Jenny threw her weight into the door again and again. She’d known this would happen, but it was still agony just the same. Upstairs Peter could be being attacked, tortured even, and Jenny the Girl Wizard couldn’t remember a simple unlocking spell, because in another world her wizarding books were not published.
Not yet anyway.
She was just going to run down the street to see if she could find a wizard or warlock somewhere when it happened: it was as though a fog lifted from her head and at the same time, she felt the weight of something appear in her jacket pocket. Astonished, she looked down: there was her wand. She grabbed it quickly, noticing only for a moment how perfect and right it felt in her hand, and with a quick left to right swipe and a muttered spell, the door’s lock clicked open.
She hadn’t known this would happen. She didn’t have time to wonder what this meant, but only dashed up the stairs, hoping beyond hope that it meant something else could be changed too.
“Get down!” I shouted to Mattie. She jumped flat to the ground as what looked like a ripple in the very fabric of the air sailed over her body. Circe was standing, hair only slightly out of place, and composed.
“My, my, you two are worn out. And I haven’t even gotten to the Real World magic yet.” She was playing with us. Mattie and I were both beaten and bruised—I’d been sent flying into the back wall of the space, knocking my head. It felt like there were things rattling around in it I didn’t even know were in there. Mattie’s arm was clearly broken and her eye was red and swollen. We were too weak.
Just then Circe pulled from her robes a little glass jar. I knew immediately it was Real World magic—what it did, I didn’t care. “Run!” I screamed to Mattie. She half-crawled, half-ran toward the door. I didn’t dare look back at Circe; I could hear what sounded like pulsing; I could feel it in my bones. It shook me and got faster, making it hard to run, much less stand. I toppled to the ground, and when I did, agony. Pure, blinding, bone-shattering, skin-removing, organ-slicing pain. When I looked down at my body, I could see that none of those things had happened, but I was ruined from it. I couldn’t move. I heard Circe walking toward me, and something else further away: the echo of feet falling, probably from outside. It didn’t matter. I was done.
“I can’t have you just dying here, Peter. People will talk. Best to just turn you Real. Keeping people on their toes keeps them out of my way, after all.” When I saw her she was standing over me with a syringe in her hand; an odd, blue liquid swirling around inside of it.
She’ll worse than kill you, Jenny had said. Her voice rang in my ears as I closed my eyes, defeated and surrendered. But then the voice got louder. And closer. And wasn’t nearly as soothing.
“I said get off of him!” her voice shouted. I felt something hot soar over my flat body and then Circe gasped sharply.
“You little brat!” Circe shouted. “This is one of my favorite dresses, and you’ve scorched a hole in it!”
I lifted my head as much as I could. Sure enough, there was Circe, a smoldering hole near the knee of her dress and across from her just behind my head, was Jenny. I tried to sit up.
“Leave him alone,” Jenny said again in a low voice. At this, Circe just laughed, that hypnotic, tinkling, evil laugh of hers. Another burst of heat zoomed across me; this one Circe easily deflected by merely slashing her arm through the air.
“Oh how adorable,” Circe said. At this point I was propped up on my elbows, shaking it hurt so bad. I could see my wand on the floor behind Circe; it was no good to try and get it, and in this state, I was too weak for nonverbal magic. “Your author suddenly publishes, what, book one in your wizarding series? And you come in to save the man you love, with first year magical training? You have the magical education of a child.”
“It’s worked before!”
“In children’s stories!” Circe cackled. “This is the problem with Fiction! You all are so unrealistic. I’m beginning to see why Dr. Albrecht wanted out so badly. This is why Real World magic is so much more powerful.” She reached her hand into her pocket again. “It’s based off of powerful, Real, emotions.” I knew where this was going, and so, too, did Jenny. At the same time, Jenny sent another simple heat spell soaring toward Circe’s face and I jumped to my feet and swiped my arm in arc through the air. There was pain, I’m sure, but my heart was racing so fast my body felt numb; empty space below my vision. Not Jenny, I thought. Not Jenny.
To everyone’s surprise, including my own, Circe flew backward as though she’d been hit by a train. She must have done something to slow herself before hitting the wall, because I didn’t hear any impact and a moment later she was flying through the air—quite literally flying—toward Jenny and I. Without thinking, I stood in front of Jenny and put my forearms out in front of me. I felt as though something physical ballooned out of my chest, and suddenly Circe stopped hurtling through the air. She bounced off of what seemed to be a forcefield, and it seemed to be coming from me.
“What is this?” she screamed. “How did you get Real World magic?” Her eyes were wide and manic. She was pulling at the insides of her pockets, likely searching for more little bottles of magic.
The answer came to me as though it had been sitting in me my whole life, just waiting for this moment to show itself. It was love. I’d been in the Real World long enough to soak up its magic and I didn’t even know I was doing it. It was love. And Circe was battling with fear: the two greatest forces in the Real World.
Of course I didn’t say this, because let’s be honest, throwing around words like “I’ll kill you with the power of love!” during a battle isn’t exactly intimidating, and if anything, would only slow things down with awkward questions (Did you say love? What do you mean exactly? Isn’t it a contradiction to murder someone with the power of love?) So instead I cleverly said, “Dunno,” and moved closer toward her.
I found that if I tried to think about what I was doing, the forcefield weakened and gave; but if I focused my attention just below my heart, I was simply guided into action. I decided to leave my brain out of things and, quite literally, follow my heart.
I pushed my arms downward and Circe crumpled to the floor. Behind me, I could hear Jenny inhale sharply—perhaps she was wondering what I was doing, just as much as I was? But just then I saw, too late, what she’d seen: on the floor where Circe now crouched was one more little glass bottle. Before I could do a thing, it was in her hand and not a second later, she’d crushed it in her grip. Little drops of blood dripped to the floor and down her wrist, and then—
Everything was fire: my eyes, my skin, my insides, my thoughts. I hated and feared so deeply. I wanted to die. I wanted to die. I—
And then it was gone, and just as it left, I opened my eyes in time to see Circe crouched over me, a syringe an inch-deep in my neck.
“Goodbye, Peter,” she whispered.
Jenny screamed and flailed her arms wildly. She watched as Circe injected the serum into Peter’s neck—just as she’d seen before. His eyes closed gently, peacefully even, and as soon as they did, Circe dropped her arm and let the invisible barrier holding Jenny back fall away. She knew Jenny couldn’t harm her; and she didn’t even want to. Jenny ran forward and knelt down by Peter, holding his head on her knees.
“So sorry, about all this, Jenny. And after all you two have been through for it to end this way. I do hope these readers love a tragedy,” she laughed. She was pulling something from a pocket, another thin syringe, when something soared through the air, whistling low like a missile. There was nothing visible, but when Circe turned to look, her head jerked back and immediately, her perfect pale skin, began to melt off.
“Oh my god!” Jenny screamed, despite herself. She cowered over Peter as though protecting him from the view. But he couldn’t see anything at all.
“That’s for what you did to Alan,” Mattie’s voice rang out, loud and powerful from the other side of the space. “This is for what you did to Bob,” again, an invisible force sail
ed through the air and this time, Circe’s left shoulder was slapped backward. Her dress melted and the skin underneath was bubbling and bursting. She screamed, so louder, Mattie said, “Here’s one for my friend Long John,” a hit to her other shoulder, “Here’s one for Jerry,” her neck; “here’s one for Peter, and for Randy!” this one went straight to Circe’s heart.
At this point, Jenny couldn’t not watch. Circe was literally melting before her: first her dress dissolved, then the skin underneath, then the muscle and bone. It was like she was evaporating, turning into air.
“Please,” it sounded like she said from what little was left of her mouth.
Mattie was now standing just in front of her, looking at her with such contempt, Jenny thought that alone could have killed her. “So this is Real World magic, huh? No wonder you wanted it so badly. It feels – good!” She punctuated this with another blast of energy, knocking what was left of Circe to the floor. “But you don’t need a portal to steal it from Out There; not if you’re capable of love. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the portal in a moment.”
Circe was mostly bone and dust now, but somehow Jenny got the distinct impression that she was still present—just pure fear and hate and pain. She wanted to scream, to make it stop. Luckily, with one step forward, Mattie ended it. “I never did trust you, Circe. You were always filled with hate. I hope you’re happier when you’re gone.” And with a wave of her arm, suddenly she was; dress and all, Circe was gone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Of course I knew nothing of any of this at the time; last I remembered, Circe was crouched over me with a needle in my neck, my body was filled with one white, hot moment of pain, and then I was gone.
But yes, you detective you, I do seem to be the narrator of this story, and even though there are ghosts throughout Fiction, it would be kind of a throwaway to say, “And that’s how I died,” or “And it was all in my head the whole time…” (Don’t you just hate that?)
This is just what I’ve been told in the time since, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a dimly-lit hospital bed, feeling like I’d been chewed up and spit out by the neighborhood dragon.
“Mmnnngh.” What I meant to say was Where the hell am I? What happened? Is anyone here? Luckily in this state, my internal dialogue was useless, and next to me I saw Jenny’s head snap up. She’d been curled up, knees tucked into her chest, sleeping in a chair.
“Peter.” She scooched forward and put her hands on the metal railing of the bed, for which I was grateful; I didn’t think I could be touched just then.
“Nggggmmmpppp?” What happened? Why can’t I move?
“Oh, Peter. It was so bad. Circe injected you with Real World serum and you turned real. It was awful. You woke up and everything and were just really pessimistic and jaded and terrible. You didn’t even recognize me or Mattie. And yourporeswereallybig and the scruff on your face wasallstubbly anddetailed andand—”
Before Jenny’s words could become one long, nervous nonsensical blob of letters (as happened when she was overwhelmed), the door swung open and of all people in books, I couldn’t have been happier to see Randy standing there. He was wearing a hospital gown and holding onto the pole of an I.V. on wheels, the tube of which was stuck into the crook of his arm. He shuffled in slowly, taking care to place his feet.
“Here, Randy, youcantakemyseat,” Jenny said, jumping to her feet. Randy just nodded and slowly, slowly, sat down where she’d been sitting. Then, to my surprise, Jenny took her wand from her pocket and summoned a chair from the hallway. It zoomed in, banging through the door with a clatter, and then parked itself just next to Randy.
“My author’s written three of my books now. Third year magic,” she added with a wink. I tried to smile, but even the corner of my lips ached.
“Hwwwlnnggghhmmmbeenhrrr?” How long have I been here?
“About two weeks,” Jenny said. She seemed a bit calmer now. “The others have already woken up and are still recovering. You’re not Real anymore,” she added quickly, before I could even ask. “You’re just you. You all are.”
“Mattie,” Randy said hoarsely, “she saved us. She closed the portal, too. That magic Out There—it’s powerful stuff. She’s powerful.” He took a moment to catch his breath. “I know she’d love to see you.”
“She’s not here. She’s at—oh yeah!” Jenny said, jumping to her feet, scaring me more than was probably healthy at that moment. She walked over to the T.V. mounted to the wall and turned it on. She didn’t have to change the channel to find what she was looking for: there on the screen were the Fictional Michelle Williamson, Brent Barker, and renowned physicist, Blake Stinson. They were far less detailed than their Real World counterparts; as though one was filmed in High Def, and one was not.
“Well, let’s bring her out!” Brent was saying. He was rosy-cheeked, perfectly-groomed, and after seeing his Real World counterpart, this one seemed a bit over the top. He clapped his hands and stood up, followed by Michelle and the physicist, as onto the set walked Mattie.
“Peter, can you do that thing?” Jenny asked me.
Mattie had never been on television before, much less
“Nnnnuhhhuh.” I’m too tired.
So we just watched as Mattie sat down at the shiny table with the two hosts and one physicist. They all sat down, but outside of the Fictional Rockefeller Plaza, the crowd was still clapping and screaming and holding signs up to the window: THANK YOU! And Mattie for Protagonist! And We love you!!!
“People are really excited,” Michelle finally said, gesturing toward the window behind the desk. “And for good reason. Mattie, it is truly an honor to have you here. And can we just say: thank you.”
Mattie smiled, a little uncomfortably. She was wearing her typical, outdated blue floral dress and headband adorned with a red bow. Her face was brightening to match it.
“Uh, yes. Thank you. Or, you’re welcome. But really, Peter Able and Jenny should be here too. And all the characters who went out into the Real World with me. They should all be thanked too.” Mattie said, slowly regaining her more demanding composure.
“Yes, a big thank you to all the characters who went out into the Real World to fight to bring back our beloved, erased characters.” Michelle picked up a piece of paper from the desk and read, “So far, reports are indicating that six of the ten characters have already been written back in: Peter Pan, Aladdin, Pinocchio, Cinderella, Jenny the Girl Wizard, and even someone named Gorndalf.”
“Of course it feels like they’ve been here all along, in some ways, don’t you think, Michelle?” Brent asked with a giant, toothy grin. She grinned back.
“Sure does, Brent.
“Now, Mattie. I know our viewers have heard the stories about what exactly happened Out There to, not only bring back the erased characters, but restore the Real characters to Fictional, and close the portal to boot!”
“Shhhhclosedthaporrrrrtal?” I asked, astonished. My mouth was feeling a little bit looser, and I could nearly form words. Jenny just nodded and looked back at the screen. Sure enough, along the bottom of the screen there was a banner of text.
MATTIE SAVES FICTION: ERASED CHARACTERS RESTORED, REAL CHARACTERS FICTIONAL AGAIN, AND PORTAL CLOSED FOREVER.
Well that pretty much summed it up.
“Well, what happened is: we all went out there to convince the Real World authors that their characters needed to be re-written—”
“Yes, and it certainly does seem they jumped on board. Seven characters re-written in two weeks? Astonishing!”
“That would be those Disney writers,” Michelle said, smiling again.
“Uh, yes. And so we were just coming back when Destiny, or rather, Dr. Albrecht, injected Randy Potts, Long John Silver, and Jerry with the Real World serum. We brought them back to Fiction with us to help; but Dr. Banner couldn’t do anything.
“So we went to ask Circe to help us, since we knew she knew how to use Real World magic. I always hated Circe, and I had a b
ad feeling about it. But I went with Peter anyway. When we got there, it turned out she was the one on this side of the portal.”
“Which is how she was getting the Real World magic and the Real serum, correct?” The physicist asked, nearly drooling with excitement.
“Yes—I mean, they already know all this stuff,” Mattie said, nodding off to her left somewhere.
“Certainly, but our viewers don’t,” Brent said, tugging at his collar a bit uncomfortably.
“Right. Yes, that portal. So Peter fought Circe with Real World magic—and he lost. She was able to turn him Real. Jenny showed up and tried to protect him, as she had just a little bit of magic at the time.”
“Reports are saying that Jenny’s author in the Real World received a phone call telling him he needed to hurry up and publish the first book for this moment. Can you tell us—”
But Mattie ignored Michelle and kept on with the story.
“And then I killed Circe. I didn’t know I even had Real World magic in me, but I guess I did. I got it out there. It felt like… love.”
“You killed someone with love?” Brent asked, a little uncomfortably.
See, I told you, lots of awkward questions about this.
Again, though, Mattie ignored him.
“I knew with this power, I could close the portal. So I went over to it,” she was talking faster now, clearly steering the conversation somewhere. “It was just in the back of the space, hanging in the air. And just as I was meditating on what the spell would be, really feeling into my heart for it—this came out of it.” Mattie reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Brent, Michelle, and Blake the Physicist stopped, mouths hanging open. The color was quickly draining from Michelle’s perfectly rouged cheeks. They clearly hadn’t been expecting this.
The Actual Account of Peter Able Page 20
