“Mattie!” I was tramping through the forest, not even on the path, panicked, screaming. “Mattie!” Vaguely I registered the sound of music wobbling a bit unsteadily though the air. I suddenly had the urge to dance—and quickly made a bee-line to get back on the path. I didn’t need to get caught up in Creative Inspiration right now.
“Mattie! Oh, Mattie! There you are!” I was still screaming—perhaps a bit wound up.
“Peter, calm down.” She was about five feet in front of me. She squinted her eyes (the telltale sign that she was performing a spell), and sure enough, a moment later, two overstuffed armchairs zipped into place right there on the wide path. I could still hear faint music from the forest, but on the path I no longer felt entranced by it. (Just one of the fun little things about the woods on campus.)
“Mattie, listen. I just ran into Circe. And she stopped time! Or I guess, she slowed it down, like, a lot.” With that, I launched into what had happened and just how Circe had come to possess Real World magic. Immediately wishing I hadn’t.
“Peter, you idiot! You know full well not to trust Circe. If she asks you to do anything for her—pass the salt, can I have a glass of water?, take this jar to the Real World—the answer is always no! No good can come from her having more power.” Mattie paused and somewhat reluctantly said, “I’d always heard about the magic from the Real World. Old stuff, it is. Older than Fiction or even books themselves.”
“But that’s the thing. When I went out there, there was no magic. My wand was practically useless. Except the one time in the basement I used it to poke Terrill while he was snoring.”
She just shrugged, suddenly looking very tired, and very much older than I’d remembered. “I don’t know much about the magic Out There, Peter. All I know is what I’ve read in Fictional Nonfiction books; I have no way of knowing what it feels like Out There. But from what I gather, it’s not all about incantations and wand work and spells. It can be, sure, but it’s based on something older and deeper and far more terrifying.”
“What’s that?”
I expected her to say something succinct and powerful—you know, like “love,” or “faith,” or “trust,” because this is Fiction and I sensed that the scene was coming to a close, but she shrugged and again, said she didn’t know.
“Anyway, we better get to practicing, Peter. You’re still a bit rusty from your sojourn out in the Real World”—like it was a vacation or something— “and you’ll want to catch up. I wouldn’t worry too much about Circe’s new little trick,” she added, perhaps reading the Oh-my-god-are-you-saying-I-need-to-brush-up-on-my-magic-because-I-will-have-to-compete-with-Circe’s-newfound-Real-World-Magic look on my face. “You may have brought her back one little trick—okay, one big trick—but I unless you or someone else agrees to keep bringing her magic out and bringing Real World magic back through the wardrobes, she shouldn’t have access to it again. She may be a powerful sorceress, but even she can’t just break through Randy’s enchantments and move through Narnia at will. If she’s not on the list of approved characters to move between worlds, she just won’t be able to do it.”
“Oh yeah, because the alarm will go off.”
“Well yes. And she’ll die.”
“What?” I asked, I stood up just as my big armchair zipped away, crunching through the trees, and back to where Mattie must have summoned them from. I thought they looked rather like the ones in a certain fictional common room (which now lived in a lounge area in the main building.)
“Oh yes. Didn’t Randy ever tell you that? If you’re not on the list to pass through Narnia, either going out or coming in, you’ll die. Really a nice bit of magic, he did on that one,” she added with a smile.
I was astonished. I think my mouth was actually hanging open. Randy? Using magic to kill people? I supposed it wasn’t that out of character; after all, he was a wizard detective and he’d certainly seen some crazy stuff. He’d had to toughen to the job. I followed Mattie down the path and further into the woods where we’d have our lesson, still wrapping my head around the whole thing. It took me a minute to realize Mattie was still talking.
“… and so I wouldn’t worry too much about Circe getting her hands on any outside magic. The wardrobes are the only way between worlds, and as long as you or anyone else don’t agree to help her again, all should be well.” She paused, wiped some sweat from her brow. It was an unseasonably muggy day, or perhaps it was just being so deep in the woods. “What made you agree to help her out in the first place, Peter?”
That’s when I remembered. “She said that someday soon I would need her help, too.”
And at that, Mattie did look very scared indeed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Peter, is that you?
Peter?
P e t e r ?
I couldn’t see or hear. There was nothing; just blank space. But those words. Her words. I knew it was—
Jenny?
I didn’t say it, but there it was.
I’m here. Peter, I don’t have much time. I have to tell you something.
I felt myself trying to make sense of this space, this emptiness. I tried to feel my limbs; shake my head. It was no good.
Where are we, Jenny?
We’re nowhere. Peter, I don’t have much time. I want you to know that I’m okay. We’re all okay. We’re stuck in this sort of in between—this space—caught between Fiction and the other Side.
The Real World?
Beyond that. Peter, if you just let us go…
Her voice was starting to trail off.
Jenny! Don’t you start ellipsesing. I’m not letting you go… Oh shit, now I’m doing it, too…
Peter, it’s too dangerous. You have to…
Jenny?
I could feel a heaviness. My body. Growing more solid by the second. I was pressed against something soft. I tried to push it away.
Peter, she’ll do worse than kill you. You have to watch out for
“Peter.”
“Nope,” I was still trying to get back to that space in between. Jenny was there, and not there. I wanted to stay… Maybe if I just…
“Peter, stop ellipsesing. You’ve got to get up right now. Something’s happened.”
I opened my eyes and saw Randy sitting on the edge of my bed. He was wearing his favorite blue duck-covered pajamas, which made his face look even paler and grimmer. I sat up.
“It’s Alan. He’s been attacked.”
“Memoir Alan Alda?”
“No.”
“Alan from Holes?”
“No.”
“Alan, that guy who—”
“No, Peter. Alan the Lion. I got a call early this morning from Terrill. Come on, get up.”
Randy stood up and I pulled the covers back, immediately cold and missing that empty space in between. It was early November* and already felt like winter.
*Hey, not all chapters start the very next day, you know.
“Are we going out to Nonfiction? To the Black Market?” I called out, pulling on some pants. I could hear Randy in the living room just down the hall, tidying up: fluffing pillows, scooting the coffee table a few inches here and there, rearranging picture frames. He was nervous.
“No need, Peter. He’s already in a hospital in Fictional Oregon. It was the closest one to Nonfiction, but, you know, can’t use Fictional Insurance in Nonfiction. Terrible system. Anyway, let’s get going.” Randy had stepped back into my room, twirling his wand nervously.
“When did you change?” I asked, taking in his dark slacks, coat, and scarf. He shrugged.
“Come on Peter, we’re in a hurry. Let’s go.”
When we arrived at the hospital, I recognized it immediately. And asked to stay in the car.
“Peter, I sincerely doubt we’ll come across any of the characters from the book.”
I just looked out the window at the tall, red-brick building. There was a tower on top, almost like it was once a school, but no more. Now, it was one of the mos
t famous psychiatric hospitals in Fiction.
“McMurphy’s actually a pretty nice guy,” Randy went on, opening up the passenger door. “Mad as the Hatter, but you know, nice guy. Let’s go.”
I walked behind Randy toward the building, its shadow covering us as we approached. It was cold, and colder still without the sun. As we got closer, I could hear laughter and screaming coming from within.
“How did Alan end up in here?” I whispered as we made our way through the lobby. We passed a nurse with a doll-like face and steely eyes carrying a silver tray covered in little Dixie cups of pills. She eyed us critically and then kept walking.
Randy mumbled something that sounded like “ratchet,” but before I could ask, the loudest scream yet pierced the air. It was coming from the room we’d just passed in a white and sterile-looking hallway. As we kept walking, I could hear several people’s feet running toward the room and a high-pitched, familiar voice (“The centaurs are coming for me—you don’t understand, I swear!”) fading away, away, as we walked on.
“Did Alan lose his mind…?” I asked a little more urgently. We turned a corner and found ourselves in front of a door to the stairs. Randy didn’t seem to be listening to me; he pulled something out of his pocket—a rubber chicken. Then a magnifying glass. Then his wand.
“For gods’ sakes, now is not the time…” he grumbled and pointed the wand at his pocket. A moment later, a small white slip of paper zipped from his pocket and into his hand. He studied it for a moment and then opened the door to the stairs. “Third floor, room 301. Let’s go.”
I jogged up the stairs behind him, grateful to be away from all the screaming. To have some space.
“Randy—I forgot to mention—I had this dream last night.”
“Here we are: Level Three. After you, Peter.” He held the door open for me and I walked out into another white and sterile hallway. This one, though, was quiet. I could only hear a low murmur of voices dotted with laughter, from somewhere around the corner. When we approached, I saw that it was a group of three nurses: two male fauns, with short goat-like horns, furry legs, and hooved feet, and a woman with long blonde hair.
“Oh, hello. Is this the Fantasy Ward? We’re looking for a lion named Alan.”
“This is the Fantasy Ward. He’s in 301—just down the hall,” she hoisted her thumb over her shoulder, pointing behind her.
The door was slightly ajar, so Randy did that passively-intrusive thing where he knocked, but really was opening the door before waiting for an invitation. When we got in, though, we found Alan sprawled out on his back on a large and rather sturdy-looking hospital bed, fast asleep. Slumped in two chairs just by his side, lines of sunlight through the blinds making them looked striped, were Terrill and Ivor.
“Terrill,” I whispered walking around the bed, avoiding looking at Alan. Hospitals creeped me out on a good day, but there was something seriously weird going on with Alan. I could feel it. And I don’t mean in that “I’m in touch with other people’s energies and I could sense something was wrong,” way—because I couldn’t; I’m about as perceptive as a doorknob. I mean, I could feel it—like an electric charge was coming from the bed where he lay. “Terrill,” I said again over his snores, nudging his shoulder. He slumped to the right, causing Ivor who’d been leaning against his shoulder to fall forward.
“‘S’all this about, then?” Ivor griped, pulling himself onto his short legs. “Oh, ‘s’you.”
“How could she…”
I turned around, surprised to see Randy, white as the sheet strewn messily on the bed, staring down at Alan. I forced myself to follow his gaze. And there he was… a Real lion. It wasn’t Alan anymore. This lion seemed to be straight from the Real World. Gone were Alan’s glossy, smooth fur, his perfectly defined and straight whiskers, and his golden, elegant main; instead, I could see small nicks in his fur, places where tufts were missing. His whiskers were barely visible from a distance, but looked bent and wiry, and his main… It just looked too real.
“There wos a note,” Terrill said, stepping around the bed toward Randy. He pulled a folded, white piece of paper from his pants pocket and handed it over. “Taped right on the cab’net, this.”
“Wardrobe.”
Randy was looking down at the note, his face, if possible, getting even paler. He looked sick.
“That psychotic bit—”
“Whoa, watch it there, Randy,” I looked around a little nervously. Randy never cussed.
“—of Real World scum. Here, look at this,” he leaned over the bed and held the note out to me. To get it, I had to lean partly over the bed as well; Alan’s prone body just radiated that weird, Real World energy.
Dear Peter,
I was so sad to have seen you go the way you did; we didn’t even get to say our goodbyes. Luckily, I got all I needed from you during your stay, and have been able to perfect a serum to transform characters into Real Worlders—no matter where they are! It’s good, don’t you think?
I hadn’t thought about using it on any of your little friends in Fiction, but then a little birdie told me that you are planning something of a surprise for me! Locking me in my own basement? Clearly I can’t have that, so I will make you a deal: You stay well away from the Real World, and I might just forget about turning each and every book character into a Real Worlder until there is no more Fiction left at all.
Best,
Your Destiny
“Jenny was right,” I said, folding the paper back up and tossing it onto the table next to Alan’s bed. Or whoever he was now. “She said that she would do worse than kill me if I kept trying to go out there. She said… she said to let her go.”
“What are you talking about, Peter? When could Jenny have possibly said any of that?” Randy asked, looking alarmed. Terrill and Ivor were also looking a little uncomfortable. Ghost stuff may happen more often in Fiction, but it’s still creepy as hell when it does.
“I had this dream, sort of. It felt like more than a dream, though,” I added at their looks. “Listen, it doesn’t matter if you believe me. It just matters that,” I took a deep breath—I hated myself for saying it, “we can’t put everyone in Fiction at risk like this.”
Ivor and Terrill stood to my left and from the corner of my eye, I could see them nodding reluctantly, looking down. Randy, however, was looking out the window behind me, as though he hadn’t caught a word of what I’d said.
“Terrill, did you say this note was pinned to this side of the wardrobe?”
Terrill nodded. I looked back over and Randy had donned his detective hat.
“So you and Ivor arrived this morning to pass through Narnia for...?”
“Ship’men o’ Mason Pearson Detangling Combs.”
“Right, so you were going to pass through, but instead, you found Alan in this state, passed out, in the wardrobe stall? With…” he flicked his wand and the note zipped into his outstretched hand, “this note?”
“‘S’wat we’re sayin’, Randy,” Ivor piped in.
“But I’m curious as to how Destiny could possibly have gotten through the wardrobe and onto our side, without tipping off my alarms.”
“Wot bleedin’ alarms?” Ivor asked.
“My alarms. I set a magical tripwire, of sorts, that will alert me if anyone non-registered attempts to go in or out of the wardrobe. I set it up last year when ? was wreaking such havoc. Since so many characters travel back and forth for business, like you two, I had to create a list of people permitted to go in and out. If you’re not on the list, my alarm” at this, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an actual, round, golden, alarm clock, “will go off.” He held it out in the palm of his hand; it ticked quietly.
“And if you keep trying, you’ll die,” I added under my breath, hardly audible. Randy glanced at me, but then Ivor stepped forward, arms folded over his chest.
“Wot exactly are ya sayin’, Randy?”
“Yeah, wot’re ya implyin’?”
“I’m just sa
ying, whoever put this note on the wardrobe, and whoever injected Alan with this serum, did it from this side. And it’s very curious that you two were making a run out to the Real World so very early this morning—”
“It wasn’t Terrill and Ivor,” I said, surprising myself even a little bit. As soon as I’d said it, though, I knew it was true. “They wouldn’t do that. I spent all that time with them Out There. Destiny has messed with them, too. They wouldn’t do this.”
“Thanks for ‘at, Peter,” Terrill mumbled.
Randy studied me for a moment, then Terrill and Ivor, who stared back just as baldly. “Okay, I believe you. And Terrill and Ivor, I’m sorry for questioning you. But if it wasn’t you two, who was it?”
The only noise in the room was the sound of the little alarm clock, tick, tick, ticking away in Randy’s (for some reason) still outstretched palm. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question. I’m serious, who was it?”
“Oh. Well, someone from books who has an interest in helping out Destiny,” I supplied.
“Righ’. ‘An someone who ‘as access to that serum.” Ivor added.
“Yes, that’s where this gets tricky, isn’t it?” Randy had started pacing. And tripped over one of the wires connected to Alan’s vitals monitor, causing it to unplug, the three nurses to come in in a panic, plug it back in, admonish him, and force him to clear a pacing path before resuming. But you don’t need to know about all that. “Whoever did this must somehow have access to the serum, which was invented in the Real World. Destiny couldn’t have walked it through the door herself. And only those with access to the Real World are permitted to pass through—a very short list, mind you. Characters I trust. So maybe…”
“She has a clone here in Fiction!” I shouted.
Randy gave me a pitying look. To my left, I heard Ivor whistle.
“Well, I suppose that’s possible, Peter. But what I was thinking is that maybe there is more than one way to get things in and out of the Real World and into ours. You said this woman is a scientist, right, Peter?”
The Actual Account of Peter Able Page 9
