by Jessica Grey
She vaguely noted that the rest of the room was filled with wooden packing crates of various sizes. But she couldn’t pull her attention away from the bed long enough to really look at them.
The head and footboards were covered in intricately worked gold and silver which at first appeared to just be a tangle of shapes. After a moment’s observation, the metalwork resolved itself into heavy coils of twisting vines and branches, each covered in wicked-looking thorns. The dull gold and silver vines twisted off the headboard and footboard and up the four posters, snaking like living plants around the sturdy posts, here and there seeming to sprout leaves and more thorns as they went up. The whole pattern gave the illusion of a violent twisting and upward movement, as if you were watching the vines growing rapidly before your eyes. She wondered if the bed was solid metal—the weight would be astronomical—or possibly a heavy wood covered in a silver and gold overlay.
But it was the gems that banished all other thoughts from her mind. Bursting out of the vines in huge clusters on the head and footboards and running down each of the posts were huge flowers crafted of precious and semi-precious stones. The flowers were pink and red, the soft colors of rose quartz and the deep reds of rubies and garnets. The stones ranged in size, many of them larger than anything Alex had ever seen before. All had faceted cuts that gave the illusion of depth and individual petals. At the heart of each flower were clear, hard stones that Alex knew without a doubt were diamonds, although they were in a strange, partially polished state. The vines were dripping with the flowers. It took her slightly addled brain a few moments to put the whole picture together.
Roses. Dozens of jeweled roses bloomed like living flowers on the gold and silver vines.
Alex had never seen, or heard of, anything like it.
She took a step closer to examine the metalwork. The items they were receiving from France were supposed to be twelfth-century, but the workmanship on this bed was far, far beyond what any metal smith of that era would have been able to accomplish. It looked like something out of fairytale. Not that Alex believed in fairytales, or even really knew much about them, but she did know that what she was looking at skirted the edges of possibility.
A soft sound interrupted her rapid thoughts. She wasn’t alone. She had been so entranced by the bed itself that she hadn’t noticed there was someone actually on it—sleeping on it, in fact.
At first Alex thought the sleeping figure, like the bed, was covered with fine cobwebs. As she looked closer she saw that it wasn’t cobwebs draping over the figure but hair – foot after foot of sandy-colored hair streamed from the sleeper’s head and over its face and body, moving gently as the figure breathed in and out. The hair wasn’t growing just out of the sleeper’s head, but from the face as well–a beard that would have done Rip Van Winkle proud flowed down to well past the knees. And that is when she figured out that she didn’t have a sleeping beauty on her hands, but an enchanted sleeping man.
As she stared at the figure in shock, trying to calculate how long it would take for that much hair to grow, the sleeping man emitted a soft snore. Alex jumped back at the quiet sound, trying to stifle her slightly hysterical giggles. She may not know much about fairytales, but she was pretty sure that enchanted sleeping princes weren’t supposed to snore.
“Holy crap!” Alex whispered, almost as if it were a prayer, under her breath.
She slid her backpack off, set it down quietly by the door, and walked slowly toward the bed. As she got closer she had a flashback of creeping into her mother’s room after having a nightmare as a child—that moment of indecision. The desire to wake up her mother for comfort weighed against the fear of startling her mom out sleep and thereby scaring herself even more. She wasn’t sure at all that she wanted to wake up this sleeper. She was thankful that the floor of the storage room had quieted the squeaking of her shoes as she crept up to the bed.
She knew that the smart, sensible thing to do would be to turn around and run out of the room, report the whole thing to Nicholas or the police, whoever answered their phone first. Alex could usually be counted on to do the smart, sensible thing, but for some reason she felt almost physically incapable of turning around and leaving. Whether it was the bed, or the sleeper in it, something was drawing her in.
As she reached the edge of the bed she took a steadying breath and looked down. Under the masses of slightly curling dark blond hair, she could see the sleeper’s chest rising and falling in a slight, but steady, rhythm. She wasn’t sure why—maybe the cobwebs and the masses of hair gave the appearance of great age, but she had expected the sleeper to be frail and fragile looking. Yet the breadth of his shoulders and chest surprised her. Now that she was closer, she could tell he was actually quite tall. He took up most of the bed, which was oversized to start with.
“Um, hello?” She cleared her throat and started again. “Are you going to wake up?” She leaned over and continued in a stage whisper, “Who are you? Why are you here?”
There was no response, other than the quiet, steady breathing.
She screwed up all of her courage and poked the sleeper in the chest with her index finger, immediately jumping back in anticipated response.
Nothing.
She clapped her hand over her wildly beating heart and almost laughed.
“I’m going to give myself a heart attack!” she muttered under her breath, leaning back over the sleeping figure. “Curiosity killed the Alex…Oh, Mr. Enchanted Person…” She poked again at his chest a few times. “At least I assume you’re enchanted there’s really no other explanation for hair like this…” she trailed off mid-poke as a memory flickered through her mind. A memory of almost-curly, sandy-colored hair, the sun flickering through the strands as he looked down and laughed at her.
“Oh my god.” Alex flattened her hand against the sleeper’s chest, her palm against the compact, corded muscles.
“Oh my god,” she repeated, as she began frantically brushing the hair out of the sleeper’s face. It was tangled with his beard, and her frenzied, grasping hands fought with it for a moment before she was able to brush it off of his face.
Alex’s world rocked on its axis. Not just her world, but the room was rocking too. The floor and ceiling began to swirl together, and almost switched places.
I am not going to faint. I am not going to faint. Alex thought to herself. I am not going to faint.
Slowly, the room righted itself, but her world was still horribly upside down.
The sleeper was Luke Reed.
~ Chapter Four ~
ALEX STARED IN horror at the sleeping man—Luke. She struggled to wrap her mind around the concept. Even though she’d never seen him with facial hair, she would have recognized Luke anywhere. He looked exactly as he had when she saw him yesterday—except of course for the miles and miles of hair.
She leaned over him, grabbed both of his shoulders, and shook him as hard as she could.
“Luke!” Abandoning her earlier stage whisper, she hollered in his face. “Can you hear me? It’s Alex. Luke?!”
There wasn’t any response.
She sank slowly onto the bed and tried to order her thoughts.
Where was Nicholas? Did he know Luke was magically conked out on one of his priceless career-making French finds?
Magic. Alex’s pragmatic mind rebelled at the thought. He can’t be magically asleep, more like just unexplainedly.
USO, she thought wildly, an unexplained sleeping object.
Could this have been what Nicholas was trying to tell her in his incoherent phone message? But why wouldn’t he have just said that, instead of instructing her to meet him at the museum? And why, if he’d known last night, wasn’t the storeroom filled with museum personnel and EMTs? Instead, there was an almost eerie silence filling the museum, and Nicholas was nowhere to be found.
In fact, it was so quiet that when the sound came it nearly made Alex’s heart give out there and then. It was a relatively quiet sound, just a muffled thud
from an adjoining storage room, but in the silence it rang out like a shot.
She scrambled to her feet and tiptoed back to the door to snag her bag. She didn’t have any reason to suspect that the sound was made by anyone other than someone who was supposed to be there—most likely the AWOL Nicholas. But she figured, as she grasped both of the bag’s straps in one hand, if worst came to worst she could always bean someone over the head with it.
Backpack securely in hand, she snuck toward the connecting door between the two storage rooms. It made a low creaking sound as she pushed it open and she grimaced. Well, if the door had already announced her presence to whoever was in the room, there wasn’t any reason she shouldn’t do the same.
“Nicholas?” she called hopefully as she sidled into the room, which was about half filled with various sized cardboard boxes.
She stopped dead, letting the door swing shut with a bang behind her. There was a person sitting on top of a particularly large cardboard box, and it was most definitely not Nicholas Hunt.
In fact, it was a girl, probably about Alex’s age, or maybe a year or two younger. She was extremely pretty. Long ropes of golden hair framed her pale, oval face. Some of it was twisted back into braids, but the rest pooled around her where she sat, cross-legged, on the box. Even though she was sitting Alex could tell she was tall and slim. Her features were small and regular, but almost too perfect, too even. There wasn’t anything that gave her face life or character except for a pair of incredibly crystal blue eyes. If Alex had been asked to describe her to a police sketch artist she probably would have said “the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, with really pale blue eyes,” and not have been able to give much more detail. Although, Alex supposed, if your biggest problem were having features that were too perfect you were doing all right in life.
As the door thudded shut the girl looked quickly toward Alex. They stared at each other silently for a moment and then the girl broke into a smile. Her whole face seemed to sparkle, and everything else in the room shimmered then dimmed momentarily. Alex blinked twice, colored shapes dancing on the inside of her eyelids. She was vaguely dizzy and disorientated as if she’d just been looking directly at the sun.
Alex quickly revised her missing person’s description to “the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. Like really, blindingly beautiful. Literally.”
“Oh! I am so glad you are here,” exclaimed the girl. “Finally! I did not think anyone would ever come!”
Alex had to stop herself from looking over her shoulder to make sure the girl wasn’t talking to someone else. She knew they were alone in the storage room.
“I have been waiting for ages!” the girl continued as she unfolded her long legs and gracefully stood up in front of the box. She was wearing a dress made of a heavy brocade fabric. It had long sleeves and a drop waist and almost looked like a costume of some kind.
“And I am really quite hungry.” The girl kept talking, apparently not noticing or caring about Alex’s shocked silence. “There were only a few pieces of food in this satchel, and they were quite strange.” The girl reached down beside the box and held up a dark blue backpack—a backpack with a school logo on it that looked extremely familiar.
“That’s Luke’s bag!” Alex found her voice. “What are you doing with it?” She started forward and snatched the bag from the girl, suddenly feeling very defensive.
“Luke?” The girl asked. “Is that his name then?” She inclined her head toward the other storage room. “I did not get a chance to ask it.”
“Yes, that’s his name, if by ‘him’ you mean the guy lying dead to the world in that huge weird bed in there—”
“Oh, he is not dead, do not worry. He is merely asleep,” the girl interrupted.
“I know he isn’t dead. He’s snoring: dead people obviously don’t snore!” Alex blew her breath out in frustration. “It’s an expr—oh, never mind. Why don’t you just tell me who you are and what you are doing here and what in the hell you’ve done to my friend in there.”
“I did not do anything to your friend, the gentleman kissed me—”
“You kissed Luke?” Alex interrupted, surprised by the annoyance that shot through her.
“No, the gentleman kissed me. He awakened me from my sleep—”
“I’m sorry,” Alex stopped her again. “You were sleeping? In the bed in the other room?”
“If you want me to answer your questions it would help if you did not always interrupt me,” the girl said, her voice betraying a slight note of irritation.
Alex silently ground her teeth together and prayed for patience.
“But yes, I have been asleep on that bed for quite some time. I do not know what year it is, but I would guess I have been asleep for a very long time.”
“Wait, what? You’ve been asleep a very long time?” In retrospect it shouldn’t have taken her this long to put two and two together. Enchanted sleep, fairytale style bed, an unearthly beautiful awakened…
“This may be a stupid question,” Alex said slowly, “but you wouldn’t happen to be a princess would you?”
“Why yes, of course,” the girl answered. “Princess Lilia.” At Alex’s blank look she elaborated, “Lilia de la Fôret.”
Alex stared at the girl—Lilia de la Fôret—Alex reminded herself. “I can’t believe it. You’re Sleeping Beauty.”
“Pardon?”
“Sleeping freaking Beauty!”
“I do not understand. Have you heard of me? I am no longer sleeping, but I do thank you for the compliment.”
“No, I haven’t heard of Princess Lilia de la Fôret, but let me guess—your evil stepmother…is that how it goes?” Alex waved her hands wildly in the air. “Oh wait, no! Which one are you? I never paid much attention to princess movies. Oh, that’s right—fairies! There were fairies and they change your dress different colors, right? Something about a spinning wheel—you prick your finger! That’s it!” She jabbed her index finger at Lilia. “And then you fall into a deep sleep until you’re awakened by a kiss…” she trailed off and looked back at the door in horror.
“Oh my god!” she whispered, feeling a bit sick. “Luke tried to wake you with a kiss. Does that mean he’s…” She couldn’t, for some reason, bring herself to utter the words “your true love.”
Lilia was looking at Alex as if she had gone completely insane.
“I do not know anything about most of what you are speaking of. I do not have a stepmother, Miss—I am sorry you have not told me your name.”
“Alex.”
“That is an odd name.”
“Um. Thanks.”
“Well, Alex, I do not have a stepmother, as I said. However, yes, I was cursed. I do not know why you speak of fairies changing the color of my dresses, that seems a silly waste of magic, but I was cursed by a fae when I was an infant—cursed to endure an enchanted sleep that would separate me from my family and kingdom.”
“But what about Luke?” Alex demanded.
“That I do not know.” Lilia lifted her slender shoulders in a slight shrug. “My parents never spoke of it in front of me…though I did overhear some things, and Margaux, my handmaiden said that if the worst should happen and the curse should befall me, I would be awakened by a prince—” She broke off looking confused for a moment. “Is that gentleman a prince?”
Alex snorted. “Luke? Um, no. Jock, yes. Prince, not so much.”
“Then I truly do not know,” Lilia continued. “I am quite upset though. I thought I should be awakened by a prince, and then fall in love and marry him. And yet, he is no prince!”
“Yeah, I’m sure Luke is thrilled with the situation as well,” Alex replied sarcastically. “That doesn’t explain why he’s asleep in your crazy metal bed.”
“I do not have an answer. There was not anything about the prince falling asleep in what I overheard. Perhaps it is because he is not a prince? However, I am quite hungry, like I said, this Luke did not have much in his satchel. Where do you dine
?”
It occurred to Alex that she had been standing here chatting with Sleeping Beauty for almost ten minutes. Maybe Nicholas had tried to call, maybe he was already here and would know what to do with the princess.
“Hold on a minute,” she told Lilia as she dug into her backpack. Alex checked her cell, no messages. Damn. She tried Nicholas’s cell again. Straight to voice mail. Double damn.
“What is that little black box?” asked Lilia.
“It’s a phone,” Alex said rather impatiently as she waited for the beep on Nicholas’s voice mail. “Although, I guess you wouldn’t know that—when did you fall asleep by the way?”
“My seventeenth birthday—the third of May, the year of our Lord eleven hundred fifty-three.”
Alex gaped at her. “1153? Well, I suppose nothing is surprising me at this point -” she broke off as Nicholas’s voice stopped droning in her ear about knowing what to do at the beep. “Nicholas, it’s Alex again. It is now,” she held the phone back and glanced at the time, “6:45. Call me as soon as you get this message.” She hit the end button and regarded Lilia.
“1153, that’s what?” Alex thought for a moment, squinting as she calculated. “Eight hundred and fifty some years? It’s too early for math. Don’t worry,” she assured Lilia at the princess’s distressed look, “you don’t look a day over seventeen.”
~
The bus ride back to Alex’s apartment was, if not quite the stuff nightmares are made of, at least the stuff very uncomfortable social situations are made of. And to Alex they were about equivalent. She tried to be patient with Lilia and her incessant questions. It would be shocking to wake from a coma and realize you’d missed ten years, let alone to wake up having skipped over almost nine hundred. For someone who had never seen a car, airplane, or skyscraper, the urban sprawl of Los Angeles could prove overwhelming. With that in mind, she tried to prepare Lilia in advance for what they would see.
