Eden's Escape

by M. Tara Crowl

  Maybe this wasn’t the Internet.

  Next to the W icon were a capital O, P, and X, but she skipped over them, opting to try a compass icon further down the line. She clicked it several times in succession, and now a new box took over the screen. An introductory page about the library occupied most of the space, but hovering above it was a long, narrow rectangular box.

  She clicked inside the box and typed the words again. Quincy Abbott New York City. She pressed enter.

  The first thing she saw was a photo of her guardian. Pepper’s smile was so bright, it beamed out from the screen. Eden nearly cheered out loud!

  When she clicked on the photo, she saw the Web site Pepper had shown her with profiles for different people. Slowly, with a good deal of trial and error, Eden created her own profile—with a fake name, of course. She might not be tech-savvy, but she wasn’t stupid.

  Once she’d set up her profile, she messaged Pepper.

  Pepper, it’s Eden, she typed. I’m in Paris, and I’m in trouble. Can you come here? Bring my passport so we can go back to New York together once everything here has been fixed.

  She chewed her thumbnail for a moment. It was a lot to ask, she supposed—but she couldn’t think of any other solution.

  I’m sorry we missed My Fair Lady. I’d do anything to be there.

  She waited for a minute, hoping a response would magically appear—but nothing happened. She checked the time on the computer screen: 9:27 A.M. She did a quick calculation in her mind. Paris’s time zone was six hours ahead of New York’s, so it was 3:27A.M. there. Pepper was probably asleep.

  There was only one other possibility. Since she was here, Eden thought, she might as well give it a shot.

  Sasha Rockwell San Diego, she typed into the search bar. Sasha’s profile popped up, with her photo of her in her volleyball uniform. Eden stretched her fingers, then started the message.

  Sasha, it’s Eden—not the name on the profile. Ignore that.

  I wanted to say that I’m sorry for everything that happened. You might not ever want to talk to me again, but I thought I’d try.

  Anyway, I’m back on Earth. I’m living here now, actually—in New York. It’s a long story. But at the moment, I’m in Paris, and I’m in trouble. I have no money and no passport. I don’t know what to do. I wish you and Tyler were here and

  Eden stopped typing, and her shoulders slumped. How could Tyler and Sasha possibly help her? They didn’t have money to go gallivanting to Europe. They’d never even left the country. And anyway, why would they want to help a girl who’d nearly gotten their father killed?

  She erased the start of the last sentence and rewrote it.

  I hope you and Tyler and your dad are well. Maybe I’ll see you again someday.

  She pressed send before she could think about it too hard.

  On Sasha’s profile was a link with Tyler’s name. Eden clicked on it. Seeing his photo sent a shot of adrenaline through her.

  Should she send him a message too?

  Just then, a little box started blinking in the bottom right corner of the screen. The box said Quincy Abbott.

  Quick as she could, Eden clicked it.

  EDEN!!!!! Are you okay? You’re in Paris? What’s happening??

  Eden’s heart swelled to twice its size.

  Pepper! she typed. Yes, I’m okay. But I need to get out of here ASAP. Granting gone wrong.

  Typing was starting to feel more natural. She was catching on to this computer stuff. She was grateful for the enchantment that created more space in genies’ heads for new information.

  Gone wrong? What do you mean?? Pepper sent. Then, I’ll be on the first flight to Paris.

  Too much to explain, Eden typed. And I don’t have much time. I’ll tell you in person.

  Just checked flights. My flight will land at 8 P.M. your time. Can you hold out till then?

  Eden bit her lip. She supposed she’d have to. And after all, only the handful of people who’d been in Brightly’s lab would be looking for her. Paris was a big city. Surely she could evade them for the rest of the day.

  Of course, she wrote.

  I can’t wait to see you, kid, Pepper wrote. Where should I meet you?

  I’m at the Sorbonne Library now. Somewhere I can walk to from here that’s easy to find.

  How about the Louvre? You know how there’s the pyramid at the entrance? At 9 P.M. Okay?

  She did know. In Art History, Xavier had spent six weeks covering each section of Paris’s world-famous behemoth of an art museum. The glass pyramid that stood in the courtyard of the Louvre Palace and served as its main entrance was its most distinctive feature.

  Got it, Eden wrote.

  “Who’s that?” Melodie asked in French. She’d come up behind Eden’s chair. She made a purring sound. “Tyler Rockwell. He’s cute.”

  Eden quickly closed out of the window. She’d forgotten that Tyler’s profile was on her screen for anyone to see.

  “Is he going to come rescue you?” Melodie asked teasingly.

  “No.” Realizing how emphatically she’d said it, Eden forced herself to laugh. “He lives in California.”

  “You have friends in California?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.” Melodie pushed her bangs behind her ear. “Did you talk to whoever is going to help you?”

  “Oui.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We’re meeting tonight.” She’d just need to figure out how to get to the Louvre. But seeing as it was one of Paris’s main attractions, it shouldn’t be hard to get directions.

  Melodie wiggled her eyebrows up and down. “Quel mystère.” She looked at the computer. “Hey, since we’re here, I need to print something. Can you wait for a second?”

  Eden got up, and Melodie took her chair. More university students were sitting at the long tables. Eden stood by Melodie and watched them. Could she be one of them someday? Maybe she could even attend NYU or Columbia, and stay in New York with Pepper.

  “Eden,” Melodie hissed. She swiveled in her chair.

  “What?”

  Eden followed Melodie’s eyes to the computer screen. On it was a news article with an unmissable headline.

  BREAKING: DAVID BRIGHTLY SEARCHING FOR ADOPTED DAUGHTER, SUSPECTS KIDNAPPING

  Accompanying it was a photo of Eden in her pink-and-white-striped dress. Somehow, they’d caught her at a moment when she didn’t look petrified.

  The text read:

  Tech mastermind David Brightly has announced the disappearance of his adopted daughter, a 12-year-old named Eden.

  “She’s the most precious thing in my life,” Brightly stated in a press release issued this morning.

  Although based in the Silicon Valley, Brightly has spent the past few weeks in Paris conducting research for a highly confidential project.

  The news came as a particular shock because Brightly has not disclosed his daughter’s existence to the public until now.

  Brightly explained that Eden was originally his niece, but he adopted her when his sister passed away several years ago.

  “I wanted to protect her privacy,” he said. “She’s been through enough already.”

  Brightly asserted that he suspects the disappearance is the work of a kidnapper. He has promised a reward to anyone who can offer information as to her whereabouts.

  As she read the words, Eden felt like she’d fallen through the floor into a bottomless hole. She kept sinking, and sinking, and sinking.

  Melodie was gazing at her in awe.

  “That’s you,” she whispered.

  Eden couldn’t speak. Her vision went blurry as she looked around the library. Suddenly, every person was a threat.

  Melodie logged out of the computer, then stood up abruptly.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  But Eden knew better. She’d granted enough wishes to know how mortals behaved under the influence of money’s bright, shiny lure.

  “No,” she said.


  Melodie’s eyes bulged. “Are you crazy? Do you want to get caught?”

  Eden looked around anxiously. It probably was a good idea to go somewhere else. It was only a matter of time until someone here saw the news and recognized her.

  “Okay,” she relented. “Where?”

  “Out of here, to begin with!”

  Eden took a deep breath and nodded. Ducking her head, she followed Melodie downstairs, past the security guards, into the courtyard outside. Every glance that came her way singed like a hot match against her skin.

  They reached an empty space at the edge of the courtyard and faced one another.

  “You’re David Brightly’s daughter?”

  “Do you know who he is?” Eden asked. Even though Brightly’s name was on every phone she’d seen on Earth and his announcement had made headlines, it seemed impossible that his reputation could measure up to his ego.

  “Are you kidding? Everyone knows who he is!” Melodie crossed her arms. “That was an important thing to leave out of the story you told me.”

  “Well, now you see why I wanted to stay under the radar,” Eden said. She shrugged. “I told you, I ran away from home. It was a bad situation.”

  “But Eden!” Melodie hissed. “This is big-time! You’re on the run!”

  “Shhh!” Eden looked around wildly—but the student who’d just walked by them continued on obliviously.

  “Look,” Melodie whispered, “I can help you—if you want. My apartment is across the street. You can hide there for a while.”

  “Yeah, right,” Eden said. “You’ll turn me in!”

  Bright pink spots appeared on Melodie’s cheeks. “Do you think I’m some kind of jerk? I told you, I understand. I’ve thought about running away too!”

  Eden took in Melodie’s suspenders, her high-waisted shorts, the ring in her nose. What kind of twelve-year-old wore a nose ring?

  In San Diego, just about everyone she’d encountered—mortal or immortal—had turned out to be different from how they’d first appeared. Gigi, also known as Genevieve, was a Loyal genie alum who’d posed as a seventh-grade bully. And although Sylvana had made herself out to be Eden’s kindred spirit, that bubble had burst when her evil plan to seize the lamp’s power came to light.

  But on the other hand, Eden had been wary of Tyler and Sasha when she’d first met them, and they’d turned out to be good, true friends. They’d risked everything to help her.

  Melodie was offering to be a friend to her, too. Could she be trusted?

  “Brightly’s offering a reward for information on me,” Eden said. “Why would I believe you don’t want that money?”

  “Eden.” Melodie put her hands on her hips. “I’m homeschooled. My parents are strict. My life is boring! I get in trouble every single day. And you know why?”

  “Why?”

  Melodie lifted her chin. “Because I am une rebelle! Always have been, always will be. What do I want money for if I can have adventure? Helping a girl on the run is like a dream come true for me. Especially the daughter of David Brightly.”

  Eden was torn. On the one hand, she could see that Melodie meant what she said. And the truth was, she could relate. Hadn’t she escaped the lamp in search of adventure?

  And yet…what if she took a risk trusting this girl, and wound up back in Brightly’s clutches?

  “You know what?” Melodie said. “Never mind. I wanted to help, but I can’t make you trust me.” She looked at Eden like she felt sorry for her. “I just hope you realize how hard this is going to be on your own. No offense, but you seem pretty clueless.”

  She turned and strode away.

  As Eden watched her disappear through the gate, her stomach sank. How would she do this on her own?

  There was no question that trusting Melodie would be a risk. But she was going to have to take a chance on something.

  Eden ran through the courtyard’s entrance to the sidewalk. “Melodie!”

  Melodie had just reached the other side of the street. On the opposite sidewalk, she turned to face Eden.

  “You’re right,” Eden said. “I need help. I’m coming with you.”

  At a stone building a few doors down, Melodie punched a code into a number pad and pushed the big wooden door open. Inside was a tight winding spiral staircase. However, instead of taking the stairs, Melodie opened a door to the tiniest elevator Eden had ever seen. It was a tight fit with both of them inside.

  She pressed the button for the fourth floor, the elevator door slid closed, and with a jerk, they started to rise.

  The elevator lurched to a stop, and the door slid open. Right in front of them was an old lady with a scarf wrapped around her head.

  “Bonjour, Melodie,” the old lady said. “Comment vas-tu?”

  “Madame Babineaux!” Melodie said. “Très bien, et vous?”

  The woman stared at Eden through tiny glasses. “Who is your friend?” she asked in French.

  “I’ll see you later!” Melodie said, squeezing past her.

  “Melodie!” the lady called. “No trouble today, I hope!”

  Melodie groaned as she stalked down the hall and let them into one of the apartments. “What did I tell you?” she said. “The walls here are thin, so when Maman and Papa yell at me, the whole building hears it.”

  The door opened to a small, tidy living room. Eden did a quick sweep of the space, but no one else seemed to be there. A blue armchair sat perpendicular to a brown sofa that was brightened by yellow and blue throw pillows. In front of it was a kidney-shaped coffee table, and on the opposite wall was a record player on a vintage cabinet.

  The front room flowed into a kitchen. There was a cutout window with two pewter bar stools sitting in front of it. Through the window, Eden could see an old-fashioned powder-blue refrigerator.

  The living room’s walls were covered with framed French magazine covers and newspaper clippings. On one wall, a window opened to the courtyard. Eden went to it, leaned out, and inhaled a fresh breath of Parisian air.

  She savored it as it filled her lungs.

  “Want a cup of tea?” Melodie asked from the kitchen.

  “Sure.” Eden turned from the window.

  “Actually, how about breakfast? Have you eaten?”

  “No, not yet.”

  In truth, what she needed was sleep. She’d been awake since the night before Tra La La Karaoke. She’d been running (literally) off adrenaline. If she didn’t get some rest soon, she was going to crash—and if it wasn’t somewhere hidden, that would make her an easy target for anyone who wanted Brightly’s reward. Which, she had to assume, was every person in Paris.

  Eden walked along the wall, inspecting the magazine covers and newspaper clippings. She saw Le Monde, Le Figaro, L’Express, and many others. Their dates ranged through the past few decades.

  “Milk in your tea?” Melodie was watching Eden through the cutout window.

  “Yes, please. What’s with all these magazines?”

  “My parents are journalists.”

  “I thought they were professors,” said Eden.

  “Well, that, too. They teach journalism at the Sorbonne.”

  Great. Her face was plastered all over the news, and she’d made her way into the home of two reporters.

  Melodie slid two cups of steaming tea through the cutout window, followed by a plate of croissants. “Voilà.”

  Eden joined her and selected a pain au chocolat from the plate.

  Melodie pulled the fedora off Eden’s head, and her ponytail fell free. “There’s the blond hair in that photo.” She put the hat on her own head and ripped a piece off a croissant.

  Eden pulled the elastic out of her ponytail to let her hair loose, and massaged her head with her fingers.

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” Melodie said.

  “Thank you,” Eden answered carefully, remembering what the news story had said. Allegedly, she was the daughter of Brightly’s sister, who’d passed away a few years ago.


  Melodie leaned forward on the counter and cupped her chin in her hands. “Where did you live when she was alive?”

  Eden swallowed a sip of tea. “New York City.”

  “New York City!” Melodie’s expression grew wistful. “I’ve always wanted to go there!”

  Eden told her about baseball games at Yankee Stadium, shopping in SoHo, and eating hot dogs in Central Park. She stretched her two weeks in New York into an imaginary first ten years of her life, inventing an alternate universe where Pepper was her now-deceased mother.

  “She had a beautiful singing voice,” she said. “Once a week, she’d bring me to a karaoke bar. She always sang a song just for me.” Remembering Pepper performing their special song lifted Eden’s spirits. She really couldn’t wait to see her again.

  “Your life sounds so exciting.” Melodie’s eyes shone with longing. Eden wondered what she’d think if she knew the whole truth. “So when she died, you moved to Silicon Valley with your uncle?”

  “Oui.”

  “I guess that’s why you have friends in California.” Melodie sized her up. “By the way, you speak French really well for an American.”

  “Oh really? Thanks,” Eden said cautiously.

  Melodie adjusted her suspenders. “How long have you been in Paris?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “What school have you been going to?”

  “I lied about that.” Eden shrugged apologetically. “I have a private tutor. Like you, I guess.”

  Melodie tapped her fingers on the countertop. “Why do you think your uncle kept you a secret all this time?”

  “Who knows?” Eden tried her hardest to seem natural.

  The fedora cast a shadow over Melodie’s face, making it hard to read her expression.

  “Who did you message when we were at the library?”

  “A friend. Like I told you.”

  “Is his name Tyler Rockwell?”

  “No!” Eden said in dismay.

  Melodie cackled. “You’re blushing!”

  “No I’m not!” But even as she said it, she felt heat in her cheeks.

  “I’m not judging you. I’d run away with a boy too, if I could. Especially one who looks like that.” Melodie winked. Eden was blushing so hard, she thought she might pass out.