Jacqueline shuddered. “Jack, please.”
“Well that makes sense, I guess. Even your parents don’t know?”
“No. I don’t know. I don’t dare ask.” She was astonished when the girl’s eyes darkened in sympathy.
“That’s terrible. I was—well, another me on my first jump away from here. I had only my own memories and was just there for a day, but as wonderful as it was to meet my sister Faith I still felt like a horrible intruder. Like I’d pushed myself aside or stolen something. And at least Faith knew—this just sucks. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Jack blinked rapidly, eyes burning. “Thanks, but I don’t think so. But—why are you back?” She straightened. “It’s been months, you couldn’t get home?”
The girl laughed, startling her again. “No… I think the snow globe has been sending me where it thought I needed to be, not where I wanted to go. Big coincidence, the last place I jumped to giving me a way to get back here, right? Wait, months? I’ve only been gone a few weeks.”
That was another long conversation about temporal non-linearity between realities, especially between the Calendar Lands and the Seasonal Lands. After a moment’s thought, Jack also gave her a quick sketch of everything that had happened since she’d left. The last bit left Hope grinning. “So Velveteen took out the Super Patriots, huh? That’s awesome! On a purely selfish note, that means I can go back to Portland to wait, right?”
“I suppose it does.” Jack tried to set aside her current fears and consider all of the angles. “Vel’s gone, though. She left a couple of days ago, Calendar Land Time, to take care of a promise. We don’t know when she’ll be back.” Or what she’d remember when she returned. What if she didn’t remember Jackie Frost either? Or forgive her for what had happened? Jack pushed the nearly nausea-inducing thought aside and focused on her guest. “I can take you to see Papa.”
“Um, could you not?”
Jack looked at her as if she’d just started speaking Latin, and Hope flushed. She couldn’t explain why, not to his daughter. (Even if Jack hadn’t been before, and Hope was not letting herself think about how the Powers That Be here were powerful enough to rewrite the script and impose retroactive continuity on the whole world. It was pure nightmare fuel.)
It felt weird and a bit awful to be pissed at Father Christmas.
Santa Claus hadn’t promised the snow globe would get her home, but she’d had a lot of time to think while she’d been jumping, and now she wondered why he’d offered such an iffy solution in the first place. Couldn’t she have simply hung around the North Pole—which would have been amazing—until Jackie heard from Velveteen that the Sentinels had shown up in Portland looking for her? Or couldn’t Jackie have used mirrors to take her to Canada to wait, out of the Super Patriots’ reach?
She was pretty sure that the personified Spirit of Christmas had sent her on some kind of inscrutable mission without asking her if she’d wanted to go. And while some of it had been pretty amazing (and some of it would never, ever, ever be believed), a lot of it had been horrible and he Should. Have. Asked. “Can you still use mirrors? I mean—did it take ice powers?”
Jack shook her head. “I use snow globes or dedicated mirrors now, but I can still get you to Portland.”
“Good.” Hope smiled, relieved. “Then can you take this?” She rifled through her bags, found the box with her nested snow globe and held it out. “I don’t need it now—I can’t imagine using it again. And I’d rather not tell your dad why I don’t want his gift anymore.”
Despite what she said, she had a hard time letting go of the box when Jacqueline reluctantly accepted it. Returning a magical gift of Christmas like it was an unwanted present to be dropped at the returns department at Macy’s had to break some kind of cosmic rule.
Jack read her hesitation and smiled. “Here.” She took another globe off her mantle, this one with a scene of the North Pole. “As long as you’re on the Nice List this one will bring you here, from wherever you are. Just—you know, make sure you have a way to get back.”
“Thanks.” Hope cradled the globe, trying not to look stunned. Like the one she’d just given up, it felt cooler than the room, like the snow inside wanted out. Santa’s daughter smiled at her encouragingly.
“And we can go any time, but before we do I can at least introduce you to Mama.” She opened the bedroom door. “There are cookies.”
Trust Mama to know just how much to fuss. Mrs. Claus (Mama, and Jack didn’t know if she’d ever be able to think that naturally) treated Hope like a favorite granddaughter who she hadn’t seen in much too long. That was how Santa’s wife treated any boy or girl with a shred of childhood left in them who made their way to the North Pole, but for Hope she kept her expressions of concern to a minimum. Even that much warmly maternal affection was enough to briefly bring tears to the young girl’s eyes and Jack wondered just how much had really happened to her in twelve turns of that globe.
Her Jackie memories were unreliable—no matter how hard she fought to remember the true history, Jacqueline Claus memories kept trying to layer themselves on top. But still, the Hope she remembered had seemed less assured but also less…worn and tightly wound. Jack’s guess was hard lessons and travel fatigue, and so they lingered in the kitchen until cocoa, cookies, and Mama’s magic could do its work.
Finally she gave her mom the expected kiss and told her she was taking Hope to see Carrabelle.
“That’s nice, dear. Stay as long as you like, you should see more of your friends than you do the penguins.”
“I—okay, Mama.” She got a smile in return and—again—wondered if Mama knew. It was all screwed up; she had to imagine it was like some boy or girl finding out that, somehow, they’d been switched at birth. Did they know? She wished she was as fearless as Jackie had been. Jackie wouldn’t have been terrified of hurting them; she might have felt bad, after, but she’d have asked. It was driving Jack crazy.
They returned to her room, where Hope made sure her luggage was secure before they stepped up to her vanity mirror. Maybe she thought the trip was going to be as kinetic as the one that dumped her in the snowbank.
“So, Carrabelle?”
“She’s Vel’s friend. It’s easier for me to get to the Calendar Lands through the Crystal Glitter Unicorn Cloud Castle than directly from the North Pole.”
“The what?”
Jack sighed. “Carrabelle’s The Princess, the current personification of the beliefs and dreams of all the world’s little girls about fairy tale princesses, alright? I know that’s hard for someone from a less anthropomorphically determined universe to grasp, but just go with it.”
“Okay, but the…Crystal Glitter Unicorn what? Will there be talking animals?”
“After decades of Disney? What do you think?” Jack touched and instructed her mirror, which began frosting up. “Ready?”
“Sure—wait.” Hope touched her shoulder. When Jack gave the girl her attention, she took a breath.
“Before we go— About what you said?” She flushed, fumbling for words. “I don’t know anything about how that worked for you, but I have a—a friend who made a decision that may have fundamentally changed him. Maybe he wanted to be changed, I don’t know, but he did it for me and I didn’t find out what it did to him until he told me a few jumps back and it’s pretty big and absolutely binding and he knew that when he did it. I still don’t know how I feel about that.
“You said you did something selfless and that changed your nature, right? I don’t understand that, but maybe you wanted to be selfless because that’s what friends are. Jackie couldn’t be, and stay Jackie, and she knew that. Just, you know, saying. Maybe you’ll find out you’re supposed to be you.”
Jack just stared at her. Christmas! Maybe she is the personification of hope. Or might be if she hung around here long enough.
The girl turned to the mirror. “So, um, we can go?”
“Yeah.” Jack blinked. “Just touch the mirror.” Sh
e raised her own hand, giving her time to follow her lead. Their fingers touched the glass, and—
Hope flinched. She needn’t have; her one mirror-trip to the North Pole previously hadn’t exactly gotten her over the whole trauma of mirror-abduction-by-insane-clown, but just like last time the transition was practically seamless. It was certainly nothing like the wild ride Varia had sent her on, falling back through eleven realities in vertigo-inducing succession to crash land back where she’d begun. Touching the mirror, she’d felt a tug and stepped into it, and now they were stepping out of a full-length mirror in a huge arched hall. She still had a grasp on her luggage, wheeling it behind her. But—
She looked down at the unexpected swish, and nearly stumbled as she swallowed giggles. Her skater’s costume had been replaced by a sparkling blue and white off-the-shoulder ball gown, the full kind with layers and hoop skirts that made her feet disappear. She had to grab the front in her free hand and lift to keep from stepping on her floor-brushing hem, and letting go of the luggage handle to reach up told her that her bobbed hair was now in an elaborate updo with extensions. Spinning, she looked at herself in the mirror they’d just come through.
“You have got to be kidding me!”
She hadn’t worn anything like this as a debutant, but now she was dressed for the ball. Not just any ball, either, but the one where she’d meet her prince sometime before midnight. For a heart-stopping moment she wondered if the Crystal Glitter Unicorn Cloud Castle would instantly provide the prince just to accessorize her properly; if he was Kitsune she’d be calling totally unfair deus ex machina. The continued mundane existence of her (admittedly top of the line) luggage set reassured her a bit.
“Sweet, isn’t it?” Jack spun gracefully, gave Hope a deep bow—an impressive feat in her own red and green gown. Hearing gentle silver chimes, Hope looked up and realized that the hall was gradually decking itself for Christmas as tinsel, wreaths, and silver snowflakes shimmered into existence. Jack followed her gaze, looked embarrassed.
“I’m kind of a personification of Christmas myself,” she admitted. “It bleeds over since like the North Pole the Castle is more conceptually than physically real.” Hope wondered why the admission made Jack blush, but before she could ask a bluebird flew down out of nowhere and landed on the junior Claus’s shoulder. She reached up and let it carefully transfer itself to her finger.
“Hello,” Jack said to it. “Could you tell Carrabelle that we’re here? If she’s busy we only need to use the garden gate.” It chirped once and flew off through the hall’s open doors. She watched it go and then caught Hope’s expression. “What?”
Hope blinked. “I thought you said they talked.”
“They do. They speak Animal and understand Human. Carrabelle understands them—it’s one of her powers.”
“Oh, well that makes sense.” For a given value of sense. She shook her head. She really should be used to this by now.
The bluebird was back in a moment, flitting about in place until Jack touched Hope’s arm and followed it. Hope followed, wheeling her luggage behind her as the bird led them through the castle. They passed suits of armor and framed pastoral landscapes, tapestries, and open galleries. Jack’s Christmas theme followed them as they went, decorating around them and, Hope saw, fading behind them as the castle reasserted its own décor. It was all as rich as any European palace, and she had to hide her smile; Jack was sweeping along grandly, but towing her own luggage just completely broke the picture for her.
A couple minutes’ walk brought them to another tall pair of open doors, this one leading into a library. Huge of course, with high windows letting in warm sunlight to dance in beams along the floor-to-ceiling shelves.
And there was The Princess, in comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt, which Hope thought totally unfair.
It had to be The Princess; she sat at an oak table spread with papers, going over some sort of accounts with a raccoon in a waistcoat wearing bifocals. She looked up with a smile when they swept in, Jack grandly, Hope semi-grandly.
“Hi Jack! Nice of you to visit, even if it’s only for the door. You know that just because Vel’s gone doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t come around. But who’s your friend, sugar?” Her smile extended to Hope, her voice as warm as her smile and dripping with southern charm, and something in Hope wanted to curtsy. Another supernaturally flawless blonde, even casual with her hair down and held back in an easy Alice band, Carrabelle struck her with the same presence as Ozma but without the hard edge—though something told Hope that she could bring plenty of edge if she needed to.
“Hope, Carrabelle, Carrabelle, Hope,” Jack provided the introduction. “You remember Vel telling you about her, Carra? The fight with The Projectionist in Salem?”
“Oh, yes! It’s wonderful to meet you!” She stood up from the table, nodding to her helper who seemed to sigh. Coming around the table she stood before Hope and offered her hands, squeezing when Hope took them, releasing her to give Jack a quick cheek-kiss before directing both her guests over to a pair of couches. “But that was months ago,” she went on once they were seated. “And you’re back?”
Hope had argued with Ozma, played games with a god-fish, diced with Davey Jones, had cookies and hot cocoa with Santa and Mrs. Claus, and now something in Carrabelle’s open smile and friendly concern wanted to emotionally reduce Hope to eight years old, the tail end of her princess-phase. She wanted to drink tea and tell The Princess all her problems. She shook her head. Jack seemed unaffected. It probably wore off with exposure?
“For now, your highness,” she replied. “Jack tells me the situation with the Super Patriots has changed, so we’ve decided it would be best for me to return to Portland to wait for my friends instead of wandering.”
Carrabelle looked to her friend for confirmation and Jack nodded, rolling her eyes. “Long story, Carra.”
“Good stories always are.” She studied Hope for an intense moment, smiled again. “But why rush back to Portland? Vel’s not there right now—” her eyes darkened briefly “—but Polychrome and Victory Anna are guarding Portland for her, and they’ll certainly be able to keep an eye out. And I can have some animal friends watch over your point of arrival and let us know when someone shows up. Vel liked you, honey, and no offense but you look like too many miles of hard road. Thousand-yard stare, if you know what I mean?” She turned her smile up several brilliant watts. “The otters give amazing mani-pedis and the rose-petal baths are to die for.”
Oh my God. If Hope had been dropped into Middle Earth and had to contend with the seductive power of the One Ring, she didn’t think she’d have so hard a time. The Ring of Power would have been dumped in that volcano as fast as she could fly, but the thought of a long soak and pampering—by otters!—almost melted her into a puddle. But— No, darn it.
She summoned up her own smile. “I really, really appreciate the offer. But…”
The Princess sighed, wattage only slightly dimming. “Stubborn. All you heroes are. Okay, but if you find yourself sitting around for an extended period of time, the offer of a castle spa weekend stays open. Jack, promise you’ll bring her back and you’ll come, too.” She rose, moving more elegantly in her jeans and sweats than Jack and Hope did in their gowns.
Carrabelle bibbity-bobbity-booed a ball gown for herself—a trick that didn’t surprise Hope at all at this point—and led them to a smaller door, opening it to reveal a small castle garden. As technicolor as the rest of the castle, all flowers and fantastical topiary, at its center, the garden sported an arched gateway framed by climbing roses. Every rose was a solid color, but collectively they spanned the full spectrum of the rainbow and glistened, dew-fresh, in the afternoon sun. Carrabelle swept up to the arch, reaching out to stroke a petal.
“Portland, if you please, and—sweet Disney’s stepchild!”
A little while earlier.
Polychrome stood on the edge of the roof and listened to the quiet night.
A couple more st
reets, and we’re done. The summer night had cooled down a bit, but was still making her costume stick in uncomfortable places. A skintight bodysuit might scream superhero and look awesome, at least on her exhaustingly toned and trained body, but it was skintight and since it couldn’t be thin enough for sweat to go right through and evaporate (it would show way too much then), it was almost as miserable as latex would have been.
And Portland’s criminal element was learning; after-dark violent street crime had dropped almost to zero. It probably had something to do with just how much fun Victory Anna had stopping it; word like that got around. And they’d also not seen hide nor hair of the black vans that the Portland PD had reported street-talk about.
Which were probably nothing, but when something didn’t fit the normal mold the police kicked it to the city superheroes just in case.
“Epona, this is boring!”
She fondly looked at her partner from the corner of her eye; it got worrying when Tory started swearing upon the patron horse-goddess of the England of her vanished home reality, but she had to admire her enthusiasm for smiting evil-doers. When she smote, they stayed smitten.
That can’t be right. Stayed smote? Smited? Hmm.
Tory couldn’t be much more comfortable than she was; where her own outfit was at least just a single layer, black from head to toe with only a rainbow sash around the waist for accent, Tory’s was a Victorian (of course) steampunk ensemble complete with leather boned corset and heavy skirts. She also carried a gun that looked like a blunderbuss and a laser had had carnal relations. She was always tinkering with it and, amazingly, for all its menace she mostly used it as a simple Taser-gun (which, admittedly, incapacitated targets with excruciating pain and left them aching and noodle-limp for hours). She seldom got the chance to raise its setting (the scorched holes it made then were too inconvenient), which didn’t keep her from always improving it.
Wearing the Cape 6: Team-Ups and Crossovers Page 35