My Unfair Godmother (29 page)

Which meant he was looking for me.

My heart jumped into my throat. My hands trembled.

“Even ex-fairies know the ways of the forest,” Chrissy said. “All Rumpelstiltskin needs to do to find you is ask the birds and the trees which way the fair blond maiden went. If you want to keep ahead of him, you need to keep moving. And you,” she said, turning to address Hudson, “would do well to stay a nameless extra during this story.” Hudson shut the book with a thud and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Rumpelstiltskin had better stay away from us.” Chrissy patted his shoulder tolerantly. “A very noble thought from you, extra-character guard fellow, but fairies—even ex-fairies—can’t be killed by the sword. They can only be slain by magic, something you have precious little of.” To me she said, “The Alliance may have stripped Rumpelstiltskin of his fairy powers, but over the years, he’s picked up plenty of enchantments. He still has enough magic to kill you easily enough.” She shook her head as though it couldn’t be helped. “Mortals have such a frail grasp on life to begin with. I swear, you’re all born with one foot already in heaven.” Her voice had risen in frustration and she took a breath to calm herself, then smiled at me benevolently. “What I mean is, be careful. More than your life is riding on the outcome of this fairy tale now. Think of your family, and the 265/356

mortals who will bear the wrath of an empowered ex-fairy. Think of my
grade
. I can feel it slipping down the alphabet as we speak.”

“Your grade?” Hudson asked, but he didn’t wait for her to answer.

He strode over to untie the horses, mumbling things about fairies as he went.

I stayed where I was. “How is my son the key to Rumpelstiltskin regaining his powers?”

Chrissy’s lips twitched into a frown. “The UMA doesn’t destroy a fairy’s magic; they can only lock it up. Regular locks don’t keep out fairies, of course, so the UMA uses magic spells. For example, Sleeping Beauty’s enchanted spinning wheel is in a vault with a spell that only lifts for those who know the wheel is there but don’t want to use it. I could open the vault right now because I have no desire to use sleep-inducing furniture. The moment I wanted to use it, I would never be able to pry the door open.” Her voice slowed. “I wish the UMA had used that spell for Rumpelstiltskin’s power. Instead, his vault can only be unlocked by buying love that cannot be bought.” She lifted her hand and then let it fall. “He found a way around that spell by buying your son when you thought the baby wouldn’t exist.” My arms wrapped protectively around the fuzzy blue blanket.

“What will happen to him if Rumpelstiltskin takes him?” Chrissy’s wings slowly slid open, then quickly shut. She didn’t answer.

“What happens to my baby?” I asked again.

“Rumpelstiltskin will leave the baby in the vault. And he’ll die there.”

My legs felt weak. I worried they might give out. One thought pounded through my ears. I couldn’t let Rumpelstiltskin take my baby.

I couldn’t. I had to find a way to prevent it. “Chrissy, please just tell me 266/356

the moral to this fairy tale. If I write down the moral, we can go home, right?”

Her wings continued their slow fanning. “It’s not Rumpelstiltskin’s moral you need; it’s the moral of your own story. That’s the magic of books. They’re never quite the same for any two people. When you read one, you automatically make it your own.”

“I’ve tried every moral I can think of,” I said. “Nothing works.” She slid her wand back into her purse. “Well, you need to ask the right question to get the right answer.”

“Okay.” I tried to keep my voice calm, rational. “I’m pretty sure the right question is, what is the moral of the story?” She glanced at her watch—a sure sign she was about to leave. “No, the question to ask is, what have I learned?” The light around Chrissy glimmered; she was fading, and I knew in another moment, she’d leave altogether.

I stepped toward her. “Don’t go yet.”

“Very often,” she said, her voice already sounding far away, “the lessons you learn are more important than the things you accomplish.” And then she was gone.

“Lovely,” I said out loud. “A very lovely sentiment, unless what you want to accomplish is getting to safety.” The baby stretched. He lifted one arm, leaving his hand by his face as he drifted back to sleep.

“Or saving your baby’s life.” His life suddenly seemed more important than my own.

Hudson walked back over, holding the reins of my horse. “You were right,” he said. “That was quite a surprise.” I knew I should be moving, but I felt too shaky to take a single step. I hadn’t even wanted to bargain with Rumpelstiltskin when the baby he asked for was only theoretical—when I didn’t think it would ever exist anyway. Now I held the baby in my arms. He was mine.

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I could identify the emotion that had coursed so forcefully through me from the moment Chrissy placed him in my arms. It was love, stronger than anything I had ever felt before. This feeling was why parents ran into burning buildings to save their children. It was why animals killed to protect their young. It was why my own father had made a deal with bandits and stormed a castle to rescue me. I knew unequivocally that I would do anything for this child. And I had traded him to Rumpelstiltskin for the ability to change things into gold. My voice choked in my throat. “What have I done?”

“It will be all right,” Hudson said. “You already know Rumpelstiltskin’s name.”

This brought me some comfort, but not enough. I had changed the fairy tale. What if I had changed the bargain at the end too? What if he asked a different question?

“At least your fairy godmother gave us fresh horses,” Hudson said. “Here, I’ll hold the baby while you mount.”

“Be careful,” I said. “Don’t drop him.” Hudson held out his arms. “You can trust me.” He had said the same thing back at the castle, and I had laughed at him. I didn’t now. I handed him my son.

On a hunch, I checked the diaper bag, and found what I was looking for—an over-the-shoulder sling to carry the baby in. It took Hudson and me a few moments to figure out how to work it, but then the baby was nestled against my chest, sleeping, and we rode through the forest.

The horses were strong and fast. While the last bit of evening light lingered in the sky, they raced down the path without much urging on our part. In the back of my mind, I could always see Rumpelstiltskin walking through the forest, his thin face scanning the trees. “Which 268/356

way did she go?” he asked them, and their leaves quaked in my direction.

As soon as we were far enough away, I would write morals until I found the one that brought us home—to a time period that was long beyond the date that Rumpelstiltskin could ask anything from me. I made a mental list of things I had learned.

Magic was dangerous. Greed was dangerous. And my father loved me enough—Sandra and Nick loved me enough—to risk their lives to rescue me from King John. That was my favorite thing I’d learned.

Another thing I’d learned: despite the fact that I hadn’t liked Hudson at first, I liked him a lot now. He was smart, brave, and thoughtful.

I had no doubt when we got back to Rock Canyon, he could do anything he wanted in life.

I had also learned that at some point I was going to have a son. As I felt the warmth of his little body against my own, I thought about that responsibility. I wanted to be the best person I could for him. I would make sure I was ready to be a mom, and married, and that the guy I married would be a good father. Someone who was dedicated to me and our son so I wouldn’t ever have to raise him by myself.

The thought made my throat tighten. My mother had raised Kendall and me by herself for years, and I hadn’t made it any easier for her. I was sorry about that now.

The sun set and the moon rose in the night sky. It was full, but still didn’t shed much light. Hudson turned on his flashlight, and held it out in front of him in order to keep the horses moving forward at a walk. When we reached the river, it became a little easier to travel. The ground was smoother, and the water made a dark arrow of a path to follow.

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The baby woke up as we went along the riverbank. I had no idea how old he was. He was bigger than a newborn, but whether he was five months or ten, I couldn’t tell.

He fussed, squinting his eyes in displeasure. “It’s all right,” I whispered to him. “I’m here. Mommy’s here.” I expected him to dispute that statement with a few wails. After all, I wasn’t really his mother. Not yet. But he settled back into me.

He knew my voice, I realized, and I felt incredibly happy at that fact.

We continued riding on. When our horses clattered over the wooden bridge, the baby woke again, this time opening startled eyes and throwing his arms out in surprise. He cried in indignation, and my whispered assurances weren’t enough to soothe him. Was he hungry?

If I made up some formula and he didn’t want it, then it would be wasted, and I wasn’t sure how much food Chrissy had packed for him.

I found an empty bottle in the diaper bag and put it to his lips to see if he tried to drink from it, but he just turned his head, arching away.

I felt along his diaper. It was dry.

What else did parents do when babies cried? I didn’t know any lullabies, but my dad used to sing “You Are My Sunshine” to me when I was little. It seemed like a parental song, so I sang it.

The baby settled down, watching me with dark eyes and sucking on his fist. Maybe I sang this song to him in the future. Or perhaps my father did.

I only knew the first verse of the song, so I sang it over and over, and thought about how your childhood is with you, even when you don’t realize it’s there.

I hadn’t thought that we would be able to travel very far along the path into the forest. I kept waiting for the flashlight to dim or for 270/356

Hudson to say he couldn’t hold it steady anymore, but we trudged on at a slow pace, and the moon rose higher in the sky.

The pathway finally widened into a real road and then we came to a village. All the huts we passed were dark and shuttered. Some were little more than shacks; others looked like log cabins. A few were made of stone—these were the largest homes.

Hudson rode to a stone house set farther back than the rest. It had a large garden in front and a barn behind the house. The wizard might have been out of favor with the king, but he still seemed to be one of the more wealthy residents of this village.

We dismounted from our horses, tied them to a hitching post, and walked to the door. Hudson knocked and we waited. I kept my arm around the baby. “Once the wizard’s wand is fixed, are you sure there isn’t a way he could send us all back home without having to travel the entire way back to meet my family?”

Hudson shook his head. “It’s not something he can do long distance. We’ve got to be near to his wand for the magic to work.” I looked up at the moon and wondered what time it was. One o’clock in the morning? Two? “Do you think he’ll be willing to come with us tonight?” I asked.

I could see the exhaustion in Hudson’s eyes, but he said, “The sooner we leave, the better chance we’ll have of avoiding King John’s men. Hopefully Bartimaeus will understand that.” I ran my hand along the bottom of the sling. “We’ll have to travel to the meeting place another way so we don’t run into Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Right.” We were both too tired to say more.

A woman in a white nightdress and a cap answered the door. She gave me the impression of a snowman come to life, bulky and pale.

She lifted up her brass candleholder to examine us, and sniffed when 271/356

she noticed Hudson’s uniform. “My master has no dealings with King John or his men,” she said, “and we’ve already answered all of your questions.”

She went to shut the door, but Hudson put his hand out to stop her. “I’m not one of King John’s men. My name is Hudson and your master knows me. I’ve come on urgent business. Tell him I can give him the Gilead if he’ll travel with us to it.” Hudson actually had the Gilead in his pouch, but he’d given me strict instructions on the ride up not to reveal this fact. His reasoning was that if Bartimaeus knew we had the Gilead with us, it would be harder to get him to agree to travel all the way to my family to send them back. But if Bartimaeus went to the camp to get the Gilead and was already there with my family, we’d have a better bargaining position. It wouldn’t be much extra trouble to send us back together.

The woman eyed us and humphed, clearly not happy about waking the wizard. “Very well,” she said, then shut the door, leaving us outside.

I stared at the door for a moment, not sure if this ended our interview. “Is she going to wake him?”

“She’ll get him.” Hudson rubbed the back of his neck wearily.

“How’s the baby doing?”

In the darkness, it was hard to see him, but I could feel the rise and fall of his little chest. “All right, I guess.” We waited. The door opened, and the woman appeared again, this time holding blankets under her arm. “The master says he’ll speak with you in the morning.”

Hudson squared his shoulders. “Did you tell him who we were?”

“I know who you are well enough.” She wagged a finger in my direction. “She’s that trollop from the castle who ran away. Don’t bother denying it. No other woman would wear such finery. King John’s men 272/356

came through this morning pestering the entire village and searching our homes for you.” Her gaze fell on the sling around my shoulder.

“Though I can see why you wouldn’t marry King John, what with a babe of your own already. Still, you shouldn’t have brought danger to our door. What if someone saw you come here?” Hudson lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “No one saw us. But you’re right, King John’s men are looking, and if they find us, your master won’t get his Gilead.”

She brushed off his words, unconcerned. “They’re not out looking at this hour. They’re sleeping like God-fearing people ought.”

“Then this is the best time to travel.”

“Only if you want to break your horse’s leg or your neck. My master has no intention of gallivanting about in the night like a common ruffian.” She thrust the blankets at Hudson. “You can sleep safe enough in the barn. It has a spell upon it so that none of King John’s men may see it. A few days past, they came through and demanded half of everyone’s straw. Next they’ll be wanting the straw, and my master has horses to feed.” She looked at Hudson suspiciously. “You see the barn plainly, don’t you?”

“I saw it when we walked up,” Hudson said.

She humphed. “No matter. If you’re not in the barn in the morning we’ll know you’re not what you claim.” She narrowed her eyes at Hudson. “My master may not be the court wizard anymore, but he still has things that work against those who would do him harm.” Then she slammed the door shut again.

Hudson groaned, then tucked the blankets under his arm and went to retrieve the horses. “Come on,” he said. “I guess we’re resting for the night after all.”

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I followed him, casting nervous glances at the street. “Do you think the spell on the barn will work to keep Rumpelstiltskin away too?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hudson said.

I wanted to tell him I had every right to be worried, but I didn’t.

He couldn’t change Bartimaeus’s mind, and the barn was the safest place to be right now.

We took the horses inside with us. I started to help Hudson un-pack the provisions, but he handed me the blankets. “You take care of the baby. I’ll take care of the horses.” I spread some straw on the floor and arranged the blankets on top of it. After I’d settled the baby onto our straw bed, I checked the book to see if there was any new information. An illustration of me riding the white horse and cradling the baby had appeared. I smiled at it, this time liking the fact that I’d been painted beautiful and glowing. The baby’s angelic face was just barely visible in my arms, but he looked up at me adoringly.

I wrote the things I had learned, and was still writing them when Hudson made his own bed. I was almost glad that the things I’d written about him hadn’t stuck, since he looked over my shoulder to read what I’d written. “ ‘There’s no place like home,’ ” he repeated.

“It worked for Dorothy.” The words vanished and I penned another sentence.

Hudson read, “ ‘Lean on people when you’re not strong. They’ll be your friends, they’ll help you carry on.’ Hmm. Are you writing morals or song lyrics?”

“Both,” I said.

He didn’t comment on the futility of my writing. Instead he reached into his pouch, took out a handful of red sand, and walked around me, sprinkling it onto the blanket. It was only then that I 274/356

remembered he’d taken the anti-fairy ring that King John’s wizard had put around me the second night.

Even if Rumpelstiltskin was able to find the barn, he wouldn’t be able to cross the line to take my son. That’s what Hudson had meant when he told me not to worry.

“Thank you,” I said.

He smiled, then tossed his helmet on the ground near his blankets. “You’re welcome.”

I turned off the flashlight and put the book down next to me. I was safe and my baby was safe. At least for tonight.

Chapter 20

When I woke up, pale sunlight poked through cracks in the barn window. I reached for the baby and found only empty blankets. He was gone. I sat up in panic, my heart beating so fast the gold heart sent ticks of pain through my torso.

Then I saw Hudson sitting on the haystack feeding him a bottle. I exhaled slowly to calm myself and walked over to them. The baby had his hand wrapped around one of Hudson’s fingers and was looking happily at him while he drank. They were a perfect picture of content-ment, oblivious to my still-racing pulse.

“You scared me to death, you know. I thought my son was gone.” Hudson smiled at the baby. “I bet real mothers wake up when their children cry.”

“I slept through his crying?” I’d only been a mother for one night, and I’d already done something wrong. So much for my intentions to be the perfect parent. I sat down on the straw with a dejected huff.

Hudson’s voice softened. “He was mostly just fussing. I’m a light sleeper.”

I shifted in the straw to get more comfortable. I wanted to take the baby from Hudson’s arms and feed him myself, but at the same time, I was afraid to. He was so small, and I didn’t know how. What had Chrissy been thinking to entrust me with a miniature, breakable person?

“What are you going to name him?” Hudson asked.

“In the future? I have no idea.”

“I meant now. We have to call him something.” 276/356

I stroked the baby’s tuft of wavy brown hair. He looked over at me, two large brown eyes taking me in. Then he stopped drinking and smiled. The sight of his grin sent my heart skittering. I felt like I’d won a prize.

He made a happy-sounding
umm
,
umm
noise and went back to drinking.

“How old do you think he is?” I asked.

“Old enough that he eats baby food, because Chrissy packed some of that too.” Hudson tilted his head and regarded the baby. “I think he looks like a … Remington. Maybe a Colt.”

“Aren’t those gun names?”

“He’s a manly baby. He needs a manly name. How about Stetson?”

“Are you picking names or describing how the West was won?” Hudson laughed and looked all the more gorgeous for it. His smile lightened his features, made him look approachable, touchable.

“You don’t have to keep the name in the future, but people will think it’s strange if your son doesn’t have a name now.” I ran a finger over the baby’s hand where tiny dimples puckered his knuckles. “If I call him Stetson now, then I’ll start thinking of him as Stetson and when I have him in the future I won’t be able to call him anything else.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

The baby finished his bottle, and Hudson set him upright. He gurgled and reached for me with waving hands. I took him in my arms, not even caring that he spit up a little of the formula. It ran down his chin, reminding me that you were supposed to burp babies after they ate. There were probably dozens more details I didn’t know. I pulled a washcloth out of the diaper bag and wiped his face. “How about we call him Junior? After my husband. Whoever that is.” 277/356

Junior reached up and tried to grab my bottom lip.

“It’s not Robin Hood,” Hudson said.

I pulled Junior’s hand away from my mouth. “I never said it would be.”

Hudson leaned back against the straw. “I just mean, you’re blond and Robin Hood’s blond, so you’d have blond children. Apparently you marry a brunet guy.”

“Well, I’ve always liked brunets.” My gaze went to Hudson’s brown hair, then quickly fell away. I didn’t need to announce, more than I already had, that I found him attractive. After all, I had practically thrown myself at him last night at the campfire. I’d taken his hand, then put my arms around him, and when he hugged me back, I’d tilted my face up to his so he could kiss me.

He hadn’t kissed me. Maybe he would have if Chrissy hadn’t popped in, but then again, maybe he wouldn’t have. He hadn’t done anything since then to indicate he wanted to be more than friends.

Which made me feel all the more awkward about the way I’d draped myself around him last night.

Thankfully, Hudson didn’t seem to notice my furtive hair glancing. He took the Gilead out of his pouch to check on it, then slipped it back.

I patted the baby’s back. “What will happen to Junior when we go to our time period?” I asked.

“We’ll take him with us.”

“But he hasn’t been born yet.”

“Neither have we, and we’re doing fine in this time period. We don’t have any other choice.”

He was right, I supposed, but it was hard to imagine how that would work out.

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In my lap, Junior grabbed at the beads on my dress. When he couldn’t move them, he twisted in my arms and reached his arms out to Hudson.

“He likes you,” I said in surprise. I had taken his friendliness toward me as proof that he recognized me, but perhaps he was just a happy baby.

Hudson shrugged and took Junior from me. “That’s because I fed him. Babies are like stray cats that way.”

“Babies are not like stray cats,” I said.

Hudson ignored my protest. “Watch. He loves this.” He held Junior up above his head, then brought the baby down and blew raspber-ries on his neck.

Junior’s cheeks bunched up into a smile, and he laughed a deep belly laugh that wobbled through his whole body. I watched the two of them, wishing I had a camera. I wanted to keep the moment.

The barn door opened with a creak, and through the halo of the daylight, a man walked inside. I had expected Bartimaeus to be eld-erly, with a long white beard and a flowing robe. Instead he was clean shaven with black hair that only brushed his shoulders. He was dressed like most of the men I’d seen in the Middle Ages with the exception that his tunic was cleaner and he wore an embroidered belt around his waist. His eyes had a lofty look to them, and his large, hooked nose gave him an imperial air. Hudson had referred to him as

“Bartimaeus the Proud,” and I could see why he had the name.

He strolled over to us, unsmiling. “You say you have the Gilead?”

“I left it with friends.” Hudson handed me the baby and walked over to the wizard. “But things have changed since we made our agreement. A few more of us need to go to the future. We can pay whatever price you’d like in gold.”

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Bartimaeus tucked his hands behind his back. “Where are these friends?”

“A day’s ride if we travel on the main road by carriage.” Hudson gestured toward the far corner of the barn, and it was only then that I noticed a carriage standing there. “Two days if we travel on horseback through the back trails. But either way, we need to avoid King John’s men.”

The wizard looked at me for the first time, regarding me sourly.

“Ah yes, they’re out searching for a young woman. Tall, blond, and pretty.” He said these things like I’d chosen to be tall, blond, and pretty instead of being useful and productive.

Bartimaeus turned his attention back to Hudson. “Why can’t you bring the Gilead here?”

Hudson folded his arms. “Unfortunately, circumstances don’t per-mit it.”

The wizard continued to look over us with a deepening scowl. “I have no intention of traveling around the countryside for four days.

I’m accustomed to sleeping in my own bed and there’s hardly a decent inn from here to Derby.” He paced in front of us, the sound of straw crunching beneath his feet.

“My apologies,” Hudson said. “Do you still want the Gilead?” Bartimaeus stopped his pacing. “Oh, very well. I’ll have the stable boy hitch up the carriage, and we’ll find you some less conspicuous clothes.” He shot me one last withering glance. “Something that flaunts fewer jewels than the queen of Sheba would wear.” Technically, the beading on my dress wasn’t made of jewels, and I had planned on wearing my cloak over the dress, but I didn’t turn down the offer. It would be nice to change into something that didn’t look like it had come from the evening-gown portion of the Miss America pageant.

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“Be ready when the carriage is,” he added. “I don’t want to waste any more time on you than I have to.” With that, Bartimaeus turned on his heel and left the barn.

I rubbed Junior’s back through his fuzzy sleeper. “I’ve thought of a new moral for the story: ‘Wizards are a bunch of grumpy old men.’ ”

“Maybe,” Hudson said. “But if he can send us home, I’d vote for naming your baby after him.” He reached out and tweaked the baby’s chin. “Right, little Bart?”