“The only reason I remember it is because they had those movies on Lifetime a few months ago,” Clove replied, defensively. “I’m not some creepy pervert.” She glanced at Sam for support. “I’m not.”
“I don’t care how perverted you are,” Sam said. “Tell me more about this book Aunt Tillie read to you guys.”
“Once she was caught reading that book our mothers made her promise she would read us only fairy tales before bed,” I said. “The problem is, Aunt Tillie doesn’t like fairy tales. She thinks they’re stupid.”
“They are stupid,” Landon said.
“They’ve survived and thrived for a reason,” I said. “Most of them have little lessons wrapped in pretty stories about fairies and princesses and talking bears. Aunt Tillie never liked them, though.”
“She took the traditional stories and altered them,” Thistle said. “She even created a book so she would have something to read when she was stuck with bedtime duty. I’ll bet you she cursed us into that book. We’re not asleep. We’re in the book.”
“Altered them how?”
“She put her own spin on them,” I said.
Clove clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh. I’m remembering them. The Rapunzel one had something to do with cutting your own hair off instead of waiting around for a prince to save you. She said only someone truly pathetic would spend years in a tower when she could get herself out.”
“Exactly,” I said. “The moral of the three bears in the house wasn’t that they offered comfort to a stranger. It was that you were supposed to remember not to touch other people’s property. If I had stayed in the cabin any longer, the bears would have tried to eat me if I touched any of their stuff in front of them. I got lucky. I was too afraid to touch anything.”
“What about the mermaid?” Landon asked.
“Aunt Tillie was convinced that anyone who swam around with a seashell bra had to be loose,” Thistle said. “I think that one was pretty self-explanatory.”
“What about the turtle?” Landon pressed.
“I don’t remember that one,” Thistle said.
“It obviously had something to do with having faith,” I said. “I can’t remember that one either.”
“What other stories are we looking at here?” Sam asked, worried.
“She made up a new one every night,” I said. “I can’t remember all of them, but I know some were all takes on the classics, while others were figments of her imagination.”
“I remember Snow White, Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty – but mostly because those were my favorite stories,” Clove said.
“You always did like the ones where the heroine danced and sang,” I said. “I forgot that about you.”
“I remember the Wonderland one,” Thistle said. “I always loved that story and Aunt Tillie completely ruined it for me. All that talk of creepy tea parties and talking rabbits. I’m still terrified of that bunny they trot out at the mall every Easter to take photos with the kids.”
“What was the point of the Pinocchio one?” Sam asked. “Why was the dude in the store so creepy?”
“Aunt Tillie said anyone who spent all his time whittling wood and dreaming about little boys wasn’t really father material,” Clove said. “I remember that one. I’ve been afraid of puppets ever since.”
“You’re not the only one,” I said. “Puppets freak me out.”
“They’re better than clowns,” Landon muttered.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” I said, running my finger down the side of his face. “I’ll keep the clowns away from you. I promise.”
“He’s afraid of clowns? That’s rich,” Thistle said, snickering. “Is it because of the clown in It? It’s always because of Pennywise.”
“Leave him alone,” I said. “He’s had a rough night.”
“We’ve all had a rough night,” Clove said. “The question is: What do we do now? How do we get ourselves out of the book?”
“We have to find Marcus first,” Thistle said. “If we’re all here, he has to be here, too. You promised we would find him next.”
“We are,” Landon said. “We have to figure out where he is.”
“Well, let’s think about this,” Thistle said, rubbing the back of her neck. “We’ve all been in relatively close proximity to each other. I don’t think he can be very far away.
Ribbit.
Thistle stilled. “No way.”
“What?” Clove asked.
Ribbit.
“This can’t be happening,” Thistle said, swiveling quickly. “That frog is back. I swear, I’m going to kill it.”
“Why did it follow us?” Landon asked. “We’ve come a long way from that pond. It couldn’t have been easy for it to follow across such a big distance.”
“I don’t care,” Thistle said. “I’m going to squash it. I can’t stand that sound. It’s going to drive me crazy.”
Thistle was short-tempered on a normal day. This was definitely not a normal day.
The frog croaked so loudly it almost sounded like screaming. That’s when I realized what was going on. “Don’t!”
Thistle froze, her eyes dark and her foot raised. “Why?”
“I think it’s Marcus,” I said.
“Marcus? You think Marcus is a frog? That’s ridiculous.” Thistle was doubtful, but still she lowered her foot.
“Is it?” I asked. “Isn’t the “The Frog Prince a fairy tale?”
“It is,” Clove said. She pushed past Thistle and leaned down, staring the frog in the eye. “Are you Marcus?”
Ribbit.
“Oh, I think Bay is right. I think this is Marcus.”
Thistle was livid. She reached over and scooped up the frog, lifting it so she could stare into its tiny eyes. “Marcus? Can this really be him?”
“Why else would the frog follow us from the pond?” I asked. “Landon woke up in a different fairy tale, but he was still close to me. We ran into each other first. I think we accidentally skipped over Marcus. That’s when we found Sam, and Clove wasn’t far from him. I think this is Marcus.”
“How do we change him back?” Thistle asked, mortified.
“Um … well … .” I glanced at Clove for support, but her smile was both evil and gleeful.
“You have to kiss it,” Clove said. “That’s what happens in the fairy tale.”
“I am not kissing a frog. I’m just not going to do it. We don’t even know that this is Marcus.”
“Does anyone remember what Aunt Tillie said in her version of that fairy tale?” Landon asked.
“Just that if you were going to go around kissing frogs and trying to turn them into princes you should wash your mouth out when you’re done,” I replied.
Landon chortled. “Oh, this is priceless. I don’t even know what to say. I feel as if I’m going crazy.”
“You’re not the one expected to kiss a frog,” Thistle said.
“Just do it,” Landon said. “We have to know.”
Thistle stared at the frog a second and then she shoved it in my face. “You kiss it.”
“I’m not kissing that frog,” I said, pushing her hand back. “Besides, I already have my prince. You have to kiss it. He’s your … frog prince.”
“This is ludicrous,” Thistle said, pulling the frog back and lifting it closer to her face. “I’m going to do this, but only because I’ll never forgive myself if this really is Marcus and I let him stay in this state for one second longer than I have to.”
“Good,” I said. “Pucker up!”
“I hate you for this,” Thistle said. “This is all your fault.”
“How do you figure that?”
“I haven’t decided yet, but the second I can find a way to blame it on you I will,” Thistle said.
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Oh, and you’re officially dead to me.”
“I’m used to that,” I said.
“Okay,” Thistle said, inhaling a steadying breath. “This isn’t going to be so bad.
It’s just a frog. It’s not like it’s a snake … or a rat … or a clown.”
“I’m never going to live this clown stuff down, am I?” Landon complained.
“Probably not,” I said, slipping my hand into his.
Thistle pressed her lips together, resigned, and then leaned forward. “Oh, crap. Here we go.” The second her lips touched the frog a bright green light flared and the frog disappeared from her hand.
I shielded my eyes from the blinding light, and when I dared turn back I wasn’t surprised to see Marcus standing in front of Thistle.
Thistle pulled back, her eyes wide. “It was you!”
“It’s about time,” Marcus grumbled. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to follow you guys as a freaking frog?”
Thistle’s face went from happy to sad within an instant, and then she promptly burst into tears. “I’m so sorry. You’ll never know how sorry I am.”
Marcus was taken aback. “I … it’s okay.” He rubbed Thistle’s back worriedly and pulled her in for a hug. “It’s not as if you knew.”
“I was going to stomp on you,” Thistle sobbed, tears running down her face.
“We wouldn’t have let you stomp on him,” I said.
“I almost stepped on you,” Thistle said. “I’m a horrible person.”
“You’re not a horrible person,” Marcus said, kissing her cheek. “You didn’t know. It’s okay. We’re all together now. Everything is going to be okay.”
Marcus held her close and then began to sway, rocking her as she cried.
“It’s okay,” he whispered over and over.
“Well, we’re all together,” Landon said. “Now what?”
“I’m ready to wake up,” Sam said.
“I think we’re all ready for that,” Landon said. “How do we make that happen? How do we get out of the book?”
If seven strangers offer to help you, run the other way. Men don’t run around together unless they’re in gangs. Well, sometimes they run around together if they’re trying to sell you a pack of lies, too – or a nice bridge.
– Aunt Tillie’s Wonderful World of Stories to Make Little Girls Shut Up
Chapter 8
“I don’t think we can magically get out of the book,” I said.
Thistle had stopped crying, although she didn’t look particularly happy. Marcus kept her wrapped tight against him, her face pressed to his chest, and he was still swaying. “We have to finish the story,” Thistle said. “That’s what you think, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Aunt Tillie isn’t the type of person to let us walk away because we finished a few fairy tales. She promised retribution, and she needs us tied up for a long time. We’re going to have to finish the book.”
“She warned us that she was going to do something,” Clove said. “We should have expected it.”
“How were we supposed to foresee her cursing us into a book?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Clove said. “I feel like we missed some obvious signs.”
“We can’t focus on that right now,” Landon said. “We have to start working our way through this world, and we need to do it faster than we have been doing it.”
“What if our mothers are here?” Clove asked.
“I don’t think they are,” I said. “I’m sure she did something else to them. This was for us specifically. We’re uniquely qualified to solve this because she created it for us.”
“I feel so loved,” Thistle growled. “It’s not every great-aunt who creates a horrible fairy tale world to curse her nieces. It’s like I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
“As much as I’m loving the pity party, we need to move on from this place,” Landon said. “We’re obviously done here. We can keep talking. Let’s just do it while we’re walking.”
“Yes, sir,” Thistle said, mock saluting.
While I didn’t think the sass was necessary – or helpful – I was glad to see the color returning to her cheeks and the snarkiness taking up residence in her voice again.
Landon narrowed his eyes but wisely bit his tongue. After an ugly staredown, he turned his attention to me. “Which way now, sweetie?”
“Why are you asking her?” Clove asked.
“She hasn’t led us astray yet,” Landon said. “She knew how to find Thistle and she led us to Sam. I say we stick with her intuition.”
“I don’t think it’s going to matter,” Thistle said. “I think we could pick any direction and we’d still stumble upon the next chapter in the story.”
“I still want Bay to choose,” Landon said. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Whatever,” Thistle said. “Come on, Princess Bay. Pick a direction.”
I ignored the sarcasm and pressed my eyes shut, feeling a tug to the right. “There,” I said, pointing.
Landon grabbed my hand and started pulling me. “Let’s go.”
“He’s really alpha right now,” Marcus said.
“That’s because the curse is also making us give in to all of our personality defects,” Thistle explained. “Bay is insecure. Landon is bossy. Sam is defensive. Clove is a Pollyanna.”
“What are you?” Marcus asked.
“Relieved to have found you.”
Marcus smiled and gave her a soft kiss. “That’s very cute. I don’t believe you, though. I’m guessing you’re complaining a lot more than usual, which is a frightening thought.”
“I hate this night,” Thistle grumbled.
“It’s okay,” Marcus said. “We’re together now. I’ll take care of you. I’m your prince, right?”
“That’s kind of insulting.”
“You’ll live.”
“How do we know where we’re going?” Clove asked.
“I just had a feeling to come this way,” I said, pushing through some overhanging tree branches. “I don’t know why.”
I sucked in a breath when I reached the other side of the trees. This couldn’t be good.
“I have a feeling I know why you picked this way to come,” Landon said, his eyes landing on the yellow sidewalk cutting a winding path through the woods.
“Is that what I think it is?” Thistle asked.
“It’s a yellow brick road.”
“That’s not a fairy tale, though,” Sam said. “It was a movie.”
“It was based on a book, and it’s technically considered to be the first American fairy tale,” Clove said.
“How do you know that?”
“It’s my favorite book.”
“Oh,” Sam said. “That means this is probably going to be a fairy tale for you, doesn’t it?”
“We won’t know until we find out where the path leads,” I said. “Let’s get moving.”
“I’m warning you guys right now, if there are flying monkeys I’m out of here,” Marcus said.
“You’re afraid of flying monkeys?” an obviously tickled Thistle asked.
“They gave me nightmares when I was a kid,” Marcus conceded.
“Well, we can put your monkeys in a room with Landon’s clowns and have a free-for-all,” Thistle laughed.
“Way to get a handle on that bitchy thing, Thistle,” Landon said.
“Way to get a handle on that bossy thing, Landon,” Thistle shot back.
“Everyone shut up,” I said. “Can we have five minutes of silence? Please?”
Landon and Thistle made twin faces of disgust.
“I agree with Bay,” Marcus said. “This is getting out of hand.”
“Maybe you should be Bay’s prince, then,” Thistle said. “You obviously like her temperament better than mine.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Landon said. “I’m hanging on to my princess and Marcus is definitely hanging on to his. I don’t want his princess. Good grief … the things I’m saying tonight are just flabbergasting.”
“Can we please walk down the yellow road for five minutes without sniping at each other?” I asked. “Just five minutes?”
“Fine,”
Thistle conceded. “After that, though, I’m going nuts.”
“That’s going to be a short trip,” Landon said.
“HAS it been five minutes yet?”
“I’m going to have to kill her,” Landon muttered under his breath.
I gripped his hand tighter. “I know this is hard for you. I’m sorry.”
Landon’s face softened. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” he said. “You didn’t do this.”
“My family did, though.”
“Bay, I love you,” Landon said. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at this situation. I’m sorry I’m being so … obnoxious. I can’t seem to help myself.”
“None of us can.”
“I just … oh, someone tell me what that is.”
We slowed our pace and focused on the small figures standing in the middle of the road about twenty feet in front of us. I had no idea where they came from, but they were here now.
“I’m guessing we’re about to embark on Snow White,” I said.
“What makes you say that?”
“There are little people standing over there,” I said.
“Maybe they’re munchkins. We are on the yellow brick road, after all.”
“No, they’re dwarves,” Thistle said. “Look. They’re holding axes … and there are seven of them.”
“Is anyone else worried that they’re holding axes?” Sam asked.
“I’m not thrilled with it,” Landon said. “Everyone be ready to run if it becomes necessary. Just … be careful.”
We slowly approached the dwarves, and I pasted a bright smile on my face as we drew close. “Hi. Who are you guys?”
“Way to not make this awkward, sweetie,” Landon said. “Just forego all those little conversational pleasantries that make people more comfortable around strangers.”
“I thought you were in a hurry?”
“I still don’t want to tick the little guys with the axes off,” Landon said. “Now … get behind me.”
I rolled my eyes.
Witchy Tales Page 7