By the time I got to work on Monday, neither Ella’s nor Calo’s levels had changed any. Calo, however, was excited that Ella had reached Happy. He went on and on about it for seven minutes, acting like he had been the cause of her happiness. Since I didn’t want to tell him exactly how I’d been involved in Ella’s sudden happiness, I ignored Calo and focused instead on the opening sentences of my Legendary Literature paper. So far, I had:
Fairy Tales have had an extraordinary influence on our society. Our children grow up expecting Fairy Tale happiness. I wanted to add something about how no one can live happily ever after, but every time I picked up the pencil to add But is this happiness achievable? or But this happiness comes connected to a world unlike ours, so Fairy Tale expectations are not realistic, I saw the look in Aven’s eyes. I think he had been (however bizarrely and unmathematically) living Happily Ever After with Ella. I think he loved her. He loved her, and she burned his maps.
~~~
Hannah nearly knocked me down when I entered the lobby at HEA on Tuesday. “Sorry, Princess,” she yelled, racing away. “No time.”
“That’s alright,” I called after her, but she was gone. I looked around me. There was an air of panic in the office. Everyone rushed around, busy. I headed straight for our cubicle. Calo was on the floor again. He looked depressed.
“Oh, forget it,” I muttered, stepping over him. I dropped my bag on the floor and went to Grimm’s office. I was determined to:
(1) find out about the panic feeling and
(2) to tell him about Calo’s depression.
But Grimm wasn’t in his office. A woman sat in his chair, reading reports. Her feet tapped on the floor every so often, like she was unintentionally tapping dance steps.
“Where’s Grimm?” I asked, skipping introductions.
The woman looked up and smiled. “Princess Lily, I’m pleased to meet you.” She rose and extended her hand to me. I shook it, annoyed that she wasn’t answering my question. “I’m Miranda, Grimm’s—”
“Wife, I know,” I finished for her. “Is Grimm sick?”
Miranda raised her eyebrows and sat back down. “No, I’m sure he feels fine.”
“Then where is he?” I was exasperated. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to talk to him.”
“Oh, I am sorry, but you’ll have to wait a week to see Grimm. Unfortunately, he’s been turned—”
“Been turned into a statue?” I sat down, flabbergasted by the news. “But he’s so careful! We have to go to a separate room to use the mirrorphones and everything. You don’t have any at home, do you?”
“No,” Miranda shook her head. “We don’t. Kara’s still investigating, but we’re almost certain Levi turned our hall mirror into a mirrorphone last night. Grimm always puts his tie on in front of that mirror. When I got out of the shower, there he was, a statue.”
Miranda was handling this very well. My own mother would probably be hysterical if my father was suddenly stone. “You’re not very upset.” I couldn’t seem to stop being rude.
Miranda smiled. “Well, it’s bothersome and annoying, of course, but it’s happened quite a lot. I know he’ll be back in a week, and I can content myself with the knowledge that I have full control of the remote while he’s a statue. All the other Happiologists have kindly divided up my cases for this week, so I can do Grimm’s job.” Her feet suddenly stopped tapping. “There is one thing that’s odd, though.”
“What?” I asked the woman who was mildly glad her husband was stone.
“Usually this happens when Grimm’s not careful on a case, when he stumbles on a mirrorphone accidentally. Levi’s never turned a mirror into a mirrorphone. And that’s another thing–Levi isn’t even Grimm’s Dark Mesa. Why would he want Grimm to be a statue for a week?”
Since I could empirically determine that this was yet another rhetorical, unanswerable question, I ignored it. Her ponderings about Levi hadn’t helped my mess of worry. But maybe I could get rid of the Calo issue (c)? Surely Miranda would know who his Happiologist was.
I took a deep breath and said matter of factly, “Calo’s been out of sorts for six days. He’s dropped to Been Happier. I’m concerned that nothing is being done about this.”
Miranda nodded and sipped her coffee. “You’re absolutely right. I’m Calo’s Happiologist, but he’s taken this adoption thing a lot harder than I thought he would.”
“What adoption thing?”
Miranda looked at me, surprised. “You know, Thomas found his father’s journal in the rafters of the mill. And their father wrote about how his wife found Calo on their doorstep one morning.” Miranda wasn’t encouraged by my continued look of astonishment. “Didn’t Calo tell you? I told him to tell you, that you would, as his partner and friend, be understanding.”
I just shook my head.
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” she went on. “You need to know, because I want you to take over Calo’s case for me this week.”
“Me?”
Miranda nodded again. “Of course. You’re particularly qualified since you are around him so much, and you’ve shown real concern for his welfare by bringing it up.”
“Calo hates me!” I pointed out the obvious. “He didn’t even tell me he was adopted; how am I supposed to make him Happy?”
“Oh, Lily,” Miranda began, but she didn’t finish. A piercing alarm interrupted her. Miranda paled. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
I jumped up. “Is it the fire alarm? Where’s the nearest exit?”
Miranda shook her head. “It’s not the fire alarm.”
“Then what? Tornado?”
Miranda shook her head again. “No. It’s the vanishing alarm. Someone’s vanished.”
18
Everyone Vanishes²
“Calo,” I whispered to myself. Calo had vanished; I knew it. I knew it as surely as I knew the sum of two complimentary angles was ninety degrees.
Miranda reached for her phone, and I ran back to our cubicle. My heart raced, and an uneasiness settled into my stomach. I felt the way I had in seventh grade when I finished half of a math worksheet and realized I had done all of those problems without considering My Dear Aunt Sally.[48]
My eyes went straight to the floor–to the spot where Calo had been. He wasn’t there now. I began forming an equation about Calo languishing in a dungeon in Uppish Senna.
“Why are you staring at the floor, Lily?”
I looked up. Calo was at his desk on the phone. “You’re not vanished.”
Calo rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m not.”
“But—”
“If you want to do something useful, instead of standing there like a dolt, you could get on your phone and call the Observatory. Maybe you can get through.” He pointed to my phone. “I’ve been on hold since the siren started going off.”
I picked up the receiver and pushed the numbers. “Why are we calling the Observatory?”
Calo sighed and shook his head. “It’s like you have no deductive abilities.” Ignoring my noise of protest, he went on: “Someone at the Observatory will be able to tell us who vanished.”
I was about to show off my deductive abilities by saying that we would need to quickly formulate a plan to protect the other characters in the vanished person’s story, when I heard a voice on the line. “We are experiencing high call volumes at the moment. Please stay on the line; your call is very important to us. A representative from The Observatory will be with you shortly.” This same message repeated itself every forty-five seconds. In between the recorded messages, upbeat music played. I think I recognized a BTM tune.
To pass the seconds, I estimated how many times I would hear the message before I spoke to an actual person (estimate: seventeen). I was up to eight when Calo slammed his phone down. “Forget it,” he said. “Let’s just go up there ourselves.”
I hung up my own phone and followed him into the hall. As we went through the cubicles, I noticed everyone was on the phone,
and everyone looked like they were on hold. “There ought to be some sort of PA system when things like this happen.”
Calo snorted. “The names of the vanished can’t be released until the appropriate people have been notified.”
“Then why were you calling?”
“Because at some point, the Observatory will finish notifying your father, Grimm, or in this case Miranda, and the other members of the vanished person’s story. Then, clearly, I want to be the next person they tell.”
“Why?”
Calo pushed the up arrow and sighed as we waited for an elevator to come to our floor. “Because, the sooner I know, the sooner I can research. The sooner I can research, the sooner I can present the data to the rescue team. The sooner the data has been presented, the sooner the team can form a plan. The sooner—”
“I get it!”
“You asked,” he shrugged.
I made a frustrated noise. “What rescue team?”
Calo opened his mouth to speak, but at the same time the elevator doors opened. An official looking person stood on the elevator, holding a clipboard. “Security clearance?” He asked looking at us.
“Three,” Calo answered.
The official raised his eyebrows. “Both of you are Level Three?”
“The princess is covered under my clearance, Gavin, you know that.”
“Policy is policy, Calo, you know that.” Gavin marked something off on his clipboard and then the elevator doors shut. They opened back up immediately when Calo pushed the button. “Prince Avenant, or Prince Charming, as he is often called has vanished. Thank you.” Gavin pushed a button, and the elevator doors closed again.
The uneasiness returned to my stomach. Aven had vanished. The cartographer who just wanted to make his maps and live Happily Ever After with his wife. Then she got a new job and burned his maps. I stopped my thought process just short of analyzing my part in all of this.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked Calo.
He didn’t answer.
“Calo?” I asked again. “Calo? Did you hear me?”
He was very pale and taking deep breaths to calm himself. “We have to get him back. The ramifications of this are astronomical.” He let out a breath of air. “I mean, this is Cinderella we’re talking about. If her story vanishes, there will be some serious repercussions in your world. Have you seen the popularity ratings for Cinderella? It’s got to be in the ninety-eighth percentile. It’s one of the all-time favorites. And do you have any idea how many cultures have a Cinderella tale?”
Actually I did. I remembered the number (345) from my Ella research. But I didn’t think Calo really wanted an answer. (Another rhetorical question.)
“So what’s the plan?” I asked again, hoping to focus Calo away from useless panicking.
He sighed. “I need to meet with Miranda.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I hope Aven’s Happiologist is on duty. We’ll need his notes, files and personal insight.”
“Right,” I began, “You head straight for Miranda. I’ll grab some notepads and pens, and meet you there.”
“Meet me where?” Calo looked confused.
“In Grimm’s office, for the meeting with Miranda.”
Calo made a half laugh, half snort sort of noise. “You’re not going to the meeting. You don’t have that much clearance.” He headed for our cubicle.
I followed him. “You just told Gavin that I was covered under your clearance. I should be able to go where you go, Calo. I may have insights on this situation that—”
Calo held up his hand to stop me. “Lily, your actual security clearance is T. Do you know what T stands for?” He rushed on, clearly not wanting an answer to his (rhetorical) question. “It stands for Trainee. Do you know what the clearance of Trainee means?” Again, no pause. “It means that the Trainer–that’s me–has full discretion about what you–the Trainee–are allowed to know.”
“But—”
Calo went on. “You’re doing well in your training–actually quite better than I’d expected, but you don’t have enough knowledge to be a part of this meeting. You’d only be in the way.” He grabbed a notepad and some pencils and left.
I might not be the most successful Happiologist ever, but I did know one thing that Calo, the trainer, didn’t. I knew why Aven had vanished. I considered the variables, calculated the outcomes, and decided to march right into Miranda/Grimm’s office and tell them what I knew. I would just come out and say, “He’s upset because I tried to make his wife normal and she burned his maps.” Unfortunately, I was too busy polishing my calculations that I didn’t watch where I was going, and I ran right into a group of people.
“Security has been breached. I repeat, security has been breached. Secure the perimeter.”
I looked up. Each person in the group was dressed in a dark trench coat. They wore dark glasses and had walky-talky radios. One of them seized my arms and pinned them behind me. “I’ve got her!” He shouted as he lowered me to the ground. “Get Kara to safety!” He whispered in my ear, “Thought you could take out Kara, didn’t you? Hmm? Well, your little Uppish Senna plans are going to fail, girlie!” He planted a knee in my back.
Rapidly, I created an equation for this incident. Trench coat person (a) had mistaken me (L) for a Dark Mesa (d).
(a) intended to cancel out (d), but would actually mistakenly eliminate (L).
A different trench coater came over to us. I rolled my eyes up and strained my neck so I could see her. She removed her glasses and looked patiently at us. “Release her, Daniel.”
“But Kara, she tried to—” Daniel still held my arms, his knee crushing my spine.
“You’re mistaken, I believe. Don’t you recognize our own Princess Lily?”
Daniel hastily pulled me to my feet and bowed. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“Okay,” I muttered, unsure of the precise princessly thing to say at the moment. I stepped away from him.
With a gesture, Kara shooed her entourage on down the hallway. “You must excuse Daniel.” She smiled. “He takes his job as head of my security very seriously. He’s an excellent Agent, though a little enthusiastic. You’re not injured, I hope?”
I shook my head. “No.” After a pause, I added, “ma’am.”
Kara smiled again. “Excellent. Do excuse me, Princess.” She turned to leave. “Miranda’s waiting for me.”
I watched her walk down the hall. I rolled my shoulders and swayed from side to side to work out the pain from Daniel’s grip. Security is a serious business in Smythe’s SFL. I carefully reconsidered my plan to burst into the office with my information. I had no evidence that Daniel and the trenchies carried weapons, but I had no evidence they didn’t carry them either. Conclusion: the risk was too great.
desire for safety > desire to help
I retreated to my cubicle. (In this equation, retreated = ran as fast as I could.)
I sat down and drummed my fingers on my desk for a moment or two before standing up again. I looked out into the hall. Everyone was busy. Every few minutes, one of the trenchies would come out of Grimm’s office and whisper something to a waiting Happiologist. The Happiologist would run off, I assumed, to do whatever the trenchie asked. Everyone seemed to be following preset guidelines about what to do when someone vanishes. As a trainee, I hadn’t been trained by my trainer on this procedure. I stood stupidly in my cubicle.
I jumped slightly; the hourly report had arrived. I didn’t think Doug and the others at the Observatory would have the time to continue giving me the special updates. Perhaps magic kept the updates coming? Or perhaps the Observers weren’t involved in rescuing? After all, their job title does seem to imply that all they do is observe.
I pulled the paper out of my shoe, and rolled my eyes when I saw Calo had risen a level. That made sense. He loved to be commanding and condescending. “Using condescension” should be on his list of things proven to make him Happy.
But while Calo was getting happier, Ella was not.
Her levels were dropping quickly. She was already at Could Be Happier. Her Happiologist should be going out to cheer her, but I didn’t think Calo would want to be interrupted for this. I was sort of her Happiologist, wasn’t I? And I was mostly the reason her husband vanished, probably contributing to her unhappiness now.
I balanced the equation and realized I was the only person likely to know that Ella was about to vanish. As far as I knew, none of the other Happiologists got Ella on their update list.
I grabbed my bag and left.
On the ride over, I thought of several points to emphasize to Ella.
1. The truth. I could tell her I had been trying to make her Happy, so I could prove that a person had to be normal to be Happy.
2. Her career. The way I saw it, Ella had to stay and finish her paintings. Her clients deserved that.
3. The fans. I could always resort to the illogical appeal of fairy tales throughout ages and cultures. Ella wouldn’t want all those little girls to grow up without a Cinderella, would she?
No one answered my knock, so after several moments of debate, I opened the door and went in. A painting flew from the studio door and bounced down the stairs, breaking the frame on impact. The canvas looked like it had been shredded.
I closed the door and went upstairs, narrowly avoiding decapitation from a bird painting.
“Ella?” I said nervously as I went into the room.
Ella wiped her wet, red eyes and blew her nose on her smock. Her face was red and blotchy.
“Lily,” she breathed in rapidly, several times. “What a pleasant surprise.” She nodded to the floor where strips of canvas were strewn everywhere. “I’m just ripping up my paintings before I burn them.”
“Burn them?” I whispered.
“Yes, I’m afraid they have to go, Lily. I let my pride and selfish desire to paint ruin my marriage.” She sobbed and slumped on the pile of atlases. “Aven hated to be away from me on his trips, did you know that?”
I shook my head slowly and inched further into the room.
The Cinderella Theorem Page 19