“What will happen to him if Rumpelstiltskin takes him?” Chrissy’s wings slowly slid open, then quickly shut. She didn’t answer.

“What happens to my baby?” I asked again.

“Rumpelstiltskin will leave the baby in the vault. And he’ll die there.”

My legs felt weak. I worried they might give out. One thought pounded through my ears. I couldn’t let Rumpelstiltskin take my baby.

I couldn’t. I had to find a way to prevent it. “Chrissy, please just tell me 266/356

the moral to this fairy tale. If I write down the moral, we can go home, right?”

Her wings continued their slow fanning. “It’s not Rumpelstiltskin’s moral you need; it’s the moral of your own story. That’s the magic of books. They’re never quite the same for any two people. When you read one, you automatically make it your own.”

“I’ve tried every moral I can think of,” I said. “Nothing works.” She slid her wand back into her purse. “Well, you need to ask the right question to get the right answer.”

“Okay.” I tried to keep my voice calm, rational. “I’m pretty sure the right question is, what is the moral of the story?” She glanced at her watch—a sure sign she was about to leave. “No, the question to ask is, what have I learned?” The light around Chrissy glimmered; she was fading, and I knew in another moment, she’d leave altogether.

I stepped toward her. “Don’t go yet.”

“Very often,” she said, her voice already sounding far away, “the lessons you learn are more important than the things you accomplish.” And then she was gone.

“Lovely,” I said out loud. “A very lovely sentiment, unless what you want to accomplish is getting to safety.” The baby stretched. He lifted one arm, leaving his hand by his face as he drifted back to sleep.

“Or saving your baby’s life.” His life suddenly seemed more important than my own.

Hudson walked back over, holding the reins of my horse. “You were right,” he said. “That was quite a surprise.” I knew I should be moving, but I felt too shaky to take a single step. I hadn’t even wanted to bargain with Rumpelstiltskin when the baby he asked for was only theoretical—when I didn’t think it would ever exist anyway. Now I held the baby in my arms. He was mine.

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I could identify the emotion that had coursed so forcefully through me from the moment Chrissy placed him in my arms. It was love, stronger than anything I had ever felt before. This feeling was why parents ran into burning buildings to save their children. It was why animals killed to protect their young. It was why my own father had made a deal with bandits and stormed a castle to rescue me. I knew unequivocally that I would do anything for this child. And I had traded him to Rumpelstiltskin for the ability to change things into gold. My voice choked in my throat. “What have I done?”

“It will be all right,” Hudson said. “You already know Rumpelstiltskin’s name.”

This brought me some comfort, but not enough. I had changed the fairy tale. What if I had changed the bargain at the end too? What if he asked a different question?

“At least your fairy godmother gave us fresh horses,” Hudson said. “Here, I’ll hold the baby while you mount.”

“Be careful,” I said. “Don’t drop him.” Hudson held out his arms. “You can trust me.” He had said the same thing back at the castle, and I had laughed at him. I didn’t now. I handed him my son.

On a hunch, I checked the diaper bag, and found what I was looking for—an over-the-shoulder sling to carry the baby in. It took Hudson and me a few moments to figure out how to work it, but then the baby was nestled against my chest, sleeping, and we rode through the forest.

The horses were strong and fast. While the last bit of evening light lingered in the sky, they raced down the path without much urging on our part. In the back of my mind, I could always see Rumpelstiltskin walking through the forest, his thin face scanning the trees. “Which 268/356

way did she go?” he asked them, and their leaves quaked in my direction.

As soon as we were far enough away, I would write morals until I found the one that brought us home—to a time period that was long beyond the date that Rumpelstiltskin could ask anything from me. I made a mental list of things I had learned.

Magic was dangerous. Greed was dangerous. And my father loved me enough—Sandra and Nick loved me enough—to risk their lives to rescue me from King John. That was my favorite thing I’d learned.

Another thing I’d learned: despite the fact that I hadn’t liked Hudson at first, I liked him a lot now. He was smart, brave, and thoughtful.

I had no doubt when we got back to Rock Canyon, he could do anything he wanted in life.

I had also learned that at some point I was going to have a son. As I felt the warmth of his little body against my own, I thought about that responsibility. I wanted to be the best person I could for him. I would make sure I was ready to be a mom, and married, and that the guy I married would be a good father. Someone who was dedicated to me and our son so I wouldn’t ever have to raise him by myself.

The thought made my throat tighten. My mother had raised Kendall and me by herself for years, and I hadn’t made it any easier for her. I was sorry about that now.

The sun set and the moon rose in the night sky. It was full, but still didn’t shed much light. Hudson turned on his flashlight, and held it out in front of him in order to keep the horses moving forward at a walk. When we reached the river, it became a little easier to travel. The ground was smoother, and the water made a dark arrow of a path to follow.

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The baby woke up as we went along the riverbank. I had no idea how old he was. He was bigger than a newborn, but whether he was five months or ten, I couldn’t tell.

He fussed, squinting his eyes in displeasure. “It’s all right,” I whispered to him. “I’m here. Mommy’s here.” I expected him to dispute that statement with a few wails. After all, I wasn’t really his mother. Not yet. But he settled back into me.

He knew my voice, I realized, and I felt incredibly happy at that fact.

We continued riding on. When our horses clattered over the wooden bridge, the baby woke again, this time opening startled eyes and throwing his arms out in surprise. He cried in indignation, and my whispered assurances weren’t enough to soothe him. Was he hungry?

If I made up some formula and he didn’t want it, then it would be wasted, and I wasn’t sure how much food Chrissy had packed for him.

I found an empty bottle in the diaper bag and put it to his lips to see if he tried to drink from it, but he just turned his head, arching away.

I felt along his diaper. It was dry.

What else did parents do when babies cried? I didn’t know any lullabies, but my dad used to sing “You Are My Sunshine” to me when I was little. It seemed like a parental song, so I sang it.

The baby settled down, watching me with dark eyes and sucking on his fist. Maybe I sang this song to him in the future. Or perhaps my father did.

I only knew the first verse of the song, so I sang it over and over, and thought about how your childhood is with you, even when you don’t realize it’s there.

I hadn’t thought that we would be able to travel very far along the path into the forest. I kept waiting for the flashlight to dim or for 270/356

Hudson to say he couldn’t hold it steady anymore, but we trudged on at a slow pace, and the moon rose higher in the sky.

The pathway finally widened into a real road and then we came to a village. All the huts we passed were dark and shuttered. Some were little more than shacks; others looked like log cabins. A few were made of stone—these were the largest homes.

Hudson rode to a stone house set farther back than the rest. It had a large garden in front and a barn behind the house. The wizard might have been out of favor with the king, but he still seemed to be one of the more wealthy residents of this village.