“Did you wait until the story ended before you went scribbling morals down?”

“The story never ended,” I said. “It just kept adding new pages.” He flicked his hand in my direction. “Well, that’s your problem then. If you had read books, you would know that you had to face the villain before the story could finish.” Clover tapped his foot against Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder and it made a metallic clang. “As for the moral of Rumpelstiltskin, I already told it to you. It’s that you’ve got to figure things out yourself, but you shouldn’t worry because there will be folks to help you—in this case, me, seeing as you didn’t figure out the moral by yourself. Even though I told it to you.” He leaned backward on his heels in a self-satisfied manner. “When you get out your pen next, you could sum it up by saying, ‘Humans need leprechauns to save their sorry britches.’ ”

It didn’t seem like a very good moral, but I didn’t argue. If it would get us home, I’d write it word for word.

Clover tilted the brim of his hat. “I suppose I can use this gold to pay me union dues to the UMA. It’s enough to last a couple of centuries. And they’ll be stuck with the lot of it as nobody else will want 314/356

tainted currency.” Clover chuckled happily. “Serves them right for making me Chrysanthemum Everstar’s glorified errand boy.” Clover was still smiling when he disappeared from Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder. The next moment, a wave of fissures spread through the statue. The metal cracked like ice breaking and crumbled to the ground in a rush of gold coins.

I rubbed my freed arm and watched the pile of coins shine in the flashlight beams. And then the pile disappeared too. The only trace that Rumpelstiltskin had ever been there was a heap of clothes and the pins-and-needles sensation in my hand as the blood rushed back into it.

Dad held his flashlight to my arm, examining the bruised skin.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded.

Sandra gave me a sideways hug so she didn’t squish the baby, then checked on him again. This involved more ooohing on her part.

He reached out for her, and she took him out of the sling, cooing as she held him. I took the book out of the diaper bag and flipped through the pages. New illustrations had been added. My showdown in the forest with Rumpelstiltskin lay on one page. On the next, he was a hideous gold statue. The last picture showed Hudson standing by my side and my family hugging me. It read, “And the miller’s daughter lived happily ever after. The end.”

Even though my family was reading the book over my shoulder, I called out, “It ended! I live happily ever after.” This sentence brought me a ridiculous amount of relief—like the book had put a stamp of approval on my life. I was going to live happily ever after.

I pulled out the pen but didn’t put it to the paper. “I’ll wait for Hudson to come back.”

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“Start it now,” my father said, “and you can write the last bit when he returns.”

Nick nodded. “Yeah, save the part about people needing leprechauns to save their britches until he gets here. I’m sure he’ll want to know what the real moral of the story was.” I sat down on the ground and spread the book out in my lap. “I should have known all along it would be a biased moral.” I didn’t start writing until I saw Hudson running back down the trail. He slowed to a walk when he saw the statue was gone. “What happened to our buddy Rumple?”

“Clover took him,” I said. “He’s going to use the gold to pay his UMA dues for the next century or two.”

“Ah.” Hudson drew a couple of deep breaths and walked over to me. “Greed pays off again.”

“There’s another good moral from the story,” Nick said.

I finished writing the sentence Clover had told me, but like the others, it faded from the book. I gripped the pen hard, then threw it onto the open page. “No!” I yelled.

Alarmed, Hudson took the book from my hands. He read the last page and looked at me quizzically. “You didn’t want to live happily ever after?”

“Not that. Clover told me the moral of the story and it still didn’t work.”

Nick shook his head and glanced at the book. “So much for leprechauns saving our sorry britches.”

I suppressed a frustrated scream. Nothing worked. What sort of awful enchanted book was this?

Hudson helped me up and handed the book back to me. “Let’s hope the wizard’s magic works better.”

Chapter 23

Another light came bobbing up the trail toward us—the wizard hurrying, but not running. He slowed when he saw me. “Where is this statue you said entrapped the girl? What sort of trickery are you up to?”

“No trickery,” Hudson said. “I told you the truth. A leprechaun took the statue away because it was made of gold, but you can look at the mark on Tansy’s arm if you don’t believe me.” I didn’t expect the wizard to actually care about the proof, but he strode over to me. I showed him the mark on my forearm. It was deep red, almost purple, and my arm was swollen. He wrinkled his nose, then turned back to Hudson. “Very well. Let’s conduct our business directly. Where is the Gilead?”

Hudson opened the pouch at his waist and pulled out the branch.

“You can have it if you promise to send everyone here back to our time period. We can pay you gold for your extra trouble.” The wizard pursed his lips. “Our bargain was for one person. No more.”

Hudson motioned to my family. “All of us need to go home. We don’t belong here.”

“Do you know how much effort, how much magic, that would en-tail?” The wizard held up a finger. “One person. Choose whomever you desire.”

I didn’t want to hear this, not after we’d been through so much.

“Please,” I said, but Bartimaeus probably didn’t even hear me. Hudson was talking again.

“It has to be all of us,” he said.

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My dad stepped forward. “If you help us, we’ll give you the things we brought with us from our day—walkie-talkies, flashlights, watches, first-aid kits …”

Perhaps the wizard might have been interested if he had known what any of these items were, but he didn’t bother to ask. He shook his head as though we couldn’t possibly have anything worthwhile.

Sandra walked over to him, still carrying the baby. “Think how you would feel if your own family were stranded in the wrong time.

Wouldn’t you want someone to help them?” A moth flew by the wizard’s oil lamp, and he batted it away. “That is precisely why I have no family. They’re simply more people who need something from you. Annoying insects.” I wasn’t sure whether he meant families or the moth that was still circling his lamp. “The mos-quitoes will be out next.” He swung his hand through the air as though swiping away an incoming swarm and glared at Hudson. “Choose who will go, or our bargain is over.”

Hudson turned to me, his dark eyes pained. He was going to say good-bye to me now; he was leaving. The realization caused a spike of pain in my heart that rivaled the stab of the enchantment. I wanted to tell Hudson it was okay, that I wouldn’t blame him for going and leaving the rest of us here. I couldn’t do it, though. My throat felt tight at the thought of never seeing him again.

“Well,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, “it turns out ‘happily ever after’ isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He walked over and took hold of my hand. I didn’t want this moment of kindness. It felt like a consolation prize. I couldn’t pull my hand away, though. Suddenly I wanted to cling to him and was afraid I wouldn’t be able to let go.

“Should we send Stetson back?” he asked.

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“What?” It hadn’t been what I expected him to say. I couldn’t process it. He wasn’t leaving?

“We could send Stetson back to our day. He’d be safer there—with modern medicine and better food …”