The Princess and the Page Page 10

  “Keira!” Ms. Teppernat parades in with her film crew entourage. Today she’s wearing tight jeans and a sequined green shirt that matches her green eyes. “Why are you not on your horse yet?”

  “You’re filming us riding, too?” I suppress a groan, not wanting everyone to see how scared I am of horses. “What if I fall off the horse and look like a complete idiot?”

  “Don’t be so morbid,” Bella says. “Think of it as one more thing to add to our amazing adventures here.”

  But Ms. Teppernat doesn’t bother with an explanation. “Let’s get moving before the rain starts, everyone. Chop-chop!”

  “Can I ride, too?” Chet asks.

  “Absolutely not!” But then Ms. Teppernat scrutinizes Chet, tapping her fingers on her red lips. “Hmm. I suppose you could be useful. But you’ll have to sign a waiver.”

  “Hot fire!” Chet punches the air. “Sign me up.”

  “Cheryl!” Ms. Teppernat says. “Get the boy a new shirt. That jersey is positively disgusting.”

  “Hey!” Chet jumps off his post. “You have a problem with the Montreal Canadiens, the best team ever?”

  But Ms. Teppernat simply waves her hand to him in dismissal and moves on, barking out instructions to the camera crew. Meanwhile, Andre the stableman gives the horses a final check and leads them by the reins outside. I sidle against the wooden fence, swallowing down my fear of having to sit on top of the massive beast. One of my friends at school used to ride until she was thrown off her horse and broke her arm.

  Chet saunters over to me, jamming his hands in his pockets. “You sure left quickly last night,” he says. “You upset about something I said?”

  I shrug my shoulders, acting like nothing is bothering me, though the email and his argument with his dad are still fresh in my mind. But I don’t really want to talk about last night right now. All I want is to survive this photo shoot.

  “Got any tips on how to ride a horse?” I ask him instead.

  “You’ve never ridden?” Chet acts like everyone on the planet rides horses.

  “Well, other than jumping on my horse and riding to school and the grocery store,” I say sarcastically. “No, I haven’t. And I’m slightly terrified of horses.”

  Ms. Teppernat must have overheard us, because she throws up her hands. “What? Did you hear that, Cheryl? She’s never ridden. Someone give her a lesson. And quick!”

  “I’ll teach her,” Chet offers. Then he turns to me with a grin. “It’s not hard to learn the basics.”

  The thought of Chet teaching me how to ride doesn’t sit well with me. But I clip on my riding helmet, determined to not let my fears stop me. My horse, whose name is Felipe, according to the stable master, whips his mane and paws at the ground. He’s ready to hit the trail. Meanwhile, Bella has already mounted her horse and is circling the yard.

  How am I supposed to get on this Giganter? I inch forward and gingerly brush my hand over Felipe’s smooth brown hair. It feels like warm velvet, but full of life and energy.

  “It’s really easy.” Chet comes to my side, grabs the reins and slaps the saddle with his palm. “Just step into the stirrup and swing your other leg over the horse.”

  I grimace. “Easy for you maybe.”

  The horse shifts and grunts as I belly onto its back. I clutch the saddle, but from this position I can’t manage to swing my leg over for anything. I shift, gritting my teeth and taking a deep breath, telling myself that I can do this.

  “So how do I swing my leg over?”

  Chet laughs. “Might be hard to do in that position.”

  As if sensing my discomfort, Felipe tosses his head and steps forward. Andre calls out “Whoa,” but I can’t control my body. I lose my grip and slide facedown the other side of the horse. My head almost hits the ground, but I manage to grab the edge of the saddle. The tip of my braid brushes the dirt below me.

  “Ahhh!” I cry as my head dangles next to the stirrup. My boots stick straight into the air. Then a terrible thing happens. My grip on the saddle begins to slip.

  “Somebody save Keira!” Bella yells, which only makes things worse, because her horse bucks at the sudden noise.

  Chet dives and grabs my shoulders seconds before my head hits the ground. We sprawl into the dirt, and I land smack on top of him.

  “Don’t let her outfit get dusty!” Cheryl says.

  “Got that covered,” Chet says with a groan.

  “I couldn’t bear it if you died.” Bella slides off her horse and runs to me. She helps me to my feet.

  “She’s not going to die.” Chet rolls his eyes.

  “This was a bad idea,” Ms. Teppernat says. “Maybe we should call this excursion off.”

  “No.” I march back over to my horse. “I’m going to do this.”

  Finally, after two more tries, I find myself sitting tall and triumphant atop Felipe. Andre takes my reins and leads my horse to stand in front of the castle, next to Chet and Bella on their horses. The cameras flash for each pose.

  “Wonderful!” Ms. Teppernat calls out. “Now let’s take them past the gardens into the forest.”

  My heart skips a beat when I realize I’m actually going to ride a horse, not just sit on top of one. Andre lets go of my horse and jumps into the back of one of the two golf carts.

  “Where are you going?” I ask him, but he’s already buzzing ahead on his cart. I fidget with the reins, unsure how to even hold them. “How do I make this horse go?”

  “These horses are trained English-style,” Chet says. “Pull the left rein toward you, and the horse will turn left. Pull the right one, and he’ll turn right.”

  “That sounds easy enough.” I try it. It works! I flash Chet a grateful smile. “Where did you learn to ride?”

  “My uncle’s place is just outside of Newport. He’s got a bunch of horses. I stay with him most of the time when my mom and dad are traveling. This is the first time I’ve actually gotten to go with my dad on a trip.”

  The horses’ shoes clip on the stone path, which snakes through the gardens, winding its way toward the forest ahead. A light breeze blows in from across the river and sunlight sparkles on the water.

  The camera crew is already in position ahead of us, snapping away. Ms. Teppernat waves her cell phone to get our attention. Sensing that isn’t working, she starts yelling something.

  “What’s she saying?” I squint, trying to read her lips.

  “No clue,” Chet says.

  “I think she’s saying ‘time to stop.’” Bella cranes her head to the side. “Or is she saying ‘time to trot’?”

  “Trot?”

  As soon as I say “trot,” Felipe takes off at a brisk pace. Frantic, I grapple with the reins, bobbing and jiggling all over my saddle as though I’m in a bouncy house. The path becomes a dirt trail that stretches into the forest. Tall oak trees twist into a gnarled nest above, shutting out the sun. It’s as if I’ve stepped into Hansel and Gretel’s woods.

  “Slow down!” Chet yells from behind me.

  “Pull back on the reins!” Bella says.

  I yank back, but instead of slowing down, my actions seem to propel Felipe faster. He bucks and then canters off at full speed as if he knows I’m not in control. Soon I’m galloping down the forest path, wind lashing across my face. Somehow I’ve lost my grip on the reigns so now I’m holding onto the saddle horn for my life. I don’t think anything could get worse until a plop of water hits the top of my helmet. And then another.

  “Perfect.” I grumble as misty air rushes past my face. “It’s raining!”

  I bop up and down so hard on the saddle I bet I’m going to get bruises. Then it’s as if the clouds open up and the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk has dumped a giant barrel of water on me.

  Blinded by the rain and the foggy forest, I barely see the tree bough looming ahead. I sink below the horse’s neck to prepare to go under the bough. It just skims the top of my helmet. I’m saved.

  Except I don’t take into account th
e fallen log that comes after the bough. The horse leaps. He flies through the air—and then bam!—hits the other side of the path, splashing into a puddle. My fingers slip from the saddle horn, and my body hurdles off the horse. I hit the ground with a hard thud, before face-planting in the mud.

  Ugh! My chest hurts so bad, and I can’t breathe! I gasp for air as I lie flat in a puddle, rain splattering on my face. And then my breathing resumes.

  Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

  I lift my head just in time to watch my horse canter away around a corner in the path, mud splattering in its wake. Thank you very much, Felipe.

  Mud cakes my body as I crawl out of the puddle. A nearby tree offers me protection, so I huddle beneath it. I close my eyes, telling myself to take a few minutes to recover before heading back to the castle.

  In the distance, the boom of a gong cuts through the air. My eyes pop open. That can’t be the castle’s grandfather clock striking the turn of the hour. That’s impossible! The mist swirls up along the path, picking up speed and thickness until the entire forest is draped in it as if the mist is a living thing. The air cools and I shiver, rubbing my arms up and down to try to keep away the chill as the grandfather clock keeps tolling. A warning.

  Saying, Run! Run! Run! with each clang.

  Then out of the mist, a horse appears. At first I think it’s Felipe. But the fog shifts, and I realize it’s something different entirely.

  The horse’s body is sleek and muscular, as if used to running in the wild. The mane consists of a tangle of black curls that drape along its body like waves cascading onto the beach. Bright and wild eyes assess me huddled in the cold, wet mud.

  But what takes my breath away is the glittering emerald horn jutting from its forehead and the long wings that beat ever so slightly, stirring up a breeze. This is no ordinary horse.

  It is Pegasus.

  Fact: Horses don’t have wings and

  unquestionably can’t fly.

  Given that there’s a black Pegasus with an emerald horn standing in the misty path before me, I figure it’s completely normal to freak out. But that’s not what has my pulse racing. The thing is, Pegasus is in the fairy tale I wrote for the contest. And he looks just like the one standing before me.

  I think back to my mom’s words about Grandma’s pen. Is this what she was trying to tell me? That the pen brought stories to life?

  If that’s the case, then this isn’t a dream. It’s reality.

  And that’s when I decide to really freak out.

  I back away, my traitorous knees buckling under my weight. My mind races as I try to remember everything I can about flying horses and if they are dangerous or not.

  “Hello,” I say, my voice shaking as I crawl backward. I’ve no idea if Pegasus even talks, but it’s worth a try.

  The winged horse steps closer and dips his head as if greeting me. My back bumps into an oak, and I blink a couple of times just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. The bark cuts into my back as I sag against it, reminding me that this is real. This isn’t some dream.

  A thick mist shrouds the path, obscuring anything beyond ten feet from me. My own horse has vanished and somehow I must have reentered this other realm where my fairy tale is unfolding.

  Before, when I’d been with the princess, it was fun. But now I’m not so sure. My fairy tale hadn’t been all parties, cakes, and sparkling gowns. There had been other things, darker things written on those pages.

  The howl of an animal echoes through the forest, sending a spike of terror through me. Using the tree for support, I stand, my legs wobbling, still unsteady from the fall.

  The horse treads up to me, so closely his breath blows a stream of hot air against my cheek. Then he nuzzles his nose against my arm as if trying to tell me something. I could lose myself in his eyes, which are the richest black, swirling in endless pools.

  The howl rings through the forest again; this time the sound hovers at the edge of the mist. Too close. Feet pound against the mud-packed path, vibrating through the forest. And then through the fog, a pair of green eyes blinks at me. I grab hold of Pegasus, as if he could protect me.

  Because even before I can see what’s coming, I know what hunts me. This very moment was in my story.

  The evil stepsister was known to send her pet wolves to hunt down those who would intrude on her kingdom.

  Sure enough. A form races out of the mist. It’s a giant black wolf, snarling, with drool dripping off its sharp teeth.

  Why oh why did I write that fairy tale? Pegasus nudges me out of panic mode and dips his body down as if telling me to crawl up on his back. The horse is here to save me.

  I swing onto Pegasus just as the wolf dives through the air, paws outstretched. The horse takes off, galloping away from the wolf at full speed. I clutch his mane, desperate to stay on.

  The horse beats his wings and we rise into the air, flying down the path, cutting through the mist like an arrow released. My heart slams into my chest as we lift higher into the moist air. I can’t wrap my mind around what’s happening, but as the ground slips farther away, I press myself closer to Pegasus, resting my cheek against his hair.

  Seeing the ground so far makes my stomach turn. And yet, it’s the most invigorating sensation I could ever imagine. The wind rushes over me, sending my heart tumbling and rolling. The world has become so small and so large all at once.

  I’ve no idea where we are going, but it appears we’re veering back around toward the castle. Sure enough, the mist thins like ribbons of silk, revealing the castle rising up from its shrouds.

  As we soar closer, shadows cloak the walls, and the spires point upward like knives slashing at the sky. An inky darkness spills from every window except one. A golden gleam streams out of the lone window at the castle’s right turret.

  Pegasus pumps his wings, drawing us closer to the one golden-lit peak. We edge so close that I can almost touch the castle’s turret. I crane my neck to see what is making that golden glow inside.

  I nearly cry out in shock.

  It’s me inside, sitting at a desk that hovers midair in a cobweb-ridden attic. A book rests in my lap, and I’m writing in it with a silvery pen.

  The very same pen I took from Dad’s drawer. The one I wrote the fairy tale with.

  As I write, golden dust curls into the air, swirling above my head like sparkling magic. It drifts across the room and out the window.

  Before I have the chance to investigate further, Pegasus swerves around, preparing to land.

  “What was that?” I ask the horse. But he doesn’t respond, instead beating his wings as he lowers us and lands.

  He halts directly in front of the castle’s front door and kneels on the bridge as if signaling me to get off. After I dismount, Pegasus neighs, rearing up on his hind legs. I spin around to see what spooked the winged horse and then stumble back in shock. A full pack of wolves is sprinting across the gardens, eyes intent on me.

  The horse nudges my back, pushing me toward the front doors, and then turns and gallops away, heading directly toward the wolves.

  “No!” I scream at Pegasus.

  But it’s no use. The horse doesn’t turn around. There’s only one thing to do. Go through the door. I don’t know why Pegasus wanted me to come here, but I know it has to be about what I saw in the window.

  The attic and the pen. I must find a way there!

  I race to the double doors and throw one open. The butler is nowhere to be found. In fact, the castle appears to be abandoned. The paintings have been slashed, shattered glass litters the ground, and darkness drapes the hallway. Only the trickle of sunbeams seeping in from the windows gives any light.

  The howl and snarl of the wolves startles me from my thoughts. I run to the drawing room window to see Pegasus rearing his legs and trampling one of the wolves. But it isn’t enough. Two wolves have escaped the horse’s onslaught and are heading directly for the castle.

  I bolt for the stairs, bounding up them tw
o at a time. Sweat trickles down the sides of my face. My hair clings to my cheeks, and my breath comes out in heavy gasps. When I hit the third floor, I pause, studying the doors.

  I’ve no idea how to reach the attic, I realize.

  One by one, I grasp door handle after door handle, but they’re all locked. Finally, I come to the last door in the hall. With both hands I seize it. Twisting. Yanking. Crying.

  No! I can’t die here. In my own fairy tale!

  A growl behind me erupts from the silence. Slowly, I peer over my shoulder. It’s the wolf from the forest. It’s standing directly in front of the stairway, blocking my one escape. Its eyes blaze. It licks its lips hungrily.

  Fear claws at my throat, so it’s almost impossible to breathe.

  “This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen,” I say. “This part isn’t in my fairy tale.”

  “No,” the wolf says. It talks! How is this happening? “But the moment you entered your fairy tale, you began changing it. And so I have been sent to stop you.”

  “Stop me?”

  “The Word Weavers are not supposed to enter their tales,” the wolf says. “You, as a Word Weaver, should know this.”

  Word Weaver? What is it talking about? I press my back against the locked door, my mind frantically trying to process everything.

  “This is just a dream,” I say, even though I don’t believe it. “I’m going to wake up and all of this will go away.”

  The wolf chuckles as if I’m an idiot. I know it has every reason to believe that. Because deep down I know this is most definitely not a dream. This is all real and I’m about to be eaten by a wolf.

  Who knew that I have so much in common with Red Riding Hood?

  The mirror across the hall shimmers, catching my eye. It is full length, edged with gold flowers and vines. The strangest part is that it shows my reflection hovering over nothing but blackness. The door behind me and the floor beneath me have vanished in the mirror, leaving me alone in a void. Then a sizzle of light skitters across the mirror’s surface, and my image is replaced by a round face with wide blue eyes and thick red lips.