Protagonist Bound (45 page)

That notion aside, I certainly didn’t see Daniel as someone I could count on either. As it stood, I probably would’ve sooner jumped off a moving train than put my faith in him in that way. This may have seemed like a bit of an extreme statement, but I meant it. I did not trust Daniel. Moreover, I honestly doubted that there was any way I ever could; that our relationship would ever be able evolve past the heated friction we tended to inspire in one another.

Eventually, after taking all of this into consideration, I gave the enigmatic boy sitting across from me the only answer that made sense to his original question.

“We’ll see,” I said.

Time ticked on without a word from either of us for a while after that. The sun continued to rise and the wind began to decrease as sky welcomed in day.

Truthfully, I thought Daniel and I had nothing left to say to one another by that point and were meant to complete the remainder of our journey in tense silence. However, after a time he cleared his throat—evidently something more on his mind he wished to discuss.

“So . . .” he started to say, wringing his rein-wielding hands together like talking to me civilly was putting a terrible amount of strain on him.

Like me talking to him was a picnic in the park? Ha.

“So what?” I asked.

“So, why don’t you answer a question for me, Knight?”

“’Cuz you were so cooperative with answering my questions? You didn’t tell me anything.”

“All right, never mind then.” He shrugged.

A few beats passed before curiosity got the better of me again. “Fine, Daniel,” I huffed. “What is it?”

He straightened up and looked me in the eyes—steel characterizing his expression. “What happens if we find your godmother, find a way into the Indexlands, and then find the Author, but it turns out that in the end there’s nothing we can do to change our fates because they’ve already been written?”

My first instinct was to think he was just trying to get another rise out of me. But the way he’d asked so earnestly, and the way his face appeared to be crinkled with genuine concern, told me that he wasn’t joking. I sort of wished that he was though. Because I truly didn’t know what to respond, despite how much I wished I did.

I looked away from him and stared off ahead, training my eyes on the horizon.

“Let’s just hope we won’t need an answer to that question,” I replied.

Emma

or the remainder of the journey Daniel and I sat side by side, but we might as well have been in different realms.

After a while the sun lit the entire sky and all traces of night were wiped clean from view. The clouds having dissipated from the intensity of daybreak, I passed the remaining time by counting the number of cottages and streams we flew over as I tried to forget my unsettling conversation with Daniel. The counting began to lose its charm after a few hours though, and I started to get fidgety in my seat as the minutes whizzed by.

Boredom was on the brink of consuming me completely when, finally, I spotted a fairly compact, coffee-colored mountain range in the distance.

We’d arrived.

Daniel landed the carriage in a forest by a river that curved through the kingdom. A few minutes of stretching in the meadow later and we were ready to begin our hike toward the Lagatta Mountains, which crowned the valley ahead.

We didn’t know Emma’s exact location but, thanks to the magic mirror, which we’d elected to bring along, we didn’t need to. The mirror had an extra magical feature that I hadn’t been aware of, but that Blue had discovered in one of her numerous fairytale history volumes. When you requested the mirror show you a person, once you were within five miles of said individual, it would glow brighter as you got closer to them.

So, having reverse engineered the landscape behind Emma in the looking glass, we were now close enough to where she dwelled for the mirror’s second function to kick in. It gleamed in SJ’s hand at the front of our herd—its increasing pulses of light reassuring us that we were going in the right direction.

As we walked, we found it quite difficult not to be in good spirits. The smell of rosemary and other herbs filled the air. The babbling sound of river water and various chirping birds became the soundtrack to our footsteps. And this place was so picturesque it bordered on the unbelievable, what with its endless blue skies, exorbitantly colored wildflowers, bunnies, butterflies, and, yes, Ravelli’s famous bunniflies.

The rare creatures were adorable, and I so wished I could’ve enjoyed their presence as much as the others did while they followed us through the meadow. Tragically, I was allergic to regular bunnies. So, cute or not, having these hybrid ones flying up in my face was a bit of an issue. I was trying my best to retain my composure despite the runny nose and watery eyes the petite, fluffy creatures were inflicting upon me. But eventually I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Achoo!” I sneezed loudly.

The bunniflies were startled by the sound and scattered in panic.

“Bless you,” SJ said on behalf of our group. She took a handkerchief out of her bag and handed it to me as we continued. Once they were certain that they were not in any danger, the bunniflies returned too. Although they kept a minimum five-foot distance from me from then on.

After we’d been hiking for about forty minutes we came across a large, grassy hill. When we reached its summit, our group surveyed the (now much closer) mountains. The sun was pretty strong and the mirror was glowing so brightly I had to hold up my hand to shield my eyes from its glare.

I scanned the valley below.

About three hundred feet ahead of us I noticed a pale blue cottage with wafts of smoke rising from the chimney. It was surrounded by all kinds of flowers and was right at the edge of the river. A little old woman holding a watering can emerged from the cottage and began to tend to the plants.

I didn’t need the affirmation of the beaming mirror to tell me that it was Emma; I already knew.

With reinvigorated enthusiasm I headed toward the cottage at full speed. The others were no doubt in pursuit of me, but I was too focused and excited to look back as I raced down the hill.

When I was about a dozen yards away I couldn’t hold back my anticipation any longer. “Emma!” I shouted. “Emma!”

She turned around as I closed the space between us, and I put on the brakes to avoid ramming into her.

There she was, my godmother.

Emma was slightly taller than me, and she had a plump, rosy face covered with laugh lines and wrinkles. Her eyes were small and blue and they twinkled behind her glasses like they were filled with secrets.

She let out a gasp of surprise and embraced me with much more strength than you would think capable for such an elderly woman. When she finally pulled back and released me from the hug, she was smiling warmly and her tiny eyes had gotten all glassy with emotion.

The others had caught up with me by then, but Emma had yet to acknowledge their arrival. Her attention was glued solely on me.

She held my arms tightly like I might vanish if she let go. “Crisanta,” she said, “it’s so lovely to see you.”

With the exception of my parents, most of the time when people used my full name it was for formal, royal events, or because I was in trouble. Neither of which I was particularly fond of. But when she said it, it sounded nice. It made me feel like I was home.

“Hi, Emma,” I replied happily.

My godmother noticed the others at last and greeted them with a friendly, “Oh, hello there.” To which they all responded with their own greetings.

“Emma, let me introduce you,” I said, gesturing toward the rest of the group. “These are my best friends Blue and SJ, our friend Jason from Lord Channing’s, and, um . . .” I paused momentarily. “He’s Daniel.”

“It’s so wonderful to meet all of you,” Emma gushed, going over to shake each of their hands in turn, starting with SJ. “My, aren’t you pretty. Snow’s daughter, yes?”

“Yes, Ms. Carrington,” she responded.

“I knew it! Just as radiant as your mother.” Emma pinched SJ’s cheek affectionately. “Oh, and a lot more unique than you’d like to give yourself give credit for. I can tell. That will come in handy, my dear; embrace it sooner rather than later.”

SJ blushed awkwardly as Emma moved on to shake Blue’s hand and then Jason’s. When she got to Daniel he held out his hand, but she did not take it at first. Instead she looked him up and down and made a pensive noise like “Hmph.”

Now it was Daniel’s turn to feel awkward, which (
I’m not gonna lie
) made me smirk a bit with satisfaction.

Eventually, to his relief, Emma shook his hand. Though as she did, she muttered something under her breath that I didn’t quite make out.

With bubbling enthusiasm Emma proceeded to usher us inside her adorable house.

Almost immediately I found myself falling in love with the place. The interior of the quaint cottage was painted a light shade of silver. There were tons of knickknacks, books, and dishes lining the walls, but they were all so neatly organized you could never mistake them for clutter.

The windows filled the room with natural light, which reflected off the dozens of glittering wind chimes hanging from the ceiling. And to top it off, the whole place smelled of cinnamon and freshly baked snickerdoodles.

Yum.

Emma scuttled over to her tiny kitchen. “Does everyone like pound cake?” she asked as she scurried back and forth between cabinets. We nodded, and she began fumbling about with placing slices on plates. When she’d finished, she clumsily set cups within their saucers and wobbly filled them with either coffee, cream, or tea—spilling periodically due to the natural shakiness of her elderly wrists.

My godmother was doing everything by hand and I knew we were all thinking the same thing as she headed over to us with the loaded tray of goodies. When she’d set the assorted snacks down on the coffee table, Blue finally spoke those thoughts aloud and asked her what we all wanted to know.

“Uh, Ms. Carrington. Aren’t you a
Fairy
Godmother? Why don’t you just use magic to do that stuff?”

“Emma, dear. Please call me Emma,” she answered. “And I’m not using magic because I don’t have any, not anymore at least.”

I nearly spit out my coffee from the shock. “Wait, what?”

Emma’s eyes dropped to the floor and she sat tiredly on a blue armchair across from a large sofa of the same shade. Following her lead, we sat down as well and prepared to listen to her explanation.

“My dears,” she sighed, “I’m afraid your schools do not do the best job of teaching you about magic, do they?”

“Um, we learn about different famous magical objects, and some potions stuff, but that’s about it,” Jason admitted.

“Well then,” Emma said, picking up a teacup from the tray, “I think it’s about time you had a proper lesson.” She cleared her throat and settled back in her comfortable chair.

“Lesson one,” she began. “There is no such thing as
new
magic. Magic cannot be created, nor can it be destroyed. It can only change form or change hands. For example, the magic from that mirror you used to find me could be extracted and put into some other object.”

Emma gestured at the magic mirror that was presently in SJ’s hand and then to the delicate cup in hers. “Like into one of these teacups for instance. You see, then the cup would become enchanted to show and track people’s whereabouts, whereas the mirror would just become an ordinary mirror. The magic of genies, witches, fairies, and Fairy Godmothers works in the same way too; it can be transferred from one person to the next. Of course, Fairy Godmother magic also has some other special qualities to it . . .”

My coffee got cold and the tray of snacks went untouched as we listened to Emma explain the rules and dynamics of Fairy Godmother magic.

The lesson proved to be fascinating, lengthy, and more worthy of taking notes than half the subjects I attended at school.

Emma began by reminding us how Fairy Godmother magic (being all-powerful) needed a conductor to control it, and each Godmother’s conductor was her wand. But then she went on to tell us how each of these wands only responded to the specific magical touch of its designated Godmother. Kind of like an ultra-sensitive DNA scanner.