My Unfair Godmother (32 page)

Then my father’s voice came on the line, “Where are you? Are you all right?”

Relief washed over me. He was there.

“We’re fine,” Hudson said. “We’ve got the wizard with us.” My father gave Hudson directions to their hiding spot, and then Hudson banged the hilt of his sword against the roof as a signal to Bartimaeus to stop the carriage. Once it halted, Hudson went outside to give directions to the wizard, and I talked to my father on the walkie-talkie. It felt like so much longer than two days since I’d seen him.

“You’re all right?” he asked again.

“Yes, and I’m bringing a surprise.”

“A good surprise, I hope. I’m not sure how many more bad surprises I can handle.”

I held the walkie-talkie away from the baby’s curious hands.

Would my father consider me showing up to camp with my infant son a good thing or a bad thing? “It’s a very cute surprise,” I said.

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Junior-Stetson-Edward gurgled out a stream of
umba
,
umba
sounds and reached his chubby fingers toward the walkie-talkie.

“What did you say?” my father asked. “I didn’t catch that last part.”

I didn’t want to explain, so I changed the subject. “It’s lucky Hudson got ahold of you right away.”

“It wasn’t luck,” my father said. “I never turned off my walkie-talkie.”

I shifted the baby in my arms. “I thought you were supposed to conserve batteries.”

“I brought plenty of extras from the house, and I wanted to make sure I heard you whenever you called.” I didn’t say anything for a moment. Perhaps I was just overtired and emotional, but tears filled my eyes. My father had kept the walkie-talkie near him and on, waiting for word from us, waiting for me to come within range.

“Are you still there?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m here.” I leaned the walkie-talkie against my cheek. “I’ll be back soon. I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too,” he said.

Hudson climbed back into the carriage, and we trundled down the street again. He told my dad we were on our way, then switched the walkie-talkie off. “When we get to the turnoff, I’ll go alone to camp,” he said. “The wizard doesn’t want to walk into unknown parts of the forest, so he’s staying with the carriage. You should stay too. Less temptation for bandits that way.” Hudson fingered the walkie-talkie, thinking. “I hope they don’t get any ideas about holding your family ransom for more gold.”

I didn’t want to believe Hudson’s suspicions, but it was best to be prepared for the worst. “I’ll go with you partway and change some 299/356

things into gold along the path. You can tell Robin Hood it’s my gift to them. Maybe a bird in the hand will be worth two in the bush—at least if it’s a big, golden bird.”

Hudson nodded. “Good idea. Maybe they’ll care more about moving and hiding their new stash than about keeping your family from leaving. And if that doesn’t work—we’ll ask the wizard to turn them in-to hedgehogs.”

I wasn’t sure if Hudson was serious about that, but he got a satisfied look on his face, as though already picturing it.

Eventually, the carriage left the main road and wobbled over bumps and juts until it came to a stop.

I put the baby in his sling, debated for a moment whether it would be safer to leave the magic book in the carriage, then slipped it into the diaper bag and took it with me. I didn’t want to risk its safety.

Bartimaeus had suspended some sort of magic lights in front of the horses, but beyond those, the forest was a patchwork of shadows.

Hudson and I followed the path into it. He carried his sword in one hand and the flashlight in the other. Since I was going back to the carriage soon, I followed Hudson, holding a candle. I kept my hand in front of the flame to keep it from blowing out.

A night bird called overhead. Bushes rustled. My eyes glanced around the shadows of the forest, looking for King John’s men behind every tree we passed. I had to keep reminding myself that people didn’t stay out after dark in the Middle Ages. The knights were settled in for the night by now, and besides, if anyone else had been around, we would have seen their lamplight.

A bird flew from a bush straight at me, startling me so much I let out a gasp. Hudson turned back to check on me. I expected him to tell me not to be so jumpy. Instead, he took my hand and squeezed it. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll be home soon.” 300/356

Home. That life seemed like the fairy tale now, and this was the real one. These huge trees and darkness and uncertainty.

A little farther down the path, I saw some rocks that were the right size to turn into gold. They were big enough that it would take some work on the Merry Men’s part to move or hide them. As I changed each one, I felt a stab of pain and then the rock’s rough surfaces grew smooth underneath my fingertips.

Hudson helped me up when I was done and handed me my candle. “Can you make it back to the carriage?” I nodded.

He turned to go, but I reached out for his arm. “Be careful. Watch out for bandits.”

He smiled. “I will.” He dropped a quick kiss on my lips. It was over so soon I didn’t have time to think about it.

But as I turned and walked back toward the carriage, I thought about the kiss anyway. It was okay to feel this way about Hudson because things would work out for us. Didn’t the baby prove that? I ran my free hand along the sling and the contours of the baby’s warm little body.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself hope for good things.

When we got home, my family would be closer, happier. Hudson and I would be together—and not in a running-for-our-lives sort of way like the last few days, but in a boyfriend-girlfriend sort of way.

I was wondering how Hudson would break the news to his father about dating the girl he’d met at the police station, when a gust of wind blew my candle out. I was instantly plunged into darkness.

I reached in the diaper bag for the box of matches. My fingers fumbled nervously through the contents. The sudden darkness reminded me how alone I was.

A noise came from behind me, like twigs breaking.

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No need to panic, I told myself, it’s another bird or something.

I put the candle in the bend of my arm so I could use both hands to find the matches. I heard another noise, like dry leaves being stepped on. I spun around to face whatever was there, but I couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

These sorts of noises had probably been here all along. I just hadn’t paid attention to them because I could see. Nothing was in front of me. Nothing was coming closer. Everything would be fine as soon as I lit the candle again.

A clunk sounded in front of me, perhaps a footstep. I took a step backward, and stopped sifting through the diaper bag. I realized I didn’t need the candle to see.

“I’m not afraid,” I said.

The sparklers went off around my head, illuminating the forest better than the tiny flame had done.

The trees in front of me were clear of any danger, and I relaxed until I heard a voice to my side say, “You’re lying about that.”

Chapter 22

I spun around. Rumpelstiltskin stood only inches away. His thin lips spread into a smile. “And you
should
be afraid.” I dropped the candle and bolted forward. I needed to escape, to get the baby to safety. I only made it a few steps before Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers clutched my arm and pulled me back with more strength than I expected from such bony hands.

“You mustn’t run in the dark forest, Mistress Miller,” his voice hissed near my ear. “You’re bound to hurt yourself that way.” He wore a dark cloak that brushed against the ground. A wreath made of twisted, bare branches encircled his head, which made his cheekbones seem even more angular. His eyes looked sunken but every bit as full of the churning darkness they’d held during our other meetings. It struck me as strange that even here in the evening forest, I could see the churning in his eyes.

“Let me go.” I tried to pry away his fingers but couldn’t budge them.

He grinned at me, amused at my attempts. “I’ll let you go when you give me the baby. Then you can go back to creating gold to your heart’s content.”

I couldn’t use strength to get away, so I decided to stall him. If we stayed here long enough, Hudson would come back. He had the anti-fairy sand. Maybe he could use it to free me. “How did you catch up to me so fast?” I asked. “Our horses raced here and no enemies could see the carriage.”

“Catch up to you?” Rumpelstiltskin smiled, showing his graying teeth. “Did you think I followed you?” He shook his head, and the 303/356

wreath let out a scent of decaying wood. “No point in that. Not when I knew you would return to your family eventually. My mirror still shows me where your father is. I waited near his camp and lo, tonight the trees were whispering about a carriage lumbering through.

Enemies might not be able to see your carriage, but trees can. I was on my way to your carriage when I found you on the path.” He pulled me closer to him. “Now then, give me what you promised.” I shrank back as far as his grip would allow. “We made an agreement for King John’s son. I never married him.” With his free hand, Rumpelstiltskin pulled a paper from his cloak.

“This is our contract—the very words we shook on.” He placed it in my hand, and the paper immediately wrapped itself around my arm like a snake. I tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t let go. Pulsating, it clung to me, then sunk into my skin so the words looked like they had been tattooed onto my arm.

Rumpelstiltskin watched it and laughed. “The contract is binding.

You agreed to give me whatever I asked for within the year—including your child.” He pointed his long fingers at the sling. “And there he is.

Give him to me.”

I held onto the sling with my free arm, trying to keep Rumpelstiltskin from taking the baby. In the fairy tale, the queen cried so piteously that Rumpelstiltskin allowed her to guess his name within three days. If she was successful, she could keep the child. I didn’t have to force myself into the part. I couldn’t bear to think of Rumpelstiltskin taking my baby and leaving him to die alone in a vault. The tears and the fear came in equal measure, making it hard to speak over my sobs. “Please don’t take him. I didn’t think I would have him when we made our bargain. It isn’t his fault.” I had nothing to offer Rumpelstiltskin in exchange except my own life. “Take me instead. Please.

Please.” I couldn’t say more. The tears choked my words.

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Rumpelstiltskin let go of my arm. “Do not flee again,” he said.

“I’ve never hunted down prey like a lion, and what if I discovered I liked it? What would happen to all the innocents that walk through the forest? You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?” I gave a small shake of my head. I couldn’t run and hide among the trees, not with sparklers flowing from my head—but I couldn’t see without the light. Besides, the trees could tell him where I was anyway.

“Please,” I begged. “Give me another chance to keep my baby.” Rumpelstiltskin reached over and ran his bony thumb over my cheek. “Such compelling supplications from a fair maiden.” He leaned closer. His eyes were not brown as I had thought before. They were a deep burgundy, like drying blood. “I’m moved,” he said. “I won’t pretend I’m not.” His hand went to my chin, and he cupped it between his cold fingers. “You want a chance to get out of this bargain?”

“Yes,” I said hurriedly.

“Perhaps you would like to make some sort of wager?”

“Yes.” My hopes rose. This is when he would ask me the question, and I already knew the answer.

He dropped his hand away from my chin and smiled at me. “Do you know how I passed the time while I hid near your father’s camp?” I shook my head, tears still flowing down my cheeks.
I know your
name
, I thought.
Ask me so I can save my baby
.

Rumpelstiltskin’s voice dropped to a low hum, as though telling me a secret. “I read. Would you like to see what?” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a book. I recognized it with a sick thud to my chest. It was the book of fairy tales my father had brought from our house.

Rumpelstiltskin held the book up, opened to the end of his story.

The picture showed the queen smugly holding her baby while the 305/356

dwarf figure representing Rumpelstiltskin raised a fist in defeated anger.

He snapped the book shut. “Interesting story, though truly I can’t imagine myself flying off anywhere on a cooking spoon. Too undigni-fied, really.”

I breathed hard. My ears rang with fear. I couldn’t speak.

Rumpelstiltskin brandished the book at me. “My fate was already decided by the fay folk. They wrote this story and gave it to you, didn’t they? It’s instructions on how you were to deal with me.” I shivered and couldn’t stop. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. What had I done when I changed the story? What could I do now?

His smile turned to a grimace. “I found their book and I don’t intend to follow their script. You already know my name. I won’t be tricked into asking you that question. In fact, I won’t ask you anything at all.” He tossed the book to the ground in disgust. It lay there like a wounded animal, its pages blowing limply in the breeze. “I will make no bargains with you. Give me the babe.” I took a step backward. This was happening too fast. Hudson probably hadn’t even reached Robin Hood’s camp yet. He wouldn’t be able to help me.

“Chrissy!” I called. “Chrissy, help!” If ever I needed a fairy godmother to show up, it was right now.

But there was no sign of her. No glimmering, no fountain of lights.

Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes. “By law, she can’t interfere with another fairy’s bargain. And besides, Chrysanthemum Everstar is only a chit of a fairy anyway.” He paused, his gaze sliding around the forest, checking to make sure she really hadn’t come. When he saw we were alone, he smiled again. “Fairy girls, like mortal girls, are best suited for growing flowers and having babies. You’ve done admirably in that regard. I was expecting to have to wait nine months for you to produce 306/356

an heir. It’s so considerate of you to come up with one sooner. Was it dark magic or just incompetent magic that made it so?” I didn’t answer. Rumpelstiltskin had been close enough to my baby that he could have reached into the sling and grabbed him, but he hadn’t. Perhaps the spell wouldn’t work if Rumpelstiltskin took the baby from someone, perhaps the baby had to be given. I wouldn’t do it. “Our contract was made under duress,” I told him, taking another step backward, “and technically I didn’t give birth to this baby in the time period we agreed on, so the contract isn’t valid.” I wiped at the words that clung to my arm. They didn’t come off.