Julie could have taken it, Zel thought. She could have used it to go for help! Maybe she’d taken her father with her.
“Wait,” Gothel said. “I’ll find my spare.”
“I’m going,” Zel said. “Don’t fly. You’ll make things worse. If Julie’s okay, the last thing she needs is for us to draw attention to her.” She slammed the car door shut and then zoomed out of the Wishing Well Motel parking lot with a screech. She gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles hurt. Please, please, please, let her be okay, she thought.
How far had the Wild grown? How many people had it swallowed? How fast was it spreading? How had everything gone so very wrong? Her prince had returned, and Zel had lost him in less than an hour. How had that happened?
It should have been perfect. He was free! Miracle of miracles, the Wild had set him free! She shouldn’t have cared how or why. She should have been like Julie and basked in the absolute wonder of the miracle. But Zel couldn’t. She had to be the sensible one, always the planner, always the general. She had to worry about how the world would react. She had to fight with him before he’d been out of the Wild even a day.
Zel eased up on the gas pedal. Now was not the time to be stopped for speeding. Even now, she had to be cautious. Don’t draw attention. Blend in with the crowd.
She should have known that Prince would have refused to blend in. He wasn’t made to blend. He was made to shine. It was one of the things she had loved about him from the beginning. He had come to her tower like a ray of sunshine. Zel swallowed a lump in her throat. For a moment, she’d had that sunshine again. She could still feel his arms around her, and she could still see the way his eyes blazed warm and bright when he looked at her. Where was he now? What had Bobbi done with him? And why?
Up ahead, near the turn onto Crawford Street, Zel saw brake lights. She slowed to a halt. Rising in her seat, she saw the flash of red and blue police lights reflecting off SUVs and cars at the turnoff. Please let it be construction. She waited for a minute, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
The cars didn’t budge.
They weren’t going anywhere, she realized. Zel undid her seat belt, opened the car door, and stepped out. She couldn’t see anything from here. Stepping on the driver’s seat, Zel climbed onto the car roof. Squatting, she balanced on the curved roof of her Volkswagen. Horns honked. Someone yelled at her to get back in her car. She ignored them. You have to look, she told herself. You have to know. Slowly, Zel stood.
Wind whipped through her hair. She felt the chill of the December air and tasted car exhaust on her tongue. Looking over the cars and across roofs of houses and the twisted leafless trees, she saw dark lush summer green rising up in the direction of home. Her hands clenched into fists. She wanted to scream. She wanted to choke every leaf, uproot every tree, and burn every branch. Another gust of wind slapped her, but she planted her feet firmly on the car roof.
The Wild couldn’t have this world. She wouldn’t let it. Not this time.
“Zel, is that you?” a voice said. “Are you all right?”
Fists still clenched, she looked down. Leaning on Zel’s open car door, Linda the librarian waved at her, her normally cheery face now filled with concern. Behind her, several other drivers had stepped out of their cars. All of them wanted to see what Zel was looking at. Some were on their cell phones. She saw a kid climb onto the roof of an SUV and point toward the Wild.
“It’s back,” Zel said to Linda. “But you’re happy about that, aren’t you?” She heard how her voice sounded but couldn’t stop it: angry, dark, ugly. Linda had caused the Wild to escape with her irresponsible wish. She had nearly destroyed Zel’s world, including her daughter. Julie, where are you? she thought. Are you up ahead? Are you back in the Wild?
“I don’t know what you mean,” Linda said, doe-eyed. Underneath her coat, she was wearing, Zel noticed, a pink shirt with silver glitter that said, Northboro: Fairy-Tale Capital of the World. Zel heard a roaring in her ears. She hated, hated, hated those tourist shirts, that casual attitude, that lack of understanding . . .
Zel thrust her hand down. “Come up and see for yourself.”
“On the roof?” Linda wrinkled her nose, but when Zel didn’t reply, she took Zel’s hand and climbed up on top of the car. Zel helped her steady her balance, and then she pointed wordlessly toward the writhing green that now towered over Crawford Street. “Ooh, wow,” Linda said. “How exciting!”
Exciting? “You’re an idiot,” Zel said flatly. It felt good to say it. She kept going. “You’re an irresponsible, witless ninny who messed with forces beyond your comprehension. You caused this last time. You gave it its taste of freedom. And now it’s back, and you don’t even have the intelligence to recognize this for the catastrophe it is.” Grabbing Linda’s arm, Zel pointed again at the Wild, trying to force her to see it for the nightmare it was. Silhouetted against the clear blue sky, the green stretched and swayed as if it wanted to claw out the sun. “That is the Wild. It will swallow the world if it can. It will destroy every life it touches.” Linda yelped, and Zel released her. She took a deep breath. This time, it isn’t Linda’s fault, she thought. It’s mine. I let everything spiral out of control. I let Prince keep his sword, and he used it to chop through the thorns. I let Bobbi surprise me with a spell, and the Wild was able to grow unchecked. “I know you didn’t do it this time.”
“I wasn’t even in the motel when your prince cut through the thorns,” Linda said, massaging her arm. “Or in New York when he fit the glass slipper on the Cinderella wannabe.”
“I know,” Zel said. “I’m sorry. I . . .” She stopped. Glass slipper? What glass slipper? What was Prince doing in New York? And how did Linda know about the thorns? Only Zel, Julie, Prince, Gothel, and Bobbi had been there.
Linda smiled at her.
Zel felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach.
“It’s a good spell, isn’t it?” Linda said. “I don’t even recognize myself.”
A good spell . . . Zel shook her head, not believing what she was hearing.
“Your mother isn’t the only witch, you know,” Linda continued. “Snow’s stepmother also knows a few tricks. Remember how she transformed herself into an old peddler woman to trick Snow into eating the poisoned apple? Her spell only required a few modifications to disguise me.”
Zel felt her heart hammer in her chest. Linda wasn’t . . . She couldn’t be a fairy-tale character! Zel knew all the fairy-tale characters. She would have known . . .
“You don’t even know me now, do you?” Linda said.
But . . . but Linda had made the wish in the well that brought the Wild back. No one who had been in the Wild would ever do that. She couldn’t be one of them! “Who are you?” Zel’s voice was a whisper.
“Five hundred years ago, we fought for you,” Linda said. “You were our general, and we all worshipped you. You were so sure of yourself, so sure you knew what was best for everyone.”
“I don’t understand,” Zel said. Who was Linda? Why had she made a wish in the well? What did she want now? Did this have anything to do with Bobbi’s betrayal at the motel? “Bobbi ...”
“Bobbi works for me now,” Linda said. “And she’s not the only one.”
Zel was stunned. Bobbi worked for Linda? Doing what? Transforming her friends into pumpkins? Why? “My daughter,” Zel said. “Where’s Julie?” If anything had . . .
“I am sorry for this,” Linda said softly, even kindly, “but since you didn’t stay a pumpkin and since I can’t have you interfering . . .” She looked over Zel’s shoulder and gave a nod.
It might have been five hundred years since her last battle, but Zel knew a signal when she saw one. She spun and crouched in a single motion, keeping her balance on the car roof. She saw nothing. Tricked!
Before she could react, Linda’s hand shot in front of her face, and Zel saw a flash of red as something slammed against her mouth. She tasted cool, wet sweetness as the juice from Snow White�
��s poisoned apple dripped into her throat.
Chapter Eight
The Flying Bath Mat
Shooting out of the apartment window, the flying bath mat careened down, down, down toward the New York street below. Shrieking, Julie yanked back hard on the front fringe. The bath mat zoomed up, up, up over roofs and water towers, past windows and fire escapes and scaffolding. Cold wind whistled in her ears. Julie flattened spread-eagle, and the bath mat leveled out.
Oh, wow. That was . . . wow. Close. Scary. Cool.
Below her, Manhattan sprawled in all directions. She saw Central Park, a swathe of winter brown and evergreen amid skyscrapers, and for an instant, she forgot about Dad, about Jack, about Sleeping Beauty, about Mom and Grandma, about the Wild. She was flying over New York City! Somehow, this felt different from clinging to Dad while he flew the broomstick. This time, it was just her with the wind in her face and sun on her back, flying like the birds . . . flying with the birds. Up ahead, she saw a flock of pigeons—and a man on a broomstick.
Dad! But shouldn’t he be miles and miles from here by now? On the other hand, who else would be riding a broomstick over Manhattan? “Come on, go faster,” she ordered the bath mat. It darted forward. “Dad!” she shouted.
“Julie!” he said, reining in his broomstick. “Why have you followed me?”
What? No “sorry I abandoned you”? No “happy you escaped”? No “I was just going to rescue you”? “Jack and Gina and everyone—they’re all being arrested right now,” she said. “We have to go back and help them!”
“I am already on a quest,” he said with real regret in his voice, “and Sleeping Beauty needs me more. Your mother would never respect a prince who left a damsel in distress.”
“No more questing!” Julie said. “Don’t you see that there are people who need you here? Please, Dad, we need to go back.” How could she make him understand? Jack, Gina, the cow—they’d built lives here. The fairy had even sacrificed her wings so she could lead a normal life. Dad had destroyed all that without a single thought. He had to help them. “We have to help Jack and Gina and the others, and then we have to go home and help Mom.”
“I cannot return to Rapunzel without Sleeping Beauty,” he said. “But I have found help. Cinderella’s birds will lead us to her.” He gestured to the flock of pigeons.
Did he know there was such a thing as ordinary birds? All his life, he’d been surrounded by magic. The amount he didn’t know about the real world was staggering—and dangerous. “Not all birds here are magical,” Julie called. The wind began to pick up. Gripping the fringes of the bath mat, she rode the gusts. “The birds in Times Square were totally an exception!” She had to shout over the roar of the wind.
“Your skies are full of magical birds!” Dad shouted back, and pointed behind Julie. “See, a hollow bird with living men inside it!”
She turned the bath mat. In front of her, a helicopter rose up between the skyscrapers. Wind pummeled her face. She squinted and saw the words Channel 7, Eye from the Sky, emblazoned on the side and the wide lens of a TV camera pointed directly at her.
Julie felt her stomach drop as if she’d plummeted a thousand feet. Oh, no, no, no. She and Dad were being filmed flying! They could be on the news right now. Thousands could be watching. Millions! “Go!” Julie shouted. She raced ahead, and Dad swung his broomstick around to follow.
Julie rocketed past the pigeons. In minutes, the thrum of the helicopter blades fell behind her. She looked back over her shoulder to see it receding with the New York skyline. She wanted to cheer. A helicopter couldn’t match the speed of a magical broomstick and bath mat.
Soon, they were alone in the sky, sailing over lower Manhattan, over a wide river, and then over a sea of power plants and oil tanks. Only when the highway split into six lanes and Julie saw signs to Trenton did she realize that they had flown south into New Jersey. Looking back again, she didn’t see a trace of the helicopter, which was good, but she should have fled north. South was not—
“The birds were correct!” Dad said. Aiming down, he plummeted.
“Dad, what are you doing?” she shrieked. Was he crazy? He was going to get hit! There were cars and trucks and buses and . . . He whipped between them, skimming low over the asphalt. “Watch out!” Leaning forward, she swooped down. She heard the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of cars as she zipped past them.
Just ahead of her, Dad flew over a wide crack in the road. Brown brambles filled the crack. They punched through the asphalt, spilling over the black pavement like a thousand worms.
Sleeping Beauty’s thorns. He’d actually found them. She couldn’t believe it. Had Dad been right? Had those pigeons been helpful fairy-tale birds? Or was this just a coincidence? A truck honked behind her, and she swerved. “Okay, fine, you found the thorns! Please, go up!” Julie begged.
“We have the trail now!” he said. “Onward!” As if he rode a horse instead of a broomstick, he reared back, and then he soared up into the sky.
“Dad, wait for me!” Julie chased after him.
Following the New Jersey Turnpike, they swooped around cell phone towers and over green exit signs. Below, the city of Philadelphia flashed by, and then the green signs counted down to Baltimore, and then to Washington, DC.
Urging her bath mat higher, Julie saw the Washington Monument and the dome of the Capitol Building in the distance, silhouetted against blue sky. This, she thought, is like some bizarre dream. She shouldn’t be flying past DC on a bath mat. She shouldn’t be on a quest at all. This was the real world, not the Wild. Here, magic was hidden. Spells were secret. But Dad was turning that all upside down.
They flew over rolling hills so high that mist was trapped between them, and then they turned west over farms, towns, and sprawling cities. They stopped as needed to use bathrooms at gas stations, and Julie bought pretzels and other snacks from vending machines with coins she had in her pockets. At each stop, she tried to convince Dad to turn around and go home. At each stop, he refused. And they flew on.
As the sun set over western Tennessee, Dad suddenly cried, “Victory!” Jerking the front of his broomstick, he braked in mid-air.
Zooming past him, Julie squeezed the front fringe of her bath mat and shouted, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Amazingly, it worked. She guided the bath mat back to where Dad circled high above a sprawling house . . . or at least what used to be a house. Now it was a tangle of brown brambles and thorns.
“We have found her!” Dad announced.
So had a string of police cars, a few news vans, and several hundred people.
Dad angled his broom toward the house. He could not be serious. Julie darted in front of him. “Dad, we can’t let all those people see us flying!” Not that a zillion drivers hadn’t seen them already . . . Still, she had to try.
To her surprise, Dad agreed readily. “Of course. We do not want them to think us witches.” Veering away, he glided down to a landing on a side street. Julie skidded to a halt on a manicured lawn beside him.
Dad stuffed his broomstick and her bath mat into the duffel bag next to the sword and then zipped the bag, leaving the hilt of his sword exposed—so he could draw it quickly? “Please tell me you aren’t planning to use your sword,” Julie said, but he was already marching down the street. She hurried to keep up.
One block and one turn later, she saw the house.
“We found her!” Dad said, beaming.
Sleeping Beauty was very clearly inside. Roses wound up the front pillars. Thick knots of thorns obscured the roof. Brambles covered the windows. Following Dad, Julie wormed through the crowd to get a better view of the house, encased in a fairy-tale barrier.
People posed their kids in front of the main gate, which was curved to look like sheet music with giant musical notes plastered across it. But the people weren’t taking photos of the fancy gate; they were taking photos of Sleeping Beauty’s thorns, framed by the rosy sunset. Julie heard excited whispers: “Just like Massachusetts!” Camera flashes winked a
ll around her.
She could have told them it wasn’t the same. This wasn’t the Wild. It wouldn’t expand beyond the house. It wouldn’t try to take over the world. If Sleeping Beauty woke or was moved, it would wither and die. But to the crowd, it must have looked the same. So why weren’t they running for their lives? Why did they all seem so . . . so happy?
And why were there so many people here anyway? What was this place?
Scanning the crowd around her, Julie saw a boy about her age looking at her. He had green eyes. Really nice green eyes. He squeezed behind a man with a camera to stand next to Julie. She felt herself blush. She hated when she blushed. She felt like a plump, red tomato. For an instant, faced with the Cutest Boy Ever, Julie forgot about Dad, Sleeping Beauty, and the fairy godmother.
“Tours were canceled,” he said.
“Huh?” she said, and then blushed again. Couldn’t she think of anything more intelligent to say? Maybe “tours of what”?
“You were here for the tour, right? We came for the tour. Dad and me. I always wanted to see this place. Dad used to play his stuff when I was real little. I know, kinda weird lullaby, but that’s Dad.”
Julie stared at him. Wow, he talked fast. “Um, what is this place?” she asked.
The boy blinked at her. For a second, he didn’t speak. Julie wondered what she’d said wrong, but then he said, “Graceland. Elvis’s home. You know, the King.”
Now it was her turn to blink at him. “You’re kidding.” Sleeping Beauty was inside Graceland? How weird was that? Sleeping Beauty and Elvis? It sounded like a tabloid headline. Why on earth had Bobbi brought her here of all the million, billion possible places?
“Did you say this is a king’s home?” Dad asked.
Julie jumped. She hadn’t realized he’d been listening.
“Yeah, he really lived here,” the boy gushed. “Cool, huh? And it’s supposedly exactly the way it was when he lived here. Not just the museum part. Even the upstairs, which is totally off-limits to the public so there’s no museum reason to keep it the same, except that it’s cool that nothing’s been touched since he died. He supposedly died right there on the bathroom floor.” He pointed up at the second floor but kept right on talking as if he was worried he’d run out of oxygen before he could finish. “And they just preserved everything. Well, not him. They buried him, of course. That would be just gross. But I heard it’s all exactly the same, as if he were going to one day just wake up and start living here again.”
Out of the Wild Page 7