“Surprise!” Wolf shouted.
She screamed. He whipped out the cleaver and—froze, struck by the vision before him. She was tinier than he’d thought she’d be. Delicate. Her beauty was profound.
“Boy, oh, boy,” Wolf said, staring at Virginia. “You’re fantastic. Your picture doesn’t do you justice. Wow!”
He noticed the cleaver in his hand. He had forgotten that he held it. In fact, he didn’t know why he held it. What had he been thinking?
“Oh, no,” Wolf said, desperately trying to cover. “How did this get here?”
Virginia was backing toward the door. He sprang out of bed, trying to stop her.
“By the way,” he said, “where’s the dog? Sleeping in, if I know my royalty.”
Virginia dove for the door, but he got there first, bounding across the room and trapping her. Sometimes his little wolfly talents came in handy.
“You smell great,” Wolf said. “I’ve had little teasers of your scent before, Virginia, but in the flesh ... perfumes are not for me. No, I respond favorably to the audacity of a woman who flaunts her own aroma. And you ... ohh, Virginia, you smell like Sunday lunch.”
“K-keep away from me,” Virginia managed to say.
‘ ‘Beautiful eyes, beautiful teeth, all the right stuff in all the right places ... no doubt about it, I am in love.”
She grabbed a vase from the nearest table and broke it over his head. He felt the impact, the shards of glass falling around him, but it really didn’t faze him at all. In fact, it might have knocked some sense into him. He’d have to wait a while to make certain, of course, but it felt that way.
She yanked the door open while he stood there, slightly stunned, and ran down the hall. He removed Grannie’s things— obviously a man shouldn’t woo a woman while wearing her grandmother’s clothing—and followed. He didn’t quite understand why the women in this family were so afraid of him.
“Let me put your mind to rest,” Wolf said. “Now that I’ve seen you, eating you is completely out of the question. Not even on the menu.”
He put the cleaver down on a side table to show his good intentions. Virginia was pressed against the hallway wall, near an open window. Her ratty blue robe didn’t do her justice at all. He would have to make certain she was properly garbed one of these days. When they were closer.
“Now, this is going to come out of the blue,” Wolf said, “but how about a date?”
She grabbed a walking stick that had been leaning against a door. She held the stick like a sword, brandishing it as if she actually knew what she was doing. He doubted she did. He held out his hands, and moved closer.
“All right,” he said, “we’ve started badly.” He reached for her, but Virginia whacked him on the side of the head. The stick cracked against his skull. Now that hurt.
He frowned, trying to remember what he was saying. Oh, yes. “I take all the blame for that.”
That should soften her up. He took another step closer, and this time she jabbed the stick in his balls. He screamed in pain. That was not necessary. Not necessary at all.
“Oh, come on, give us a chance at least,” Wolf said. “You are one dynamic lady, no question there.”
She took the stick in both hands and swung it like a club. It hit him under the chin and sent him flying backwards. At the last moment, he realized that she had opened the window when she was standing by it, and he tried to reach for the sides to prevent himself from falling through.
But it didn’t work. He fell backwards for a long way. As he fell, he saw Virginia peek out the window, grimace, and close it. Then, as he turned to see the pile of garbage below him, he thought he heard her squeal.
“Oh, my God! Grandmother!”
He grinned as he landed, rapped his head on something hard, and passed out.
Chapter Eight
Blabberwort sat in her corner of the magic room, legs drawn up to her ample chest. Even with the hole in the room’s floor, the hole open to eternity—or perhaps because of it—the room had gotten extremely hot. And it smelled of her brothers in a way that the prison cell never had.
It was their fault that they were all trapped. If she hadn’t come with them. If she hadn’t let them lead her into this awful place, then she would be fine. She would be somewhere else, where she could tell if it was day or night, night or day, or even day. Maybe night. She would be able to tell. And here, she couldn’t.
They were glaring at her too, as if she were the one who was crazy. And they were wrong.
She couldn’t take this anymore. She had to do something. She sprang to her feet and looked at the magically lighted buttons beside her.
“What are you doing?” Burly asked.
“I was just going to press all the buttons again,” Blabberwort said.
“You’ve done it thirty thousand times already,” Burly said, disgusted. “How many more times do you have to do it before you realize they don’t do anything, dwarf brain.”
Above her, the strange light spat and frizzed. She sank back down, knowing that Burly was right and hating to admit it.
‘ ‘How long do you think this spell will last?’ ’ Burly asked.
“It can’t be that long,” Blabberwort said.
“A hundred years?” Burly asked.
“At most,” Blabberwort said. “Maybe only fifty.”
She was trying to minimize their situation, but it wasn’t working. Her words seemed to depress them more than anything.
They depressed her.
Fifty years. That was longer than they had been condemned to the Snow White Memorial Prison.
“Well, we'll just make the most of our confinement,” Burly said, “and agree not to fall out.”
“Absolutely,” Blabberwort said, “we’ll do the hundred years, and maybe if we get lucky we’ll only have to do two thirds of the spell and get out early.”
Bluebell had been silent through all of this. But at that last, he turned toward his brother.
“No!” Bluebell shouted at Burly. “I cannot spend a hundred years with your socks."
He leaped on Burly, and they started to fight, rolling and punching, biting and kicking, screaming and shouting, narrowly avoiding the hole in the floor.
“Stop it!” Blabberwort shouted. “This is just what she wants. She wants us to panic. We will find a way out of this spell, trust me.”
She grabbed them and pulled them apart. They stared at her like tiny babies.
“I trust you,” Burly said.
“I trust you more,” Bluebell said.
She sighed and flung them away. It was all well and fine that they trusted her. But what did it matter when she didn’t trust them?
She didn’t trust them at all.
Murray had a gorgeous wife. She was tall—although not as tall as Tony—blonde and blue-eyed, with the most beautiful skin he’d ever seen on a woman. Murray used to be jealous of any other man even looking at his wife, but now he was more concerned with the growing beer problem in the kitchen.
The other member of Murray’s family didn’t seem to notice his looks either, and there were at least eight of them in the room. Strange for a bunch of little tattlers.
Tony was enjoying this. All except for the butt-kissing part. Every time he turned around, another member of Murray’s family was reaching for his ass. He had to shoo them away like flies.
Murray’s wife stood in front of him, and Tony had his hands on her slender shoulders. He wondered how much he could do to this woman without incurring Murray’s wrath.
He wondered how much he could do to this woman and not lose his own self-respect.
Only one way to find out. Tony said, “Murray, I’m taking your wife out to buy her some underwear, is that okay with you?”
“Okay, Master,” Murray said. “Help yourself.”
Tony could hear the rattle and groan of the refrigerator. At last count, there were 108 bottles of beer in it. Probably more now. Certainly more than the thing could hold.
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As if on cue, he heard bottles smash against the floor. He grinned. “Where’s my beer?”
The newly repaired door to the apartment opened, and Mrs. Murray Senior entered. She looked a bit winded from her repair work earlier. Her eyes were glazed just like the rest of her clan’s.
“Master,” she said, “I think there might be someone trapped in the elevator. I can hear voices and banging.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed,” Tony said, “I’m no longer Mr. Do-It-All. Get off your rich ass and fix it yourself, you miserable old crone.”
“At once, Master,” Murray’s mother said.
She toddled off. Tony stroked Murray’s wife’s hair. He’d have to learn her name sometime. Maybe after a sun-soaked week in the Bahamas. She could call him Master all the time and never wear any clothes. And he wouldn’t try to stop her if she reached for his butt.
The Bahamas. Did he wish for that? Or should he be more pragmatic? After all, he only had a few wishes left.
“Okay, Wishmaster,” Tony said. “Mrs. Murray and I require some spending money. How about a million dollars?”
The doorbell rang. Tony left Mrs. Murray’s side and hurried to the door. He pulled it open, and saw no one. Then he looked down. A satchel sat in front of the door. The satchel was slightly open—and it was filled with money.
He crouched, running his fingers through the money as if it were Mrs. Murray’s hair.
“Rich!” Tony shouted. “I’m rich!”
He grabbed it and hauled it inside, dropping money as he went. The vacuum cleaner sucked it up behind him, just as it had sucked up the rugs. Its bag was bulging badly. He’d have to figure out how to solve that at some point, but not now.
Not when he was rich for the first time in his life. He showed the money to Mrs. Murray.
“Rich!” he said.
She didn’t seem any more impressed than she had been earlier. But he didn’t care. The Bahamas, sunshine, no more work ever. How much more perfect could life get?
He’d had dreams of bacon, a beautiful woman, and ... garbage. Wolf opened his eyes. His head ached. It took a moment for him to realize where he was. The building he had fallen out of loomed in front of him like a nightmare. He couldn’t even tell which window was Virginia’s.
Slowly he got to his feet and brushed himself off. He’d had a plan, but the blow to his head had knocked it out of his brain. He frowned. He had to do something. He walked to the nearest door and stood, trying to get his bearings.
A woman approached him. She wore large glasses and had her red hair pulled away from her pale skin. She looked too smart to eat.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Oh, I hope so,” Wolf said. “I’m very confused.”
“You must be Paul’s referral. I’m Dr. Horovitz.” She tried to shake his hand, then seemed to realize she was holding a cup of dark liquid and a pastry. She shrugged. “Paul said you’d drop by to make an appointment.”
“Can you tell me what I’m doing here?” Wolf asked.
She smiled at him. “Let’s get to know each other a bit before we tackle the big question. Okay?”
That was okay with him, he thought, although he wasn’t sure why. What had he been planning? A roast? It seemed hazy to him.
Dr. Horovitz unlocked the door to her office. He glanced at the sign as he followed her through: Dr. Marian Horovitz, Psychoanalyst. He had no idea what that meant, but a man didn’t fall out the window and land at a doctor’s feet without needing help. Maybe he was injured. Maybe she could fix it.
She flicked on a light switch, revealing a dark-paneled room full of books. A leather couch smelled of a meal too old to be edible. She set her liquid and pastry on a wooden desk and pointed to the couch. After a moment, he realized she meant for him to sit on it.
He did, gingerly.
“It is better if you lie down,” she said.
He tilted his head at her. She didn’t seem like she was about to seduce him. He knew what women were like when they did that, and they weren’t like this. Still, he lay down partly because he wanted to see what she would do, and partly because he was still a bit woozy.
She sat in a leather chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Now, then,” she said. She had an accent he didn’t recognize. “I’m going to say a word, and I want you to give me the first word that comes to mind.”
He grabbed a pencil from a nearby table. The wood felt good in his hands. Then he stuck it in his mouth. Dr. Horovitz was looking at him expectantly. What had she said? Words. She’d say one, he’d say one.
He could do that. He nodded.
“Home—” Dr. Horovitz said.
“Cooking,” Wolf replied.
“Coward—”
“Chicken.”
“Wedding—”
“Cake.”
“Dead—”
“Meat.”
“Sexual—”
“Appetite.”
“Love—”
“To eat anything fluffy.” Wolf snapped the pencil in half. He was more nervous than he thought. Dr. Horovitz was staring at him. He shrugged. “Sorry, more than one word. Start again.” She leaned forward as if she were the predator and he the prey. And he found he kind of liked the feeling....
The vacuum cleaner problem was getting out of hand. The bag was five times its normal size, and the vacuum was belching black smoke. It was trying to pull the curtains down from the rods.
“Give it a rest, won’t you?” Tony shouted at the vacuum cleaner.
He whacked at it with an old baseball bat, but that only seemed to make the vacuum cleaner more determined. It growled and tore at the curtains like a mad dog.
Tony whacked at it again and again until it wheezed, burped some more black smoke, and stopped. Silence. Merciful silence. But somehow the vacuum had leaked fluid. His feet were wet. He looked down.
The fluid didn’t come from the vacuum. It came from the kitchen. And it smelled suspiciously like beer.
Tony hurried to the kitchen. Murray was hugging the refrigerator like it was a live thing trying to attack the apartment. He had tied it with bungee cords, and the cords were straining. Beer bottles were falling through the small crack in the door.
“I can’t stop it, Master,” Murray said.
What a mess. Tony leaned his weight against the door. With his strength and Murray’s determination, they managed to force the door closed. He whipped off his belt and wrapped it around the door handle, then added a few more bungee cords.
The refrigerator rocked like a caged animal.
“It’s not going to hold,” Murray said.
Everything was coming apart. But Tony wouldn’t let his final dream be destroyed. He had to leave the apartment before the refrigerator blew.
He grabbed the satchel of money and then took Mrs. Murray by the arm.
“That’s it, enough,” Tony said. “We’re going out. ’Bye, everyone.”
He opened the front door—and jumped back as a group of police officers—SWAT team members, it looked like—scurried in, all holding large guns pointed at him.
“Hands behind your back. Now!” A policeman shouted as they pushed Tony toward the wall. They trapped him there and turned him around. Somehow he’d dropped the money and lost Mrs. Murray at the same time.
He had to fight for himself here. It was his last chance. Besides, this looked bad.
“What’s going on?” Tony demanded. “What have I done?”
“Here’s the money,” one cop said.
“No. No. No,” Tony said. “There’s been a mistake. This money just appeared outside my door.”
An officer grabbed his hands and yanked them behind his back. He wanted to protest that that hurt, but thought better of it. They held his hands there and then slapped handcuffs on him. The metal was cold and bit into his wrists.
Then the cops turned him around. The Murray family was lined up, watching the whole proceeding. Two cops were poring through his things.
Another had headed toward the kitchen.
“I haven’t left the apartment all morning,” Tony shouted. “These people will all vouch for me. They’re independent witnesses, aren’t you?”
“Yes, O Master,” everyone said as one. Then they bowed.
“Look, you’ve got the wrong man,” Tony said. “I was just having a quiet beer with my friends.”
The cops looked at each other as if they didn’t believe a word of it. Tony knew he was screwed. He was about to say something else—anything else—when the refrigerator exploded.
Virginia got off the bus. She was tired. Prince was following her, and she wished he wouldn’t. Everything had been strange from the moment she met him.
She turned down the block to her neighborhood. There were more cop cars parked outside than usual. Maybe they finally caught those strange Troll people she had locked in the elevator. She would wait until they finished whatever they were doing, and then she’d try to contact her dad.
She’d been meaning to talk to Prince anyway. She stopped near the entrance to the park. Prince stopped too, his tail wagging expectantly.
“This is it,” she said. “This is where we say good-bye.”
Prince barked twice, his sign for no.
“Yes,” Virginia said. “Since you’ve entered my life, I’ve been attacked by Trolls and a wolf, and my grandmother never wants to see me again. Not until she gets the seasoning out of her hair, anyway. And I can’t go home either.”
Prince stood at the edge of the park. Virginia waved a hand at him.
“That’s it,” Virginia said to the dog. “Hasta la vista. Shoo.”
Prince didn’t move, and neither did Virginia. She couldn’t just leave him here. But she had to. Things were just too weird.
Virginia sighed. “Okay, this is the deal. I’m going to take you back to exactly where I found you, and then we’re going to go our separate ways. Okay?”
Prince barked twice. She ignored that and walked into the park. She followed the trail that she usually took. It wouldn’t take long to find the scene of the accident.
“Look,” Virginia said, “I’m not the adventurous type. I’m just a waitress. This is way too scary for me, thank you very much. Whoever these people are who want you, they can have you.”
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