I stared at the book.

Who was to say the story wasn’t already finished? I was the author. I voted that this was a good place for the story to end. Which 193/356

meant all I needed was a moral, and we would be back in the twenty-first century.

I put the pen on the top of the page.

The miller’s daughter was extremely grateful that she didn’t have to marry the horrid king who’d been threatening to kill her, and she learned an important moral: Do not make bargains with magical beings. The End.

The golden ink shimmered in the candlelight, then faded away. I felt sparks of panic igniting inside me. This had to work. It was my way home. I just had to get the moral right. Luckily, I had the entire night before King John came for me. I would find the right one.

I sat by the candle and wrote every moral that seemed possible. I tried vague ones: Good prevails over evil. All that glitters isn’t gold. I tried specific ones: Fairy men are male chauvinists. Be careful what you wish for if your fairy godmother is more concerned about finding a new job than improving your life.

I tried my first ideas: Don’t brag about things you can’t do. Make sure your father doesn’t brag about things you can’t do.

Nothing stuck.

Finally I put down the book and rubbed my eyes. It was useless, and it was late, and there was obviously something that Clover hadn’t told me. I called him, knowing even as I did, that he wouldn’t come.

He was off playing poker and the best I could hope for was that he’d lose quickly and come back for more gold.

I picked up the pen again and wrote: Poker is a terrible vice.

Nope. It faded away as soon as I added the period at the end of the sentence.

I would have to escape on my own, and hope that I could figure out the right moral soon. I tucked the pen into its flap, then stood up, stiff from sitting hunched over the book for so long. I walked to the 194/356

nearest pile of straw, placed my hands on top of it, and whispered,

“Straw, gold, gold, gold.”

I felt a stab of pain in my chest, as though the power had ripped its way out of my heart, but the transformation was immediate. The straw under my hands was no longer light and prickly. It was a jumble of golden sticks. However, only the straw I’d been touching changed.

The rest of it still stood there, unaffected.

At this rate, it would take the entire night and then some to change all the straw.

I really did hope that if King John found the room filled with gold in the morning, he’d be more concerned with guarding, moving, and inventorying it than tracking me down. Could I add measurements to the chant?

I put my hands on a different patch of straw. “Straw mound, gold, gold, gold.” The pain was so bad I gasped and shut my eyes, but when I opened them the entire mound had been reduced to a pile of golden twigs.

That was faster. I waited for several minutes until it no longer felt like my heart was beating against razor blades, then walked to the next pile. It was a little bigger than the last and I winced as I put my hands against the coarse straw. I knew what was coming. “Straw mound, gold, gold, gold.”

Pain ripped through me as the straw collapsed into a golden heap.

I looked around the room. Seven more mountainous straw piles were pushed against the walls. “I can’t change it all,” I said aloud. “Not even King John needs this much gold.” But when the throbbing in my heart subsided, I walked to the next mound, and the next, until half the room was a glittering mess of tangled gold twigs.

Vague sounds filtered in from outside. Faraway commands boomed out from deep, distant voices. I had no idea what it meant.

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Was it a nighttime guard drill of some sort? I wished whoever was yelling would go to bed. It would be harder to escape if people were running around the courtyard.

I put my hand over my heart. It was no longer bleeding, and the pain was lessening too, or perhaps I was just getting used to it.

I was moving to the sixth mound when the door burst open and Hudson stepped inside. He gripped a large ax in one hand and had a look of grim determination on his face. I froze. It generally isn’t good news when ax-wielding men come looking for you. The cynical part of me said: See, you always go for the wrong guys. He came here to kill you.

Hudson’s gaze went to the beam where I’d been chained and his brows dipped in worry. He scanned the room, taking in the piles of gold, and then saw me. Relief flashed across his face, and he motioned for me to come to him. “We’ve got to go. The castle is under attack.”

“What?” That couldn’t be right. That didn’t happen in the story.

I grabbed the magic book and the candle. As I hurried toward Hudson, I cast glances at the ax in his hand. “Are they coming in here?

Is that why you have an ax?”

“I brought this to cut through your chain. How did you get free?”

“Clover helped me.” I didn’t say more, and he didn’t ask. I ran the rest of the way over to him, ignoring the jabs of pain the motion caused. My mind was focused on the words “under attack.” Well, most of my mind was anyway. The sentimental, romantic part was busy gloating over its victory against the cynical part. He came to rescue you, not kill you, it said, and then it sighed dramatically.

We reached the door, but he didn’t open it. “Who’s attacking?” I asked.

“We don’t know.” Hudson dropped the ax and unsheathed his sword. “Some men put up ladders and were over the wall before the 196/356

watch could stop them. We can only see a few dozen men outside the wall, but they’re good shots and they’re keeping the garrison busy.” He opened the door a crack and peered out.

“Where are we going?” I asked. An attack on the castle meant I couldn’t escape tonight—not when guards were marching around inside the gates and dangerous men were on the other side.

“We’ve got to get the Gilead.”

He tried to pull me out the door but I resisted. “What?” I asked.

“You want to break into King John’s bedroom now?” Hudson let out a frustrated breath. “I left my post to get you, Tansy. Haverton didn’t want you freed, but I couldn’t leave you chained here while enemies were roaming around. Do you know what they’ll do when they find me?” He held a hand out in the direction of the castle. “King John is probably out with the captain of the guard. If you don’t want to wait for a wedding, we need to get the Gilead now.” I fingered the magic book in my hand. I hadn’t been able to make it work. Maybe it wouldn’t. The wizard might be our best bet to get home. “Okay,” I said, “let’s go.”

Scanning the darkness, Hudson led me onto the grounds. I kept pace with him even though each quick step sent shivers of pain into my chest. The candle flame jiggled in my hand, threatening to go out.

I didn’t want to go to the castle or be anywhere near King John—not when I knew what the story had planned for me next. It felt like no matter what I did, I couldn’t change the fairy tale. I was turning a page and heading right into the wedding dress portion of the book. I would spend my days guarded, turning things into gold while pain jolted my heart because I had an enchantment that was never intended for humans.

I was breathless when we reached the castle guards. Hudson told them that King John had sent for me and they let us through without 197/356

question. The castle was dim now. The torches hanging on the walls cast shadows that pooled across the corridor floors in crisscrossing circles.

Hudson held on firmly to my arm, so I couldn’t make a break for it. I wasn’t sure whether that was for show or if he really did worry that I’d have second thoughts about his plan.