A Well-Timed Enchantment (17 page)

Deanna leaned ever so slightly to the right as though looking down at their horse. "Why's he holding his leg funny like that?" she asked.

Baylen craned around her for a better look. "What?" he asked. "How?"

She shoved him with all her might.

Caught off balance, he didn't even have the chance to grab for support. He toppled from the horse, and the best he could accomplish was to
twist his body so that he landed on his side rather than face first.

Deanna had been worried that she might have trouble getting the horse to move. No such luck. The horse, startled, bolted headlong down the path.

Deanna flattened herself along the horse's neck, holding on with arms and legs and willpower.

Behind her she heard men shouting. That sound faded almost immediately. Horse's hooves pounded, whether just hers or someone else's in pursuit she couldn't tell. She could smell the sweat on her horse's neck. He became slippery with it. Great drops of salty lather flew back into her face. Low-slung branches whipped by overhead. Tall bushes grazed her legs. The path twisted. Her rear end was slipping off to the right, and try as hard as she would, she couldn't seem to get herself properly centered.
You're falling. Let go of the reins,
she told herself. She'd fall for sure that way, but at least she wouldn't get dragged. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

But somebody was pulling up on the reins. Deanna had been concentrating so hard on holding on, she hadn't been aware of someone riding up next to her and grabbing the reins. Her face was pressed against the horse and she couldn't see more than the other rider's mount. Baylen, Oliver, or one of the others—she didn't care, so long as this wild ride ended.

Her horse snorted, tossed its head, slowed, stopped.

Drained of emotion as well as energy, Deanna raised her eyes. "Long time no see," she said.

"We
just
saw each other," Oliver told her.

"Never mind." She pulled herself up into a sitting position. "What's going on back there?"

"Baylen looks uninjured but annoyed. The two others were slowed by the condition of the road and by not wanting to trample him. Vachel's just behind me. Baylen stopped the other man to take his horse, so he's farther back. Do you want to ride with me?"

She nodded and he pulled the horses up next to each other. Deanna lifted her left leg up onto the saddle, then Oliver pulled her over onto his horse.

"Bring both horses," she said. "When the path divides, we'll go one way, send Baylen's horse the other. Let's hope Baylen and Vachel will separate."

Oliver gave Baylen's horse a slap on the rump, and it took off again. He tightened his arms
around Deanna, and then they were off too. She felt considerably more secure with Oliver than she had with Baylen (and infinitely more secure than on her own), but still she couldn't imagine anyone doing this for pleasure. She checked the watch: it read 11:37.

The forest didn't look familiar. None of the fair folk's white linoleum with red polka dots, no flashing arrows. The path went up and down and twisted sharply among the treacherous trees. She wasn't even sure if they had been going in the right direction when they left the first clearing. "Fair folk, you better do something!" she shouted. The wind ripped the words away from her. No answer. She hadn't expected one.

"Up ahead," Oliver told her.

The path branched off. No telling which was the correct way. So when Baylen's horse chose left, they went right.

"Keep down," Oliver warned as a low branch came close to smacking her in the face.

That gave her an idea. "Oliver, are you a good climber?"

He didn't answer and she turned enough to see his face. He had on one of his long-suffering expressions.

"Right. Sorry. How about if we hide the horse, you climb one of these trees with a low branch, hold the branch back, then let it go when Baylen or Vachel comes by?"

Oliver didn't answer, but the next time they came to a suitable tree, he led the horse off the path and into the forest itself. He slid off and handed her the reins.

"Good luck," she said.

She could hear, from not too far behind, the pounding of hooves on the trail. One horse? Two? She wasn't experienced enough to tell.

Oliver said nothing. He climbed the tree faster than seemed humanly possible. Oh. Right. When was she going to catch on? In seconds, she had lost him among the branches and leaves.

There! She could make out a rider tearing down the path toward them. She didn't dare let herself be seen, so she couldn't move out and get a really good look. One man, though. If it was Baylen, that would mean that Vachel, who'd been in front, had taken the other route. If it was Vachel, that could mean that Baylen had taken the other route. Or it could mean that Baylen was just a little bit behind. Closer. Closer. The horse was bouncing so much she couldn't make out the face. Closer. She almost collapsed with relief. Baylen. They'd only have to deal with the one. Closer. He wasn't slowing down. He didn't see her. He was almost abreast of her. He passed her. He was at the tree. Passing under.

Oliver released the branch and it hit Baylen mid-chest, sweeping him off. The horse kept going, and Baylen just lay there on the road, flat on his back.

"Go," she told her horse.

It was nibbling on some grass and didn't even look up.

She gave the reins a tentative shake.

The horse snorted and shook its head as though at a persistent fly.

She nudged it gently with her heels and it finally left the grass alone and ambled back toward the path.

Oliver had jumped down from the tree, landing lightly, and he was stooped next to Baylen, who still had not moved. Deanna's relief began to shift to worry. "Is he all right?" she asked. If she had really hurt him, she'd never forgive herself.

Oliver turned Baylen's face. He had a nasty bump on the side of his head, and Oliver's hand came away bloody. It wasn't that serious, Deanna thought, but Oliver just stayed there, looking at his blood-smeared fingers.

"Oliver?"

He raised his fingers to his mouth.

"Oliver!"

He looked up sharply. The green, slit-pupiled eyes looked at her coolly, appraisingly, like the eyes of the big cats in the Boulder Zoo, the big cats that they kept behind protective bars or ditches. My,
don't they look like big kittens,
someone would always say, until they let out a roar or lunged at the barriers. Deanna swallowed hard.

"He's knocked himself out," Oliver said, the same quiet, steady—human—voice as always. "He'll recover."

Deanna gave another swallow. "Then we'd best get out of here before he does," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Best we do," Oliver said, watching her, gauging her reactions. He wiped the blood off on his pants leg, then took the horse's reins and swung up behind her.

In the moment that her attention was on Oliver remounting the horse, the road became covered with the familiar polka-dot pattern. An arrow flashed inches from Baylen's head, pointing the way they were already headed. "Fine timing," she muttered. She glanced at the watch: 11:52.

They rode in silence, 'til she could stand the
silence no longer. But there was nothing to say, and they rode in silence some more.

She released the reins long enough to brush her hair off her face. Regardless of how long she
knew
Oliver had been riding, he seemed to have done it forever and she felt as much at ease with him as she would with anyone. That was true, she realized suddenly—despite everything—regarding more than just riding. She leaned against him for the reassurance of his being there.

They passed beneath a flashing neon archway. Trumpets blared. Fragrant rose petals wafted down from the highest branches. She recognized the pond edged by weeping willows, the wall of trees. Those miserable elves, she thought. Irresponsible, indeed. No sign of them. Just wait ... just wait ... Her eyes were beginning to get watery and she took hold of the reins again. She blinked several times. That wasn't going to help anything. She kept her head down lest Oliver see, and doing that noticed that his hands had changed. Still basically human, the fingers were shorter, the nails longer and curved along the sides. She started, despite herself, and stole a quick glance to see if there were any other visible changes. None so far. But Oliver caught her staring. He shifted position slightly, to tuck his fingers under, so they wouldn't show. "It's not fair," she insisted.

He shrugged.

"Oliver, take the horse. Go back. There's magic in this world. Algernon will help you. Sir Henri will take you in. Make a life for yourself here. The fair folk ... the fair folk can't be trusted."

Oliver was shaking his head. "There's nothing for me here."

"Of course there is. Sir Henri likes you, Lady Marguerite likes—Oliver, I told her about you, but I don't think it'll make any difference. If you're there, I don't think she'll—Stop shaking your head. You know how fond she is of you and you are of her."

"Lady Marguerite?" he asked incredulously.

"And Algernon is ticked off at the elves as it is. I'm sure he'd be willing—"

"I'm not fond of Lady Marguerite."

"Come on, Oliver. It's all right I could tell and I don't mind. You were with her every chance you got, smiling and chatting and—"

"You told me to."

"What?"

He pulled the horse to a stop beside the pond. Still the elves hadn't shown their sneaky little faces. "You told me to be polite, to be pleasant."

Deanna closed her eyes.

"You're the one I'm fond of. I came through the well for you, Deanna. I love you."

Her heart seemed to stop. Her breath definitely did. She bit back her instinctive answer
You're a cat, and you know nothing about it.
She chewed on her lip, trying to word out a better answer. But perhaps he had read the first one in her face. He looked away. What did Lady Marguerite or Sir Henri know about love? Or Leonard and Baylen? Or, at this point in their lives, her parents? Or, for that matter, what did she know about love?
He can't love me,
she thought.
He's a cat.
But then she thought:
Why not? He's a cat and I love him.

She couldn't stand the thought of never seeing him again. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest "Oh, Oliver, I don't want to lose you."

He put his arms around her, slowly, gingerly, as though not sure what was expected of him.

She looked up and kissed him.

He smiled, sad and sweet "No matter what you do, I'm not going to change into a prince," he told her.

She couldn't help but smile back.

By her elbow a familiar voice sneered, "Well, you certainly took your time, human girl. Now, at last, things can go back to the way they were before."

"Listen," she said to the fair folk in the Hawaiian shorts (
Aloha
his shirt said, written in flowers and erupting volcanoes), "I've got the watch, but I—"

He reached over and shoved.

"Wait!" she screamed, tipping precariously. She was holding on to Oliver, but Oliver was falling too. Falling and falling and falling. She braced herself for a hard landing, but she hit the pond.
Can't be that deep,
she told herself at the first splash,
not right near the edge.
But the water closed over her head, singing gently to her.
Oliver!
she thought, but the water was cold and dark and she couldn't even tell which side was up and she couldn't find him and finally she wasn't aware of anything at all.

When the world came back into focus, the first thing Deanna was aware of was the grass tickling her stomach. She rolled over and sat up. She was wearing her jeans and rainbow sweater. Her entire back end was sore from the horse's jostling. No sign of the horse now. There was the well, smelling dry and old. Beyond that, she could just make out the orange tile roof of the Guyon farmhouse. Her clothes and hair were still wet enough to wring out.

Oliver she found sitting under some tall weeds, licking himself dry.

"Oh, Oliver," she said, scooping him up and holding him close. His black fur was thick and warm. She looked deep into his eyes and tried to figure out how much he knew, how much he remembered. No telling. Those deep green eyes had always given the impression that there was something going on behind them.

She leaned over the well. "Stupid elves!" she screamed. "Making shoes is all you're good for! Fairies! Pixies! Brownies!"

Far, far below, her voice reached the water, bounced off the mossy sides, and returned in a hollow echo.

"I hate you," she whispered.

She turned her back to them. But she couldn't return home, not now, not right away. She sat down heavily on the ground, her back against the rough wall of the well. Still holding Oliver close, she rocked back and forth. "Oh, Oliver," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish..." She started to cry. "I wish..."

Oliver stiffened, and behind her the well gave a definite gurgle.

Deanna sat up straighter. She gave a good hard sniff and rubbed her nose. "I wish," she said.

Oliver hissed.

"Shhh." She smoothed down his fur, which
seemed to be all on end.
Things can go back to the way they were before,
the fair folk had said. She looked at her watch. The date hadn't changed from the first day. The time was about what it should have been had she never left.
Things can go back to the way they were before.
Before, she had started a wish and interrupted it by dropping her watch. Before, she had wasted the magic this well had to offer. Before, before. She stood up abruptly and Oliver jumped from her arms.

Absently, she wiped cat fur from herself.

I wish that Mom and Dad were back together again and that we'd all be happy again.
That's what she had told herself she would wish if she ever got a second shot at it.

But you can't go wishing happiness on other people, she thought; you've got to make your own. People were going to be what they were going to be.

She looked down at Oliver, who looked up at her.