Out of the Wild

by Sarah Beth Durst

She’d find a way to survive. They all would. They’d change their names, move away from Northboro, pretend they were entirely different people . . .

  Dad was right—that wasn’t the “freedom” that the fairy-tale characters had fought for. And it wasn’t what she wanted either. She didn’t want to hide who she was (or to literally hide like the Beast in the clouds). She didn’t want to lie to everyone she met and live in fear that they’d figure out the truth about who she really was inside . . .

  But destroying the Wild was still better than living in the Wild. As miserable as the Beast was in the clouds, he fought the beanstalks. As bad as the world could get, the Wild was still worse. Right?

  Julie pushed open the door.

  “Destroy me, and you will destroy your parents!”

  She froze.

  “If I am destroyed, all the fairy tales of your world will vanish,” the Wild said. “No stories, no magic, no wonder, no dreams. Without fairy tales, there can be no Rapunzel, no prince, no witch, no Puss-in-Boots . . .”

  He was lying. He had to be. It was a trick. She shouldn’t listen to another word. “Step three,” she said, “find the well.” She marched outside. The door slammed shut behind her.

  Outside, moss grew over the concrete wall. Ivy wound around the barbed wire. She waded through the bushes until her toes smacked into the base of the well. Clearing away greenery, Julie exposed the well.

  It was exactly as she remembered it: half in ruins and moss-coated. She stepped up to the edge. A tattered rope hung in the center of the well. The bucket had been lost years, probably centuries, ago. Here she was. It was time to make her wish and end the Wild once and for all.

  And possibly end her parents and her brother and everyone else she loved? Could Julie risk that? The Wild could be telling the truth. Her mother wasn’t human. She didn’t age. Her brother was a talking cat, clearly not a natural occurrence. Julie thought of Grandma. Even out of the Wild, she still had her witch powers. She was a living fairy tale. If Julie destroyed all fairy tales . . .

  “What do I do?” she said out loud.

  She needed a different wish. She needed another choice. But what? There was no middle ground between the Wild and the world. You couldn’t have both . . .

  Could you?

  Julie pulled out Gillian’s story. Her heart thumped faster. Could she have both the Wild and the world? Could they coexist?

  Right now, with the Wild as it was, that was impossible, but she’d said it herself in Disneyland: “This is how we defeat the Wild—we change it.” She’d been talking about a single story, but what if she changed more than that? What if she changed the Wild itself? She could do it. She had the power. She was at the wishing well. And here in her hands, she held a wish.

  “Step four,” she said. “Make a wish.”

  Leaning over the well, she dropped the story in.

  The forest disappeared in a blaze of white light.

  Chapter Twenty

  After Ever-After

  Three months later . . .

  Julie led her family into the brand-new visitor center next to the Wishing Well Motel. She smiled at the wide, sparkling banner that read:

  WELCOME TO THE FAIRY-TALE CAPITAL OF THE WORLD!

  She was wearing a matching T-shirt.

  Bright murals with scenes from fairy tales covered the walls. Pamphlets with titles like “A Day in the Life of Cinderella” and “How to Be a Wicked Witch” filled display bins. A gift shop (closed now, since the center wasn’t open to the public until tomorrow) sold T-shirts, hats, mugs, tiaras, red capes with hoods, and cat-sized boots.

  Beside her, Boots gasped.

  Julie looked down at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “If you buy me those boots, I will never, ever ask you for anything ever again,” he said. He pressed his nose and whiskers up against the glass. “Red suede with rhinestones!”

  Julie rolled her eyes.

  “You did tell the Thomases noon, right?” Mom said. “You don’t think they changed their mind?”

  Dad placed a kiss on the top of Mom’s wheat gold hair. “You worry too much.” He’s right, Julie thought. Mom didn’t need to worry so much. The Thomases would be here soon, and then they’d join the celebration. There was a lot to celebrate. Things were changing. All around the world, fairy-tale characters were slowly winning acceptance. A unicorn could walk down the street today, and people would stare but no one would panic. Okay, not many would panic.

  Before Mom could respond, the door burst open. Gillian ran across the center and hugged Julie. “I can’t believe I’m going in today!” she squealed.

  Julie grinned back. “Me neither.” Tomorrow the visitor center would open, welcoming ordinary people into the Wild on a daily basis. Already there was a long waiting list. But Gillian and her family were first, as thanks to Gillian for writing the story that had changed the world. “Everyone ready?” Julie asked.

  “Can I hug the kitty?” Gillian’s little sister, Rachel, asked as she beelined for Boots.

  “No, you may not,” Boots said, evading her.

  “Mommy, I want a talking kitty!”

  Julie led both families to a wide sliding glass door. She slid it open and felt a cool breeze on her face. She smelled rose and pine. In the distance, she heard the sound of a waterfall and the faraway echo of a violin. She stepped out of the visitor center and in between the trees. They walked down a pine-needle-covered path through the woods to a small sun-dappled clearing that used to be the first tee at the Juniper Hills Golf Course.

  Grandma was waiting for them. She had ditched the witch’s cape and instead wore her favorite purple sweat suit as she sat astride her broomstick. “Well, don’t you all look good enough to eat,” she said.

  Gillian’s parents clutched each other. “Is she . . .” Mrs. Thomas began.

  “She’s our guide,” Gillian said. “Right?”

  Grandma smiled at her. Julie had never seen her look so happy or so relaxed. She’d come into the Wild to create an alternative to the wicked witch. It looked like it was working. To Rachel, she said, “There’s a gingerbread house at the end of this trail. Eat as much as you like. Just don’t get any ideas about shoving any witches in any ovens. We’re skipping that scene. Now run along, and I’ll be there shortly.” She patted Rachel’s head. When Mrs. Thomas began to protest, Grandma wiggled her fingers at her. Sparkles spun around Mrs. Thomas, and her smart business suit transformed into a shimmering silver ball gown. “Be home by the stroke of midnight,” Grandma told her. She then turned to Gillian’s dad. “You look like you could use an adventure. Hold out your hand.” He did, and she tossed him a magic bean. Turning last to Gillian, she handed her a pair of silken shoes. “Here are your dancing shoes, Your Highness. There are eleven other princesses by the lake waiting for you to join them.” Gillian let out a yelp of delight, grabbed the shoes, and raced down the trail.

  Julie watched as each member of Gillian’s family disappeared into a separate story. Through the trees, Julie saw a beanstalk spurt up toward the sky. Gillian’s dad began to climb it.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Mom asked Grandma. Cindy, a.k.a. Cinderella, was throwing a ball in honor of the new Wild. All the fairy-tale characters (and their families) were invited to the celebration, but Grandma had declined the invitation.

  Grandma made a face. “Who would dance with a witch at a ball?”

  Dad bowed. “I would be honored. Julie has told me of your bravery in Disneyland. You saved my daughter at great risk to yourself.”

  “A few more minutes and I would’ve taken Bobbi down,” Grandma said, but Julie could tell she was pleased.

  Julie heard a soft pop, and Bobbi appeared in a shower of sparkles. She smiled beatifically. “Did anyone call—oh, it’s you.” Her smile faded. She raised her wand, preparing to vanish again.

  Mom sighed. “Wait,” she said.

  “Tell me you’re not going to make peace with her,” Grandma said. “You are way to
o forgiving. Can’t I just turn her into a frog instead?”

  “Mother,” Mom said. “Tonight is about celebrating living in harmony.” Gothel rolled her eyes. Julie hid a grin. She was with Grandma on this one. Bobbi definitely deserved some time as a frog. To Bobbi, Mom said, “We are on our way to Cinderella’s ball. We’d be honored if you’d clothe us appropriately.” She held out her arms as if waiting to be measured by a tailor.

  Bobbi clapped and skipped in place. “Ooh, yes! How would you like something with peacock feathers?”

  “Only if I can eat the peacock,” Boots said.

  Julie whispered to Mom, “You really think it’s a good idea to let her wave her wand at us?” She really, really didn’t want to be a pumpkin tonight. All the fairy-tale characters and their families were invited to Cindy’s ball—that meant Rumpelstiltskin and Henry. She did not want to be round and orange in front of Henry.

  “Harmony, Julie. Think peace and kindness toward all others.”

  Now it was Julie’s turn to roll her eyes. She glanced over at Grandma, who waggled her fingers meaningfully. Grandma was ready with the frog spell. That made Julie feel better.

  The fairy godmother waved her wand in the air. Sparkles flew in an arc and then showered over Mom, Dad, Julie, and Boots. Julie felt her clothes shift as her jeans poofed out into a butter yellow skirt, and she felt a breeze on her neck as her hair swirled up into a neat pile of curls. Beside her, Dad was suddenly dressed in a prince’s doublet and hose. Mom wore a floor-length blue ball gown, dotted with teardrop diamonds. And Boots . . . Boots wore a cat-sized tuxedo.

  “Sweet,” Boots said, examining himself. “Precious is going to love this.” He licked his paw and then smoothed a tuft of hair between his ears.

  Bobbi jumped up and down, her wings fluttering. “You need a coach now. Let me make you a coach! What kind do you want? Pumpkin, zucchini, apple, orange, pear, apricot, peach, turnip . . .”

  Grandma wiggled her fingers at Bobbi, and all of a sudden a fat green frog hopped up and down on the forest path.

  “Why did you do that?” Zel cried.

  Grandma shrugged. “Fingers slipped.”

  Julie clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Glancing at her, Grandma winked.

  “Mother.”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” she said. “I’m the witch.” And then she grinned.

  “You’d better apologize,” Mom said. She sighed and then gestured to Julie, Dad, and Boots. “We’ll walk to the ball.”

  Waving goodbye to Grandma, Julie headed off with her family deeper into the forest. Birds swooped and sang over their heads, some of them chirping and tweeting and some of them singing in English. She heard at least one Italian aria and a few very bad rhymes.

  As they walked through the trees toward a shining lake (formerly Bartlett Pond in Northboro), Julie heard the sounds of violins. When the trees parted, she saw a manicured garden with bowers of roses in every shade imaginable: ruby red, pastel pink, bright fuchsia, orange, yellow, even green and blue. In between the roses, she saw . . .

  ... pretty much everyone. Snow and her seven men danced in a circle around three billy goats. Little Red Riding Hood (who had flown in from France for the event) flirted with the huntsman (from both her story and Snow White’s story). The Singing Harp from Jack and the Beanstalk climbed onto the stage with the violinists and sang accompaniment. When she stopped, a cat with a fiddle performed a solo. As Julie and her family approached, Mom’s friend the childlike Goldie (a.k.a. Goldilocks) raised a glass of champagne toward them, then continued her conversation with a blonde princess. Julie scanned the crowd, looking for more familiar faces. Okay, looking for one familiar face.

  Henry was supposed to be here.

  Nervously, she fiddled with her dress. She hoped it looked all right. She hoped it didn’t vanish at midnight and leave her in rags rather than her original clothes. She liked that pair of jeans.

  “You came!” Gina the giantess boomed. She strode toward them. These days, she was eight feet tall (tall enough to turn heads but not so tall that she couldn’t fit into her New York City apartment). Jack trailed behind her.

  Zel hugged them both hello. “Have you come to spend time in the new Wild?”

  Sleeping Beauty’s prince and his fairy joined them. “Ooh, no, no, no,” the fairy said. The prince put his arm around her and added, “Just came for the food.”

  “Did you try the puffs?” the fairy said. “The cow catered.” She beckoned the cow over to them. “Everyone, tell her what a magnificent job she did.”

  “Moo,” the cow said modestly.

  “We’ve opened a vegetarian café in the city,” Gina said. “Toast of the town right now. We need to get back right after the speeches.”

  “Cow has been named a ‘chef to watch,’” the fairy said. “She specializes in milk shakes and vegetarian burgers.”

  “We named it the Cow Patty,” Jack said.

  Julie laughed. That was perfect!

  “Classy, huh?” he said, and winked at Julie.

  “Very,” she said. She glanced again at the crowd of people (and elves and unicorns and Bo-Peep’s sheep and the Goose Girl’s geese, as well as the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk, who was telling stories to an audience of lions and bears). No sign of Henry yet. What if he changed his mind? She should have called and asked if he was coming, but would that have meant she was asking him out? What if he’d said no? Better to run into him casually here, if he came.

  Off to the side of the ball in a gazebo, Julie saw two other people she recognized. One was unmistakable: a mass of shadows and fur, the Beast was like a dark cloud against a sunny sky. The other . . . “Is that Linda? I mean, Beauty,” Julie said. “She came?” Regardless of Mom’s “harmony” ideas, a lot of people here had definitely not forgiven her.

  Jack nodded, solemn now. “Rumor has it that the Beast asked her. She wasn’t going to say no to him.”

  “They’re back together?”

  “It’s true love,” Jack said, his hand closing around Gina’s. “And a lot of hours in couples therapy.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gina said. “At the insistence of the farmer’s wife, the Three Blind Mice are with her, listening for anything suspicious.”

  Boots’s ears perked forward. “Mice?” Before anyone could say a word, he shot off through the crowd of dancers. His tuxedo tails flapped behind him.

  “Oh, great,” Julie said. “I’ll stop him.” Hiking up her ball gown, she chased after Boots. “Boots, come back! You can’t eat family friends!” She wove between the dancing trolls, bears, and elves. An orange streak, Boots zigzagged ahead of her. In seconds, she lost sight of him. She slowed. He knew he shouldn’t eat talking mice, right? She shouldn’t worry. Standing on tiptoes, she tried to see over the crowd.

  A hand touched her elbow. “Julie?”

  She twirled to face the speaker, and her gown swirled out around her. Henry, in khakis, a shirt, and tie, stood in front of her. Suddenly, she couldn’t think of a word to say. “Uh, hi,” she said. She took a deep breath, trying not to pant from her sprint across the dance floor.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Henry said. He had? Inwardly, she cheered. “We’ve been unpacking all week, and Dad has me fixing stuff. Kind of not so good with plumbing, we learned, so I’m not doing that anymore, but there are like a million things to do around the motel, and, anyway, that’s why I didn’t call.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, smiling. She hadn’t really expected him to call. He and his dad had just moved to Northboro from New Jersey. Rumpelstiltskin had volunteered to run the motel (and watch the well) while Grandma was in the Wild. It was the least he could do, he’d said.

  A waltzing bear (Gillian’s friend, of course) bumped into Julie’s back, propelling her forward. Henry caught her arm. “You all right?” He paused and blushed. “Um, did you want to dance?”

  Now it was her turn to blush. “Sure.”

  H
e put his hands on her waist, and she put hers on his shoulders. After a second’s thought, he took one of her hands and held it out stiffly to the side like the waltzing couples around them were doing. He didn’t try to waltz. Instead, they swayed from side to side.

  A prince and princess swirled past them in elaborate figure eights. The prince dipped the princess. Julie saw Henry glance at them and then gulp. Before Julie could say that he didn’t have to dip her, that this was fine (better than fine—she was dancing with the Cutest Boy Ever!), a voice yodeled across the dance floor. “JOOOO-LIE!”

  Wincing, Julie looked over to see Cindy waving at her. Julie raised her hand and gave a halfhearted wave back. Cindy wore a knee-length sequin dress and had her hair in six or seven pigtails at odd angles over her head. Clearly, she hadn’t let Bobbi wave a wand at her.

  Cindy gave her two thumbs up. “You’re dancing with a boy!”

  All the nearby characters turned their heads to look at her.

  Julie felt her face burn. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Henry was blushing too, up to the tips of his ears. She couldn’t look directly at him. “Do you want to, um, go for a walk or something, you know, not here?” she mumbled.

  Henry nodded fervently.

  Julie led him across the dance floor. All the dancers parted for them, letting them pass, watching them as they passed.

  “Maybe we could walk faster?” Henry suggested.

  “Or fly,” Julie said. “Wild, I know you can hear me . . .”

  Half a minute later, a dragon with mother-of-pearl seashell-colored scales and golden wings soared over the forest and then sailed over the lake to land directly in front of Julie and Henry. Julie grinned. “Thanks, Wild.”

  “He’s not hungry, is he?” Henry asked Julie. “’Cause I really, really, really don’t want to be eaten again.” He shuddered. “You don’t know what it was like.”

  “Actually, I kind of do,” Julie said. She smiled at him. Finally, she’d stopped blushing. “Come on. I promise he won’t eat you.”

  He grinned. “Wow. Yes. Cool.”

  Turning, Julie waved at her mom. “We’ll be back soon!” she called.