But not tonight—not unless she got back inside the protective barrier of her stepmother’s spell.
Still twirling the hoe, she spun more quickly, wanting to keep sight of all the wolves at once, but careful to keep her focus directly on her hand, so as not to get dizzy. Faster and faster she spun, faster and faster she twirled the hoe, faster and faster the trees moved across her vision until both the trees and the wolves became a single blur.
She slowed for a moment, but the blur remained. Max rubbed up against one of her legs. Cinderella gasped. It was almost as if she’d created a wall of air in the form of a swirling funnel to encircle both her and Max.
One of the wolves lunged forward, but he slammed violently into the tornado she’d created and was flung away, smacking into one of the trees. The wolf stood up slowly, whimpered, and limped away, somewhere deep into the forest.
She spun again, twirling the hoe, her feet burning from the friction against the forest floor. If she wasn’t careful, the underbrush at her feet might ignite.
Another wolf lunged forward, mouth open, its huge teeth ready to bite, but again the wall of wind flung it off and into the woods.
This might actually save them. She felt Max rub against her calf and, still spinning, she started to step back, moving the circle of air toward the edge of the forest and the safety of the garden.
Another wolf tried to break through, then another, but her circle held, tossing each wolf aside in turn.
Her apron slipped. The box was going to fall. She lowered her arm to catch it and the circle broke down, dissipating into the night air.
Max jumped onto her shoulder and she ran. She ran as she’d never run before. Feeling the heat of a wolf’s breath snapping at her heels, she took a giant leap and landed on the grassy surface of the garden. As soon as she hit the grass, she tumbled over several times, finally coming to rest on her back. Max pounced onto her chest and licked her chin.
She heaved, trying to catch her breath, and slowly turned to see three wolves peering out at her from the edge of the woods. They snapped and snarled, but could not take one step into the garden.
Breathing heavily, she sat, but dizziness took over and she fell back. Max returned to her chest, curled up in a ball, and purred.
He was right. She deserved a short rest.
Early the next afternoon, Cinderella stood at the front window of the house and watched the carriage carrying her stepmother and stepsisters pull through the garden gate and head down the path to the palace. They were off to the beauty pageant and then to the ball, and would not be back until the wee hours of the morning.
Even Cinderella had to admit her sisters would look beautiful in their ball gowns, which she’d packed into big boxes with endless sheets of fine tissue paper so they wouldn’t sustain a single wrinkle on their way to the palace.
As soon as she was sure the carriage wasn’t going to turn back, she raced down the cellar stairs. The magic competition started in less than two hours, and she still had to crack the mystery of that box—her last hope. She’d stayed up almost all night trying to make it open.
Lifting up the corner of her bed, she reached deep into the straw. Sleeping on the box the few hours she’d allowed herself to rest last night hadn’t been comfortable, but it was better to feel the edges of the box digging into her side than to risk her stepmother discovering it.
She set the box on her lap. It was old and simple but beautiful, the joins in the cherry wood barely visible at the corners. A fine carpenter had crafted this box. Perhaps her father?
Now she remembered. The box had sat on her father’s bedside table when she’d been very young. The wood’s worn patina told her it was a well-loved, well-used box. It was darker in the spot where she’d pressed it last night, as if someone else’s—her mother’s?—fingers had pressed there many times.
Presumably, those fingers had managed to get it open. Her own attempts to do so hadn’t worked. Clearly, the box required magic in order to open it, and in spite of Ty’s encouragement, she obviously lacked the proper skills. She heaved a deep sigh. Max jumped up onto her shoulder and batted her head with his paw.
“Stop it, Max. You’re distracting me.”
He batted her head again.
“What, Max?”
Using her head, concentrating—that was it! “Maybe I need to visualize the box opening.”
Max jumped off her shoulder and rubbed against her side, purring. She closed her eyes to focus and drew in a deep breath until she felt her heartbeat slow and a calmness enter her mind.
Open, she thought. I want the box to open. Tamping down her anxiety, she pressed her thumbs against the lid and pressed.
It opened, and so did her eyes—wide.
The box was lined with red velvet and had two compartments. She opened the long, thin compartment and saw what she’d been hoping to find—what her stepmother had so clearly been trying to find. It was her mother’s wand, it just had to be.
She ran an eager finger along its pale wood surface. Was it pine, or perhaps birch? She wasn’t sure, based on the grain and color. It might even be willow.
She lifted the wand and her fingers tingled. Max was going crazy, doing loops in and out and around her legs, brushing and meowing and jumping.
“Yes, Max, you’re right. I should try it out.”
She pointed the wand at her stool with its wobbly leg, not really sure what she was doing, but thinking that surely her mother’s wand should be powerful enough to mend a stool leg. The stool fell over onto the floor. Well, that had not exactly been her objective, but she’d managed to make something happen. She might as well go for the gusto and try to escape.
She ran toward the garden door, which never opened while the sun was up, and concentrated.
Cinderella focused on the handle, then raised the wand and flicked it, saying, “Open, sesame.”
A spark flew from the wand and struck the door. She was thrown off her feet onto the floor, and a charred streak appeared on the wood of the door. She jumped up, dashed over, and pulled on the handle. It was as sealed as it ever had been.
Max wound his way between her legs again, insistent and annoying. Maybe there were instructions somewhere in that box? She’d only opened the one compartment, so she tried the other and found a velvet pouch with something weighty inside it. She loosened the silk drawstring at the top and slid the pouch’s contents into her hand. Her fingers caressed a beautiful golden necklace.
A heart pendant hung from a chain that was so fine she couldn’t see actual links. She examined the pendant and saw a crack along its edge: a locket. Maybe the wand instructions were inside. She dug her thumbnail into the crack, but it wouldn’t budge.
Max landed on her lap and she jumped. It was as though the cat had been drinking bowls of coffee. He lunged for the wand, trying to grab it in his mouth, so she tucked it into her apron pocket where he couldn’t reach it.
She scratched his back. “Thank you for helping me find the box, Max. I don’t know how you picked that spot to dig.” The box must have emitted some kind of signal only cats could hear.
Max stretched up to place his paws on her shoulders, then retracted his claws and batted her chin with his paw until she looked down.
Cinderella shook her head. Sometimes she saw something in Max’s eyes that resembled intelligence, but today he was being more of a pest. She picked him up and placed him on the floor. The contest was starting so soon and, without the wand, she lacked the power to break her stepmother’s spell and escape the grounds. And if she didn’t get out, she might never see Ty again.
Based on what Agatha had told her, her stepmother had threatened Ty yesterday when he’d tried to stall them upon their arrival home, so he was unlikely to return to the property. For his safety, she hoped Ty took her stepmother’s threats seriously.
She pictured Ty’s sparkling blue eyes, his shaggy blond curls, his strong jaw and lips, and imagined the teasing tone in his voice. Her belly stirred a
nd she felt a stab of longing in her chest. At the same moment, the locket sprang open.
Gasping, she checked inside. It was another heart—solid, forged from metal and painted in deep red enamel. The beautiful object fit perfectly inside the locket. But as nice as it was, her heart sank. She hadn’t found instructions on how to operate the wand. She placed the red heart back inside the locket and strung the chain around her neck.
She felt around the box for a hidden compartment, but found none.
Ah! The wand itself could have the answer. Perhaps she was supposed to use the wand to extract the instructions from the box. At this point, no idea was too silly.
Leaving the box on the bed, she took the wand from her pocket, backed away a few steps, and lifted the wand. Yes, this would work.
Concentrating, she bent her wrist to prepare.
Max jumped onto her arm. She jumped, and the bolt of magic energy hit the corner of the bed instead of the box. The straw sizzled and burst into flames.
“Ah!” She scrambled around her bed to grab a bucket of water. She doused the flames and then turned to pick up the wand, but Max had the wand in his mouth and was spinning around in tight circles.
“Silly cat!” she said. She tried to grab him, but he wouldn’t stop. “Max, give me that. You’re going to ruin it.”
He spun two more times, backed up a few feet, and then, still holding the wand, he jumped into her arms and passed the wand to her.
Cinderella dropped Max to the floor, wiped the cat spittle off the beautiful wood, and then held it up to the light from the window. At least he’d been careful—it didn’t look as if he’d left any tooth marks.
What could she try next?
Max jumped around her again, and she shooed him away. “Get lost, Max. Can’t you see I’m busy?” She brushed her wand hand over the misbehaving cat.
On the third flick of her wand, a flash appeared above Max’s head.
Cinderella froze.
Her cat disappeared under a searing blue-white light that flew from the wand and turned to smoke.
She’d killed her cat. Her heart clenched. Please, she thought, please let him be okay.
Drawing a deep breath, she fanned the air with her free hand as the smoke continued to build. There was so much smoke, but it was of a kind she’d never seen before. It was somehow lit from within. It glinted and sparkled and didn’t smell the way smoke usually did. It smelled like cloves and vanilla and chocolate. It smelled like . . . magic.
Realizing that casting more accidental spells was not a great idea, she tucked her wand into the pocket of her apron, then waved at the smoke to find Max. It started to clear, but not in the way smoke normally cleared. It didn’t spread and dissipate into the air. Instead, it gathered, became more solid, and took form.
She blinked a few times and tried to wave the smoke away, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The smoke looked as if it were forming into the shape of a person.
A moment later, a short, stout man appeared; he had silvery-gray hair and bright, flashing green eyes, and was dressed in an elegant suit of gray velvet with scarlet trim. A shiny black belt was wrapped around his ample middle. Bits of his hair shot out like tiny wings over his ears. He licked the back of his hand and rubbed it over his cheek, as if he were cleaning whiskers.
She staggered back, tripped over the toppled stool, caught her balance, and then gathered her courage. “Who are you?” Her voice was too soft, too timid. She pulled herself up, struck a warrior pose and this time demanded, “Who are you? Where did you come from? And what have you done with my cat?
The man looked down at his body in amazement and then up at Cinderella with a huge grin on his round, jolly face. He spun around in a circle, almost as if he expected to see something on his bottom. Then he looked back to Cinderella and smiled.
“You did it!” he said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know if you were ready to hold a wand, but under the circumstances, well, I thought it was worth the risk.”
Cinderella gave him a stern look. “Where is my cat?” she asked.
“Cinderella,” the man said, “it’s me. Your godfather.”
“I don’t have godfather.”
“Yes, you do. And thanks for digging up my wand.”
“Your wand?” She gripped the edge of the table, wondering how long it would take her to reach the kettle hanging over the fire, the only object visible that could serve as a weapon. “That’s my mother’s wand!”
“It was your mother’s.” The man bent his legs a few times, as if testing them out, and then put his hands on the floor and stretched his backside up. His actions were remarkably similar to a cat’s.
Something cracked. He winced as he stood and grabbed his back. “Oh, that’s better.” He winked.“After your mother died, the wand became your father’s, but before he remarried, he gave it to me for safekeeping.”
He tipped his head to the side in a slight rolling motion, and pawed his cheek with the back of his right hand. He continued, “That is, until you grew up.”
“So, it’s my wand?” She was so confused.
“Not yet.” The man who called himself her godfather stretched out his fingers, pulsing them a few times, and then drew his nails along the top of the wooden table. Looking as if he’d suddenly remembered something, he cracked his knuckles and smiled. “I’d forgotten how good that feels.”
He turned toward her. “I’m the wand’s official guardian, and it’s up to me to decide when you’re ready. It’s very dangerous for a fledgling wizard to use a wand without training, especially a fledgling wizard with such strong innate powers.” He tipped his head to the side in a weird swooping manner. It was almost as if he were impersonating a cat.
“Still”—he jumped onto her bed, hands first, legs following—“it’s impressive how you managed to control the wand. You helped me alter your stepmother’s spell.”
Cinderella backed away, gripping the wand tightly, wondering if she could use it to keep this strange, catlike man from attacking her. “Who—what are you?”
“Don’t you recognize me?” He stepped off the bed, his arms spread as if he planned to hug her. “I’m your godfather, Fred.”
“Stay away.” She circled the table until it was between her and the man. “Are you a fairy?” She’d heard of such creatures living in the neighboring kingdoms, but had assumed they were just silly stories.
“A fairy godfather?” He laughed. “That’s funny. No, Cinderella. I’m your real-life godfather, Fred. I came to visit you not long after your father . . .” he hesitated and bowed his head, then continued, “. . . not long after your father passed away.” He took a step forward. “I could tell instantly that your stepmother was evil. She’d torn the house apart looking for your mother’s wand, not knowing that your father had entrusted it to me before he married.”
Cinderella sucked in a sharp breath. “Where’s my cat?” She knew she was stammering, but under the circumstances, she decided to give herself a break.
“I saw how your stepmother was treating you, and told her I’d ask the king to grant you ownership of this house, even though you were barely five years old. Failing that, I planned to take you away from this place, forever.”
Cinderella had a flash of memory. She had seen this man before, but his hair hadn’t been quite so gray then. She’d giggled in his arms. He’d brought her candies and chocolate.
“I remember.” Her breaths were shallow, but her body warmed and she instantly felt safer than she had in a long time. “What happened? Where have you been?”
“I turned into Max,” he said. “Well, I didn’t do it on purpose. Your stepmother tried to get me to tell her where I’d hidden the wand, and when I refused, she turned me into a mouse.”
“But . . .” Cinderella shook her head. She’d been starting to believe him, but he was clearly crazy. She pushed herself along the edge of the table to keep it between them. “Max is a cat, not a mouse, and you still haven’t told m
e what you did to him.”
He laughed and held his belly. “I’m a wizard, you know. I was very powerful in my time. Not quite like your mother was, but good. I did a little tinkering with your stepmother’s spell.” He leaned onto the table and his fingers kept pulsing, almost as if he were kneading the table.
“Tinkering?” she asked, still suspicious.
“I didn’t have enough experience combating black magic—no one does, it’s been outlawed for decades—so I couldn’t block your stepmother’s spell, but I was able to alter it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your stepmother turned me into a mouse, but the moment she left the room, I twisted her magic to turn myself into a cat.” He swooped his head to the side and then batted at his head in a very Max-like gesture. “Cinderella, I’m Max.” He pushed down on the table and jumped up to land on all fours. “Boy, that’s not as easy as it used to be.”
She looked into his eyes. Crazy as it was, it was true. She whispered, “Max . . .” and then stepped toward him. “Or do I call you Fred?”
He jumped back to the floor, rounded the table, and affectionately squeezed her upper arm. “You can still call me Max. I’m used to it now–and I kind of like it.”
She dove into his warm embrace, his strong arms like a blanket wrapped around her. “Oh, Max. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
They embraced for a few moments, but then Max pulled back to hold her by the shoulders. “I’d love to have a nice long reunion, but we don’t have much time.”
The magic competition—she had almost forgotten! She glanced out the window to judge the angle of the sun. “I think I’m already too late.” She reached up to touch the pretty gold heart.
“I see you found the locket,” he said. “Your father gave it to your mother as a symbol of his love.” Max smiled softly. “I cared for her, too, and hoped . . .” His voice trailed off and he paused for a moment. “ Two wizards joined by the power of love are much stronger than the sum of their parts—but she didn’t love me, and it was so clear your parents were very much in love.”
Cinderella: Ninja Warrior Page 11