AVALINE

Chapter One

The Boy Who Found His Mother

If there was one thing Henry Mills was exceptionally good at, it was disappearing.

Not running away.

Not exactly.

Just... disappearing.

One second he'd be sitting at the diner eating fries and talking a mile a minute about some new theory he'd come up with.

The next?

Gone.

Off climbing something he shouldn't be climbing.

Following somebody he shouldn't be following.

Reading something he shouldn't be reading.

The kid had the survival instincts of a squirrel.

Which was why I wasn't particularly surprised when I got the call.

I was, however, annoyed.

"Henry is missing."

Click.

That was it.

No hello.

No how are you.

No good morning, Avaline.

Just:

Henry is missing.

I rolled my eyes as I turned into the driveway of the biggest house in Storybrooke.

Of course.

Because apparently if Henry vanished for more than twenty minutes, Regina automatically assumed I was part of the problem.

Not entirely unfair.

But still.

I parked my truck and stared at the mansion looming above me.

Every window was lit.

The house looked beautiful.

Cold.

Perfect.

Like a picture in a magazine.

Like something nobody actually lived in.

I climbed out and shoved my hands into my jacket pockets.

The October air bit at my cheeks.

The curse made every day feel exactly the same.

The same people.

The same conversations.

The same routines.

The same smiles.

The same lies.

I could see it.

Always had.

The magic.

Nobody believed me.

Nobody ever did.

Not the social workers.

Not the doctors.

Not the therapists.

Not the foster families.

Apparently telling people there was magic dripping from street signs and curling around people's ankles made them uncomfortable.

Weird.

Regina was the only person who never looked at me like I was insane.

She looked at me like I was dangerous.