Letters to Zell

by Camille Griep

  “I still don’t see why we couldn’t use porters,” Rory whines.

  “Who’s going to carry your crap once we’re Outside?” I ask. “Making you haul a bag limited the number of slippers you deemed necessary, didn’t it?”

  CeCi is still going on and on with her confabulated tale. “. . . Then we’ll tell her that we left something there. At the Magic Castle. Like my shoe or something, because, you know, that’s happened before. Leaving my shoe. Not losing things Outside. If we don’t retrieve it, a Human will get suspicious. A Human child, that’s better. Because they’re curious. And grubby. Remember the one with the popsicle? That will work. And then . . .”

  I try to listen as politely as can be expected. But then I can’t anymore. “CeCi?”

  “And then—”

  “CeCi, stop.”

  “Why?” Her hands are paused in midair so I gently push them to her sides.

  “Why don’t we try telling Solace the truth?”

  “What?”

  “Truth. As in facts, events that are actually occurring.”

  “Thanks, smartass.”

  “Well?”

  She shakes me off. “That’s a terrible idea. She’ll never let us go.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Fine. I don’t know. But I’m not the one who’s not allowed to travel.”

  “She said it was our right, didn’t she?” I try to start us walking again by giving CeCi a slight shove.

  She refuses to move. “I don’t think she said anything about it being your right.”

  “Stop it, you two.” Rory drops her bag, takes a seat, and starts patting the dog’s head. “We all need each other. CeCi, we’ll have to take turns escorting you. Snoozer has obedience classes now and Bianca still has a lot of wedding planning to do.”

  “This was a dumb idea anyway.” CeCi turns and starts walking toward home. “Who knows if I’d even pass the test?”

  I call after her. “You’ll eat that fucking test for breakfast.”

  She turns, again, and frowns at me. “You have strange motivational techniques.”

  “I know.” I lead the way to the Clock Shop, feeling somewhat victorious. We’ve successfully navigated the day’s first fight.

  Solace is waiting for us at the door. It isn’t like she can’t tell what we want by looking at us. I see one of Figgy’s birds on the windowsill and I give it the middle finger.

  Rory says she’s going to wait on the lawn until Snoozer relieves himself. Solace shows CeCi and me to a room behind the counter where the rules plaque sits. Inside the room, it’s completely silent.

  “Wow,” I say, my ears suddenly aching from the quiet.

  Solace’s face breaks into an ever-so-bucktoothed grin. “You don’t think I could stand that noise all of the time, do you?”

  “Um,” says CeCi, moving a pile of cogs from a dusty chair. “You never know.”

  “So,” says Solace, as we settle into our seats. “Go ahead and ask.”

  “Ask?” asks CeCi.

  “Oh, quit it,” I say. “Solace, we need to go Outside again.”

  “Snow White, what is it that you need from the Humans that is not available to you here?”

  I throw CeCi under the proverbial carriage. “It’s not for me. It’s for her.”

  “Thanks a lot,” CeCi mutters.

  Solace folds her paws in her lap. “Well, Cecilia has completed her Pages. She’s allowed to travel as long as she has a companion.”

  “Well, that’s just it,” I say. “It can’t always be Rory—there will be times when she just can’t get away. She gets so tired. And she has a new dog. Sometimes I’ll have to go.”

  “I don’t understand,” says Solace. “Anyone else could go.”

  “No,” CeCi says. “It can’t be anyone. It’s, well, for now, it’s a secret.”

  Solace twitches her nose, perplexed or maybe just vexed. So I jump in. “CeCi thinks if she tells the court, it will go over like a lead balloon. You know, because she used to be a kitchen wench. And now she’s supposed to become a queen.”

  “I wasn’t a wench.” CeCi shoots me a dirty look. “Solace, I’m in love.” This time Solace actually grimaces, and CeCi holds up a hand. “No. Not that way. Not with a person. Of course with Ed. But, I mean, with a vocation. I want to learn to cook—not like Gretel, not with ketchup—well, sometimes with ketchup, but like a real chef at a restaurant Outside.”

  “Try full sentences,” I whisper.

  Solace stares at CeCi. “You cannot seek this knowledge anywhere in the Realm of Imagination?”

  “No.”

  “What about Gretel?”

  “I was cooking the things she makes when I was ten. No offense or anything. But I want to learn molecular gastronomy. I want to learn the art of French cuisine. I want to make Thai food!”

  “How about in Toad Hollow? Or The Land of Sweets? I heard the Muffin Man has pastry classes on Saturdays.”

  I decide CeCi needs help. “She’s talented, Solace. You don’t understand. She’s a natural. She deserves the chance to grow, to see what she can do.”

  CeCi takes it from there. “The world of food is expanding as rapidly as the Realm of Imagination. I want to learn from the creators themselves. I want to share it with everyone here. Cooking centers me. It lets me express myself and create something tangible. Solid.”

  “Sounds very appetizing.” I barely stifle a giggle.

  “Hm. I see.” Solace doesn’t sound like she understands, but to her credit, she sounds as if she’s trying.

  “This trip, I need to take a test and purchase supplies. But that isn’t all. See, there’s Rory. She’s miserable, and Figgy won’t help us, and we just thought if we could distract her—” CeCi pauses to take a breath, but her leg has started jimmying despite my periodic attempts to press her knee still.

  Solace’s eyes narrow at the mention of Figgy. “What do you mean, she won’t help?”

  CeCi continues like she hasn’t heard the question. “Bianca heard about this place where there’s a replica of Rory’s castle and all kinds of monuments to the Realm, and we thought if we could just spend some time celebrating and exploring, we might all come out better on the other side. We’ll look out for one another. I promise.”

  Solace sighs. “And what happens after?”

  “After the test?” CeCi’s leg finally quits bouncing.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll need to go Outside twice a week for classes. Sometimes Rory will come. Sometimes Bianca. But Edmund can’t know for a while. I have to find the right way to tell him.”

  “I see.” Solace looks at her paws, up at us, and down again. “The separation of our worlds is meant to protect people on both sides. Some decisions have lasting consequences.”

  She doesn’t seem to be saying no. I look at CeCi. She’s holding her breath.

  “If I agree to this, to letting you go Outside on a regular basis, I have additional criteria.”

  CeCi finally exhales. “Anything.”

  “Careful with those sorts of promises, Cecilia,” says Solace. “They can get you into trouble.”

  “Yes, of course,” CeCi says.

  “If I agree to this, you alone would be responsible for Snow White’s safety, and you alone would have to unravel your personal timeline to put things right should things go awry. I can’t ask any more of Briar Rose. She’s been through enough.”

  “Thank you,” CeCi manages, finally taking a deep breath.

  “You’re asking a great deal of each other,” Solace adds.

  “I understand,” says CeCi. I could hug her, but instead I wink. She has my back, and I have hers. That’s how things are supposed to be with best friends. (At least with best friends who stick around.)

  “It is easy to lose track of time
Outside. Your clock bracelet binds the magic of the portal to you, so guard it well and mind it often.”

  We nod. I look toward the window, where two of Figgy’s sentinels peer inside.

  Solace follows my glance, then continues. “In order to conduct your travels in a more private manner, I’d like to place the departure portal somewhere only the three of you know about. It would still route you to the Magic Castle, but you wouldn’t start here at the Clock Shop. Think of it as an extension of the portal here.”

  “Easy,” I say. I know just the place for it.

  Solace gives me a long look. “Perhaps I should try and stop you, but I think the repercussions of keeping you here would be greater than letting you go. No matter what your business is or becomes on the other side, do not let traveling interfere with completing your Pages. Figueroa may be wrong about some things, but she’s not understating—”

  “I understand,” I interrupt. “I’ll be an expert traveler. Just like my father. He’ll tell you himself, as soon as he returns.”

  Solace stares at me in a strange way and says, “You might do well to study your father’s things a bit more carefully.”

  “Thank you, Solace,” CeCi says, before I can ask what Solace means. “I’m sure we’ve already taken enough of your time.”

  We get to the door of the office when CeCi turns again. “Solace, why are you letting us go? Won’t Figgy be angry?”

  Solace twitches her nose. “Let me worry about that.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard about looking into the gaping maws of gift horses?” I mutter. Then CeCi and I collect Rory and tell her about the new piece of furniture that will inhabit her long-unused tower starting that evening. Rory, of course, only hears that we’ve walked the whole way with bags and now have to walk all the way back. At some point, I find myself carrying both my bag and her bag while she carries the dog.

  In a few hours we’ll leave from Rory’s tower. Seems it’s a whole new era for the three of us. I do wish you were here.

  B

  Filling Emptiness with Words

  Princess Briar R. Rose

  Somnolent Tower Castle

  South Road, Grimmland

  Beverly Wilshire Hotel

  Los Angeles

  Outside

  Oh, Zell,

  I’ve just had the most amazing evening. Can you believe I’m writing you from Outside? I hope the Pigeon Post here is reliable. They seem to do all right with Bianca’s magazines, but some of these birds look a bit suspect, if you ask me.

  I suppose I should slow down and start from the beginning. It has been a whirlwind of a day.

  An hour or two after we returned from Solace’s clock shop, CeCi and Bianca’s contagious excitement swept its way up the stairs, and we found ourselves standing in the tower. I didn’t have any objections to the portal being placed there; in truth I was overwhelmed with elation that their plans included me again.

  “No one comes up here, right?” Bianca asked, turning in a circle.

  Solace had given us a marking chalk to use on the floor, and I moved it between my clammy hands. I wanted to answer honestly, but I knew mentioning my tea with Maro would upset them and I didn’t want to ruin the moment. Besides, not a soul had been up before or since. “No.”

  I marked a spot on the center of the floor with the chalk, and the three of us moved back against the curved walls. The air shimmered, and soon a grandfather clock, sculpted from jagged pieces of ebony hardwood and bloodred metal, materialized, twice as tall as we are and about a two or three arm spans wide. The numerals on the clock face are written in a strange hand, and instead of the regular tick tock, it makes a low hissing sound. I’m glad it’s up in the tower, out of earshot and eyesight—it is more than a bit creepy.

  “Did Solace give you the bracelets?” I asked.

  Bianca produced them from the pocket of her gown, a set of three twisting bands of the same bloodred metal. The face on each band was decorated with the same slim, silver numerals.

  Bianca fumbled with the clasp as she tried to close it around my wrist. “CeCi, you do this. I don’t have any nails.”

  While CeCi lectured Bianca about the filthy habit of nail biting, she took it upon herself to inspect my nails as well, while I stood, still mesmerized by the hideous clock in the middle of the room.

  I didn’t study the clock long, however, because Bianca began to shake me, asking where the dog had gotten to and what I had done with my overnight bag. “We’ve got a schedule to keep,” she tutted, sounding not very Bianca-like.

  Time being of the essence, or so we were informed, we stuck to Bianca’s itinerary once we arrived Outside: finance, lodging, sustenance, test, Disneyland, shopping.

  First, we stopped at a bank. She’d read in one of her father’s journals that carrying around satchels of cash could be dangerous in certain circumstances. So we waited while Bianca exchanged her pile of cash for a thin rectangular card. Whenever the card stops working, one simply brings in another satchel of cash. Or so says the teller, evidently named so because they tell one things like “That bag looks vintage,” “Good thing you got here when you did, we close at six,” and “Sorry this is taking so long, but most people don’t really keep their cash in wads.”

  After our errand we got to the best part, checking in to this magnificent hotel called the Beverly Wilshire. It’s like a castle yet like a lodge, all filled with Human royalty. Bianca handed the clerk the card from the bank. The clerk gave us three similar cards along with the bank card. These new cards weren’t money, though. Even better: They opened up our room.

  The room itself is large and white and fluffy and has a balcony. The balcony is quite noisy because of the vehicles and the people and music and air machines known as helicopters—but it’s amazing nonetheless. And the sunset was full of colors I’ve never seen before.

  Down in the lobby, we met a man whose title was concierge (Bianca called him Little Suit, which didn’t seem terribly polite, though he seemed to take it in stride), whose sole purpose was to answer our questions. He offered to walk Snoozer for me every few hours and gave us a menu especially for dogs. After he recommended a restaurant for dinner, I asked him to select an appropriate leash for Snoozer to wear. He offered to take Snoozer for the evening, instead, as the restaurant regrettably did not welcome dogs. (Here, pet nursemaids are called dog sitters, though I was assured no one would sit on Snoozer.)

  The Beverly Wilshire is almost better than home. People wait on you hand and foot, but no one expects you to sign decrees or sit on thrones or hear grievances over chickens or suffer jugglers or listen to halfhearted performances on stringed instruments—though they do have some of those here and there on the lanes as you walk.

  We ate dinner at a sumptuous restaurant called Mirabelle. Don’t tell DJ, but the wine was much better than at the Swinging Vine, and the food was as amazing as any palace banquet I’ve ever tasted—dainty course upon dainty course of sparkling green flavors and savory brown sauces. I’d grow as big as a bear if I lived near such a place. No wonder CeCi wants to learn how to make food like that.

  The restaurant was quiet, but the street beyond the door was alive with light and sound. We walked a bit because it was warm out and the simple gowns we’d brought were the perfect weight. When we’d had enough walking, we ducked into a bar for a nightcap.

  CeCi had consumed a great deal of wine by then, bringing out her loving, gregarious side. She chatted away with some ladies at the next table about what they’d eaten that day and their all-time favorite restaurants.

  Bianca tired of all of this once the conversation moved past ketchup. She perched on a stool next to me, tugging on my sleeve, telling me to just look at everything—the people, the clothes, the lights, the automobiles. As I looked, an unwelcome and unexpected panic rose up my throat. I stole a glance at my clock bracelet, but we had arrived only
a few hours before. I don’t know why I couldn’t simply enjoy myself. Worry comes so naturally.

  CeCi bounced back over to our table. “Come on, Rory. Wake up,” she said. “Let’s have some fun.”

  “Would you mind terribly,” I asked, “if we went back to the hotel to do so?”

  When we got back to the lobby, CeCi ran on ahead to order room service (her new favorite thing) while Bianca and I waited for the concierge to collect Snoozer from the dog sitter’s office. I must have dozed off for a few minutes, because when I woke up Bianca was deep in conversation with a woman we’d passed on our way in.

  She was dark—skin almost the color of night, with close-cropped hair and a strong face, bare of makeup.

  Bianca looked down at Snoozer, then at me. “Good nap?” she asked. “Rory, this is Rachel.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” I said, feeling as if I’d accidentally interrupted. “I assume you’ve met my dog?”

  “I most certainly did. He’s quite the charmer.” Snoozer grunted and Rachel broke into a grin. It was hard to believe, but she was even more dazzling when she smiled.

  Bianca stood and touched my shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Aren’t you coming back to the room?”

  “Rachel said she’d show me around. Besides, I’m not that tired,” she said.

  “I’ll have her back before you know it,” Rachel said, smiling again. It was hard not to stand there and grin back like a simpleton.

  “Sweet dreams,” Bianca said.

  I meant to lecture Bianca about strangers and getting lost but then found myself falling silent. The way she and Rachel looked at one another was like something from a book. I’ve only been looked at like that once, a very long time ago—the night I met Fred. I watched them make their way out to the street, chatting about something I couldn’t hear or probably even imagine, like the colors of the stars or the pulse of the city beneath us or the many ways a heart feels love.