Briar Rose, the Sleeping Beauty, sat slumped in Bigby's office, her head bowed in chagrin. The lingering scent of burnt coffee and unspoken tension filled the air, a stark contrast to the luxurious confines of Tiffany's Jewellery, where her latest incident had occurred. She'd accidentally pricked her finger on a diamond pin, sending herself and the entire sales floor into an enchanted sleep. They were lucky the mundys thought it was a gas leak, but Bigby was far from amused. His voice, usually a low growl, was laced with exasperation as he warned her that this couldn't continue. He suggested she embrace the eccentricities of a wealthy recluse and start wearing thick gloves, a constant shield against her cursed touch.
Their strained discussion was abruptly interrupted by Boy Blue, who burst in with news that Trusty John, the unflappable doorman, was calling for Bigby. Agitated, Bigby stormed to the front entrance. John, usually a picture of composure, looked genuinely perplexed. He reported a mundy gentleman loitering outside, a common enough occurrence since most people believed Fabletown was just another quirky part of the city. But this particular mundy was asking for Bigby… by name. A prickle of unease, cold and sharp, began to spread through Bigby.
The Weight of Revelation
Later that day, I found myself in the Business Office with Snow White and Bigby, the three of us huddled together, the weight of accumulating secrets pressing down. We shared what we'd learned, the atmosphere thickening with each new detail. I went first, laying out everything: Georgie Porgie's ambitions, Vivian's unsettling charm, the sinister implications of the ribbons they planned to use on the girls, their ties to the Crooked Man, and the shocking revelation about the newly acquired Open Arms Hotel. Snow's expression grew grim with each detail, her eyes widening with a cold dread I echoed. This was not just a criminal enterprise; it was an organized threat, reaching deeper than we'd initially imagined. Bigby listened, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on some unseen point beyond the window.
Then it was Bigby's turn, recounting his encounter with the Mundy reporter. He'd confronted the man outside, who introduced himself as Tommy Sharp, a columnist for the Daily News. Sharp, with an unnerving confidence, announced he'd been researching their community for quite some time, claiming to have uncovered some "interesting things." He even produced old photographs of some Fables, dating back to the dawn of photographic technology, irrefutable proof that they hadn't aged a day. Bigby, always impatient with theatrics, told Sharp to get to the point before he got bored.
Sharp, unfazed, laid it all on the table, a chilling accusation. He believed Bigby and everyone else living in Fabletown were part of a community of immortal vampires. He even claimed to have spied on Bigby changing form into a wolf one night in Central Park, presenting it as irrefutable proof of his "vampiric powers." He thrust a card at Bigby, telling him to make contact if he had anything to say. Bigby, with a dismissive grunt, simply told Tommy to shove off, dropped the card onto the ground, and walked away.
The news hit us like a cold wave. A Mundy, not just snooping, but actively piecing together their true nature. The audacity of it, the sheer danger. The Open Arms Hotel was a direct threat from within Fabletown's underbelly, but Tommy Sharp was a threat to their very existence in the Mundane World. The quiet worry that had settled over me with Georgie's plans now escalated into a sharp, urgent fear. This was no longer just about infiltration; it was about survival.