Lost Places

by Carla Jablonski

  “Or a fairy tale,” Tim muttered. Don’t be fooled by how pretty and scenic and serene it all is, he reminded himself. Just because you’ve never seen so much green in one place before—other than in the world of Faerie—just because the world you come from is bleak and gray and angular, don’t let that make you lose your edge. This is a trap, no matter how picturesque it might be.

  Now to find Molly. Tim set off down the path he found himself on. It seemed as good a place as any to start. He walked and walked and walked, the fat moon never budging from its spot above the trees. Time didn’t seem to pass, though the miles certainly did. Tim could tell he’d covered a lot of ground by the soreness of his feet.

  Exhausted and hoarse from shouting, Tim came to a river. He was horribly thirsty, but he held back, gazing down at the inviting water. If it’s a magical place, I shouldn’t eat or drink anything, he warned himself. He licked his dry lips. But if I don’t, I’ll die of thirst.

  Quit debating. You’re as bad as those little mes! Just drink. He leaned over, washed his face, and drank. The water tasted great. Then he took off his sneakers and socks and soaked his feet. Ahhh…that’s the ticket.

  “Better fill the canteen,” he muttered. Only when he grabbed the container somehow slung across his chest, he discovered it wasn’t a canteen at all! It was a leather bag with a big gold H embossed on it. And then he remembered—he didn’t have a canteen with him when he came to the Demon Playland! In fact, he didn’t even own one!

  Okay, this is new. Still, it will be handy to have some water with me.

  Tim leaned over the river to fill the pouch. He hesitated as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bright moonlight.

  “Huh?” He studied the reflection gazing back at him. His armor gleamed, and the visor of his helmet was pushed back, revealing his face. Something looks wrong here. I know what it is! Those strange things covering my eyes. He reached up—and the moment he touched the frames of his glasses, he flung himself away from the river.

  “No!” he shouted. His heart pounded hard, and he had to work hard to calm down.

  “That was close,” he murmured. I nearly believed I was a real knight. The clunky metal shirt I’m wearing and the sword hanging on my side—none of that caught my attention. It was my glasses that looked weird to me. My stupid, geekoid glasses that I’ve been wearing since I was in nappies, practically. The one thing about my appearance that is real is the one thing I thought was wrong. That is not good.

  No wonder I am so darn tired, Tim thought. This armor must weigh a ton!

  Tim ran his fingers over and over the frames of his glasses, forcing himself to feel their solidity, their familiarity, their reality.

  He sat back up slowly and discovered that he was no longer wearing the armor. He was back in his usual uniform of jeans, sneakers, T-shirt, and sweatshirt.

  So these glasses are the key to my remembering to stay me. He let out a sharp laugh. All those years I’ve hated having to wear these crummy glasses and they wind up saving me from delusions of knightliness.

  Somehow it reminded Tim of what Tanger had said, just after he’d left his tree. Stuff about places and belonging. About having to do certain things to convince the world that you belonged in it. That’s what’s happening here, he realized. This world wants me to belong in it. Probably to trap me here forever. So it’s trying to make me fit in.

  He looked around. This book I’ve fallen into has brought me to a magical wood, where I’m trying to find my missing girlfriend. That could easily be the start of a fairy tale. So it stands to reason it wants to dress me up as a knight in shining armor.

  Tim snorted. As if. He could just hear Molly hoot at that idea.

  Okay, he told himself. I don’t think this place can change me as long as I remember to resist it. But just to be sure…

  He rummaged around in his pockets and found a pen. He held the cap between his teeth and wrote on his hand:

  I am not prince anybody.

  Satisfied by his precautionary measures, he recapped the pen and shoved it back into his pocket. He looked around blankly. Now what?

  I read somewhere that people who are lost tend to wind up running around in circles. But I have a new theory. When you don’t know where you are, it doesn’t matter whether you travel in circles, straight lines, or zigzags. You just can’t get anywhere.

  Careful, Hunter, he admonished himself. You’re falling into thinking that this is your average, everyday case of being lost in the woods. He knew he would have to keep reminding himself that he was in a bloody book. It was clear that this place didn’t want him to remember that.

  And it could succeed in keeping me from finding Molly, he knew. His brow furrowed. But if that’s the goal, Tim thought, then why would both of us have been brought here? There must be some plan I’m not seeing yet. Tim realized he might have to play along with whatever this world had in store for him in order to find out exactly what that plan was. Hopefully that will help me figure out how to find Molly if she’s here, too.

  Tim decided to stay put. Since he had no clue as to where Molly was, it seemed to make the most sense. He sat back and waited to see what other tricks this fairy-tale world had up its sleeve. Of course, worlds don’t have sleeves. Tim laughed at the image.

  Come on, do your stuff, he thought. The more you mess with me, the more clear your nasty old plan will become. Although he felt more confident now that he had something resembling a strategy, he made sure to keep his expression somewhat baffled. Shouldn’t be too hard, he figured, seeing as that’s my usual state of affairs.

  He tapped his glasses again. “And as long as I have these,” he murmured, “I should be able to remember my real place.”

  Something swooped past Tim’s head, making him duck, its passage ruffling Tim’s brown hair. It landed on a low branch of a nearby tree. Tim’s hands balled into fists when he realized what it was.

  An owl.

  How obvious, Tim thought. They’ve sent a replica of my owl, Yo-yo. Tim had to fight to smother his rising anger. How dare they use Yo-yo to trick him? How stupid did they think he was? If Yo-yo hasn’t returned to me in my own world, why would I think he’d show up here?

  The owl cocked its head and blinked its yellow eyes slowly.

  Remember your plan, Tim told himself. Play along. They sent this…fraud for a reason. Stay on your toes and try to find out why.

  Tim stood up. “Oh, look, look,” he recited. “An owl.” His voice dripped sarcasm, and the flatness of his delivery echoed around him. You can do better than that, he admonished himself. Try harder.

  He cleared his throat and spoke again. “I wonder if it can truly be my old friend Yo-yo. My very first magic. Oh, I do hope so.”

  Better, he critiqued, but he found it difficult to keep the disdain out of his voice. It irked him to think they believed he was so gullible. He’d show them. Maybe it was foolish, but he couldn’t stand the idea that “they” thought “they” could pull something over on him—something this transparent.

  He continued talking to the owl, waiting for an indication of what this game was really all about. “Oh, Mister Owl, please be my friend Yoyo,” Tim wheedled. “I am so stupid that I will believe that you are Yo-yo if you will only give me a sign.”

  The owl flapped its wings and ruffled its feathers. “Hoo!” it hooted.

  Tim rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother,” he muttered. Even I’m a better actor than this replica. If they aren’t going to make much of an effort, then neither will I. “Yo-yo, it’s you,” he recited flatly. “Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah. You will help me find Princess Molly, won’t you, dear faithful owl?”

  The owl flew straight at Tim. “Yah!” Tim yelped, throwing his hands up to protect his face. The attack caught him totally unprepared.

  Tim batted at it, but it kept coming, its powerful wings slapping his face.

  “Hey, get off me, you fake!” Tim hollered.

  Their struggle knocked Tim’s glasses to the ground.
The owl swooped down, snatched them up in its talons, and flew away.

  Tim gingerly touched the scratches on his face. He squinted at the blood on his fingers. Bloody hell. It tried to kill me. Then he realized—the glasses. They were gone. That was why the owl appeared—that was its game: to take his glasses away from him. The last link to his own reality.

  “Oh, this is so not good,” Tim moaned.

  Chapter Eleven

  “PLEASE, PRINCESS,” THE LARGE dragon begged Molly. “Come admire my hoard for a while and let me admire you.”

  “I’ve told you before, you great dolt,” Molly snapped. “My name isn’t Princess, and I’m not responding to any remarks including that loathsome title.”

  She sat with her back to the huge beast, huddled in a corner of the strange cave that the book had sucked her into. I guess that stupid dollhouse wasn’t torturous enough, Molly thought. The enormous dragon stood between her and the cave entrance, but Molly had already discovered that outside was a sheer drop of about a thousand feet. She wasn’t going anywhere, not just yet, anyway.

  Molly couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t afraid of the gigantic dragon. He was a creature straight out of a fairy tale or a movie, complete with scales, wings, large teeth, sharp claws, and smoke coming out of his nostrils. Maybe it was the fairy tale-ness of it all. More likely it was because he was so disgustingly solicitous. He was practically slavering to do her bidding. Gross. He was more annoying than scary. His obvious devotion to her confused her even more. Had she been brought to this weird world to be mooned over by an obsessed monster? It’s not like he was doing anything to actually harm her. Still, it was creepy, and she figured the best thing she could do was to not give in and torture him right back!

  She glanced behind her. Yup, he was still there, gazing at her with big, dumb cow eyes. He loomed over a towering mountain of treasure: gold coins, jewelry, boxes of more jewelry, crowns, tiaras—anything a fairy-tale dragon might be protecting. He wanted her to be impressed by his hoard. Hah! She didn’t care about any of that junk. Give her a good pair of work boots like the ones she was wearing, a CD player, and a soccer ball, and she was happy. Also Tim. Tim made her happy, too.

  Tim was out there somewhere, Molly figured. He got sucked into this nightmare of a fairy-tale farce, too.

  The question is, who is supposed to rescue whom? Molly wondered. I’m the one trapped in a cave with a dragon, but Tim can really be clueless sometimes.

  Molly thought of the times in the past when she had to stick up for Tim at recess so Bobby Saunders would back down. Not that she would ever remind Tim of that. But it did make her question what she should do. The dragon might be acting all sweet and servile with her now, but that snout of his came equipped with major fire action. The creature just might use it on Tim if he tried to get her out of there.

  She slowly wiggled herself around so that she faced her scaly host. Tim wanted me to meet some interesting types, she thought. Well, I’ve met the narls, some demons, some dinos, and now a dragon. I really hope that’s it on my social calendar for the day.

  The dragon’s shoulders were slumped, if a dragon could be said to have shoulders. Then he noticed that she no longer had her back to him. His eyes brightened. “As you please, then, prin—er, Molly. I’ll try to keep that in mind in the future. The last thing I want is to distress you, fair—”

  Molly cut him off. “Don’t call me damsel, either. Or lady or maiden,” she warned, “unless you want me to start throwing your precious treasure off the cliff.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, prin—Molly,” the dragon said hastily. His long, heavy tail flicked over his pile, resting protectively on top of it.

  Molly smirked. That’s useful to know, she thought. He loves his glittering doodads enough to do as I say. This bit of info may come in handy.

  “I must say, you are looking lovely,” the dragon said. “Perhaps you’d care to change out of those scruffy clothes you’re wearing?”

  Molly stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. She planted herself a few feet away from the dragon’s snout. “I like my clothes,” she declared. “You got a problem with that?”

  “Why, of course not,” the dragon replied. “Anything that makes you happy makes me happy.” He used his short front legs to rummage through his treasure collection. He opened a trunk and pulled out a sparkling white gown covered with lace, pastel ribbons streaming from its puffy sleeves. Tiny flowers were embroidered around the neckline. “But look. Isn’t this dress pretty?”

  Molly gazed up at the cave roof in exasperation. “Are those ears of yours just for decoration? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

  “Of course I heard you, prin—Molly. But the dress is so lovely, so perfect. So you.” He dangled the dress from his talons inches from Molly.

  Molly smacked the dress away, knocking it to the floor. “For the last time, get that awful gown away from me. Sheesh! Even a Lacey doll would be embarrassed to wear that poofy thing.”

  “Molly, I’m worried about you. You simply aren’t yourself.”

  “How would you know?” Molly snapped. “You only just met me.”

  Now the dragon lay down and gazed at her sadly.

  “Princess. Oh, my poor lost princess,” he moaned. “How is it that we have grown so far apart? Please, won’t you put on your gown? For me?” Tears welled up in his eyes. “For all we’ve meant to each other.”

  Molly was taken aback by the creature’s emotions. “Oh, all right, if it means that much to you,” she muttered. Don’t want to wind up drowning in a pool of dragon tears, after all. She picked up the dress, then narrowed her eyes at the weepy dragon. “But only if you promise to tell me why you act like you know me.”

  Molly pulled the glittering dress on over her jeans and sweatshirt. At least the heavy work boots she wore gave her enough of a lift that she wouldn’t be tripping over the hem of the long, flowing skirt.

  Molly was surprised to find the dress had a zipper, but it did. The moment she zipped it up, she felt a strange change come over her. She turned around to face the dragon.

  “Molly, you look so beautiful,” the dragon exclaimed.

  “Fie, sir,” Molly said. “A captive I may be, but I will not be spoken to with such wanton disrespect. You will address me as princess. Though I’d sooner you spoke to me not at all, other than to fulfill your promise.”

  She fought the falseness growing inside her, fought it with all her might. She refused to let the power of this fairy-tale costume get the better of her, despite the fact that she now radiated with a pale pink glow.

  “Yes, princess,” the dragon said.

  So spill all, she wanted to say. But the words that came out of her mouth were quite different. “Sir, we have entered into an exchange. I have fulfilled my part.” She smoothed the ruffles on the layered skirt. “Now you must fulfill yours, or you are no gentleman. Tell me the reason you address me with such familiarity. How could you possibly know me?”

  This is weird, Molly thought, but as long as the meaning is basically the same, I guess I don’t care that my words come out all fancy. I have to be careful, though. This place has major mind-twisting power.

  “I can’t blame you for not remembering, princess,” the dragon said. “You probably don’t want to. I was so cruel to so many of you. And for so long.”

  So many of me? Okay, this is one psycho dragon. How many of me does he think there are? Stay on your toes, O’Reilly.

  “When did we meet, if meet at all we did?”

  “It was in the past,” the dragon explained. “Well, actually, my past, your future. Let me see…. I gave the first version of you to Vuall when you were nearly seventeen.”

  “Vuall?” Hearing the name of the horrible old crone made Molly’s skin tingle. Vuall was trying to train me to be a proper wife for some powerful magician. Could this dragon be working for the same magical guy? Is that why I’m here? Have I been kidnapped again for that old creep?

&nb
sp; “The most recent Molly I tried to train when she was about twenty-six or so,” the dragon continued.

  “The first Molly? The most recent Molly?” Molly shook her head. “None of this makes any sense, knave.”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t,” the dragon agreed sadly. “Though it did at the time. Perhaps it all still can.”

  Molly gazed into the dragon’s huge eyes and shuddered. The more he spoke, the more familiar he seemed, and the more danger she knew she was in.

  Tim stumbled through the forest, tying to get around without his glasses. At least he knew where he was going now. He had spotted a castle looming above him, high atop a mountain. If this world wants me to be a knight, and I’m trying to find a girl, stands to reason that she’d be stuck up there in that castle.

  The landscape had changed around him, as if it were helping him to his destination. It worried him a bit: If the world wanted him to get to the castle, then he was playing right into its evil plans. But if that was the only way to find Molly, then so be it. He’d figure a way out of all this once they were back together.

  He reached the bottom of the mountain. He nearly had to bend over backward to see the top of it. Wispy clouds obscured most of the castle, but he could still make out the turrets, poking out of the mist.

  “I guess there’s no elevator,” he muttered. He was glad the suit of armor had vanished—he wouldn’t want to have to climb this mountain lugging around all that extra weight.

  “Well, no sense dawdling.” He reached up and gripped a rock sticking out of the side of the mountain. “That’s strange,” he said. The mountain didn’t feel quite real. He tapped several spots. “It’s hollow!” He stepped back again. “It’s like a huge arts-and-crafts project. Papier-mâché or Styrofoam or something. It’s just an enormous stage set.” All the better for us to act out our parts, I suppose.

  He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Better get going,” he told himself. “Just because it’s fake, that doesn’t make it any easier to climb.” Or less high.