Cinderella: Ninja Warrior

by Maureen McGowan

  Cinderella didn’t have time to think. Too many eager girls with their mothers and seamstresses stood between her and Agatha, so Cinderella leaped up onto the counter and then sprang up to grab a wooden beam that ran through the center of the room.

  Building up momentum, she arched and swung over the shoppers, let go, and landed on one foot on the edge of a shelf midway up the wall on the opposite side of the store. She pushed off from there, somersaulted over the heads of six shoppers, and landed next to Agatha. “Watch out!” she cried, and pulled Agatha to the side. The box crashed to the floor where her stepsister had been standing. It smashed and the empty wooden spools rolled over the floor in every direction.

  One of the shopkeepers ran over and bent to gather the spools. Agatha’s face went white and she backed away from Cinderella and looked around the room, as if searching for her mother. Agatha dashed across the room to her mother’s side. Apparently, Cinderella wasn’t the only one eager to stay in the woman’s good graces.

  She glanced back through the crowd to spot Ty, who had a huge grin on his face. One of the mothers shoved him, but instead of getting angry, he nodded to the rude woman and stepped aside.

  Cinderella suppressed a giggle. If that woman knew Ty worked at the palace, she might not have been so rude. Cinderella loved sharing this little secret with Ty.

  He wove his way through the crowd to stand next to her, and even though they weren’t touching, she felt his warmth spread through her body. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he’d cast a magic spell upon her to make her feel safe and happy and warm yet excited.

  He smiled again as he bent toward her, his shaggy curls falling across his face. “Even if you don’t go to the ball—which you should—you should definitely enter the magic competition.”

  “Magic competition?”

  “It’s part of the festival held the day of the ball.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” Cinderella poked a finger through a new tear on her skirt she’d have to mend tonight. “I have very little aptitude for magic.”

  “Speed, strength, agility, not to mention concentration, are major signs of magic aptitude.” Ty leaned against the counter. “Almost anyone can learn to cast a few small spells with a wand, but the big stuff, the really powerful magic, takes so much more. It has to come from inside you.” He put his hand on his chest. “It’s aptitude they look for during the competition, and from what I just saw, you’d have a great chance of winning.” The clear admiration in his eyes filled her heart with the most glorious joy.

  “But I’ve never even seen a magic competition.” Still, a wave of excitement surged inside her at the thought of entering.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “The royal wizard devises a new set of tests every year.”

  “The royal wizard will be there?” Her heart raced. She’d only heard her stepsisters whisper about the great wizard’s powers.

  “Of course,” Ty said. “Each year, he grants the winner a year’s worth of lessons.” He reached forward and his fingers brushed her wrist, his touch like sparks from a fire.“And if the winner is a girl, she’s guaranteed at least one dance with the prince.”

  “What a fabulous prize.” She could imagine winning those lessons.

  Ty’s smile brightened the room and her insides.“So now you want to dance with the prince?” he asked.

  “No, silly. You’re the only boy I want to dance with.” Feeling bold, she lightly slapped his arm just above the elbow. Surprised at the hard muscles she felt on Ty’s arm, she pulled her hand back. “I’m excited about the lessons with the royal wizard. If I had training with him, no way could my stepmother—” She stopped herself just in time.

  If she mentioned one word about the entrapment spells or her stepmother’s illegal use of black magic, both she and the person she told would instantly turn into stone.

  “Oh,” Ty said. His expression dropped for an instant, but then warmed again. “I am glad you want to compete. Make sure you come with a clear head, and just be yourself.”

  He pressed his hand to his chest, and smiled at her with genuine sincerity in his eyes. Cinderella felt as if she were floating, as if she were flying, as if no one else were in the room.

  How could this day get better? Her new friend Ty liked magic, seemed to like her, and apparently had some insider knowledge of the competition. “Have you entered before?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, as a royal servant I’m not eligible, but I watch every year. It’s highly competitive, but I have a strong feeling you’ll do well. I’ll certainly be cheering for you to win.” He stepped back and bowed, flipping his right hand a few times in an incredibly formal manner that almost made Cinderella want to giggle. Even dressed in rags, the regal gesture seemed to fit her new friend—her only friend unless you counted a cat.

  Her heart swelled. She’d found a friend—a handsome and charming young man, to boot. Maybe one day after she escaped . . . No, she would not let herself dream of that kind of happiness. The kind that involved true love and happily-ever-afters. Those kinds of dreams were for silly girls like her stepsisters. Once she’d escaped, she’d find her way in the world in a job serving others, but serving them freely, as Ty did in his job at the palace. With her experience, she would certainly be able to find a position as a maid, maybe even in a household where they would feed her something better than table scraps and let her outside during daylight hours.

  “Cinderella!”

  She jumped and cringed at the sound of her stepmother’s voice booming in her ears.

  “There you are, you spoiled, selfish girl.” Her stepmother grabbed Cinderella by her ear and pulled her forward. “This is how you pay me back for my generosity? Have you forgotten why you’re here? Have you forgotten your sisters need help?”

  Humiliation and anger rose in Cinderella’s chest, but she squashed it down with every ounce of self-control and determination inside her. No way would she do anything to give her stepmother an excuse to withdraw her permission for the ball.

  “Get away from her, you rotten beggar boy.” Her stepmother shoved Ty with the end of her walking stick. “Can’t you see this girl has nothing to give you?”

  He tipped his head down in deference. “So sorry, ma’am.”

  Clearly her stepmother didn’t recognize Ty out of his messenger uniform, even though he’d just delivered the invitations yesterday. She thought of telling her stepmother Ty worked at the palace, but even if he were a beggar, it was no excuse for her stepmother’s rudeness.

  “Now, scat, you filthy street urchin. This young woman is busy, and I’ll not have you distracting her. She’s lazy enough.” She slammed her stick down, narrowly missing Ty’s foot.

  “Stepmother. Leave him alone, please. He was merely helping me retrieve bolts of cloth that were too high for me to reach.”

  Ty stole a quick glance from his bowed head position to wink at Cinderella, and she was glad he wasn’t too angry about being scolded and threatened.

  “All right, then.” Her stepmother dug into her purse.“Away with you, now.” She tossed Ty a copper coin, and pulled Cinderella by the hair to the other side of the shop.

  As soon as she could turn back, Cinderella waved but wasn’t sure if he saw, and by the time she’d finished talking Agatha out of a lime-and-pumpkin print, Ty had vanished from the store.

  At least she’d have a chance of seeing him again at the magic competition—assuming she could talk her stepmother into letting her compete. It seemed pointless to ask, but she planned to suggest she be allowed to do that instead of attending the ball.

  Later that night, Cinderella pulled out her fabrics and laid them on the cellar table. She still found it hard to believe her stepmother would let her go to the ball, but until the opportunity was yanked away, she’d let herself hope. Plus, even if she had no place to wear it, it would be fun to make herself a gown. What she really hoped was that her stepmother would let her enter the magic competition, but that was highly
unlikely.

  She traced her hand over the shimmering, dove-gray velvet she’d selected for her own gown, and then draped the ends of the silver lace and icy pale turquoise chiffon over the heavier fabric. It was nothing short of miraculous that her stepmother had purchased all three and Cinderella realized she’d been smart to mix them in with the fabrics for her stepsisters so her stepmother couldn’t see how nice her choices looked together.

  Each fabric alone was unremarkable, but the velvet caught the light when it moved, almost like the inside of an oyster shell, and with pieces of the silver lace and turquoise chiffon on top, the effect was stunning. She’d look like a mermaid, a sea princess emerging from the depths to walk on land for the first time. She wasn’t usually one to fuss about clothes or pretty things, but the idea of seeing the look on Ty’s face, if he ever saw her in this gown, lit little fires of excitement inside her belly.

  Since finding out Ty would be there, her enthusiasm about the ball had multiplied. Even if servants weren’t allowed in the main ballroom, she and Ty would dance in the halls. She didn’t care, as long as she got the chance to see him again.

  She twirled around her cellar room for a moment, and almost tripped over Max. He leaped up into her arms and rubbed his head against her cheek. “Don’t worry, Max,” she told him. “You’ll always be my best friend.”

  He sprang from her arms and pawed at their bed of burlap sacks stuffed with straw, over the place where her book was hidden.

  “Yes, yes, I know, Max.” She sat down next to him and scratched under his chin the way he likes. “Just because I’ve met a new friend doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my training.” Max purred. “And you’re right. The magic competition is way more important than the ball.” She lowered her voice and whispered in Max’s ear, “By the way, I’m planning to escape the day of the ball.”

  He meowed, jumped out of her arms into the center of the room, and rose onto his hind legs, batting at some imaginary foe.

  “You are so ferocious, Max.” Cinderella grinned, did a twisting hook kick, and then a series of walking punches. “Just think. The competition and ball are two days away. Can you believe we might be free after that? I’d better get started on my dress.”

  Max sprawled on the floor and looked the other way, as if he thought her priorities were all wrong.

  “Who are you talking to?” a voice demanded from behind her.

  She spun to find her stepmother on the bottom stair at the entrance to her room, and reached to gather her fabric. “No one. Just my cat.”

  “Wait,” said her stepmother. “Let me see.” She sauntered across the room, her bright green skirt swishing on the stone floor.

  Her stepmother dragged her long nails over the fabric, and Cinderella cringed. Please don’t snag it. Please.

  Her stepmother spun. “I’m impressed, Cinderella. Very impressed.”

  Cinderella swallowed hard. “Impressed” was not what she’d been expecting to hear.

  Her stepmother added,“Of course, no gown can make a plain girl like you beautiful.” She smiled and shook her head slightly. “With your lack of height, simple bone structure, and the dull nature of your complexion and hair, one can’t expect miracles.”

  Cinderella clasped her hands in front of her apron, every muscle in her body on high alert. Her stepmother never came down here without a good reason—and that reason usually involved some kind of punishment.

  “May I help you with anything?” Cinderella asked politely.

  Her stepmother kept a fake smile plastered on her face, and Max rubbed up against Cinderella. She slid her foot to the side to push him away. Max normally hid whenever her stepmother came down, and Cinderella wished he’d hide now. No need to take unnecessary risks with her stepmother’s patience.

  “We should discuss the day of the ball,” her stepmother said. “You will need to complete your chores quickly if you are to have time to wipe the soot off your face before you help your sisters get ready.”

  Cinderella nodded, still not trusting where this was headed, but hopeful. She was almost starting to believe her stepmother planned to keep her word and let her go.

  “You’ll be representing this family, and even though the prince will never choose you for a dance, we must have you looking your best.” She picked up the silver lace and, holding one corner, unfurled it.

  Cinderella’s heart seized.

  Her stepmother sniffed, handed the lace to Cinderella, and put her hands on her hips.

  Cinderella refolded the fabric. She’d never seen her stepmother so amenable. Now was the time to ask. “Stepmother,” she began, drying her sweating palms on her apron, “will you and my stepsisters be attending the magic competition?”

  Her stepmother’s head snapped toward her. “Why?”

  Cinderella’s mouth was dry, but she pressed on. “I expect my sisters have inherited your talent for magic. Will they be competing?”

  “I hadn’t really considered it.” She slowly strode forward to tower over Cinderella.

  She took a tiny step back and said, “I was just thinking . . . I was wondering . . . ” She straightened her back. “I’d like to enter.”

  Her stepmother tipped her head back to expose her long white throat and laughed. “Cinderella, that is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a very long time.”

  Anger mingled with fear in Cinderella’s chest and she clenched her fists behind her back so her stepmother couldn’t see.

  “You’re a clumsy girl with no aptitude for magic, no matter how powerful your mother was.” Her stepmother’s eyes narrowed, and her voice returned to its normal icy tone, sending a chill down Cinderella’s spine. “She couldn’t have been that powerful if a tiny baby killed her.”

  Cinderella nearly shook with rage, but kept silent.

  “Who put this ridiculous notion in your mind?”

  “No one,” said Cinderella. No need to bring poor Ty into this. “I overheard things in the village.”

  “Bringing you today was a mistake.” Her stepmother paced around the room in long, slow strides. “You’re so impressionable and sheltered. Imagine thinking you could enter that competition without a wand or even any training.” She spun toward Cinderella and leaned onto the table. “I won’t let you bring shame and embarrassment onto our family name. Your father would be mortified.”

  “My father would be proud of me no matter what.”

  “You think so, do you?” Her stepmother’s eyes shot spikes of ice into Cinderella’s chest, but she stood her ground.

  Even though most memories of her father involved him being sad, she could remember the smile on his face when she’d learned to read, when she’d drawn him a picture, when she’d sang him a song.

  Her stepmother’s lips bent up into a sly smile. “I have an idea.”

  Cinderella braced herself for the worst, wondering what possible torture her stepmother might be contemplating. At least she hadn’t reached for her wand . . . yet.

  “If you’re determined to enter the competition, I insist that you have some training.”

  Hope rose in Cinderella’s chest, pushing back the anger and fear she had felt only moments ago.

  Her stepmother leaned on the table, her blood-red nails digging into the wood. “Let’s perform a little test to see if you’re ready to enter.”

  “A test?”

  Max rubbed against Cinderella’s skirts again, meowing loudly, but she couldn’t pay attention to her cat. Not now. Not with so much on the line.

  “If you pass, you may enter the competition. In fact, I’ll buy you the best wand money can buy.”

  “Really?” A smile burst onto Cinderella’s face and she tried to remember when—or if—she’d ever smiled like this in her stepmother’s presence. It was so long ago, it might have been never.

  “But as with any fair test, failure must have its consequences.”

  Cinderella’s smile shrank, and she felt stupid for believing, even for a second, that her stepmother wou
ld let her enter the magic competition. Still, she’d do her best on whatever kind of test her stepmother could devise. The woman didn’t know she’d been training, didn’t know she’d inherited a little of her mother’s abilities as a wizard.

  “What consequences?” Cinderella asked, hoping that her voice sounded steadier than it felt.

  “If you fail my test, clearly you can’t enter the competition.” Her stepmother glanced around the room, her expression growing ever more evil as she looked at the fabric, folded neatly on the table.“Not only that, if you fail, you cannot attend the ball.”

  Cinderella backed up a few steps. The hammer had finally fallen. Her stepmother had just been waiting for an opportunity to deny Cinderella the trip to the ball. No doubt the test would be impossible, and without the ball, she’d lose her best chance to escape. Why had she even asked about the competition?

  “What do you say, Cinderella? Will you accept my challenge?”

  Cinderella studied her stepmother’s face. “And if I choose not to?”

  “If you don’t accept my challenge, I’ll be very disappointed, and how can a girl who’s disappointed her stepmother expect to attend a ball?”

  Cinderella gritted her teeth. The ball was off the table even if she backed off from entering the competition. How unfair.

  Still, she had to try. Winning the competition might be her best chance to develop the skills she needed to escape her stepmother forever. She had no choice but to complete whatever test her stepmother devised.

  “Fine,” she said, bowing her head. “What is your test?”

  Cinderella stared in dismay at the crystal goblets scattered around her on the stone courtyard, and looked up at her stepmother to be sure she was serious. Even by her stepmother’s standards, this so-called test seemed impossible.

  Her stepmother had used her magic wand to transport every single goblet in the house up the cellar steps and onto the stone courtyard, and now she expected Cinderella to stack them, end on end into a tower, without breaking a single one—without using a wand.

  Unbeknownst to her stepmother, Cinderella had moved objects with her mind before, but never with such precision. The completed tower, assuming it was possible to complete it, would be over fifteen feet high, nearly three times her own height. Her stepmother had marked an X on the stone courtyard about eight feet away from the nearest wall, so she couldn’t climb the wall in order to reach the top of the tower, or lean the tower against something steady.