The Bonvillains had not noticed the others yet. They could not seem to take their eyes off their children’s faces, as if they’d never properly looked at them before, and now they never wanted to stop.
But eventually Mr. Bonvillain glanced over at the elderly man. “Fortunato!” he exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
His wife looked up too, and she let out a little squeak at the sight of the princess. Her son rushed to the girl’s side and grabbed her mangled hand, and his sister joined them.
“This is Penny,” Chance announced, and Mrs. Bonvillain squeaked again.
Mr. Bonvillain blinked several times. “Your…doll?”
“Marionette,” Constance corrected him. “But not anymore.”
The chief of police cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I have some questions for you children.”
He spent nearly three hours writing down their story. Sister Maria Ignacia arrived with Gil just after lunch, and Mrs. Pepperton brought in Howard and Jack not long after. When the Goldsteins arrived with Linda and Lyle, Constance promptly burst into tears and hugged Mrs. Goldstein as if she were her own grandmother.
By sunset the chief had compiled the strangest report of his career. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed it, and he knew the other adults felt the same way.
“I think I can prove it,” Penny told them.
And so they followed her, a procession out of the police station and up the street. The conversation was lively as they walked block after block, into a neighborhood that hadn’t yet changed like the rest of the city. The stars began to twinkle overhead as the sky faded from blue to black.
Nerves gnawed at Penny’s stomach. Not all endings were happy, like the Storm always said. Chance and Constance, Jack and Howard, Gil and Nicolette, Linda and Lyle—they’d been reunited with their families, and she was glad for that. But Penny wasn’t sure there were enough happy endings to go around.
She was not a demon, though, and not a marionette. She was a person. And that was certainly more than she’d ever dared dream. No one would ever hold her strings again.
The chatter fell silent when the group stopped in front of Club Heavenly Blues. The marquee, now flashing and bright, read LIVE! THE CHARLOTTE BELL TRIO, and the sound of saxophone and piano and drums leaked out onto the street. And a voice, that beautiful voice still achingly familiar despite decades of age, singing Penny’s favorite song:
“Every time it rains, it rains pennies from heaven….”
“I hope Lottie remembers me,” Penny whispered, eyes already welling up. It was so easy to forget, after all.
“She will,” Chance said emphatically. “I know it.”
Penny wiped her eyes and smiled. “Thanks, Fish Face,” she said, and he blushed.
Constance took her hand, and Chance took her other hand, and the three of them walked into the club together. The music washed over Penny, and her gaze went straight to the singer onstage, drinking in every detail of her beautifully wrinkled face. Their eyes met, and Penny’s soul twirled and soared.
She was home.
When a storm—or a book—is brewing, it’s important to surround yourself with people who can help you prepare for the worst. This novel would have been a disaster without…
My editor and Wise Wizard, Diane Landolf, and everyone on the Random House Children’s team, who uncovered the real story beneath all the false versions I wrote first.
My agent and Brave Knight, Sarah Davies, who constantly saves me from drinking the green potion.
My illustrator, Kathrin Honesta, and designer, Leslie Mechanic, the incredible Princesses who brought Penny and Chance to life in these pages.
My beta readers and friends Alison Cherry, Claire Legrand, Lindsay Ribar, and Kaitlin Ward. You are all, of course, the most Evil Witches.
The year 2016, during which I wrote the first draft of this book. Thank you for teaching me the real meaning of pessimism and for instilling in me the belief that all Puppeteers eventually fall.
And lastly, the Sheepherders. You know who you are.
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Spell and Spindle Page 17