by Chris Colfer
The comment inspired a little girl in the third row to stand on her seat and wave her hand energetically in the air. Whatever her question was, she was more desperate to ask it than anyone else in the room.
“Yes, the young lady wearing pigtails,” Mr. Quinn said.
“Hello, Mr. Bailey,” she said. “My name is Annie and I love your books. I’ve read all six Fairytaletopia books a dozen times each.”
“I appreciate that more than words could describe,” the author said. “What’s your question?”
“Well, it has to do with what you just said, about Fairytaletopia being true,” she said. “Everyone knows Fairytaletopia is about a pair of twins who travel into the fairy-tale world, but I bet a lot of people don’t know you’re a twin yourself. I looked you up online and saw you have a sister named Alex. So I assume you based Alec and Connie Baxter from Fairytaletopia on you and your sister.”
The question took Mr. Bailey off guard. His readers were usually so invested in the worlds he wrote about that they rarely asked him questions about his personal life, especially ones about his family.
“That is both creepy and correct, Annie,” Mr. Bailey said. “I’d say you have what it takes to be a private investigator some—”
“That’s not my question,” the girl said. “According to my research, Alex Bailey attended school in Willow Crest until the seventh grade, but then she vanishes from all public records. I’ve looked everywhere but can’t find a single document about where she went or what became of her after that. So I guess my question is less about the books and more about your sister. Whatever happened to Alex?”
The world-renowned author went dead silent and the twinkle faded from his eye. He was shocked, not because of the question, but because he couldn’t remember the answer. He searched every corner of his patchy memory, but he couldn’t recall where his sister was or the last time he had spoken to her. The only memories coming to mind were from when Alex was a teenager, but he refused to believe that was the last time he’d seen her. He was certain he’d had some communication with Alex since then. She couldn’t just have disappeared, as the girl in pigtails claimed… or could she?
“I… I…” Mr. Bailey mumbled as he tried to focus.
It was obvious something was wrong, and the crowd began to shift in their seats. When the author realized his audience was growing uncomfortable, he laughed at their reactions like he was only playing a joke on them.
“Well, it’s a simple answer,” he said. “What happened to Connie at the end of Fairytaletopia?”
He phrased the question like he was playing a trivia game with the young girl—but secretly, the author couldn’t remember the conclusion of his beloved series, either. Trying to recall the whereabouts of his sister made him realize how much information was missing from his memory.
“She and Alec both had a happily ever after,” Annie said.
“Did they?” the author asked. “I mean, of course they did! Then that’s your answer.”
“But, Mr. Bailey—”
“Well, this has been a wonderful evening, but I have to cut it short,” the author said. “I would love to stay and answer all your questions, but my four hours of consciousness are almost up.”
The author yawned and stretched like he was tired, but it wasn’t a convincing performance. In truth, the mental void had terrified him, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep his fear from surfacing. Mr. Bailey always made jokes about his fading memory, but it wasn’t until tonight that he’d realized it wasn’t a laughing matter.
Later that evening, once his children had dropped him off at home and made sure he was settled, Mr. Bailey searched his house for any clues he could find leading to his sister’s location, but he found nothing—not even a photograph. His children already treated him like a toddler, so he was afraid to ask one of them what had happened to her. For peace of mind, he had to find her on his own.
The author could envision every detail of his sister’s face. Her pale skin, her rosy cheeks, her pale blue eyes, the freckles on the bridge of her nose, and her long strawberry-blonde hair were instantly accessible every time he closed his eyes and thought of her. However, this was how Alex had looked in her youth. She most certainly would have been an old woman by now—so why couldn’t he picture it?
“Oh, Alex, where did you go?” he said to himself.
Mr. Bailey knew only one thing could jump-start his memory. He locked himself in his study and searched his bookshelves until he found copies of the Fairytaletopia series. Just as he’d told the audience at the bookstore, all six books were based on true events he and his sister had experienced when they were much younger. If he couldn’t recall the information on his own, perhaps one of his stories would trigger the memories for him.
Mr. Bailey eagerly pulled the first Fairytaletopia book off the shelf, but remembering the events that inspired each book wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be.
“Think, old man, think!” he said. “Fairytaletopia: The Wishing Charm was about our first trip to the fairy-tale world…. We were collecting something…. There were things we needed to get back home.… Oh, I know—the Wishing Spell! Our dad’s journal helped us navigate and find all the items! We were chased by the Big Bad Wolf Pack and barely survived our encounter with the Evil Queen! That’s also the year we met Froggy, Red, Jack, and Goldilocks!”
The old man was so excited to retrieve these memories that he jumped in the air and his back cracked, reminding him he was too old to be doing such movements. He put the first book in his series aside and moved on to the sequel.
“Fairytaletopia 2: The Evil Fairy’s Revenge,” he read. “What on earth was that about? Wait, that was the year the Enchantress returned! We flew all over the fairy-tale world in a flying ship called the Granny! Alex defeated the Enchantress by taking away her pride! Boy, was she brilliant for doing that. That was the same year we met Mother Goose and Mom married Bob.”
The second remembrance gave him a boost of confidence, and he eagerly moved on to the third book in the series.
“Fairytaletopia 3: The Long-Lost Army,” he read. “That must be based on the Grande Armée that tried conquering the fairy-tale world! The soldiers were trapped in a portal for over two hundred years, thanks to Mother Goose and the Brothers Grimm! Our uncle joined them and found a dragon egg! He raised the beast and our grandmother slayed it right before she returned to magic! Wow, I can’t believe our mother let us out of the house after that one.”
As he moved on to the fourth and fifth books, the memories began to flow so freely he had trouble keeping up with them. It was like a tropical rainstorm had formed in the middle of a terrible drought.
“Fairytaletopia 4: The Literary Journey was when Alex and I chased Uncle Lloyd through the worlds of classic literature! We would have stopped him sooner if he hadn’t separated us into Camelot and Robin Hood. Fairytaletopia 5: A Storyteller’s Quest was when we traveled into my short stories! We accidentally went inside Bree’s writing, and our uncle Lloyd was trapped in the Cemetery of the Undead! We rushed back to the hospital to tell Alex what had happened, but when we arrived, she was gone….”
The author pulled the sixth and final book in his series off his shelf and stared down at the cover.
“Fairytaletopia 6: The Great New York Adventure,” he read.
Unfortunately, the title didn’t trigger a memory like the rest of the books had. Mr. Bailey tried as hard as he could to remember what the book was about and the events that had inspired it, but he drew a blank at every turn. The answer might have escaped him completely, but he knew that the information he craved was somewhere inside the book. Even if he had misled his readers to a false happy ending, he was certain he could read between the lines and discover the truth.
So the beloved children’s book author took a deep breath, opened his own book to the very first page, and began reading, hoping with all his heart that the story would remind him where his sister had gone all those yea
rs ago….
CHAPTER ONE
DISTRESS CALL FROM THE PUBLIC LIBRARY
It was a typical afternoon at the main branch of the New York Public Library. The marble halls of the world-famous structure echoed with the footsteps of obnoxious tourists, restless college students, and noisy groups of elementary school students on field trips. Tour guides shared little-known facts about the library’s expansive history and refrained from rolling their eyes at questions about the movies that had been filmed there. Librarians gave directions to the renowned reading rooms on the upper floors and reminded the guests that library books weren’t allowed in the bathrooms.
There was absolutely nothing to suggest that anything strange or peculiar might occur later that evening, but strange and peculiar events rarely give any warning before they happen.
Security guard Rudy Lewis began his four-PM-to-midnight shift by patrolling the library’s entrance on Fifth Avenue. He yelled at teenagers for climbing Patience and Fortitude, the iconic lion statues that flanked the library’s sprawling front steps. He kindly asked the homeless people sleeping beside the fountains to continue their naps at the shelter down the street, and once they obliged, he went back to the statues to yell at a new gang of teenagers for climbing them. Once the library closed and was cleared out, Rudy spent the rest of his shift patrolling the interior.
For hours and hours Rudy walked up and down the vacant halls of the four-level structure, inspecting its various forums, galleries, studies, and stairwells. Five minutes before the end of his shift, he was positive there wasn’t another soul in the library and was eager to hand his duties off to the next security guard. But as he made his final inspection of the third floor, Rudy discovered he was mistaken.
At the end of a long, dark hallway, the security guard found a young woman standing alone. She wore a sparkling white dress and had strawberry-blonde hair, and her head was bowed as if she had fallen asleep standing up. At first, the sight of the young woman startled Rudy. He had walked past this part of the library a dozen times and hadn’t seen anyone before now. It was like the young woman had appeared out of thin air.
“Excuse me,” he said. “What are you doing?”
The young woman didn’t respond.
“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Rudy said.
The angry security guard shined his flashlight on the young woman to get her attention, but she didn’t move. Once she was illuminated, Rudy could see that she was trembling and her skin was as pale as a ghost’s. For a split second, he worried that she was a ghost. His co-workers had always warned him that the library was haunted, but until now, he’d had no reason to believe them.
“The library’s closed.” Rudy’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Unless you’re an employee, you’re trespassing on city property.”
Still the young woman neither looked up nor said a word. Her silence was making Rudy paranoid. The longer he stood in her presence, the creepier the young woman became. The fate of every security guard in every horror film flashed before Rudy’s eyes, but he mustered the courage to approach the strange young woman.
“I’m gonna call the police if you don’t say something!”
Suddenly, the young woman gasped and jerked her head up, causing Rudy to jump. She frantically looked around in a panic as if waking from a bad dream.
“Where am I?” she panted.
“You’re at the library,” Rudy said, but that only confused her more.
“The library? Which library?”
“The New York Public Library at Fifth Avenue and East Forty-Second Street,” Rudy said.
“Oh no!” the young woman cried. “You have to get out of here! Something terrible is about to happen!”
“What are you talking about? How did you even get in here?”
“I don’t know what she has planned, but you’ve got to go before she makes me hurt you!” the young woman pleaded. “Please, you have to listen to me! I can’t control it!”
Tears spilled out of her blue eyes and rolled down her face.
“Who are you talking about?” Rudy asked. “No one is in here but me and you.”
“The witch who cursed me! She put me under some kind of spell that makes me do things—awful things!”
“Lady, you’re clearly on a lot of drugs,” Rudy said. “I’m taking you outside and calling the cops.”
“You have to get my brother! He’s the only one who can help! His name is Conner Bailey—he should be at Saint Andrew’s Children’s Hospital in Willow Crest—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Rudy said, and grabbed her arm. “This city is full of places that help people like you, but you can’t stay here.”
The security guard tried to escort her to the exit, but the young woman wouldn’t budge. He pulled on her arm with all his might, but she stayed exactly where she was, as if she were glued to the floor.
“It’s too late!” the young woman said. “The spell—I feel it coming! The witch must be close! Please, you have to run!”
To the security guard’s horror, the young woman’s eyes rolled back and began to glow. Her hair rose above her head and floated in the air like a slow-flickering fire. In all his years in security, Rudy had never seen anything like this before.
“What the heck is happening to you?”
The young woman placed a palm on his chest, and a bright blast erupted from her hand, knocking him all the way down the hall. As Rudy lay on the floor, his whole body tingled as if he had just been electrocuted. His vision was blurry and fading fast. With all his remaining strength and in the few moments of consciousness he had left, Rudy reached for his radio and held it against his mouth.
“Police…” he wheezed. “We need police at the library… NOW!”
Within minutes, Fifth Avenue was illuminated by red and blue lights as two police cars sped toward the library. A policeman emerged from the first vehicle and a policewoman from the second. The officers hurried up the front steps with their guns raised.
“I just got the call. What’s the situation?” the policewoman asked.
“We don’t know,” said the policeman. “A distress call came from somewhere inside the library. Approach with caution.”
“Oh my God.” The policewoman gasped. “Look!”
The officer pointed to the library’s entrance as the large doors slowly opened on their own. A moment later the young woman in the white dress levitated through the doorway and landed at the top of the library’s front steps. Even in New York City, the police weren’t accustomed to seeing someone with glowing eyes and floating hair flying out of a building. Once the initial shock faded, the officers knelt behind a lion statue and aimed their weapons at her.
“Hands up!” the policeman ordered.
The young woman didn’t follow his instructions. Instead, she pointed at the statues and two powerful bolts of lightning struck the lions. The police dived to the ground to avoid getting hit.
“What was that?” the policeman asked.
“Lightning!” said the policewoman. “But I don’t understand. There aren’t any clouds in the sky!”
Once the officers helped each other to their feet, they jerked their heads toward a strange cracking noise coming from the statues. They watched in astonishment as the stone lions stood up from their perches, leaped into the air, and landed on the steps in front of the young woman, blocking the officers from coming any closer. The statues roared so loudly, they set off all the car alarms within a block.
“Holy crap,” the policeman said. “The statues are alive! How is this possible?”
The policewoman clicked the radio on her shoulder. “Officer Sanchez to Dispatch,” she said. “The library is under attack, I repeat, the library is under attack! We need all available units to join us immediately!”
“Copy, Officer Sanchez,” a voice responded over the radio. “All available units have been notified. Are you able to identify who or what is behind the attack?”
Still in disbelief, the policewoman he
sitated to respond.
“It’s magic,” she said breathlessly. “The library is being attacked by magic!”
CHAPTER TWO
ACCIDENTAL YET UNEXPLAINABLE
The Willow Crest Fire Department had never seen an incident like the one at Saint Andrew’s Children’s Hospital. The firefighters were called in the middle of the night to view the damage from a reported explosion, but when they arrived, they had no idea what they were looking at. There weren’t any flames to extinguish, there was hardly any debris to clear, and the remaining walls of the hospital weren’t blackened or singed by the alleged blast. As far as they could tell, the women’s bathroom hadn’t exploded as much as it had vanished.
“It’s not damaged, it’s just missing,” one firefighter said to another. “If there had been an explosion, this place would be covered in bits of porcelain, but there’s not a piece of the bathroom anywhere.”
“The hospital staff swears a fully functional bathroom was right here just a few hours ago,” the second firefighter said. “If it wasn’t an explosion, what could have removed it so quickly?”
The firefighters asked around the hospital, but no one had witnessed the phenomenon, further complicating the strange situation. They checked the grounds surrounding the hospital in case the bathroom had been detached by some type of tractor, but there were no tracks on the ground.
“What should I put on the report?” the first firefighter asked the second. “The hospital’s insurance company is going to need something from us, but I can’t exactly say the bathroom got up and walked away.”
“Write accidental yet unexplainable,” the second firefighter said. “I think this case is above our pay grade. They’re going to need an investigation to get to the bottom of this—a thorough investigation.”
With no further assessments to make, the firefighters taped off the area and gave the hospital manager the contact information for a destruction investigator who lived in the next town. The specialist wasn’t available for another week, so the missing bathroom remained a giant and mysterious hole until his arrival.
