by Неизвестный
She squinted her eyes, waiting for the ugly thing to jump out. Each step a test of raw nerve. Her body tense as a high wire.
With a jaguarlike roar, the munchkin-sized beast leapt from the darkness onto Kenrick's shoulders. Kenrick jerked his arm. In a flash, he pulled his bloody blade from the bloated, bristly body. He shrugged off the beast and it rolled like a giant coconut into the gurgling stream.
Bile rose in Janie's throat. Relief or disgust, she didn't know, but she was going to throw up.
Kenrick watched her in the flickering light as he wiped the blade clean on his tunic. "A witch with a weak stomach."
"A knight with a jaundiced eye."Funny how he was so gallant with the beautiful Catherine and so coarse with her. She swallowed her revulsion and challenged him with an icy glare.
He said nothing, but she felt his consideration. His dark eyes stared into hers before tracing her face, then her body.
Her cheeks burned and she lowered her gaze. He turned away. Damn him.
They moved on and came upon another choice of tunnels. "Right,"she said. "Poison- tipped spikes. The triggers are beneath the dirt."
She was amazed at how matter-of-fact her tone had become. Like an amusement park guide. On the right we have poison-tipped spikes. Watch your step. At the end is a refreshment cart. Exact change only. Shock. She was probably in shock. She was entitled. She was Janie Lane, a bookkeeper with a green thumb. A girl who hid beneath the covers with her cordless phone when she heard noises at night. She wasn't up for this.
Yet this danger felt all too real. It seemed she had no choice. Fight or die.
What's worse, one more booby-trapped tunnel and Kenrick would expect her to deliver Catherine. Great. What then?
The tunnel curved. "Follow me,"she said, lingering indignation and the threat of real injury making her bold. She had watched Kenrick and Catherine traverse the deadly maze five times. They had managed, but not before a wooden spike stabbed him in the calf. She knew the steps, the angles of the spikes. It was up to her to lead him through. Up to her to stay alive until this nightmare ended.
So much for wanting adventure. She wanted to go home. Wake up. Whatever. She wanted to see the screen in front of her. Kenrick charging across the glen on his black steed. Catherine--her hair flying in the wind--waiting on the other side, arms outstretched. The magenta sunrise behind them. Waving green grass between. A magical ending. Then the credits. She always jumped up then, clinging to the fantasy. Carrying it home, clutched to her heart, and tucking it into bed with herself.
Now, her heart in her throat, she looked up at Kenrick. The torchlight flickered, nearly dead, but he saw her apprehension and moved to step in front of her. "I will go first."
"No! I know the way."Did she just yell at him? No matter that the fantasy man she'd paid money to spend time with was turning out to be less than her ideal. She didn't want to see him hurt. "I have...a vision."
Before he could argue, she stepped forward. Gulped. Nothing. She focused on the movie in her mind. Left. Right. Left. Left. Right. She followed the zigzag from her memory. Her blood ceased to flow. Her toes waited to be stabbed. Kenrick loomed on her heels. It felt like hours--though she knew it was merely a minute--when they stumbled out of the mouth of the tunnel. Into the fresh, summer air.
She looked up to see a giant crimson moon. Draped around it, more stars than she'd ever seen in her life. They looked ready to rain a torrent from the sky. In that moment she felt as though she could fly. In that moment she forgot her disillusionment with her ideal man.
She jumped into Kenrick's arms and kissed his cheek. "I did it! I did it!"
He didn't smile but he did hold her against him. For a second. Then he set her down. "Catherine. What of Catherine?"
She crashed back to Earth. Her wings clipped. She didn't have an answer--
Wings. Wings. "The Locust Fairy."The pixie with the giant, black eyes that saw all. She had appeared to Catherine near the climax of the movie. I am with you always, she'd said. "I need to speak with the Locust Fairy."
"She dwells in the heart of the forest. A half night's journey. You are in no condition."
Janie bristled. If not for her he'd have claw marks across his cheek and blood gushing from his leg. She didn't expect gratitude but a little respect might be nice. It wasn't every day she lead an escape from a booby-trapped dungeon. "Morgan will take the crown come morning if we do not find Catherine."Chin high, she spun on her bare heels and stalked into the woods.
Her feet hurt. Her head throbbed. Her pride stung worst of all. A girl could only take so much rejection. She blinked back angry tears as she limped forward.
With a curse, Kenrick strode to her and swept her into his arms.
"Put me down."She cringed at the hitch in her voice.
He ignored her and plowed on toward the foothills of Grimyth Mountain.
She tensed. Evil lurked on that mountain. "You're going the wrong way, Kenrick. The Locust Fairy is--"
"Shut up, Janie."
Janie. He called her Janie. Not witch. Not woman. Never had her ordinary name sounded so ... special. She squeezed her eyes shut, swiped away unwelcome tears. She was tired. Tired of "dinner for one,"of "one ticket please."Tired of being alone. But as good as it felt in Kenrick's arms, it didn't feel right. He was meant for another. It seemed everyone was meant for another. Her head lulled against his broad shoulder. She sighed. "If only I were more like Catherine."
He said nothing. Merely tightened his hold, quickened his pace.
She prayed he knew what he was doing.
* * *
One-eyed trolls and poison-tipped spikes took a lot out of a girl. She didn't know she had fallen asleep until she opened her eyes and found herself sprawled on a coarse blanket, nose to a sod wall. She rolled over. In the firelight, Kenrick argued with a squat old man.
"Her feet are swollen and bloodied, Sir Bonel, and there is a bump the size of a swan egg on her head. 'Twill be a day, maybe two before--"
"I don't have a day, Patchett. I need to reach Locust Glen before dawn."
"Then leave her with me."
"I cannot."
The old man tugged at his knee-length beard, shook his snow-white head. "You will have to do better than that."
Kenrick crouched down to the dwarf's level, glared hard into his sharp, gray eyes. "She holds fate in her hands."
"I will get my healing balms."
Kenrick's gaze flicked to Janie. "You are awake."
She felt sick. She wasn't sure if it was the pungent fumes wafting from the old man's cast iron kettle or the fact that she held an entire kingdom's fate in her hands. Or maybe it was the weight of pretending to be someone she wasn't. She'd promised to help him find Catherine. As if she knew where Catherine was. She should tell him the truth. But then he might make good on his threat to kill her, or worse, leave her behind. She pushed herself upright, ignoring her throbbing skull. "We should have kept going. I'm fine."
He arched an eyebrow. "You do not look ... fine."
She didn't want to think about how she looked. Nor did she want to see it and was grateful for the lack of reflective surfaces. She glanced down at her white T-shirt and khaki Capri pants. Stained with mud, troll slime (yes, trolls did smell), and God knew what. Her feet were filthy, her pedicure ruined. She maintained a no-fuss hair and makeup regimen, but her nails ... she spent a fortune on manicures, pedicures, and nail polish in every imaginable shade of pink.
He stooped down beside her. "Nor do you look like a witch."
She quirked a half grin. "You know a lot of witches?"
"A few."He traced a finger down her jaw. "You should do that more often."
She shivered at his touch. "What?"
"Smile. You should smile more often. It is becoming."
Becoming? Her? She glanced at the cast iron pot. "I think the fumes are getting to you."
He chuckled. "You are amusing, Janie Lane. Among other things."
What other things, she wante
d to ask, but Patchett waddled in carrying a jar of herbal goo. Kenrick stepped away as the dwarf tended her feet. Aside from an occasional wince, she remained silent. Becoming? Amusing? If she didn't know better she'd think the handsome warrior was flirting. But she knew better. Men like Kenrick Bonel didn't flirt with women like Janie Lane. They didn't give the Janie Lanes of the world a second glance, let alone thought.
You should smile more often.
"What happened to your hair?"This from Patchett. "And your clothes? And your..."He flicked a gnarled hand at her not-so-voluptuous chest. "You look like a boy."
Her cheeks flushed. She ran a self-conscious hand through her choppy shag. The cut had looked feminine and whimsical in the fashion magazine. Then again, the model sported a square jaw, flawless skin, and enough money to inject pout into her lips.
"Your eyesight fails you, old man,"Kenrick said. "For she is plainly a woman. Though unique, I agree."
Her head came up. She would have been flattered had Kenrick not barked the observation. He sounded annoyed. He looked annoyed. At her.
"How much longer?"he asked the wizened healer.
Patchett finished massaging the balm into her soles then patted the tops of her feet. "Better?"
She wiggled her toes. "Amazingly."Even minus the toe polish and crackerjack pedicure. "I don't suppose you have a pair of slippers?"
"Only on my feet. I do have a solution, however."He dipped a cup into his pot then brought it over and handed it to Janie. "Drink this. Nourishment for the journey ahead. Then meet me outside."
She waited until Patchett left then scowled at the cup of steaming broth. It looked and smelled like compost.
"Drink it,"Kenrick said.
"But--"
He shot her a murderous look.
She drank. Her face heated from the steam. Reminded her of when her mother used to pinch her cheeks. You could use some color.
Kenrick ripped strips of cloth from the bottom of his tunic and wrapped them around her feet. "Not pretty, but functional."
Like me, she almost said. Only she sensed he wouldn't laugh. Indeed his sense of humor had completely vanished. Presto-chango. Sir Sourpuss.
She finished her wretched broth then followed Kenrick outside. Incredibly, her feet felt as good as new. Not that she was looking forward to a half night's walk through the forest. She hoped she wasn't wrong about the Locust Fairy. I am with you always. She hoped the fairy knew where Catherine was imprisoned. As importantly, how to set her free.
It's up to me, she thought. If there's going to be a happily-ever-after, it's up to me.
She was ready to bolt into the forest just as Patchett rounded the sod house leading a black steed. He handed Kenrick the reins. "His name is Miracle. 'Tis a miracle he does not have wings, so swift is he. He will get you to where you are going in haste. Without risking fate, or the lady's feet."
Kenrick mounted then lifted Janie and seated her in front of him. Just like in the movies. Were he not so rigid she would have smiled.
"Thank you, Patchett,"he said. Then he spurred the horse into a flat run, across the moonlit field and into the woods. Once within the leafy cover, he slowed Miracle to a trot.
Janie could stand the tension no longer. "You're angry with me."
"Aye."
"Will you tell me why?"
"It angers me further that you do not know."
"I'm not a mind reader."
"Yet you have visions."
She regretted lying, but how else could she explain her knowledge of Dunrake's guard and other lethal roadblocks? (Hi. I live nine hundred years in the future. I know all about you because I've drooled over you and your adventurous, passionate life for five nights in a row. By the way, you're a one-dimensional celluloid image.)
Somehow she didn't think he'd buy it. He'd think she'd lost her mind. Maybe she'd had. Reality had definitely taken a detour.
"Why did you not defend yourself?"
She craned her head around, squinted up at the frowning knight. "What?"
"Patchett. He attacked your appearance. Your mind and wit are sharp. You could have cut him down."
"He caught me off guard."
"Are you often caught off guard?"
She shrugged. "I suppose."
He was silent for a moment. "Do you like your hair?"
"Yes."
"It is becoming. I suspect many men find it so."
She screwed up her face. "You do?"
"Aye."Red moonbeams sliced through ancient oaks, bathing the forest in a warm, magical glow. Kenrick guided Miracle toward the sound of a waterfall. "Janie."
"Aye? I mean, yes?"
"You should smile more often."
* * *
"Morgan knows we're here,"Kenrick said. "Morgan knows everything."
"Her wizard, Myoth."Janie knew that was how Kenrick and Catherine had beaten Morgan in the movie. By tricking a message from Myoth to Morgan. Morgan was flesh and blood, her evil mind the power. Myoth had the magic to deliver her diabolical desires.
"Yes. I'm sure they watch us now in Myoth's crystal ball. It won't be long."
"Before what?"
"Before Myoth strikes."
Janie swallowed hard. Myoth. Just watching his wicked wizardry on screen had made her crouch in her seat. Confined to Grimyth Mountain, the black-hearted exile conquered enemies by casting spells. Spells that conjured his opponent's deepest fear. Invariably the poor sap fled, froze forever in fright, or died fighting. Few conquered their demons. Catherine was one. Her one feat of many that had earned her place as queen.
Knowing she was claustrophobic, Myoth had hurled a rockslide over Catherine, burying her alive in a coffin-sized cave. Paralyzed with panic, she'd nearly given up. But then she'd thought of her father. The kingdom. Kenrick. She'd focused all of her energy on the people in her life who needed her. She'd eased her heart from her throat. Resumed her fight.
Kenrick had dug her out within an hour. Their reunion, a frantic display of relief and affection, was one of Janie's favorite parts of the movie.
Would Janie be up to the challenge? What would Myoth do? What was she afraid of?
Kenrick guided Miracle through a maze of fallen trunks and twisting vines. They followed the path left at the rumbling waterfall. She shivered as she thought of evil lurking over her shoulder.
He rubbed her arms. "You are cold?"
"Nervous. I may be a witch, but I'm not perfect."It was as close to the truth as she could come without stirring his wrath. Without making him feel as though she'd duped him into a wild goose chase.
"I expect only integrity and truth, Janie."
She cringed. When this was over, she'd tell him. When Catherine was safe and fireflies sparked the night around their celebration, then she'd tell him. If she was still here. She could wake at any moment. This could all be a bad dream, induced by too much soda and buttered popcorn. Sadly, it didn't much matter where she was--Kalamazoo or the Kingdom of Glee. Either way, she'd be alone.
A mighty roar rushed toward them from behind. Miracle sidestepped. She and Kenrick turned. A wall of wind plowed through the small clearing. Trees groaned. Vines snapped like whips. Miracle reared. Kenrick fought to tame the horse. Janie lost her grip and fell to the ground.
An unseen force knocked Kenrick from the saddle. Miracle bolted, Kenrick's boot stuck in the stirrup. His body bounced over the ground and into the forest.
For the first time, Janie screamed. "Kenrick! Kenrick!"
The wind stilled. Ominous silence. Dread.
She was alone.
"Myoth."
Next thing she knew she stood in her apartment.
She must've woken! Her fear crumbled into disappointment. She took in her delicate African violets along her windowsill, the kitty cat figurines along her shelf because her allergies wouldn't allow her to have the real pet. Emptiness seeped into the white walls--invisible, silent, toxic. She didn't know which was scarier...facing down Myoth or standing in the midst of her own p
athetic life.
In the next instant, she knew the answer. An older version of herself--short, dark hair dulled with gray (definitely not whimsical) and staid knit sweater wrapped about her stooped shoulders--shuffled across the floor in economic bedroom slippers. She straightened at the window and her spine cracked like a set of knuckles. "You're looking perky today,"her older self said to the violets, then she settled into her recliner and circled selections in the TV Guide for the next eight hours of programming.
"Janie!"
She heard Kenrick's shout in the distance.
"Janie!"
She dropped to her knees. Her heart broken. She'd always known. Known she'd be alone. She started to cry. She didn't think she would ever stop.
Then she was yanked hard by the shoulder. Her back hit the ground and air deserted her lungs. She stared up into Kenrick's mottled face.
It had been Myoth. She'd nearly succumbed to the wizard's nefarious trick.
No. Not nearly. She'd had. If not for Kenrick, she would have curled up and never risen again. It made her cry harder.
Kenrick sat beside her, pulled her into his arms. "What happened?"
"Myoth happened."She buried her head in Kenrick's shoulder and sobbed. "You warned me. Still I succumbed. I'm pathetic."
He gently stroked her tear-streaked face. "No, not pathetic. Just ..."
"Weak?"
"I did not say that. Although I did not guess that you would crumble so easily."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you."She shoved back, glared at him through teary eyes. "I'm sorry that I'm not smart enough. Not pretty enough. I'm sorry I'm not Catherine!"
He blinked at her. "Pretty enough?"
"That's why you're attracted to her. Her hair. Her face. Her figure. She's perfect!"
"Do you believe me to be so shallow?"His emerald eyes pierced her soul. "You do. Worse, you believe all men choose their mates solely on appearance."He dragged his hand through his longish hair and sighed. "What did Myoth do? What did you see?"
"I was alone."
"That is all?"
"Isn't that enough? Imagine life without Catherine. Life without love."
"Why would you fear a life without love? Wait, let me guess. Because you are not smart enough. Pretty enough. Indeed what man would want a creature as flawed as you?"