“No.”

He nodded as though expecting as much. “That’s fine, but you have to stay here. In this room.” His blue eyes turned intense as he emphasized the point. “I don’t want to come back and find you’re off trying to help me slay the dragon, okay? I know they’re fun magical creatures in all those fantasy novels back home, but here they’re more like huge flying crocodiles. That have bad tempers.

And shoot flames out of their mouths. And eat people.

In fact, they don’t like to eat raw meat so they cook their food inside their mouths, often while listening to it scream. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” I turned away from him. “I understand perfectly. You think I’m incompetent.”

“That’s not what I said.”

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But it was too late; the stress of the day finally cres-cendoed in my mind. I was trying so hard to do things right and nothing had gone the way I’d planned. Even coming here felt like a mistake. Tristan didn’t want my help. The tears didn’t have time to well up in my eyes.

They just came, spilling out onto my cheeks.

He walked toward me, a sigh on his lips. “Don’t cry.” I wiped the tears off my cheeks but they were just replaced by others. Then I started sobbing.

“Savannah.” He said my name softly, partially with exasperation, but with something else too. Forgiveness maybe. He put his arms around me and I lay my head against his chest. The scratchy wool of his tunic pressed roughly against my cheek. I didn’t care that it felt like sandpaper or smelled of the bonfire smoke. I wound my arms around his waist.

The tears kept coming but breathing was easier.

“It’s okay,” he said, and then said it over and over while stroking my hair. “You’re not incompetent. Hey, you’re the one who brought the Shampoo Bottle of Death with you.” His fingers lingered over a lock of my hair and he brought it up to his face. “Not only will it disable monsters but it makes your hair smell good too.” I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t.

“Look, I’m sorry I yelled at you before,” he said, and he let out another sigh. “It’s just . . . you belong back in 287/431

high school. Back with the cheerleaders, and the track team, and the mall. Safe things. Things that don’t eat girls. You don’t realize how dangerous all of this is. It’s some sort of game to you.”

“No, it’s not.”

He ran his fingers across the back of my hair. “Why did you come back to the Middle Ages to help me?” I lifted my head up to look at him. “I had to. It was the right thing to do.”

His expression was unreadable, serious. He nodded slightly but I had no idea whether my explanation satisfied him.

“I didn’t mean to send you here,” I said. “I was just upset about the whole Hunter thing and not thinking clearly.”

“I know,” he said.

“And okay, a lot of times I don’t think clearly, but I’m trying.”

“I know,” he said again. His hand moved from my hair down my back. Which, by the way, suddenly made it hard to think clearly.

My voice came out just above a whisper. “I’m really not looking for a prince.”

“Good.”

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He was so near, and it was so comforting to have his arms around me. I didn’t want him to move away from me. “What does Princess Margaret’s hair smell like?”

“Cough medicine.”

It bothered me that he actually knew the answer to that question. “Is that where you were all day? With her?”

He looked up at the ceiling as though trying to make an accounting of his time, but he didn’t let go of me. “I was talking to members of the king’s guards who’ve dealt with the dragon before, practicing archery with the other knights, and yes, part of the time I was trying to pump Princess Margaret for information on the Black Knight.”

That shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. “Did she tell you anything useful?”

“Not really. She’s upset about something. I didn’t catch the whole conversation between her and Lady Theodora, but apparently whoever it was who stood her up yesterday still hasn’t come by to beg her forgiveness.”

“The Black Knight?”

He shrugged. “Who knows?” His hand was back on my hair, twisting strands of it between his fingers. Quite distracting.

I said, “Your future fiancée wouldn’t let me out of her room.”

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He showed no alarm at this news. “She thought you were sick. You told her yourself that you were.”

“I don’t trust her and I don’t think you should either, even if she is demure . . . and has a nice dowry.”

“You don’t need to be jealous.” He tightened his arms, pressing me closer to him. “Some girls don’t need to bribe guys into liking them.”

He bent down to kiss me, and I tilted my face up to meet his lips. I wanted more than anything to kiss him, to feel like he cared about me that way. It felt like triumph, like acceptance. Then with a thud to my heart, I remembered what a kiss would do and pushed him away.

He stared at me, surprised, and I could only stare back at him, wide-eyed and breathless. I still had more than five days left until the switching enchantment wore off and I’d just come close to forgetting everything and making myself a permanent resident of the Middle Ages.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that . . .” Did I tell him or not? I hadn’t wanted to tempt him with the knowledge of how easy it would be for him to get rid of his enchantment, but he wouldn’t take advantage of me, would he? I could trust him. He’d risked his life to save me from the cyclops . . . Of course he’d needed to kill the cyclops anyway . . .

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I’d waited too long. Tristan supplied his own ending.

“You’re still getting over Hunter?” I hated lying to him, but it was the safest way. I nodded. “I need a little more time before I can get involved with anyone.” Five days to be precise.

I heard someone walking down the hallway and waited for them to pass before I finished talking to Tristan. But they didn’t. They walked right to our door. I heard the innkeeper say, “This here be your sister’s room.”

And then Jane and Hunter walked in.

From the Honorable Sagewick Goldengill To Madame Bellwings, Fairy Advancement Dear Madame Bellwings,

Due to the limitations of the Memoir Elves, there appears to be an essential gap in this narrative. Will you contact Leprechaun Relations and ask them for details regarding the transportation of Jane Delano and Hunter Delmont back in time to the land of Pampovilla?

Yours,

Professor Sagewick Goldengill From Clover T. Bloomsbottle To Professor Sagewick Goldengill Dear Professor,

Some blokes up at the Roadside Tavern said you wanted to know my part in how those two mortals ended up in the Middle Ages. Well, after a series of unfortunate circumstances, I found myself in the land of the Yanks. I made a pact with a mortal girl and she said she’d mail me back to Ireland. Aye—but never trust a mortal—it was just a trick. She trapped me in the box so her sister could find me and demand me gold.

So there I was, trusting as you like, when I heard the tape ripping off the box. Then, sure enough, there were two gigantic heads peering down at me.

“What is that?” the lass asked.

And the lad said, “I think it’s alive.” I at once told them what’s what. “You can’t have me gold, so don’t even ask.” Well, the two of them took to staring at me some more and the lad said, “I think it’s supposed to be a leprechaun.”

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The lass blinked at me. “A leprechaun? Magic is real?”