A puff of light went off by my side, and I turned, hoping to see Chrissy.

Instead a man stood in front of me.

Chapter 10

Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t short and dwarfish like I had expected. He was tall and so painfully thin that if his picture had been on a poster, people would have sent relief money to his country. His stringy brown hair had an unusual tint to it, almost burgundy, and his eyes were deep-set and intense. He wore a golden vest over a flowing white shirt, copper-colored breeches that ended at his knee, and white silk stockings. It was the outfit of the wealthy—but the wealthy of a later time period. I wondered if he knew what century we were in.

He walked toward me, his long legs scissoring across the room.

“There, there, don’t weep.” He held out a handkerchief in his spindly fingers. They reminded me of spiders, of things that scurried off to dark corners.

I took the handkerchief from him. “Thank you.” I wiped my nose, then realized I didn’t know what to do with the handkerchief. Certainly Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t want a mucky handkerchief back. But maybe he did. I didn’t know what people did before tissues. My history teacher had never covered that sort of thing.

When he didn’t reach for it, I kept it in my lap.

“Tell me what distresses you, Mistress Miller.” His voice had a deep whispering quality to it, like wind rushing through trees.

I didn’t answer. I knew what I should say, but I couldn’t speak.

Once I did, I would be following the script of this story—sliding toward a destiny I didn’t want.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, which made his cheekbones jut out in sharp contrast to the sunken valleys of his cheeks. “Don’t be alarmed at my appearance here. I am your fairy godfather.” 142/356

“Fairy godfather?” I repeated.

“Aye. No doubt you’ve heard stories of how fairies sometimes appear to worthy young maidens in their time of need.” He leaned over and wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “You’ve been unjustly imprisoned to save your father’s life, and you’ll forfeit your own unless this straw is changed to gold by morning.” I nodded and shivered.

“I can spin the straw into gold for you if you’ll but give me a small token of your trust.”

“What do you want?” I asked. In the story, Rumpelstiltskin asked for both a necklace and a ring, but this no longer felt like a children’s story. This fairy—the way his eyes hungrily followed my move-ments—set my nerves on edge. He was dangerous. I could feel it.

Rumpelstiltskin’s gaze ran over me and stopped at my neck. He ran one of his fingers along my throat. I tried not to flinch. His finger was cold and smooth. The way snakes feel. “Give me your necklace,” he said.

It was a simple gold chain with a heart that my best friend in New York had given to me before I left. I took it off slowly. I didn’t have many mementos from my friends and knew I’d never see this one again. “Why does a fairy who can spin straw into gold want a gold necklace?”

He smiled at me with grayish white teeth and plucked the necklace from my hand. “It’s merely a token that proves you’ve agreed to do business with me. The Unified Magical Alliance is particular about such things.”

“The Unified Magical Alliance?” Chrissy had talked about them too, but it didn’t seem like they should be part of the fairy tale. Did he know I wasn’t the real miller’s daughter and that this was part of a wish?

143/356

Rumpelstiltskin tucked my necklace into his vest pocket. “You need not worry your pretty little head about the Alliance. Rest and let me do the work.”

He picked up the spindle from the stool and tossed it aside like it was trash. When he sat down, the largest spinning wheel I had ever seen materialized in front of him.

I watched him from a distance. “Do you know a fairy named Chrysanthemum Everstar?”

He tensed at the name, then picked up a handful of straw and examined it. “The fay folk are many. Quite a few have escaped my notice.

Why do you ask?”

He hadn’t answered my question, and the way he tensed made me think that he did know her. I could have told him everything—how I was from the future and Chrissy had sent me here mistakenly. But I didn’t trust him and didn’t want to give him more information than I had to. What sort of person says he’s your fairy godfather and then tries to take your baby from you later? It had been a long time since I’d read the fairy tale, but I had a vague recollection that Rumpelstiltskin wanted to eat the child.

Rumpelstiltskin pressed the foot pedal, testing it, and the wheel spun so fast the spokes blurred together. He kept his gaze on me, waiting for me to say how I knew Chrissy.

“She granted me a favor once,” I told him, “but it didn’t turn out like it was supposed to. I want to talk to her.” Rumpelstiltskin fed some straw into the spindle. It jumped from his hand like tiny birds landing in their nests. The straw went over the wheel, broken and bumpy, then impossibly turned into a smooth, golden strand on the other side. It looked like liquid light winding around the bobbin.

144/356

Rumpelstiltskin motioned to the pile, and a stream of straw swirled onto the spinning wheel. “Did you give this Chrysanthemum Everstar any sort of token for the favor she granted you?”

“Um, no.” She had never asked for anything.

“Ah, then it was a gift, not a bargain, and sadly you’ve no recourse. It does no good to complain about shoddy workmanship if her magic was a present.” The corner of his thin lips lifted. “A bargain is binding though. The UMA makes sure of that.”

“Oh.” I suddenly wished I had read Chrissy’s contract more carefully. I also wondered why Rumpelstiltskin didn’t give me a contract since his bargains were binding. Perhaps he didn’t think I could read.

He stroked the edge of the spinning wheel. “You’ve no cause to worry about my work though. You’ll have nothing but the finest gold when I’m through.”

I didn’t feel like talking to him any longer so I sat down next to the door. I watched the wheel turning, watched the hypnotic spinning and the torch light winking reflections off the gold.

Rumpelstiltskin sung a low, lilting song as he worked, and I caught snatches of words: “Today do I bake, tomorrow I brew.” But these weren’t the words I thought about as he spun. It was the phrase he’d said earlier that repeated over and over to the thumping of the foot pedal. You’ll have nothing but the finest gold when I’m through.

You’ll have nothing. You’ll have nothing. You’ll have nothing but gold when I’m through.

Rumpelstiltskin looked over and saw me watching. “The night is far spent,” he said. “You must sleep.” As though it were a command that I had to obey, I felt exhaustion sweeping over me. I shut my eyes, lay down, and was asleep.

• • •

145/356

The next morning, I was awakened by the sound of a voice from the other side of the door. I didn’t recognize the speaker. His voice was high-pitched and condescending. “If she is as pretty as you say, perhaps we will stay her execution for a few days, but we doubt we will take a liking to her. That last maiden you brought to our attention—the musical one—we found her dulcimers dull, her vielle vile, and don’t even get us started on her gemshorn.” We? Who was talking? I sat up, wiping away strands of hair from my face. Only a few shafts of morning light made their way through the shutter cracks. Everything in the room was dark and muted.

The bolt slid across the door, and I scooted a little bit away.

“We are quite a bit more discerning about women than you are, Haverton, and we have better taste too. We hope you aren’t wasting our time again.”

The door swung open, letting more light into the room. The bushy-bearded knight strode in with a man who couldn’t have been anyone but King John. He wore yellow-and-orange-striped silk robes clasped together at his throat with a doorknob-sized broach. His shoulder-length brown hair was noticeably thin on top or perhaps even absent. He had draped a large section of hair from the back of his head across the top to cover the bald spot and to act as bangs—a medieval version of a bad comb-over.