"Yeah, but all those books are bigger than me. It's real hard to hold a story in your head when it takes you ten minutes to turn a page."
"Hmm, yes, I didn't think about that. Sorry."
It was a bad sign, he decided, when Angela didn't correct his exaggeration. It only took a little over a minute to turn a page. He could cut it down to twenty seconds if he ran.
"There is nothing on TV worth watching, and you don't have a DVD or VCR. I'd explore another part of town, but not with my wings icing up."
"You could study people." She turned another page.
"You're the only 'people' in the shop." Maybe, he thought, he would take a chance on going through a painting after all.
"The Wishing Ball will let you see people." Angela glanced up from her book. "Why not start with Holly?"
"Who?" He actually forgot who Holly was for a moment, trying to wrap his brain around the revelation that the Wishing Ball could do more than grant wishes. Then his brain caught up with her words. "Oh. The librarian. How exciting can she be?"
"Just think of all the stories she has tucked away in her mind."
"Huh?" He wondered if his brain had iced up.
"The Wishing Ball will let you visit her dreams. If--and that's a big if--if you truly want to get to know her and be her friend."
"There's always a catch." He sighed, and his brain backtracked to the idea of visiting the dreams of a librarian. Holly had good taste in books. "Okay, why not? Might be fun at that. A chick who loves books can't be all bad, right?"
"I'm biased. Holly is one of my dearest friends."
"Well, that's a subtle warning." He settled back against the pillar candle and slid down to sit on the tabletop. His wings scraped against the candle, creating little curls of wax that stuck to his clothes.
"Maurice, will you please leave me in peace to read my book?"
"I'm going, I'm going!" He pushed off, leaping high so he hovered over the candle and fluttered his wings a last few times in the shaft of heat rising off the flame. He snapped off a salute and zoomed out of the room.
Downstairs in the main room, he made a bumpy landing on the counter. His wings were still damp, but at least they weren't frozen and dripping. He suspected that would be the highlight of the evening. The thought of visiting Holly's dreams didn't fill him with anticipation. He had watched her at work at the library, surrounded by hordes of kids with runny noses and screechy voices, when the afternoon story hour lady called in sick. He feared her dreams would be full of nightmares of being stampeded by kids.
"Okay, buster, gimme what you got," he said, and tapped on the side of the Wishing Ball.
The dark, rainbow-streaked, metallic surface immediately grew misty. Okay, that was better than he had hoped for. He had honestly feared he would have to dredge up the last of his magic, what hadn't been used up keeping himself from turning into a Fae-cicle, to activate it.
The mist glowed, then settled into a flowing expanse of white, differentiating and focusing. He realized he looked at an outdoor scene with falling snow all around Holly.
What was she doing outside? Had the weather gotten worse, and she was lost, walking home from the library? The resulting fear on her behalf startled him, so he backed off from the Wishing Ball. The magical glow immediately died and the image faded.
"Get a hold on yourself, boy." He wondered if his scheming ability and his common sense had been shrunk, along with his size and his magic. If Holly was lost, he could use the Wishing Ball to find her, and tell Angela, who would send help.
Swallowing hard, he stepped up to the Wishing Ball again and silently asked it to show him Holly. The image returned, gaining more resolution, until he realized he looked at the back porch of a house not far from Divine's Emporium, sitting level with the park, instead of on a hill above. It was a little crackerbox house, with light spilling from the open back door. The woods were maybe ten yards from the back door. A pleasant dusting of snow on a gentle breeze made it a Christmas postcard scene.
Holly stepped out from under the cover of her little back porch and slowly walked across her backyard toward the trees. She wore a parka with the hood down, unzipped, and held pieces of bread in one bare hand and a sectioned apple in the other. The falling snow caught on her hair and her eyelashes, sparkling in the light spilling out of the open door. She stopped halfway across the backyard and stood so still Maurice thought she might eventually end up a snow statue. Her breath escaped in slow tendrils of mist in the lightly blowing breeze.
One doe, then a second, then a third, appeared from the shadows of the trees and crept across the snowy yard toward Holly. Maurice found himself holding his breath, waiting, anticipating the moment when they would eat from Holly's hands. Bits of melting snow dusted her hair and face with diamond sparkles, and the cold brought roses to her cheeks. Her eyes glowed as the deer nibbled at the bread and apples and then nuzzled at her hands.
Maurice barely restrained himself from cheering when one doe licked Holly's cheek, as if in farewell, before she turned to go back into the woods.
"That's pretty cool." He held still, almost leaning against the Wishing Ball, and watched with Holly as the does meandered back the way they had come. Something ached inside him when, the moment the deer vanished into the trees, her delighted glow faded and she shivered and scurried back into the warmth of her little house.
Holly shed her coat, leaving it on a hook by the back door. The Wishing Ball's images changed, following her through the house as she checked doors and windows and turned off lights downstairs. Her last stop was in the kitchen where she made herself a big mug of hot chocolate and rinsed out the pan, before turning off the light and heading upstairs.
He liked it that she made hot chocolate the old-fashioned way, with real milk and cocoa and sugar, instead of depending on a packet of mix and a microwave. He stayed watching until she went into her bedroom, put the mug down on her nightstand, and snagged a long, dark blue flannel nightgown off a hook on the back of her bedroom door.
"Gonna be here a while," he muttered, for the sake of whoever might be watching him. The last thing he wanted was to be accused of being a Peeping Tom.
When Holly stepped into her bathroom, he scurried away from the Wishing Ball. He scrounged in the shelves under the cash register until he found a couple pads of paper and a quilted book cover that needed mending. With his back to the Wishing Ball and whatever Holly was doing, he dragged them back and set up a couch where he could sit in comfort. By the time he had everything to his satisfaction, propped up with a little bit of magic that he wouldn't miss, Holly was safely in her nightgown and rubbing moisture cream into her face, before she padded quickly back to her bedroom, barefoot.
Maurice breathed a sigh of relief and settled down on the couch.
Holly climbed into bed, plumped her pillows against the headboard, and pulled the covers up past her waist. That glow returned to her face as she reached for the book--three inches thick, at the very least--sitting on her nightstand.
In the glow of the lamp, Maurice could read the age-darkened spine. "Robin Hood, huh? And the really old stories, too," he muttered. "Okay, good choice. But watching you read a good book isn't my idea of quality entertainment, y'know?" Holly turned three pages, before he decided this was even less thrilling than watching paint dry.
His wings were dry and warm again, so he flew upstairs to check in with Angela. Maybe she was done with her book, and he could talk her into playing poker before bed.
"You might find it interesting to visit Holly's dreams," she said, before Maurice could even land on the table next to the sofa.
"How?" He tried not to whine.
"Put your mind to it. Now let me read." She raised the book a little higher, hiding her face. She shouldn't have seen him stick his tongue out at her before he flew away, but he could have sworn he heard a muffled giggle as he headed downstairs again.
He detoured into the candy shelves and helped himself to a dark chocolate kiss. One benefit of his redu
ced size was that a piece of candy that normally would last less than a minute now could last him for an entire evening. Dark chocolate to the Fae was like medicine and energy rations and ambrosia, all mixed together. He would need it if he was going to be stuck watching Holly read for the next hour.
And if things got bad, he might just beg Angela to get him a six-pack of diet cherry cola the next time she went grocery shopping. While normal Humans got nothing but a caffeine buzz from the mixture, the chemicals and artificial sweeteners combined to affect the Fae in ways that normal Human alcohol never could. And they could shrug off the effects whenever they wished, without suffering from a hangover.
Maurice muffled a chuckle at the thought of how sloshed he could get on a single can, in his current size. Normally it would take him at least three cans to get a happy tingle. He settled down on his couch again with the foil peeled back from the chocolate kiss.
Holly had finished her hot chocolate and was rubbing her eyes, visibly fighting to stay awake. She couldn't get that tired just from standing behind the counter at the library, helping kids find books and shushing people. Maybe being a librarian was a rougher job than he thought.
"That's it," he said. "Close those sleepy weepy wittle eyes, before I die of boredom."
He broke the tip off the chocolate kiss and crammed it into his mouth as Holly struggled through one more page. He had been thinking about Angela's vague directions, so he thought he knew what to do when Holly turned onto her side, clutching the open book, and her eyes slid closed.
He got up and pressed his hands to the image of Holly in the Wishing Ball. He stayed standing there, until he felt a slight buzzing sensation in his palms. At the same time, he had the distinct sensation of falling forward, into the Wishing Ball. It felt as if he was sinking through a thick, gelatinous substance that tingled against his skin, through his clothes--like diving headfirst into a vat of diet cherry cola. He closed his eyes as lights burst all around him.
He stumbled. He opened his eyes and found himself standing on a forest path, dressed like someone in the Errol Flynn version of Robin Hood. He chuckled and looked around, turning slowly to take in his surroundings. The forest looked like something from the stylized period of Hollywood, very sanitized.
The next moment, Holly came racing down the path toward him. She was dressed as one of the Merry Men, still her normal plump self, but agile and full of life, with that delightful glow surrounding her. She grabbed his hand as she raced past. "Run for your life!"
Maurice let her drag him along. After all, it was her dream. She would know if they really needed to run, wouldn't she?
"What happened?" He tried to look behind them without tripping over his feet. How did Robin Hood run in pointy-toed boots, anyway?
"The Sheriff is after us."
"What Sheriff?"
"Of Nottingham!" She laughed, even as she looked behind them and let out a shriek that was half excitement.
A troop of men dressed like the Sheriff of Nottingham's minions came tearing around a bend in the forest trail, gaining on them with every thud of the hoofs of their over-dressed horses.
Maurice muffled a "Well, duh!" reaction, and decided this was going to be fun. He let Holly lead the way, down a winding forest trail with the Sheriff's men close on their heels. They came out onto the bank of a river, and ropes conveniently appeared from the trees overhead. Holly leaped, grabbed a rope, and swung across with a style that earned a whistle of appreciation from Maurice. He hesitated just long enough for her to reach the apex of the swing and let go. Then he leaped, snatching at the next rope, and followed.
They landed on the opposite bank without stumbling, and ran. He looked back in time to see the horses come to an abrupt stop--impossible in the real world, but very possible in cartoons and Hollywood--sending the Sheriff's men tumbling over their heads, into the river.
"You're one nasty kid. I think I like you," he said, as they ran around a bend in the forest trail.
"Thank you so much, kind sir." Holly slowed enough to curtsey without tripping over her feet. Her clothing transformed into an exact replica of Olivia deHaviland's Maid Marion outfit from the beginning of the movie.
They slowed to a walk when the trail brought them out onto the river's banks again. Maurice reached up and discovered he had a hat with a long feather in it. He tipped it grandly to her, then offered her his arm. Holly curtsied again and linked her arm through his, and they settled into a leisurely stroll along the water's edge.
"So, does this kind of thing happen a lot around here?" he had to ask. He was definitely going to visit her dreams every night, if this was her pattern.
"It depends." She shrugged and reached up in the air. A butterfly appeared from thin air and landed on her finger, slowly fluttering its jewel-toned wings.
"On what?"
"How rotten the real world is and how much I need to bash somebody before I turn into an ax murderer in real life." She blew a kiss to the butterfly and it fluttered off her finger and away into the sunshine and shadows.
"Wait a minute! You know you're dreaming?"
"Is this a dream? Prove it." She tugged her arm free and darted away, laughing. She immediately vanished into a hedge maze that sprang up from the ground faster than a lightning flash.
"Whoa." Maurice stopped short for a moment, shaking his head. Then he grinned and dashed into the maze after her. "Hey, Holly, where are you?"
"Over here!" Her voice came through the greenery from straight ahead.
"Oh, yeah, that's a big help," he muttered.
He'd stumbled around five corners and gotten nowhere, before he decided there were no rules here. He raised his hands experimentally--after all, this wasn't his dream--and was delighted when magic swirled thick and hot, buzzing around his fingertips. He snapped his fingers in the direction of the hedge wall in front of him. It vanished in a blue flash of light.
"That's more like it. I don't care if it's only a dream. It feels good to be up to full power again." Another wall appeared in front of him, and he blasted it. Then a third. He stumbled out into a rose arbor.
Holly sat on bench and Robin Hood--thankfully, not looking like Errol Flynn nor Kevin Costner nor Cary Elwes--knelt at her feet, trying to get hold of her hand. Her mouth dropped open when Maurice walked through the sparkling hole in the hedge, and she stopped resisting.
Robin Hood got hold of her hand and immediately raised it to his lips.
"Oh, please. This is getting really old." Mischief sparkled in her eyes as she watched Maurice approach.
He got a funny, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. How long had it been since someone was glad to see him?
"But, my darling..." Robin Hood whined.
"Aren't you forgetting somebody?" Maurice had to ask. For the fun of it, he swept off his cap again and bowed to Holly.
"Who are you?" Robin Hood barely glanced over his shoulder. "Begone. My lady and I wish to be alone."
"I'm not your lady." Holly yanked her hand free and stood up.
Robin Hood immediately tried to wrap his arms around her.
She sidestepped him. He followed her as she circled the bench and brushed against the walls of the arbor, where the thorns of the roses caught in her long hair.
"The lady wants you to scram, so scram," Maurice said, and stepped between them.
"I know not who you are," Robin Hood said, as he rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, "but you would be wise--"
"Yeah, that's me. The wise guy. That's how I got in this mess in the first place." He grabbed Robin by his shoulders and gave him a heave-ho though the closest hedge wall.
Holly laughed and applauded. She laughed harder when Maurice bowed again.
"You have no idea what a nuisance he can be. If I don't get rid of him fast enough, Maid Marion shows up, and she fights dirty."
"But--" For a moment, he felt dizzy with the contradictions and questions colliding in his brain. "If you know this is a dream... You know you're in charg
e here, don't you?"
"I know, but if I use the power too much, all the magic goes away. It's more fun to follow the rules, you know? Figure things out the hard way. And I need all the magic I can get my hands on."
"Yeah, you and me both, kid." He bowed and offered her his bent arm again. "Shall we?"
"Thank you, kind sir."
They wandered for hours, in and out of various landscapes that reminded Maurice of many fantasy worlds he had loved in old books. He and Holly made each other laugh, coming up with their favorite lines from the books that fit in each landscape. Maurice stayed aware of the passage of real time, and it amazed him how quickly the night passed.
Somewhere between three and four in the morning, they came to a castle straight out of a Disney movie, with white stones and gold edging on all the roofs, and dozens of turrets and towers, all with pennants flying. He braced himself for an onslaught of servants and courtiers and an evil prince--or worse, a too-good-to-be-true prince--who would try to steal Holly away from him.
To his surprise, the castle was empty of all inhabitants. He and Holly wandered, exploring the treasure room, the massive library, the throne room, the armory. They said less and less as time passed. He had never been so content with silence before. Every time he looked down at Holly, who stayed arm-in-arm with him, she was looking up at him, smiling. He couldn't help smiling back at her.
They ended up in the great hall of the castle. It was set up for a ball, with trestle tables groaning with a feast. There were instruments in the musicians' gallery, but no musicians. Yet music played, and there was a sense of movement and the whisper of shoes on the flagstone floor and ball gowns rustling as they swirled around dancers' legs... But the room held no people. Maurice kept hold of Holly's hand as he unhooked his arm from hers, and bowed. "My lady, will you do me the honor of this dance?"
She curtseyed. "I am honored, kind sir." Then she slid into his arms and they spun across the floor, in and out and around the invisible dancers. And the music played on and on.
Faintly, in the distance, Maurice heard a scraping, grinding noise. He knew it didn't come from inside the dream, but he was at a loss to identify it. Then it occurred to him that it was the familiar sound of snow plows scraping the streets clean. Why was he hearing that, in the middle of Holly's dream?
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