Cinderella: Ninja Warrior

by Maureen McGowan

  She stepped forward, to be closer to him. “That’s okay. I imagine working for the royal family, you’re surrounded by people who have a sense of entitlement.”

  He lifted his sharply angled chin. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m sorry.” Oh no, she thought, I’ve offended him. She ran her hands down her apron and said,“It’s wrong of me to think you’d be as conceited as the royal family just because you work for them.”

  He rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. “They aren’t so conceited, you know.”

  “Who?”

  “The royal family.” He relaxed his arms and put his hands out. “Yes, there are traditions which must be followed, certain protocols, but when you get down to it, the members of the royal family are just people.”

  She shrugged, not really caring about the royals and silently scolding herself for being rude to the only person who’d ever offered her something resembling friendship. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?” she asked. She immediately regretted what she said, realizing she’d just offered more than she could deliver. Everything consumable was locked up and so closely guarded by black magic, she couldn’t offer him anything but water from the well.

  “No, but I’ve got something for you,” he said, and dug into the satchel slung over his broad chest.

  “Really?”

  He pulled out some papers.“Entry forms for the magic competition. It saves time on the day of the event if you fill them in beforehand.”

  She took the forms and excitement buzzed inside her for an instant, but it was quickly replaced by regret. “Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll enter the competition.”

  “Why not?” He removed the satchel and set it on the floor close to the door.

  “It’s hard to explain.” She glanced at the pile of papers.“Why do some of these say beauty competition?”

  “Winning that is a second way to guarantee a dance with the prince. I brought those in case your sisters might be interested. They seemed like the type.”

  Cinderella felt a sharp stab of jealousy and fought to shake it off. She’d never cared that her stepsisters were more beautiful than she was. In fact, she suspected her lack of beauty had made her life slightly easier, but Ty blatantly acknowledging the disparity hurt her in a way she barely understood.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m sure they’d do well, as opposed to me.”

  Ty put up his hands. “Oh, that’s not what I meant at all.” He stepped forward, his expression earnest. “If I was judging, you’d win the beauty competition in a heartbeat. I just meant I thought magic was more your thing. That you’d enjoy that competition more, and I knew you wanted to win the lessons with the royal wizard.”

  She blushed. He was charming, she’d give him that. Clearly, he was just being polite about her looks. Still, something in the intensity of his admiring gaze hinted that he might be sincere.

  Too embarrassed to ask, she set the forms on the circular table in the center of the room. “My sisters have decided to enter the magic competition,” she told him. “My stepmother even bought them wands.”

  “But not you?” He stepped closer. His smile was so sharp and bright that it almost penetrated her skin.

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t get a wand.” She tried to make her voice light and airy, as if she could care less about the competition when, really, it was the most important thing in the world. But if she told him she wasn’t allowed to enter, he’d want to know why—and she couldn’t possibly explain without risking both of their lives.

  “You really don’t need a wand,” he said. “They’ve got two separate groups, depending on whether you’ve had prior wand training or not. The no-wand group, in particular, involves testing for magic aptitude, and based on your acrobatic skills—”

  Cinderella cut him off sharply and said, “I can’t enter, okay?” Cheeks burning, she regretted that the heat was showing up in her voice too, and quickly tried to change her demeanor.

  “It’s just that you seemed so interested the other day.” He reached toward her hand, but dropped back before adding, “I hope you will change your mind.”

  She wanted to compete more than anything, but she couldn’t tell him that without leading them both into a dangerous area of conversation, so she turned and stacked the entry forms again.

  Maybe she’d hide the magic ones downstairs, just in case, and leave the beauty pageant forms here for Gwendolyn and Agatha. They’d have a better chance in that competition, anyway.

  “How long until everyone gets back?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. My family tends to be unpredictable.”

  “Why aren’t you with them today?”

  “Teas aren’t my thing.”

  “No balls, no teas, no royalty—what is your thing, Cinderella?” He stepped forward.

  He was even taller than her stepmother, and she had to tip her head back to keep contact with the bright, flashing blue eyes that showed genuine interest in her answer.

  “Magic, martial arts, gardening.” A smile that she’d felt building from deep inside her made its way to the surface and landed on her lips.

  “You should really get some formal training,” Ty said. “If it’s a matter of money, I’m sure a scholarship could be arranged. With your raw talent—”

  She backed away from him, her bottom hitting the edge of the foyer table, and the huge crystal vase of flowers on it tipped toward the opposite side.

  They both lunged across the large table at the same time and prevented the vase from tipping over onto the floor. Cinderella ended up lying on her back on the table, with Ty bent over her.

  “That was close,” he said with a grin. “Would’ve made a huge mess.”

  He didn’t know the half of it. Breaking the vase would’ve caused more problems for her than cleaning up a simple mess.

  His muscular arm was bent, resting near her head on the table, and she’d never felt so self-conscious before. She felt as if she were totally exposed and he could see things about her that no one else could see, which made her uncomfortable.

  “Can you show me some magic?” she asked, trying to figure out if she could wiggle out from under him without their bodies touching—and then wondering what it would feel like, should their bodies touch. “I’ve never had a real teacher.”

  “I’d love to.” He pushed back to stand up and then offered his hand to help her down from the table.

  She declined, and instead swung her legs down and slipped off.

  “Let’s go outside,” Ty said, motioning toward the inner door.

  She shook her head. “I’d rather stay in here, if you don’t mind.”

  “Why?”

  Her stomach tightened. She couldn’t tell him that she was unable to go outside, because it would lead to questions she didn’t want him to ask. “I, uh . . . don’t want to get a sunburn.” She looked out the window, relieved to see that the sun was out, making her excuse plausible.

  “You are very fair-skinned.” He reached his hand forward, as if he planned to touch her face.

  She froze, not sure whether she wanted him to touch her or not. No one had touched her face in years, except in anger.

  Ty dropped his hand, but her skin tingled as if he’d actually made contact. Who knew that something other than magic could make her cheek tingle? She backed away a few steps. “You were going to show me some of the things you do in your magic training?”

  “Of course, but we can’t do as much inside.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a thin white wand. “I do have this to help me, though.”

  Time passed quickly as they completed a few concentration and balance exercises and then performed the few acrobatic tricks they could do safely within the confines of the foyer. As she was the shorter of the two, she could pull off more tricks than he could, even without a wand.

  “I know what we can do!” exclaimed Ty, reaching for one of the extra entry forms. He ripped it i
nto narrow strips.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Wait and see.” He placed the pile of paper scraps on the floor near her feet and looked up into her eyes.

  She felt heat from his gaze. “What are you going to do with those?” She pointed to the pile of paper scraps. If even one of those wasn’t picked up when her stepmother came home . . .

  Before she could finish her thought, he’d raised his wand and the pieces of paper rose, too. First in a random grouping, and then, as she watched, amazed, he gathered them together into a tight ball in the air and scattered them everywhere.

  They filled the entire foyer up to the vaulted ceiling, but none landed on any of the surfaces. Instead, the hundred or so small scraps of paper drifted like snowflakes through the room. She spun, delighted by the beautiful effect.

  “It’s wonderful!” she said as she turned to Ty and smiled. He returned her smile, then circled his wand above his head.

  The scraps organized into lines, spiraling up and down through the room, snaking up along the railing of the banister to the top of the stairs, dancing around the skylight and then diving back down to spin circles around her.

  “How do you do it?” she asked. “Can you teach me?”

  He lowered his wand and the papers fell to the floor, but she was no longer thinking about her clean-up duties. She wanted to learn.

  “It took me ages to master,” he said. “But I was never able to move objects without a wand. The roy—the wizard who trains me, he made me try to move objects without the wand for almost eight years before he’d let me try it this way.” He flicked the end of his wand.

  “I can move objects, too,” Cinderella said.

  “You can?” His face brightened, startled by her revelation, but he also seemed proud of her.

  “Sometimes.” She stared at a few of the paper scraps and directed her open hand toward them. They rose off the floor, but she wondered if she could control their movement.

  She circled her wrist and excitement built inside her as the scraps of paper circled, too. Their movements weren’t as controlled as when Ty had done it, but still, she was just learning.

  “That’s fabulous,” he said.“Fabulous!” He stepped up toward her and laid his hand on her shoulder. “I can’t imagine how well you’d do with some formal training. You really must reconsider entering the contest.”

  The sound of a carriage outside infiltrated the room and Cinderella’s warm, fuzzy feelings turned cold and prickly. “It’s my stepmother,” she said. “You’ve got to go.”

  She started to gather all the scraps of paper from the floor, panicking when she saw that some were caught up in the brass chandelier.

  “Let me,” Ty said. He raised his wand and all the scraps of paper gathered together and landed in a small pile on the table.

  “Thank you.” She grabbed them and stuffed them into her apron pocket, hoping that none would sneak through the small hole at the bottom she’d been meaning to mend.

  “Listen,” he said as he stepped toward her, “there’s something I need to tell you, about me, but I’m not sure where to start.” He fidgeted with his hands, and almost looked nervous.

  She heard the carriage draw nearer and looked anxiously toward the front door.

  “I suppose now isn’t the time.” He looked down, stashed his wand inside his satchel, then looked back toward her again. “Please change your mind about the competition and the ball. I’d really like a chance to dance with you.” He bent down and pressed a light kiss on her cheek, and a wave of heat and joy, combined with terror at her stepmother’s imminent arrival, rushed through her.

  He put his messenger cap back on, tucked in his curls, and pulled the brim down to shade his face. “Until next time, Cinderella.” He opened the door and looked out to the carriage just pulling through the gate. “I’ll stall them. I’ll tell them I only just arrived and no one answered, so I left the forms on the foyer table. I’ll flatter your sisters into entering the beauty competition. I have a feeling you’ll be more likely to enter the magic competition if your sisters don’t?”

  He was right about that, thought Cinderella. “Thank you,” she said.

  As he went outside, she grabbed one of the forms for the magic competition and raced down to the cellar.

  That night, as soon as she was sure her stepmother was sleeping, Cinderella yanked open the door to the back garden. Max brushed past her on the damp stone stairs as she ran up and into the garden.

  If her father had hidden the wand, he’d hidden it well, and she felt almost foolish thinking she’d find it in one day, when her stepmother had searched for thirteen years. She’d searched the entire house now, including her own room. Not that she’d expected to find it down there. Her father hiding the wand in the cellar didn’t make sense, given her fear of the place. Not if he’d wanted her to find it one day, as she’d started to hope. He couldn’t have foreseen that his new wife would force his only daughter underground after he died.

  Right now, her best strategy was to practice her skills. If by some miracle she figured out a way to escape and enter the competition, she wanted to be sharp. However, in the more likely event that she missed the competition entirely, and the stronger her magic and ninja skills were, the more chance she’d have of eventually breaking free from her stepmother’s grasp.

  At least her stepsisters were no longer entering the magic competition. As Ty had suspected, they’d fallen for his flattery and jumped all over the beauty pageant option. They’d practiced their smiles and walks and spins for the rest of the day.

  She spotted her garden hoe leaning against the wall of the potting shed and, instead of walking over to grab it, she extended her arm toward it and concentrated on the hoe, imagining it lifting up and floating toward her.

  Come to me, she thought. Come. Magic energy flowed through her, starting as a tingle and building in heat and strength and power, making her feel happy and alive and as if anything were possible.

  The hoe lifted from the ground . . . one inch . . . two inches . . . three.

  She maintained her focus and felt the energy flow out from her hand toward the garden tool.

  Max screeched, a wolf howled, but she stayed focused, and, foot by foot, the hoe moved toward her, as joy and confidence increased her power. This was the farthest she’d ever moved the hoe, and it flew the last few inches into her hand. She jumped in glee.

  A wolf snarled and snapped, and she turned to see Max pawing in the distance at that same place near the edge of the forest he’d been so focused on these past few days. He seemed to be going crazy. He was spinning and jumping and pawing at the dirt, as if he’d discovered a hidden cache of catnip.

  “Max,” she said as she walked toward him, carrying the hoe. “What’s going on? First you attack my stepmother and nearly get crisped, and now you’re taunting wolves?”

  He turned to her, made eye contact, and then ran into the forest.

  Cinderella froze, her entire body seized in terror, and then she ran. “Max! ” If her cat were to be eaten by wolves, she couldn’t handle the loneliness, not after all that had happened to her recently.

  She plunged into the forest to find him pawing at the dirt about twelve feet in, at a spot in the center of a circle of six tall oak trees. He’d been pawing so hard, he’d already managed to dig a hole about three inches deep.

  “Max!” She scolded him in a hushed tone as she picked him up with one hand, her hoe in the other. She quickly spun around, on the lookout for wolves.

  He jumped from her arms to dig again, and she glanced into the forest and spotted a few pairs of red eyes in the distance, creeping forward, stalking, and no doubt preparing to attack.

  She bent to pick up her cat again, but he writhed and twisted in her grasp. What could he possibly be digging for? It was almost as if he thought something was buried in that place.

  And then she wondered, Could it be the wand? A ripple of hope flowed through her, which she quickly
quashed. It made no sense. How could a stray cat know where her father had hidden her mother’s precious wand so long ago?

  Still, she was curious. She glanced up. The wolves were taking their time, strategizing, ensuring they were in a tight circle before they attacked. Escape seemed impossible, unless . . . unless there were a wand buried there.

  “Out of the way, Max,” she said as she raised the hoe. Max jumped aside to let her dig. She stuck the hoe’s sharp edge into the hard dirt over and over, flicking dirt out of the way in a hurry, until the hole was nearly a foot deep.

  She looked around. The wolves were much closer, only twelve feet away, their circle growing tighter. Even if she did find something hidden in this hole, how would she and Max ever escape the wolves?

  Her hoe struck something hard and she fell to her knees, scraped the remaining dirt away with her hands, and found something wrapped in a heavy cloth. She pulled it out of the dirt and Max jumped onto her shoulder and meowed. Cinderella unwrapped the cloth to find an old box underneath.

  Six wolves stepped into the circle of trees. There was no time to open the box.

  Pressing the treasure into her belly, she pulled her apron up and around it to make a pouch, and tied her apron’s strings tightly over the box—which she hoped contained the wand.

  She snatched her hoe, the closest thing she had to a ninja sword. Max jumped down and stood next to her.

  Planting her feet in a sideways stance, she held the hoe in front of her, her other arm bent back above her head for balance. She started to twist and rotate the hoe with her wrist, making large figure-eights in the air. She revolved slowly, warning each of the wolves with her eyes as she turned toward them. If they attacked, they’d get a strike to the head from her hoe.

  Undeterred but cautious, the wolves crept forward slowly, their red eyes glowing, the silvery-gray fur on their backs rising. Condensation from the wolves’ breathing fogged the air and drops of drool dripped from their razor-sharp teeth. As much as these wolves had kept her trapped all these years, she had been kept alive due to her stepmother’s spell that prevented them from entering the garden.