The Princess and the Page Read online

  “That’s cool,” Chet says. “I really wanted to go on a rock climbing trip down south, but Dad’s kind of obsessed with castles. This one is okay except it’s been really boring, so it’s a good thing you guys showed up before I lost my marbles. I could show you around. Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll run into that ghost.”

  “Just remember rule number one,” Mr. Parker tells Chet from behind his paper. “Don’t break anything.”

  * * *

  “Did Madame give you guys the rule spiel, too?” Chet asks us as we enter the dining room. An oak table sits in the center with twelve chairs padded in thick red velvet.

  “Yeah, something about not degrading the property,” I say.

  “I’m afraid you can thank me for that rule,” Chet says. “Last night I might have been practicing my dagger skills with forks—because you can never be too prepared—and broke those glass candleholders on the wall. And then she might have caught me trying to climb the staircase, using just the gargoyles and wall instead of the stairs.”

  “Forks?” Bella says.

  “Gargoyles?” I say.

  “Hey, I was bored. And FYI, gargoyle climbing is way more fun than sitting around studying baroque history.”

  “No arguing there,” I say.

  We continue our exploration while Bella takes decorating notes, discovering a library, the main sitting room, numerous bedrooms, the stairwell to the kitchens in the basement—which the cook shoos us out of—and the ballroom stretching into a long rectangle in back of the castle. But no sign of ghosts. I decide Chet’s just full of pranks.

  “I wonder if this is where they’ll have the ball,” Bella says.

  “A ball?” Chet’s brow furrows. “Like a sports tournament?”

  “No. Like a big party with dancing and food,” I say, laughing. “It’s a fairy-tale ball. You should come.”

  “You bet! Where there is food, there am I.”

  “Speaking of food,” Bella says, finally closing her design book. “I’m starving. All I’ve had today is icky airplane food and those itsy scones.”

  On our way back, I pause to study the portraits hanging along the walls. “These must be all the people who lived here. I wonder if any of them were royalty.”

  Chet points to one of the paintings. “Bet she was a princess.”

  The lady is wearing a royal-blue dress with gold beads around the neckline and a crown resting on her head. She appears so lifelike, as if she could stand up and step out of the portrait.

  “She seems sad,” I say.

  “Probably lonely.” Bella hooks her arm around mine. “She didn’t have such an awesome best friend like you do.”

  “Come on,” Chet says. “How about we sweet-talk that cranky cook into giving us some food?”

  I’m turning away when I notice the eyes on the painting shift to stare at me. Her mouth moved and I could have sworn she said, “Help.”

  Panicked, I jerk around to face the portrait again, tightly gripping Bella.

  “Guys!” My voice comes out breathless. I back away, pulling Bella along. “Did you see that?”

  Chet’s eyebrows rise. “You all right? You look like you’re going to puke.”

  “The painting!” My hand shakes as I point. But Chet and Bella only stare at me like I’ve lost it. I glance from one to the other. “You didn’t see anything?”

  They shake their heads.

  Squinting, I inch closer to the painting. The lady’s gaze is back to staring off into nowhere.

  “I probably imagined it.” I rub my eyes. “Probably jet lag. I read it does weird things to you.”

  “It’s okay.” Bella squeezes my arm. “Let’s go harass that cook.”

  But Chet doesn’t say a word. I look back at him as he pauses by the painting, tugging on his earlobe before running to catch up with us.

  I can’t help but wonder if Chet is right. Perhaps this castle really is haunted.

  Fact: Ghosts are most decidedly not real.

  I awake to a world so black I have to blink my eyes repeatedly to see if they’re actually open. Where am I?

  When I move to sit up, something smacks me on the head. Ouch! I jerk around, flailing my arms through the air. A hand slaps against mine. I scream. Someone is next to me! Then that someone starts screaming, too.

  Wait. I know that voice. “Bells!” I say, now becoming oriented. The two of us are sharing a bed. In a castle. In France! “Stop screaming. You scared the stars out of me.”

  I slide off the bed and, after groping through the darkness, find the lamp and yank on its cord. A light glow illuminates the room. Bella sits huddled in the canopy bed, looking a little lost in the pillows and blankets.

  “Too bright!” Bella groans, obviously grouchy from being smacked awake. “You’re the one who manhandled me and woke me up.”

  “Sorry.” I twist the strings of my pajama pants. “I was having this horrible dream and when I woke up, I couldn’t remember where I was. Your hand hit my eye, and I, well, thought you were like a zombie attacking me.”

  More groaning, and then Bella sits up. “Zombie? Geez, you do have a wild imagination. No wonder you want to be a writer.”

  A gust of wind courses through the castle, moaning. I freeze, and the memory of the princess staring at me from the portrait flashes before my mind.

  “Did you hear that?” I whisper.

  She shrugs it off. “Yeah.” She leans down and pulls out a pack of crackers and her notepad from her suitcase sitting on the floor. “Sounded like wind. Maybe someone left a window open.”

  I creep to the door and press my ear to it. “It came from the hall. I think that’s the noise that woke me.”

  “Girl, it’s a castle. Everybody knows castles are cold and drafty. Want one?” She holds out a cracker.

  I stare hard at my best friend. Bells is right. I’m being silly. I move to grab the cracker, when the grandfather clock downstairs begins to chime with its loud gonging sound. Then a door slams out in the hall, shaking the wooden floor.

  “What’s up with people slamming their doors in the middle of the night?” I whip open our door and storm into the hall. Darkness shrouds every crevice of the castle hall.

  Everywhere except the balcony.

  A chill ices over me and I stop in my tracks. I try to swallow and call out. But all I can do is stare at the balcony doors gaping open at the end of the hall.

  Silvery, iridescent light shimmers on the balcony, casting patterns of whorls and stars on a stone well. Two pillars rising up on either side of the well support a small tiled roof and a bucket dangling on a rope, swaying in the breeze. It reminds me of the kind of well Snow White might have used. I’m sure it hadn’t been there earlier. So how did it suddenly appear there now?

  I must be dreaming.

  A glance over my shoulder tells me my bedroom door is still ajar. I should tell Bella about this. But I’m so curious, I decide not to bother her. Instead, I inch down the hall, a step and then two, my hand trailing along the papered wall. I squint, trying to decide where the light is coming from. A flashlight? A lantern?

  No, it has a gleam to it. And then I realize the light is coming from inside the well. My chest constricts and my mouth goes dry. A buzz rings through my eardrums like a warning alarm saying Go back!

  Still, I press closer.

  Stop! I scream to myself. My heart starts thumping because there’s something not quite right about this. I try to lock my legs, but they keep moving me closer and closer to the unearthly light. Then, without warning, the light gathers into a spiral and shoots into the hall. It swooshes and gusts around me like a whirlwind.

  The gust pulls me to the edge of the well. My hair slaps against my cheeks as I grip its stone edge, rough and solid beneath my palms. The light trickling up from inside the well sparkles like diamond dust. I try to back away, but the light holds me tightly in place.

  Round and round the wind circles my body, and then, to my horror, yanks me inside the well. It ha
ppens so quickly, I don’t have time to scream.

  I plummet into the well, shooting as though I’m slipping down a waterslide tunnel. The wind howls, and though I try to hold my hands out to stop myself, it’s useless.

  With a giant thud, I plop onto my bed! The covers flounce about me as my body drops hard onto the mattress. I wince in pain, but remain absolutely still. Did I just wake up from a dream? What happened? Where is Bella?

  Everything in the room feels off-kilter, yet I can’t explain why. The room has the same decor, same furniture, same fireplace.

  But not.

  The door swings open. I expect it to be Bella. But it isn’t. It’s a girl, panting heavily. She’s slightly older than me, with light skin and strands of blond hair braided to form a crown on top of her head and the rest trailing down her back. She wears a huge puffy dress that looks like something from the Middle Ages. Her forehead’s bunched up and sweat trickles down the sides of her face.

  “Thou hast come! My birthday wish hath cometh true!” She clasps her hands together as if enraptured. Her words are laced with a strong French accent. “But oh, dear. It is not safe now. Thou must flee!”

  “Flee?” I raise my eyebrows. “Why?”

  The girl slams the door shut behind her and races to the fireplace. She pulls down on the fire poker, and the back of the fireplace disappears.

  “Whoa,” I say. “How did you do that?”

  “Make haste!” The girl waves her hands frantically.

  Slowly, I edge off the bed, eyeing the weirdly dressed girl. There’s something oddly familiar about her, but I can’t figure out what. Still, this girl either knows me somehow or is completely wacked out. If I can manage to slip from the room when she isn’t looking, I can find my mom or Madame. The girl obviously needs help.

  “I don’t understand.” My heartbeat kicks up a notch as I creep toward the door. “Who are you?”

  “Thou art most certainly not what I was expecting, but that is nary a worry.” The girl grabs me by the elbow and literally drags me to the fireplace. “Come hither!”

  “Let go of me!” I fight against her.

  She twists me around so I’m facing her. When I see the intensity of her expression, I stop resisting.

  “Thou must promise to return when it is safer,” she says. “I beseech thee not to tarry!”

  “Right. How about we go talk to Madame first?”

  “The creatures, they smell thy scent. Run, for thy life depends upon it. They have been ordered to kill thee.”

  “What?” I step away from her. This girl is most definitely a wacko. With a big, fat O. “For a second there, I thought you said kill.”

  Something smashes against the bedroom door. It shudders from the weight of whatever is on the other side. The girl’s eyes widen. She snatches the lantern off the mantel and pushes me into the opening inside the fireplace while I’m still eyeing the door.

  The girl takes off in a sprint down the narrow passageway. Dust and cobwebs riddle the path. Should I trust her? The bedroom door groans and buckles as something smashes against the door’s surface. Then the sound of claws scratching through the wood sends my pulse racing. I swallow back a scream and take off down the secret passageway, batting aside sticky cobwebs and choking on dust.

  “What was that back there?” I say as we duck around corners, up three steps, and then down ten more. It’s like a rabbit’s trail, winding and twisting through the castle until we reach another door with the symbol of two intersecting Ws carved into its surface.

  I halt when I see that symbol. It, too, is oddly familiar. Before I can place it, the girl shoves open the door and we stumble out of a small shed into a garden. A light mist trails over the ground, and moonlight bathes the area.

  “Dost thou see that light hanging on the oak?” I nod. “Run to it as fast as thou can.”

  “But—” My eyes bounce between the girl and the tree. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Are my mom and Bella okay?”

  The girl’s face contorts as if I were asking the strangest questions. “Return when it is safe, for I am desperate for thine assistance! Now make haste!”

  The shed door crashes open. A massive shadow leaps out onto the dewy grass. A growl fills the air. I spin on my heels, heart thumping in my chest, and race for the lone lantern swaying in the breeze on one of the oak’s boughs.

  The lantern’s glimmering light closes around me, swirling like an endless eddy. Then in a rush, it yanks me upward just as claws swipe at my bare feet.

  My breath squeezes out of me as I shoot into the starry sky. Air swallows my scream, and wind presses against my cheeks.

  Then I land. This time with a thump on the hard tiled floor outside of my room, smacking the back of my head. The light churns around me as if licking my skin before sweeping up the chimney and into the hall fireplace. In a final gush, a pull sucks all the air from the room.

  Bam! The doors to the balcony crash shut as my lungs gasp for air.

  Breathe! I tell myself. Must breathe.

  But I can’t. No air! The hall spins.

  Then, like springs, every bedroom door along the hall pops open. Air floods back into my lungs. I gulp it in, starved for oxygen.

  “What in heavens was that?” Mrs. Jones shrills from her doorway, her curlers trembling.

  Mr. Jones stomps out into the hall. “All this noise,” he barks. “How is a man supposed to get sleep, eh?”

  Meanwhile, Bella and Mom race to me, hunching down on either side of me. Mom’s face pales whiter than a moon.

  “Keira!” Mom’s voice is high-pitched in panic. “What happened? Why are you out here?”

  “Oh, wow,” Bella says. “Your foot is bleeding.”

  “I bumped my head,” I say, not really knowing the answer to my mom’s question. What did happen? But after our break-in, Mom has been panicking over the slightest thing and this is supposed to be our vacation away from the chaos back home. “I must have been sleepwalking. Cut myself on something.”

  “I wondered where you went,” Bella says. “Your scream scared me.”

  “Are you okay?” Mom’s hands shake as she cradles my face with them. “Tell me you’re okay!”

  The scratch on my foot keeps bleeding, dripping onto the floor. I dare a glance at the fireplace at the end of the hall, but it appears harmless. “Yeah. I guess.”

  But I’m not. And from Mom’s expression, my lying skills haven’t improved either. I want to tell her what happened, but how do I explain what I saw? The WW symbol pushes into my mind, nagging at me.

  “Don’t you worry,” Mom says. “We’ll get some antiseptic for that and a Band-Aid.”

  With the help of Bella and Mom, I stand and hobble toward our room. Moonlight streams in through the windowpanes of the balcony’s closed doors. It’s as if nothing happened.

  “All that banging noise, it was you, wasn’t it?” Mr. Jones points a gnarly finger at me. The guy just won’t give it up. “Waking us up from a peaceful sleep.”

  “You don’t talk to my daughter that way!” Mom says sharply.

  “She doesn’t look so good.” Mr. Parker comes over to us and adjusts his spectacles as if to get a better look at me. “Looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

  “I thought I saw something on the balcony.” My voice trembles.

  “I’ll check it out.” Chet hurries over and swings open the balcony doors with a flourish.

  Nothing is there.

  “Must have imagined it,” I mumble.

  Madame scurries into the center of the hall, one hand clasping a candle in front of her chest. “Please calm down!” She waves her free hand in the air. “Do not worry yourselves. We have such drafts here. Especially in the early summer.”

  “But it isn’t even windy outside,” Mrs. Jones says.

  “Yes, well, it comes in bursts.” Madame bustles to the end of the hall, pushes Chet aside, and closes the doors. Then she slips one of her silver keys into the keyhole of the balcony doors and
twists it. “There. All locked up. Nothing to worry yourself over.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard,” growls Mr. Jones. “The townsfolk say the castle is haunted. Plus, what about last night? There were noises then, too.”

  Madame glares at him, her face shadowed in the candlelight. “You shouldn’t listen to such rumors,” she warns before marching back to her room.

  “So there are rumors!” Mrs. Jones calls after Madame’s retreating form. Madame’s answer is the slam of a door.

  “Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Mom asks.

  “No, I’m fine,” I say, attempting to be brave. I hook arms with Bella. “Bells will keep me company.”

  But as I step into our bedroom, I make sure to lock the door. Because now I know the rumors are true.

  Survival Fact: To leave a dragon’s lair unscathed,

  remember to wear fire-resistant clothing.

  SATURDAY (SAMEDI), JUNE 12TH

  Breakfast is a solemn affair. No one utters a word, most certainly not a whisper about last night. All I hear is the clinking of silverware, Bella’s pencil scratching on her design book, Chet slurping his water, and the rustling of Mr. Parker’s newspaper as he turns the pages, clearly ignoring Chet.

  “Excellent news,” Mom says from across the table. “According to the local paper, there was an unexpected storm last night that blew down some telephone poles. Isn’t it reassuring to have science and facts to explain things like what happened last night?”

  “Wasn’t that in the South of France?” Mr. Jones says gruffly.

  “Yes.” Mom shifts uneasily in her chair. “But there may have been aftereffects that reached here.”

  “Do you actually think the storm in Southern France made the doors in our rooms shut like that?” Mrs. Jones says doubtfully. “That sounds quite odd.”

  The last thing I want to talk about is last night. When I lay down, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, hardly sleeping a wink, so now I can barely keep my eyes open as I take a bite of croissant.

  That is, until the door to the dining room smashes open, revealing a slender woman with a fitted pinstripe suit and spike heels. But it’s the woman’s hair that catches my attention. A flaming red that flings out like dragon’s breath as she sails into the room. I literally jump in my chair, while Mrs. Jones drops her tea in shock. The china crashes onto the wooden floor and splinters into shards.