by Kristy Tate
“You wouldn’t say that if you had diabetes.”
“Do you have diabetes?”
“No.”
“Come on,” he said. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“Not if I was lactose intolerant.”
“Are you lactose intolerant?”
She shook her head.
“Maybe you don’t want to feel better. Maybe you want to stay mad.” He reached over the wall and extended his hand.
She studied him. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because if you’re mad, you’ll feel better about leaving.” Brock started to feel awkward about his extended hand. If she didn’t take it soon, he’d have to pull away, and he didn’t want to withdraw from her.
She swallowed hard, took his hand, and let him help her over the wall. She nearly toppled on top of him, but quickly regained her footing.
“Grace?” Heather called from her grandparents’ yard.
“Over here,” Grace answered.
Heather stuck her head over the wall. “We need to talk.”
“I know.”
A small smile touched Heather’s face. “Hey, I’m proud of you.”
“What for?”
“You could have pocketed that money.”
“How do you know I didn’t?”
“Because I know you,” she said.
“We’re going to have some ice cream,” Brock told Heather. “Do you want some?”
“No.” Heather motioned toward the house. “I’m going to fix some lunch. But let’s talk when you get back.” She cleared her throat. “You know you’re going to have to apologize at some point, right?”
Tears brimmed in the corners of Grace’s eyes and her lips trembled.
Brock put his hand on the small of her back, and she leaned into him. “We won’t be back until late,” Brock said. “We’re going to the Sherwood Scarefest.”
“But not tonight,” Grace said.
“Why not?” he asked. Why not, indeed?
After stopping at North Pole Nosh’s, they went to the Veteran’s Thrift Store in search of zombie-wear. They picked through the racks, laughing at wide lapels, bellbottom pants, and disco-nylon shirts. Finally, they settled on a pair of gray flannel wool pants, a black T-shirt and a green canvas army jacket for him and a long maroon skirt, a black lace blouse, and a wine-colored velvet blazer for Grace. Then they went to the park to tear holes in their new clothes and rub dirt into them. After that, they went to the Halloween store to buy make-up.
Standing at the mirror in Brock’s powder room, Grace applied black lipstick while he tried to circle his eyes with kohl. Grace watched, smiling.
“Hey,” Brock said. “Don’t laugh. You practice this stuff way more than me.”
She lifted her shoulder. “I’m pretty new to it, too. I didn’t wear makeup in Oregon.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “Everything I know about makeup I learned from Gabby. Still, I’m better than you.” She stuck out her hand.
Brock passed her the eyeliner.
“Close your eyes,” she said, right before she applied his make-up.
Standing so close gave him a tight feeling in his chest, as if he couldn’t get his breath. He wondered if she felt that way, too.
“Oops,” she said.
“Oops?” His eyes flew open.
“Here.” She smeared some white face paint on his face. “No one can even see it.”
Brock looked at the black smudge on his cheek. He could totally see it. To retaliate, he threw powder over her. She attacked his face with a tube of black lipstick. So he wiped gray goop through her hair. She sprayed his shirt with hair spray.
“Now I’m going to smell like a girl!” He held his shirt away from his skin and frowned at it.
“It will be an improvement!” She half-swallowed a laugh.
Grinning, Brock grabbed Grace around the waist, picked her up and tossed her out of the room, but not before she snatched a mascara wand off the counter.
Twirling, she faced him, brandishing her mascara.
“You’re not scary, you know that, right?” he asked. “You weigh like a hundred pounds, and I can throw you over my shoulder.”
“Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I’m portable!” She reached out, grabbed his shirt collar and ripped it. He lunged at her, but she dodged him. While he was off-balance, she jumped him. Moments later, they were engaged in a full-out makeup war, wrestling on the floor, trying to do the most damage to the other’s make-up, hair, and clothes. Soon they were laughing so hard, he hoped she’d forgotten all about being mad at her grandparents, or worrying about her dad, or missing Jeanie.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A hot wind blew off the desert and circled through the park. Lanterns flickered in the falling dusk, casting a golden glow. In honor of the season, the Bavarian Main Street was draped in black crepe. Strings of skulls hung from the lamp posts, and groups of ghouls, witches, and monsters wandered the streets.
On the jungle cruise, actors dressed as headhunters danced among the robotic animals. In the haunted house, ghosts and witches flitted through the rooms. And Grace loved all of it, but not as much as she loved the feeling of Brock beside her, his warmth and hairspray smell a constant reminder of how it had felt to be wrestling with him on the floor. He occasionally took her elbow, or put his hand on the small of her back, but he didn’t try to hold her hand or kiss her. She wished he would. Ride after ride, show after show, and pretty soon all she could think about was kissing Brock.
Until she saw Blanche.
While most of the park-goers were dressed in costumes, Blanche still wore her red skirt, but now it made her look sickly pale, her lips a crimson red against her fair skin. The basket she had tucked over her arm shook with her emotion. She spotted them. Raising her arm, she waved from across the street.
“Oh, friends! Thank goodness you are here to rescue us!” she gushed before she sagged against Grace. “But what has happened to you? Why are you so disheveled and ugly?”
Grace awkwardly patted Blanche’s back. “You know none of this is real, right?”
Blanche pulled away, her eyes wide and frightened. “Of course it’s real.”
“No. These are actors,” Brock began.
“You don’t understand,” Blanche said. “The Queen is here. She’s kidnapped the dwarfs! All of this might be, as you say, make-believe, but there’s nothing fictional about the Queen!”
Grace remembered the night she had been kidnapped—the apple shoved in her mouth—that whole episode seemed so unreal and hazy, but Charmant had been fighting with someone. Who? Not the Queen. Maybe the huntsman? But why?
“She wants the mirror!” Blanche answered Grace’s unspoken question. “She’ll do anything to get it back!”
“But the dwarfs don’t know where the mirror is!” Grace said.
“She gave them lots of time to find it and now she says their time is up. We must rescue the dwarfs and find the mirror.”
“Are you alone?” Brock asked.
“No, Charmant is here as well.”
Grace couldn’t tell from Blanche’s tone whether or not she thought this was a good thing.
“Any idea where the dwarfs are?” Grace asked.
“Yes, Simplet was able to escape. He’s with Charmant, trying to come up with a plan.”
“Simplet escaped?” Brock asked.
Brock and Grace exchanged glances that implied Simplet wasn’t the smartest in the bunch.
“He’s the smallest and managed to squeeze through a crevice in the rocks. The others are locked in a cave beneath Black Forest Mountain.” Blanche shivered. “That horrid huntsman is keeping them captive.”
“Can you take us there?” Brock asked.
Grace balked. “Wait. Why don’t we just call security?”
“Do you really think that a security guard is going to believe that the Wicked Queen’s huntsman is holding the seven dwarfs captive?” Blanche asked.
&nbs
p; “It’s not okay to hold anyone captive—even if they’re fairy-tale people,” Grace said.
Brock murmured his agreement.
“You don’t understand the Queen’s power. She can make the dwarfs disappear like that.” Blanche snapped her fingers.
Brock stood still, clearly trying to envision a security guard taking on a queen with magical powers. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it and think rationally. “You’re right. I don’t know what to do.”
A thought struck Grace. “We need the huntsman to think we’re just as magical as the Queen!”
“But we’re not,” Brock pointed out.
“We know that, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know us at all. For all he knows, we can be just as magical, maybe even more so.” Grace tapped her chin, thinking.
“You said Simplet’s out. Does he have his flask of whiskey?” Brock asked.
“He has a flask of whiskey?” Grace asked.
Brock nodded. “Haven’t you seen it?”
Grace thought back…then forward. Slowly, a plan came together.
“Undoubtedly,” Blanche said.
“Then all we need are some matches,” Grace said.
“What are you thinking?” Brock asked. “I don’t think I like it.”
“We’re going to blow fire.”
“We’re going to start a fire at Sherwood Forest? Haven’t you been listening to Freddy the Fire Hydrant?”
“We’re not going to start a fire, we’re going to blow fire.” She put her arm around Blanche and Brock’s waists and drew them closer to tell them her plan.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“We need a match or a lighter, Simplet’s whiskey, and your shirt.”
“My shirt?” Brock pointed at his chest.
“Well, it can’t be my shirt, and yours is already ripped to shreds.”
“By you!”
Grace waved away his objections.
Rolling his eyes, he started to lift the edges of his shirt.
Grace put her hand on his chest. “Wait. You don’t have to do it now. We have to get there first, and we need the whiskey and a lighter.”
“We must find Simplet and Charmant,” Blanche said.
“We’ll get the stuff. You find the guys,” Brock said to Blanche. “And we’ll meet you at the entrance to Black Forest Mountain.”
Blanche agreed and turned away with a swirl of her skirt.
Brock took Grace’s elbow and steered her to a gift shop on Main Street. “I don’t really like this. What do you know about blowing fireballs?”
“We used to do it all the time on the farm,” she said.
“That was in Oregon where everything was too wet to catch on fire.”
“Shows what you know.”
“How many times have you done this?”
“Well... I’ve seen it done lots of times by my older cousins, so theoretically…”
“We can’t be theoretical!”
She patted his chest. “Calm down.”
Inside the gift shop, Brock stopped in front of a variety of souvenir lighters. He chose the one shaped like a dragon. “I hope this isn’t an omen,” he said after he’d paid for it and pocketed it.
A crowd of park-goers, including Blanche, Simplet, and Charmant, were gathered at the entrance to Black Forest Mountain.
“How are we going to do this around all these people?” Grace whispered to Brock. “We’re going to get arrested.”
Blanche must have overheard, because she answered, “There won’t be any witnesses. Follow me.” She dipped her head toward a shadowy corner and headed for an opening in the bushes.
“Where?” Grace asked.
Brock’s eyes told her he didn’t know either, and he took her hand as they passed through a shelter of trees.
“I’m about to share with you a little-known secret,” Blanche said over her shoulder. “You must swear to us your complete discretion.”
“Okay,” she said.
Brock shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”
“There can be no guessing,” Blanche stopped at the mouth of a dark cave. “You must pledge your loyalty to the Fairy-Tale Realm. By sharing this, one of our sacred portals, I am endangering our world, our people, and our way of life!”
Brock raised his hand, as if taking an oath. “I promise, I will never do anything to harm anything in…”
“The Fairy-tale Realm,” Blanche finished for him.
“I promise I will never in any way do anything to jeopardize the Fairy-tale Realm,” Brock said.
Blanche raised her eyebrows at Grace, and she repeated Brock word for word.
Satisfied, Blanche turned on her heel and led them into the cave. Brock whipped out his lighter and flicked it on. It provided a weak flickering light. The walls were dirt, and the floor sloped downward toward the center of the earth.
“How…?” Grace tried to swallow her disbelief. “Will Sherman didn’t know about this when he created the park, right?”
“Absolument!” Charmant said. “Did you not know that Will is but one of us?”
“What? Will Sherman is…”
“You probably know him best as the Pied Piper,” Blanche said. “He adores large flocks of children. He can’t help but gather little ones.”
“It’s in his very nature,” Charmant said.
“But…why did he come here? Why not just stay in the fairy-tale world?” Grace asked.
Roy gave a sad sigh. “He fell into disfavor over the rat debacle.”
“True,” Blanch agreed. “No one can really forgive him for that.”
“Ew, that’s right,” Grace said, remembering the tale. “He killed a bunch of kids!”
Roy laughed. “Common misconception. He didn’t drown the children in the river, he led them out of the realm.”
“You mean they’re here?”
“Why does that surprise you?” Blanche asked. “I’m here. Charmant is here. The dwarfs are here.”
“Why do you guys get to come here, but we don’t get to go there?” Brock asked.
“What do you think would happen if people from your world came into our realm?” Blanche asked.
“Exactly what’s happening now!” Simplet spoke up. “They’d start stealing our stuff!”
Beside her, Brock flinched. Knowing he was thinking of Cordelia, Grace squeezed his hand.
“The mirror has already been stolen,” Simplet said. “The magic flute disappeared ages ago!”
“But we know Will took that,” Charmant said.
Blanche twirled around and put her fingers to her lips, shushing them. “If we can hear them, they can hear us,” she whispered.
Grace listened for something other than the sound of the wind whistling through the mouth of the cave.
Blanche waved at Brock, asking him to douse the lighter. Blackness immediately fell.
Grace gripped Brock’s hand. He felt warm, solid, and safe. Within moments, her vision adjusted to the gloom. The walked in silent darkness. After what may have been minutes or hours, she heard distant voices.
“Huntsmen are dunce-men!” the grumpy dwarf called out.
“Yeah! Your mother wore chainmail!” said another.
The huntsman grunted in reply, clearly unfazed.
“How long are you going to keep us here?” Prof asked.
“Until I’m told to let you go,” the huntsman said.
Brock’s hand tightened around Grace’s. “Let me do it,” he whispered.
“Don’t be silly,” she replied. “You don’t know how.”
“Neither do you,” he said.
Grace tugged her hand out of his and peeked around the corner. The dwarfs were piled into a cell so small they barely had room to stand. A black iron gate separated them from the huntsman, the same man who had earlier kidnapped Grace. He stood ramrod straight, an axe clasped in his hand by his side. Prof’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw the newcomers. Grace put her finger to her lips, asking him for silence.
Grumpy
saw them and pointed at the keys on a leather thong hanging from the huntsman’s waist.
Grace motioned for Simplet to hand over his whiskey flask. After popping the cork, she took a slug of whiskey in her mouth. Brock flicked the lighter and held it in front of her. She spat. A giant ball of fire illuminated the darkness.
The dwarfs oohed their appreciation. The huntsman jumped back in surprise. While Brock and Charmant tackled him, Blanche snipped the keys off his belt with the scissors she kept in her basket. She unlocked the cell, the dwarfs piled out, and Brock and Charmant dragged the huntsman inside.
“Where’s the Queen?” Blanche demanded as she turned the key in the lock.
“She’s searching for the mirror,” the huntsman said as he sat on the floor, rubbing his head.
“She must be found,” Charmant said, wiping his hands, “or else she will come after the dwarfs again!”
“You’ll never find her,” the huntsman growled.
“She can take any shape or form,” Blanche said.
“I don’t get that,” Grace said. “If she can take any shape or form—she can always be beautiful. Why does she need the mirror?”
“Ah, what you don’t understand,” Blanche said, putting her hand on Grace’s arm, “is that there is an inner beauty that mere men—or fairy creatures—cannot manufacture or purchase. It’s made from within the soul. Those who possess it are unaware of it. Those who covet it will never possess it. The Queen loves to be surrounded with beautiful things. She desires to be beautiful herself. But…inner beauty doesn’t come easily. It’s won day by day, choice by choice. Also, the mirror doesn’t reflect just the here and now. It also shows the past and future as well as the present.”
“But how does it know which is which?” Brock asked.
“It’s whatever the mirror chooses to be the most dominant. For example, the mirror would never reflect you dressed as thus, in this drab garb, because it would know that this is not a true picture of your character.”
Beside Grace, Brock went very still. “I know where the mirror is.”
“You do?” Grace asked.
“Are you sure?” Blanche asked.
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Prof asked.
“My mom.” Brock took a deep breath. “She loves to surround herself with beautiful things. She collects…all sorts of things.”
