“Not yet,” says Filomena. “We’ve got to get this stuff made into armor first. We’ve got to find the Tailor.” She tells them that in the series, the Tailor is conscripted by a prince to create the most durable armor from a bolt of dragonhide. “In the books it says he plies his trade on StarWalk.”
“StarWalk?” Jack shakes his head. “Never heard of it.”
“Rumor has it the Tailor went through the portal and never returned,” says Alistair.
“Portal to where?” asks Filomena.
“The mortal world,” says Alistair. “Isn’t that right?”
Jack nods. “When the ogres began their rampages, a few of those in our world thought it would be safer on the mortal side.”
“StarWalk,” Filomena repeats. “I know I know that place.”
“Because you read about it?” says Alistair.
“Yes. But … not just in the books.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Back in Hollywood, there’s something called the Walk of Fame, with a bunch of stars on the sidewalk. It’s also called the Walk of Stars. StarWalk. Could that be it?”
“A walk made of stars? And I thought there was no magic in the mortal world,” says Alistair, a bit awed.
“No, they’re, like, made of concrete,” she explains. “Stone.” But her mind is racing. If StarWalk is in the books and the mortal world, is it possible that part of the story of Never After is set in her world?
After they pass through the portal and get to Hollywood Boulevard, Filomena shows them the StarWalk.
Alistair begins reading the names carved on the ground. “What are these, exactly?”
“They’re stars for the stars. It’s an award of sorts, in recognition of a person’s success and talent,” Filomena says. “Mostly they’re celebrities.”
“Celebrities?”
“They’re the famous people of this world. They’re mostly actors, singers, musicians. ‘Stars,’ we call them. Like … instead of the stars we look up to in the sky, they’re the people we look up to.”
Jack raises an eyebrow, finding this odd. “Why would you look up to other people instead of stars?”
Filomena laughs. “You have a point.”
Alistair, bored with their conversation, begins to hop from star to star.
“Stop that! You look like a tourist,” says Filomena, slightly mortified.
“What’s a tourist?”
“Someone who’s not from here … Oh yeah…”
Alistair shoots her a smug smile.
Filomena checks in one of her Never After books and looks up at the street signs. “‘Follow the path of the stars, across Vine to find the Cobbler’s tailor shop.’” She glances up at a shabby storefront. “I think this is it.”
“You think?”
“I’m sure,” she says. “This is my wheelhouse.”
“Wheelhouse?” Jack repeats.
“I think she means one of those things,” says Alistair, pointing at a car passing by.
Filomena shakes her head. “That’s definitely not what I mean. Forget it. Just follow me.”
A bell tinkles as they step inside the shop, which is filled with bolts of fabric and mannequins, as well as shoes and boots in various degrees of repair, but no sign of a tailor or clerk.
On the wall behind the counter is a vintage black-and-white photograph of a genial older man wearing spectacles and smiling underneath a thick mustache, with a measuring tape around his neck.
Jack studies the picture carefully. “That’s the Cobbler, all right.”
“Cobbler? I thought he was the Tailor,” says Alistair.
“He’s both,” says Filomena. “‘Mr. Cobbler, the Tailor,’” she says, reading from the book.
“Ahem,” says a voice, and a short person who can only be described as an elf enters from the back room. “Can I help you?” he greets them. Then he recognizes Jack and Alistair and begins to jump up and down. “Jack! Alistair!”
“Bumple?” asks Jack.
“Yeah, how long has it been, man?” says the elf.
“Too long.”
“Hey, B,” says Alistair. “This is Filomena.”
“You guys moving here, too?” asks Bumple. “That bad back in the NA, huh?”
“Nah, we just have to talk to your boss,” says Alistair.
“Mr. C.?”
“Yeah, we’ve got some dragonhide for him to turn into armor,” says Jack, motioning to the rolled-up bundle under his arm.
“Dragonhide? You don’t say. All right, come in the back with me.”
In the back is the Tailor’s workshop, occupied by working elves. One elf is on a ladder, reaching for material, while another is on the floor, stitching shoes together, and the last is seated at the desk. All three of the elves seem like they work too many hours on too little sleep.
Jack unrolls the three bundles on the nearest worktable.
Bumple examines the shimmering gold-and-silver dragonhide with admiration. “You got this from the Deep?” He whistles.
The other elves gather around, studying the dragonhide and gently touching it with the tips of their fingers. One takes out a magnifying glass, examining the dragonhide for authenticity. “It’s real dragonhide, all right,” he says.
“We need it made into armor,” says Jack. “Can you guys handle that?”
“Yeah, here’s the thing. Mr. C. retired a long time ago. He moved to Boca a few years back,” says Bumple, who’s smoothing down the scales.
“Boca?” asks Alistair.
“It’s a place where, um, old people go,” says Filomena. “Where it’s always warm.”
“Isn’t it warm here?” asks Alistair.
“You have a point,” says Filomena.
“He’s really gone?” asks Jack.
Bumple and the elves nod. “Years ago,” says Bumple. “Sometimes he sends postcards, though.”
The three look crestfallen.
“But don’t fret,” the elf adds. “His daughter, Gretel, runs the business now. She might be able to help you guys out. Crumple, go get Miss G.”
The smallest elf disappears through another back door, and a few minutes later they meet Miss Gretel Cobbler.
They hear her before they see her: a sweet but slightly high-pitched voice that rings with too much enthusiasm to squeeze into one young lady. Like her father in the photo, Gretel has a measuring tape around her neck, but hers is hot pink. She’s also wearing a smile (but no mustache).
“Crumple said you guys needed me?” asks Gretel, who seems to be about thirteen and looks like she might be one of the “stars” in the mortal world, with glossy, styled hair and eye-catching jewelry.
Introductions are made all around. “Jack Stalker!” says Gretel as she greets him. “Hang on, you’re Jill’s brother!”
Jack smiles. “Cousin.”
“Cousin? I thought you were twins,” says Gretel. “Huh.”
“Everyone always assumes that, since we look alike, but we’re not,” says Jack. “After our village was raided, Jill left for the beach, and now she sells seashells by the seashore.”
“Cool beans,” says Gretel. She welcomes Filomena and Alistair and then spies the scales on the worktable.
“Whoa! Is that dragonhide?” she squeals, reaching for the material. Her eyes shine. “I’ve never actually even met a dragon. Daddy took me and my brother back to where he’s from once, but then he lost us in the woods and some witch tried to, um, eat us, and we’ve been here ever since, for our safety.” She runs her hands over the scales reverently.
“Wasn’t that scary?” asks Alistair.
“Sort of, but, hey, after almost being put in the oven himself, Hansel’s a really famous baker now,” says Gretel. “So it wasn’t all bad.”
She points to another photograph on the wall, of a proud lad who looks a little like Gretel—he has the same cheerful smile—standing before a storefront that reads HANSEL’S CAKES.
Then she thrums her fingers along her chin. “I’ve never worked wi
th dragonhide before.” Suddenly, her eyes light up, and she takes Filomena by the arm and leads her to a rack of beautiful and intricately made dresses. “Are you sure it has to be a suit?”
“Yes, like a suit of armor,” replies Filomena.
“Hmm, I was thinking more like a ball gown!” Gretel exclaims.
“Suit. Armor. Like for a knight,” Filomena elaborates. “For battle.”
Gretel puts her hands on her hips. “But just because it’s ready-for-battle-wear doesn’t mean it can’t be on trend, right?”
Filomena shakes her head vehemently.
“Plus, they say if you look good, you feel good. Don’t you want to head off into war feeling proud and confident?” wheedles Gretel.
“I guess?” says Filomena, no longer quite so sure.
“Trust me!” says Gretel. “I’ve got this!”
“Fine, Gretel. But please, no pink, okay?”
Gretel’s face lights up with a smile. “Deal!”
Filomena sighs. She just hopes there are no rhinestones. She will not be the laughingstock of the entire battlefield.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THERE AND BACK AGAIN
Gretel tells the three friends that it’ll take overnight to get the suits of armor made from the dragonhide, and as a bonus, the workshop will fashion sheaths for the Dragon’s Teeth as well. “Elves work best when everyone is asleep,” she says with a wink. “Everything will be ready by morning. Come back then!”
For a moment, Filomena, Jack, and Alistair look uncomfortable; they have nowhere to stay for the night. Filomena has ruled out going home—it would be too much to see her parents only to have to leave them again. They’re chill but not that chill. They’re going to want her to stay home this time, she’s sure.
When Gretel realizes they have nowhere to go, she invites them to stay at her place, above the workshop. She even makes them dinner, after asking if they’re allergic to anything. Jack and Alistair don’t understand her question.
“Like, if you can’t eat anything ’cause it might give you a rash or something? Or if you’re gluten-free, so you can’t eat bread?” Filomena tries to explain.
“I would starve if I couldn’t eat bread,” says Alistair, mystified.
“No, no allergies. Anything is fine. Even trash pizza,” says Jack.
Gretel laughs and says no one’s eating from the garbage and everyone has to get washed up. It’s the first time they realize they’re all dirty and disheveled from the trip to the Deep, and no one has had a bath in a while. After refreshing themselves, Filomena’s friends proclaim that the shower is “magic” and Alistair uses almost all the hot water. Gretel gives them robes and puts their dirty clothes in the washer and dryer. Soon everyone is as clean and shiny as Gretel’s kitchen.
“I’ve made pastries and potpie,” she announces, taking something sweet-smelling, crusty, and bubbling out of the oven.
“I wish my mom could cook,” says Filomena, sitting on a counter stool and watching with admiration. “But all we ever do is order takeout.”
“It’s easy,” says Gretel. “I’ll teach you one day. My brother taught me.”
While they tuck into the meal, they tell Gretel why they need the armor so badly. About the war between the fairies and the ogres, and how the ogres are winning.
She looks at the three of them sternly. “So, let me get this straight: You three are going back there again to … battle an evil witch?”
“And her ogre armies,” says Filomena.
“Is that safe?” asks Gretel
“Oh no, not at all,” says Alistair cheerfully.
Gretel looks concerned. “Should I pack you guys a lunch or something?”
“Sure! Cheeseburgers!” says Alistair.
* * *
The next morning, Gretel has left them breakfast on the kitchen counter—Hansel’s muffins—and after eating, they walk down to the shop. Gretel has already suited up the armor on three mannequins, and when she greets them, they notice she’s wearing one of the suits of armor as well. “Oh!” she says. “There was a ton of extra dragonhide, so I made a bunch more and thought I’d try one on.” She’s designed the armor so that it looks like a sleek, modern wet suit, except made from gold-and-silver scales.
“Keep it,” says Filomena.
“Truly?” asks Gretel. “I’ve never had anything like this. And you’re right—it’s better than a ball gown.”
“It’s yours,” says Filomena, giving her a hug.
Gretel laughs in delight.
The rest of them take theirs into the dressing rooms to change. Jack and Alistair put their armor on underneath their tunics, pants, and cloaks, so they look the same as before, except their arms are covered in the gold-and-silver scales. Jack’s vines peep out of the hem. Filomena puts on her usual hoodie and jeans over her armor. There. Much better. She slides her Dragon’s Tooth into its sheath, holstered on her hip. Now they’re ready to face the ogre queen and her army.
Gretel looks a bit wistful as they say goodbye.
“Come with us!” says Alistair.
“Me?”
“Yes!” says Filomena. “Come with. You already have the armor on, too!”
“But Daddy says it’s dangerous,” says Gretel.
“Well, it is,” says Jack. “He’s not wrong. Ogres on the march, war everywhere.”
“Which means we need all the help we can get,” says Filomena.
Gretel looks doubtful. “I have always wanted to go back…”
The dragons warned they would need many on their side if they were to defeat the ogres. Filomena presses their case. “Then come with us.”
Gretel sighs. “Well, Daddy is in Boca for the winter. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And there aren’t any princes around here. Not that I need one, of course, but a girl can’t help wanting to look.”
“So many princes in Never After,” says Filomena. “Right, guys?”
Alistair and Jack shrug, utterly confounded by the conversation.
“But remember, this isn’t a matchmaking mission. It’s a dangerous war,” Filomena tells Gretel.
“Explosions, fire, weapons, and all that,” says Alistair. “And lots of flesh-eating ogres. So. Many. Ogres.”
“That means I should put my hair in a bun, yes?” is all Gretel says as she pulls her hair up and looks at herself critically in the mirror. “I don’t need a blowout for the battlefield. But if I’m going to Never After, I will need to pack.”
* * *
However, when they get to the Heart Tree portal, they discover that the formerly large and majestic oak tree is nothing but a stump.
“Oh dear!” cries Alistair. “The tree! The poor tree!”
Jack is angry, and his vines are slithering and twitching as if looking for something to strangle. “Whoever did this will pay.”
“Someone knows we’re here,” says Filomena. “And someone doesn’t want us to go back.” She thinks of the Ogre’s Wrath that followed them last time. The ogre queen knows. Queen Olga knows, and somehow she destroyed the only way back to Never After.
“There’s got to be another way,” says Gretel. “There always is.”
“Right! Let’s think,” says Filomena. “How does one travel to a different world?”
“Wardrobes are usually good ways to get to places you need to go,” Jack offers.
“Or chimneys,” says Alistair.
“Or rabbit holes,” says Gretel. “Wait, I think I remember Daddy telling us how he got here. He said he crossed some sort of bridge high up in the mountains above the city. As I recall, he said it’s called the Bridge to Nowhere because people in the mortal world don’t use it and don’t know its true nature.”
“The Bridge to Nowhere lies between the mountain plains. You’ll get from there to here and here to there without taking a train,” says Filomena, quoting from memory. “I thought it was only in the books.”
“No, it’s here in Los Angeles,” says Gretel. “I’m pretty s
ure.”
“Let’s see if we can find it online,” says Filomena, quickly tapping on her phone.
Sure enough, they discover that the Bridge to Nowhere is an abandoned bridge high up in the mountains east of the city.
“We’ll need to take another cab, but I forgot to ask my parents for my allowance,” Filomena tells them.
“Not to worry,” says Gretel, flashing a hint of silver that’s armor of a different kind. “I have a credit card.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
BRIDGE TOLLS AND TROLLS
The taxi lets them off at the foot of the mountain. There are no roads that lead to and from the Bridge to Nowhere—hence its name. Filomena’s research states that the bridge was built between the canyons sometime in the 1930s, but a flood washed out the road; the bridge remained, but the road was never rebuilt. But Jack tells her that’s not quite true. He says the bridge was always meant to be a portal, inaccessible except to those who knew where it truly led.
“But over in Never After, it fell under the control of the ogres once they took Westphalia. We’ll have to be careful when we get to the other side,” he cautioned as they began their steep hike up the winding path.
“So all we have to do is cross it and we’re back?” asks Filomena, huffing from the weight of her backpack and the steep incline.
“Yep, and avoid being killed, of course,” says Jack.
“Easy peasy ogre squeezy,” Alistair scoffs. Ever since he beat the dragons’ challenge, he’s been a little cocky.
“Ogres!” Gretel shudders. “Do we have to?”
“Unfortunately,” says Filomena.
Gretel laughs. Nothing seems to bring her down too much. As they make their way to the bridge, she asks them more about Never After. “So have you guys met the fairies?”
“Only Zera,” says Filomena. “She was cool, though.”
“Goblins?”
“I saw them around,” says Filomena. “But I didn’t get introduced.”
“One of my friends is a goblin. Great guy,” says Alistair. “They get a bad rap.”
The Thirteenth Fairy Page 14