target, the Mirror’s head bowed. All traces of its face faded as the green light cleared. Its reflection of the room shifted, distorting and swirling into a strange darkness.
Bigby’s brow furrowed tighter with every passing second that nothing changed.
“Something wrong?” he asked after nearly a minute.
“Hold on,” was all the Mirror offered.
Usually this process was instant; name a target and go.
Finally, after another agonizing handful of seconds, an image emerged from the haze. In it, a pale elderly woman with long white hair rested on a queen sized bed. The room was drab, dimly lit and sparsely decorated. She lay motionless at the center with no sign of whether she was sleeping or dead.
“Wait…” Bigby took a step closer. “That can’t be right.”
“Patience, Sheriff. As you say, there may be more at play.”
He crossed his arms in time for the reflection to shift again. This time it came from what appeared to be a picture on the wall above the old woman’s bed. The whole room was visible now and Bigby could see the stark white bedroom door which presently sat closed. It was a garish box of a room with numerous picture frames hung haphazardly atop dark wallpaper which resembled peacock feathers. The nightstand beside the old woman’s bed held little of note beyond a collection of bright orange prescription bottles.
Behind Bigby, Snow White’s heels on the stone floor announced her approach. She stood beside Fabletown’s sheriff and looked just as confused by the scene in the Mirror.
“Is this…?” she asked.
“Hard to say,” Bigby answered. “Any luck?”
“Not yet. Bufkin’s looking for any additional records but it looks like everything relevant is out already. All pre-Fabletown, too, but…” Snow gestured to the reflection of the nightstand.
“Right,” Bigby confirmed. “Mundy medicine.”
“Do you think…?”
“This is another Lawrence situation?”
“I mean,” Snow clasped her hands together. “...Could it be?”
Bigby frowned. “I don’t think so. There was a lot more going on with him. This looks so…”
“...Mundane?”
Just as the word left Snow’s lips, the bedroom door reflected in the Mirror began to open. Someone in a white dress entered and suddenly the reflection dissolved to black. Green light returned, then the Magic Mirror’s face.
“Hey! What happened?” Bigby barked.
The Mirror shook his head. “I… don’t know.” He sounded disoriented.
“Were you hurt?” Snow asked, a hand to her chest.
“I appreciate your concern. This time things took a different turn…”
The sheriff put one hand to the Mirror’s frame. “Who was that?”
“Apologies, Bigby. Though you find it quite lame, I still can’t conjure names.”
“Dammit.” Turning on his heel, Bigby began to pace. “Now what are we supposed to do?”
Proactive as ever, Snow White took up Bigby’s spot in front of the Magic Mirror. “Before we assume, could you take us back to that room?”
“Snow White has the floor,” the Mirror confirmed, “so I’ll try to find Red Riding Hood once more…”
The Mirror’s head dipped and again faded into shadow. This time the darkness dispersed more quickly, though not to the bedroom as before.
Images flickered and colors shifted out of sorts until what appeared plain as day was a vibrant sun-soaked forest with a clean dirt path worn directly down the middle. Before long that image was also replaced by another; several times this happened, from a field of flowers to a misty lake, an abandoned playground with nought but the wind spinning its equipment.
There wasn’t a soul in sight anywhere.
Before Bigby or Snow could question what they were being shown, the Mirror’s face rose back into view wearing a troubled expression.
“My view’s been shattered, like book pages scattered. There’s still a trace… but, to my disgrace, I cannot seem to catch a glimpse of her face.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Bigby covered his eyes.
“Bufkin!” Snow White cried toward the ceiling, and the flapping of wings soon followed.
“Coming, Miss White!” A strained, hoarse voice called in return. Moments later, a small monkey with green fur and feathered wings landed upon the cold stone at their feet. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“Something strange is going on with the Mirror,” Snow explained.
Bigby continued, “We’re trying to get a bead on Red Riding Hood but there’s… interference.”
“Ah!” Bufkin exclaimed. “We might just need to do some recalibration. It’s been a long time since you’ve tried to look for anyone who could be anywhere in any world, after all.”
The Magic Mirror nodded, though did not look wholly convinced.
Bufkin positioned himself politely to face the Mirror and cleared his small throat. “Take a breath, we’ll try something easy. Would a peek at Mr. Toad be too cheesy?”
Without hesitation the glass cleared to reveal an anthropomorphic toad in plaid slacks and a knit jacket walking upright down a pebbled street alongside a similarly dressed badger. Though no sound came through the Mirror’s reflection, Toad’s webbed hands gesticulated as his wide mouth yammered on to Badger beside him.
A moment later, the Mirror’s face returned. “No trouble there, despite my previous snare.”
“How about Jack Horner,” Bufkin suggested. “Can you see anything in his corner?”
Once again the Mirror experienced no difficulty, this time revealing a scene in a rundown bar. The target in question, Jack Horner, sported a blonde ponytail and a blue denim vest; he was busy playing darts while another man in a red leather jacket drank and the bartender, a thin woman with a prominent floral tattoo, cleaned a glass by hand.
“All seems well, so we need not dwell,” the Mirror said, then cleared away the vision.
Bufkin curled a hairless finger to his lips. “How curious… What is it about Red Riding Hood that’s so spurious?”
“I’m not sure… I’ve never encountered something like this before. But, now that I’ve caught my breath, I can do one more test,” the Mirror assured, and away his visage went. Again returned the image of a playground, this time with a swing slowly moving in the breeze; broken benches near a ruined theater at a clearing in the forest followed, the dirt path of which split away just as it met the end of a paved road.
With a deep inhale, the glass pane nearly shuddered from the Mirror’s strain. Its reflection fragmented, the image splitting as if the glass itself had cracked despite remaining smooth to the touch. Within each fragment showed a different location in an attempt to unify the visions and observe them all at once. Some were previously seen, others not; an empty campsite, an old theater, and a sad looking patch of neglected graves, all in wooded clearings. Still, not a single one showed any person present―least of all the girl they wanted to find.
A haggard exhale released the images, casting the Mirror’s reflection into darkness until its face returned. The Magic Mirror shook its head wearily. “The path forward is mired in red and black, with truth that only a wolf could track.”
Bigby scoffed. “And how the hell am I supposed to find any of that crap?”
“If we could just know where that old woman lives…” Snow murmured.
The Mirror sighed. “Why not consult Aunty Greenleaf, if you’re struggling with this motif?”
“That’s… actually not a bad idea.” Snow White turned to Bigby as he scratched his stubble. “She might appreciate a private consultation with the sheriff, anyway.”
“I guess… It’s been so busy we haven’t talked in a while.” Bigby folded his arms. “You gonna hold down the fort here?”
Snow nodded. “It’s slower than it has been but there’s still a lot that I need to catch up on. Besides… she likes you more than me.”
“Well…” Bigby couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth. Snow quirked a brow, waiting for what else he was going to say, but Bigby only shrugged. “Good luck.”
“You too.” Snow turned away from the group and returned to her desk. “Bufkin, can you help me over here?”
“Oh! Yes, Miss White! Just a second.”
Gently, Bufkin patted the frame of the Magic Mirror. Its resident bowed, retreating into the calm, clear glass. Once more its reflection was as anyone would expect, with Bigby its sole inhabitant as Bufkin took flight.
Left alone, the sheriff of Fabletown looked miserable.
One pathetic ding from the rickety elevator announced Bigby’s arrival on the Thirteenth Floor. This was the headquarters of all witches employed by Fabletown; anyone practicing magic outside of their jurisdiction was at least on watch―unregistered free agents had caused more than enough trouble in the past.
Aunty Greenleaf was a new addition to the fold, one who had only moved in a short time ago. Weeks or months… It was hard to keep track.
Despite the Thirteenth Floor’s purpose, the hallway housing the many witches and wizards of Fabletown looked as normal as any other in the building. To outside observers there was nothing strange or noteworthy about this section of the Woodlands Apartments at all.
Bigby approached Greenleaf’s door. He’d made sure he had the number right on the residents list downstairs (for once his name wasn’t the only one poorly stuck on with paper and tape) but even so he double checked the name plate beneath her doorbell. The sheriff wasn’t keen to call on her for something like this, but Bigby’s mild apprehension was nowhere near as bad as Snow’s own… or their aversion to each other.
Knocking with the back of his hand on the plain wooden door, Bigby didn’t have to wait long. The door opened just a crack, enough to reveal the old witch’s toffee colored eye circled by wrinkles, exhaustion, and stringy white hair.
“I see the little woman isn’t with you.” Greenleaf’s tone was snide. Making this a solo visit was the right call.
“Ease up, Greenleaf. I’m not here to mess with you.”
Aunty Greenleaf opened the door fully. Bigby was not an especially tall man but Greenleaf still stood about a head shorter with a noticeable slouch. Her dress was reserved, woodsy, covered by a long white cardigan.
She appraised her visitor, adjusting half-moon spectacles. “Then what are you here for, Wolf?”
“Business.” Bigby pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket―Huff ‘n Puff brand. “And to see how you’re doing.”
“Interesting combination…” Greenleaf didn’t sound convinced, but she still moved aside so Bigby could enter her apartment. “Let’s leave business for last. I just made some coffee.”
He took a cigarette between his teeth and stepped inside.
The interior revealed its occupant’s magical nature after the initial foyer. With a turn down the hall, dreary pockmarked wood gave way to a lush meadow sprawled like a carpet between sections of displaced rooms―floating windows, the corner of her kitchen―and a gnarled tree in full bloom claimed the center of a boundless grassy knoll. Though well after dark outside, a false sky cast the pleasant glow of tranquil twilight around the room. It smelled of fresh spring and wildflowers.
It was definitely an upgrade from her last apartment, though Bigby didn’t think that one was too bad compared to his own… He had the smallest apartment in the Woodlands and where Greenleaf lived before had still seemed twice its size.
The witch invited him to sit at a small dining table amid the outdoor scene. Bigby’s coffee was dark, untouched by milk or creamer, while Greenleaf’s was a firm tan. Their mugs matched; ceramic, painted yellow with a mint colored vine pattern.
“How’s the Thirteenth Floor treating you?” he asked, graceless as usual.
“I told you, I don’t play well with others.”
“Most of the witches here said the same thing. Until they got used to it.”
Greenleaf took a sip. “I suppose the same could be said for you.”
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re domesticated, Wolf.”
Bigby frowned over his mug.
“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Greenleaf assured. “You won’t hear any complaints from me about your restraint.”
“Things are different now. We can’t afford to be stubborn like we used to…”
He certainly couldn’t.
“You’ve proven yourself quite flexible, Sheriff… It’s much appreciated.”
Bigby lowered his gaze to the table. “Thanks…”
He wanted to enjoy the praise, acknowledgment like that was hard earned and rarely given, but the city had humbled this wolf more times than he could count. More importantly, the clock was ticking.
“Look, I can’t waste too much time―”
“So it’s a waste of time to have a drink with an old woman?”
“Greenleaf.”
“Breathe...”
He did take a breath―deep, rumbling, and full of smoke―then ashed out his cigarette in a tray Greenleaf provided him.
She left room for another drink, and the delicate sound of porcelain as she lowered her glass. “Now, what troubles brought you to my door?”
“We’ve been trying to get better documentation on all of the Fables here, so nobody falls through the cracks anymore… The problem is, some of them are really damn hard to find, and I just hit one hell of a dead end.”
“What, that Mirror the princess keeps can’t help you?”
“That’s the dead end,” Bigby groused. “There’s some kind of magical block. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, even the Mirror’s confused. Something about his ‘view being shattered’... but the Mirror’s fine, so whatever that means it must be on her end…”
“And who’s the Fable that needs attention from the Big Bad Wolf so badly?”
Grimacing, Bigby avoided the witch’s gaze. “Red Riding Hood…”
Aunty Greenleaf stifled her laughter.
Shame heated the sheriff’s ears, sent hair along the back of his arms and neck standing on end. “I know how it sounds―”
“I’ll need to consult the Mirror myself.” The sheriff lowered his hackles. Greenleaf’s hooded eyes rose above the rim of her frames. Within seconds, amusement drifted back into placid curiosity. “But if you know how it sounds, then you’ll forgive my question…”
Bigby braced himself. Greenleaf didn’t say another word until he looked her straight in the eye.
“You’ve made a lot of changes, Wolf―no one can deny that. You gave me this job, you saved my tree, and you defended this town without spilling more blood. I trust you…” The wooden chair creaked as her weight shifted. “...now I need to know that you trust yourself.”
Bigby looked into his coffee, pensive, then set the mug down. His eyes found the tree, standing tall in that mystically dusk-bathed meadow. He could smell the fresh earth, rich and wild.
“I have to follow up on this,” he explained, voice steady. “If there’s a chance I can keep a Fable out of danger and I don’t take it because I’m… ashamed of something in our past, then I wouldn’t have any right to call myself Sheriff.”
Greenleaf’s eyes closed, a faint smile on her wrinkled face.
“That’s right… This town was built on second chances. A fresh start for everyone, and you’ve earned your office. …But you’ll have to keep proving yourself, over and over again.”
Bigby watched the shadows of butterflies in streams of twilight, his face stony.
“So you know there’s a possibility,” Greenleaf continued, “that even after all this time, even after all the good you’ve done here, this girl may never forgive you. Even if you help her now, it won’t erase past wrongs. She will remember… ever after.”
Bigby’s fist tightened against his leg. “I know… but I need to do this. Even if she’s still scared of me. Even if she hates me. I’m not doing this for closure, or anyone’s gratitude.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“So she can have another chance, too.”
Greenleaf’s mug touching the table sent a jolt of something through Bigby’s system, all of his senses poised with tension, but the witch’s voice was as gentle as the brook babbling just out of view.
“You’ve roped me in, now,” she said, her smile returning. It warmed as Bigby braved looking at her again and coaxed a faint smile out of the reformed beast. “Let’s see this through.”