I ignored him, stood up, and walked over to our boxes.

Dad had included a few books with the supplies. One dealt with outdoor survival, one was about the Middle Ages, and one was a book of fairy tales. My family had read the story of Rumpelstiltskin looking for clues that might help with my rescue. The story hadn’t proved useful in that way, but I was glad they had brought it. I sat back down with the book propped open in my lap.

In the pictures, Rumpelstiltskin looked more like a friendly garden gnome than a villain. In fact, the whole story seemed decept-ively tame spread out in the pages of this book. But it wasn’t a tame 228/356

story. It was tense and frightening, and I was surprised it hadn’t given me nightmares as a child.

“So what’s the moral?” I asked.

My family came up with ones I’d already tried: Don’t brag about things you can’t do. The pure in heart are helped. Good triumphs in the end.

I shook my head at each one. “None of those work.” Nick popped a piece of the fried toast into his mouth. “How about

‘Gold makes the world go around.’ ”

“Or ‘Don’t let your daughter talk to fairies,’ ” Dad added.

“ ‘Men will manipulate you to get whatever they want,’ ” Sandra said.

Dad shot her a disapproving look.

Sandra held her cup with both hands, taking slow sips. “Hey, it works in the context of the story.”

I opened my magic book. “Can’t hurt to try them.” I turned the pages and drew in a sharp breath. The story didn’t end where it had yesterday. On what had been a blank page, there was now a picture of me sneaking up the castle stairs, hand in hand with Hudson. I looked ready to swoon. He looked strong, determined, and glowingly attractive. I flipped over the page. The next painting showed King John holding his sword across the door, blocking the way. I looked totally swoony again. Hudson stood in the background, his chain mail glinting on his broad shoulders. He seemed so toweringly handsome that I wasn’t surprised my storybook self was completely smitten.

I glanced over at Hudson. I didn’t want to, but somehow I couldn’t help myself. I had to see him in real life.

He noticed my stare and stopped eating. “What’s wrong?” 229/356

I didn’t answer, just turned the page. It showed King John, tied up in gold string and weighed down by his gold wardrobe. On the page after that, Hudson carried me across the wall—but not flung over his shoulder, like I’d really been. In the painting he held me in his arms as though I was a new bride going over the threshold. My hair lay grace-fully around my shoulders in radiant blond waves. The muscles in his biceps rippled. It could have been the cover of a romance novel.

“What is it?” Hudson asked. He stood up and walked over.

My father, who sat next to me, leaned over and read, “The young guard carried the miller’s daughter to the wall where they escaped from the king’s men, making their way into the surrounding wilder-ness. That night they slept under a blanket of stars.” It was the last sentence written on the page, the new end of the story. Dad examined the picture more closely. “Is that supposed to be last night?”

From my other side, Hudson looked at the picture. “How come it doesn’t mention anybody else?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Artistic license, I guess?” Nick reached over and took the book from my hands. “Hey,” I said, trying to snatch it back. “I’m supposed to write the moral.”

“It will help us figure out the moral if we know the story.” Nick proceeded to read the entire thing, including the passages about the handsome young guard who came to the miller’s daughter’s rescue.

Nick snorted during those paragraphs, then turned to Hudson. “I think this book seriously has a crush on you.” I blushed. Did the book know I found Hudson attractive, that I had liked the feel of his hand around mine last night? Is that why it had painted him as some romance novel hero?

“So,” Nick said, “the new moral of the story would be what? ‘Make sure you’ve got a buff guard to carry you around’?” 230/356

I reached for the book again, but Nick still held it away. “No?

Okay, I’ve got the real one. It’s ‘Always be prepared.’ ”

“That’s the Boy Scout motto,” Hudson said, like this automatically disqualified it from being the moral.

“Then what is it?” Nick asked Hudson. “The new part of the story is about you, so you should be able to figure out the moral.” He handed the book to Hudson, who flipped through the pages, searching for clues. Or maybe he wasn’t searching for clues. Mostly he seemed to be examining the paintings. He looked carefully at the ones of us together. He took in the details, noting the way I held on to his neck while he carried me and the longing that had been painted into my eyes.

I expected him to laugh like Nick had, but he didn’t. He lowered the book and looked over at me, examining my eyes in real life. I could barely hold his gaze. It felt like he could see into my mind, like he could open up my thoughts and sort through them. Did he know I had a crush on him? Would it make things awkward between us now … or was it possible that he liked me too?

I kept my voice casual, unconcerned. “So what do you think the moral is?”

He paused, keeping his gaze on mine for another moment. Then he handed the book back. “I wish I knew.” I’m not sure why that answer disappointed me, but it did.

Chapter 17

While everybody else cleaned up breakfast and worked on packing our stuff, I sat by the fire and wrote down morals, starting with the Boy Scout motto.

It did sound like a good moral: Be prepared. If you’re going to travel to the Middle Ages, do it with boxes of canned goods, fire extinguishers, and automobiles with loud horns.

Nothing stuck.

Maybe the moral of the story was that magic books are evil and they want to make you suffer. I didn’t bother writing that one. There was no point in antagonizing it.

Finally, I put the book down on my lap in disgust. “This should work. We escaped. The story is over.” Only Hudson was listening to me. He was shoving one of our sleeping bags into its sack while Nick and Sandra took down the tent.

Dad had gone over to talk to Robin Hood.

I ran a finger over the book cover dismally. “The hero and heroine made a dramatic escape and slept underneath a blanket of stars.

That’s a good ending.”

“It’s not even accurate,” Hudson said. “You slept in a tent with your family. I slept on a bedroll next to a bunch of outlaws.”

“It doesn’t have to be accurate,” I said. “It just has to be good.” Hudson gave the sleeping bag one last shove, pushing it into its sack. “So the moral of the story is that if you can turn things into gold, you can buy off people to help you do anything you want.” I tapped the pen against my hand. “That doesn’t sound like a very good moral for a children’s story.”

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“No,” he said. “But it’s true, isn’t it? And what are you planning on doing with all that wealth now that you’ve got it?” I didn’t understand his sudden snippiness. Did he think I was going to turn into a King John? That I was going to sit around all day admiring my stash of gold and paying off lackeys to do my bidding?

“I only asked for this enchantment because I wanted money to keep the library open so my dad and Sandra wouldn’t lose their jobs.” Hudson let out a laugh like he didn’t believe me. “So when we get back home, you’re not planning to move to some mansion somewhere and spend your time hobnobbing with the rich and famous?” I slid the pen back into the book. “You make it sound bad when you put it that way.”

He shook his head. “So the moral of the story is about money, isn’t it? ‘Get as much as you can.’ ” And what was wrong with money? I wanted to finally have a say in my own life instead of being pushed around by everyone else’s circumstances. I wanted to be able to live whereever I wanted. Money was freedom.