Sabrina and Daphne joined Puck. “He’s right. You could manage to get off one shot, maybe two, but you can’t hit us all.”
“You don’t know the fairy godmother wand that well. You’ve gotten lucky,” Daphne added.
Soon Arthur, the knights, and the Wonderland group were standing right behind the children.
“I warned you!” Pinocchio said, flicking the wand. A bolt of energy burst from it and hit Sir Galahad in the chest. There was a pop, a puff of smoke, and then Galahad turned into a turtle.
“I think I know this wand well enough.” Pinocchio looked smug.
“Get him!” Puck shouted, and the crowd rushed at Pinocchio. There were more explosions from the wand but soon someone snatched it out of the little boy’s hands and he was defenseless. He screamed, cursed, and threatened, but when the dust settled he was on the ground with his hands behind his back. Sabrina had never seen anyone so angry in her life.
“How dare you!” he shouted. “I have a right to live like a normal person. I have a right to grow up!”
Sabrina stood over him as Daphne sat on his back. “I might have thought the same thing, once. But you betrayed us. You were our friend and you sold us out to Mirror. Don’t tell me what you are owed. Whatever the Editor chooses to do with you is exactly what you deserve. Hey, Editor! We’ve got him!”
Just then, a door materialized from thin air and it swung open. Standing in a brilliant light was the Editor.
“Good news, boss. We stopped the puppet,” Daphne said.
“These characters do not belong in this story!” the Editor said coolly.
“They followed us,” Sabrina said. “We’ve been—”
“They will have to go back!”
Suddenly Arthur drew his sword and charged at the Editor. The skinny old man fell backward, and the king raced through the doorway after him. The rest of his ragtag army followed. Puck pulled Pinocchio to his feet and they chased the group through the door to the library, trying to convince everyone to stay calm.
“So, you are the vile monster who torments us!” Arthur shouted at the Editor. Murder was in his eyes.
“Stay away from me!” the Editor demanded.
“Women and children, shield your eyes,” Arthur commanded. “Blood will soon spill from this man’s veins.”
7
he group’s sudden arrival in the library seemed to make the revisers skittish. They scurried up onto the walls and climbed higher and higher. In his efforts to stay away from King Arthur, the Editor knocked his leather chair over. With the help of Puck, who still held Pinocchio with his other hand, Sabrina pulled the king off of the Editor and positioned herself between them.
“Step aside!” Arthur demanded.
“Put your sword away!” Sabrina shouted twice as loud. Arthur studied her closely and after a very tense moment did as she asked.
“What is this place?” the White Rabbit said, hopping around in an agitated manner.
“This is his library. It’s where he devises his plots against us!” Lancelot said.
The Editor scowled. “I do no such thing. My job is to maintain order in this book. I have no interest in plotting against you.”
“Arthur, unloose that sword and run him through,” Sir Port said.
“I said, leave him alone!” Sabrina demanded.
“Don’t pretend to be concerned for me, traitors,” the Editor snapped. “You brought your revolution to my doorstep.”
“What? We are not part of any revolution,” Sabrina said.
The Editor turned his attention to the king. “So, Arthur, not content to be a character in a book anymore?”
“Not content in the least,” Arthur said.
“And the rest of you feel the same way?”
The crowd shouted in agreement.
“I suppose all of you think that you deserve freedom? You probably see yourselves as real people with lives to pursue?”
“Indeed,” the dodo said. “We no longer can live in this book, doing the same things over and over again. We want out into the real world.”
The Editor laughed. What started out as a chuckle turned into an out-of-control guffaw and a stream of tears running down his face.
“What’s so funny?” Sir Lancelot barked.
“You! All of you! You think you’re real. You aren’t any more real than I am—you’re fuzzy memories of events that happened hundreds of years ago. You are not the real King Arthur and you are not the real White Rabbit—you’re nothing more than storybook characters walking around pretending to have feelings. You are recollections and notions put down in words and sentences powered by a little bit of magic. You are a portrait, and often times, a failed portrait, of an actual someone. You’re not even a shadow lying at the foot of the person you represent.”
The crowd booed him.
Pinocchio struggled forward. “I am not with these fools. I am from the real world, and I wish to alter my story. I am shocked and dismayed that you sent the Grimms to prevent it. I must protest and demand you give me my due.”
“Your due? You don’t have any right to change your story. This book was intended to give your kind a stroll through the good old days and nothing more. It’s not for you to meddle with willy-nilly. Do you know what has to be done when you change something? The entire event has to be rewritten, like a story, with a new plot, new themes, new villains! To keep the history running smoothly, every tiny detail must be altered so it fits with the change. If it doesn’t make sense, the consequences could be disastrous. You could unravel time itself.”
The Editor straightened his tweed suit jacket. “There will be no more changes. These memories, stories, whatever you want to call them, just can’t take it. They’re not built for re-imagining. You will have to stay the way you are or find another solution. The Book of Everafter is closed for business.”
“Enough!” Guinevere shouted. “We have no interest in changing who we are. All we want is out! We know you can open a door to the real world.”
“It’s a simple request. Just do it and we will let you live,” her husband added.
“Do you think that I respond to your demands? I am the Editor. I control this book.”
“You are mistaken, sir,” Lancelot said. “We have minds and desires, and we will not take part in your game any longer.”
“Sadly, there is only one thing I can do, then,” the Editor said.
“You will free us?” Arthur said.
“No, Your Majesty. I believe it’s time you were edited,” he said, raising his hands above his head.
Just then, there was a loud scurrying sound as if all the world’s cockroaches were marching toward them. Sabrina looked to the ceiling and saw hundreds of revisers crawling down the bookshelves. Some of them jumped down and landed on the characters, digging their angry teeth into arms and legs. The knights were more prepared to fight than the maidens and talking animals, but most of the members of the so-called Character Liberation Army were unarmed and had no experience in battle. It wasn’t long before they were erased from existence by the pink creatures.
Pinocchio turned to Sabrina. “Get me out of here!” he demanded.
Sabrina scanned the room and saw a door materializing. She threw it open and felt a damp, chilly breeze brush against her face.
“Where does it go?” the boy asked.
“Does it matter?” Puck said as he raised his foot and kicked the little boy in the behind. Pinocchio flew face-first through the void and vanished.
Sabrina pulled Daphne toward the door and ushered her through.
“Take me!” the White Rabbit shouted. He hopped through, leaving his companions behind. The Cheshire Cat attempted the same move, but the revisers leaped onto him. He cried out for help, but soon he was gone—and nothing more than a memory. The puppy was next, though he did manage to bite a reviser in half in his desperate struggle. Its insides were spongy and solid, just like its body, with no blood or bones, nothing to show that it was alive. But
there were too many others and the puppy was outnumbered. Guinevere followed, falling under a mass of monsters. Lancelot rushed over; his love for her clearly transcended what was written about him. He tried to fight them back but soon he was overwhelmed too.
“We have to go!” Puck shouted. “But I have to tell you, Grimm. We have to start carrying a camera with us. This would be an awesome addition to my scrapbooking project.”
“Scrapbooking?” Sabrina said.
Puck blushed. “Evil scrapbooking.”
He stepped though the doorway and vanished.
Sabrina lingered until she caught the Editor’s eye. “This was not our fault.” She hoped he might believe her. She needed his help to stop Mirror. But his face was as cold as stone. The nightmare of the revisers chomping all around him looked as if it were a tedious chore—like washing dishes or vacuuming a rug. His was not the face of a man in the midst of a massacre.
The Editor shook his head. “You’re on your own now.”
“But—”
“You marched an army into my sanctuary. They planned to kill me if I didn’t give them what they wanted, and you expect me to help you now?”
Defeated, she backed into the doorway. The last thing she saw were the Editor’s bored eyes watching his creatures clean up her mess.
Sabrina found herself atop a horse in the middle of an old country road. Before her was a wooden bridge spanning a small brook. The moon shone down on the water and its reflection danced like a ballerina. Stars looked like faraway flashlights. As she was from New York City, Sabrina hadn’t seen many real stars until she moved to Ferryport Landing. But this sky was even more magnificent. It was completely undisturbed by artificial light.
“Where are we?” Pinocchio asked.
“I don’t know,” Daphne said. She was standing next to the horse along with Pinocchio and the White Rabbit. “But it seems familiar.”
Sabrina scanned the woods. Things did look familiar to her. The trees were like those in Ferryport Landing. She spotted several oaks and cedars. Even the air smelled like home. Still, things seemed slightly out of focus. “Could we be back home?”
“Not unless you dress like that all the time,” Puck said.
Sabrina looked down at herself. She was wearing short black pants, white leggings, a heavy wool cloak, a shirt with a stiff white collar, and a dusted wig.
“It could be any story. They’re almost all set in forests,” Daphne said. “But this seems oddly familiar.”
Just then, the horse let out a horrible whinny and reared back on its legs. Sabrina, who had never ridden a horse except for on the carousel in Central Park, grabbed its reins and struggled to stay in the saddle. The horse stomped around, snorting and whimpering.
“What’s wrong?” Sabrina wondered.
“Maybe he got a whiff of you,” Puck teased.
“He sees something,” the White Rabbit said. “Something out in the dark has frightened him. Perhaps it’s the villain, Mirror.”
“There!” Daphne cried as she pointed at a figure across the bridge. Sabrina strained her eyes and saw a black figure sitting atop a black horse. She couldn’t make out his features, but there was something wrong about him. His body was misshapen.
“Who are you?” Sabrina cried out, but the figure did not reply. What if it was the phantom living in the margins of the stories?
“That’s kind of rude of him,” Daphne said.
Suddenly the figure and its horse charged the bridge, coming to a halt midway across. The sudden movement startled Sabrina’s mount and it took all her strength and balance to get it back under control. It also made her mad.
“Listen, man. You are freaking out my horse, so cut it out with all the creepy spastic stuff,” Sabrina said.
The figure did not respond.
“I’m warning you, pal. You do it again and I’m going to knock your block off!”
The figure edged his horse closer and stopped in a beam of moonlight. There its horrible shape revealed itself. The horse had eyes filled with flickering flames and a sulfuric smoke blasted out of its nostrils. Its rider wore what appeared to be an ancient military uniform, but whether it was a man or a woman was impossible to tell, as the figure did not have a head. A chill ran through Sabrina. She had been face-to-face with lots of creatures one might call monsters but all of them had heads.
“I know what story we’re in,” Daphne said as the figure drew a long, silver sword from his sheath. “This is ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.’ That’s why the trees look familiar. This is set in upstate New York—less than fifty miles from Ferryport Landing. That dude is the Headless Horseman.”
“Get on the horse,” Sabrina demanded.
“Did you hear me?” Daphne said. “I know the story.”
“I heard you. Get on the horse!”
Puck snatched the little girl from under her arms and hoisted her onto the horse.
“I’m assuming the plan is to run,” Puck said.
Sabrina clenched the horse’s reins tight in her hands. “Any pointers on riding a horse?”
“It’s easy once you get them started,” the boy fairy said.
“And how do I do that?”
Puck raised his hand and smacked the horse in the behind so hard it sounded like a thunderclap. The horse squealed and took off like a shot. Sabrina and Daphne were bounced around like Ping-Pong balls but held on to the horse with all their strength. All the while, the black menace followed from behind.
“They should put seat belts on this thing,” Daphne cried. “If we don’t slow it down, we’re going to fall off.”
“But if we slow it down, he’s going to get us!” Sabrina shouted.
Just then, Puck zipped by with his wings flapping furiously. Pinocchio hung from below, complaining about his “man-handling.”
“Where’s the White Rabbit?” Daphne asked.
Puck shrugged. “He refused to come, so I left him—something about being afraid to fly. Hey! Did you know that guy chasing us doesn’t have a head?”
“Maybe that’s why they call him the Headless Horseman!” Sabrina shouted.
“I bet that hurt,” Puck said, almost as if he respected the spooky figure. “I wonder what happened to it.”
“Uh, it’s right there!” Daphne cried as she pointed back to the monster.
Sabrina craned her neck and saw the Headless Horseman removing a ghostly, freaky head from its saddlebag. It was wrapped in filthy rags.
“Sabrina, stop!” Daphne said, pulling hard on the reins. Their horse skidded to a stop on the pebbled path. A second later, the Headless Horseman’s head flew past them, sailing into the woods and rolling down an embankment. If the girls hadn’t stopped their horse, it would have hit them for sure.
“Did he just throw his head at you?” Puck cried. “’Cause that is totally awesome. Wait a minute. I just got a great idea for centerpieces at our reception . . .”
The Headless Horseman stopped for a moment as if confused, and then he steered his horse off the road and down the embankment.
“That was the most deplorable experience of my life,” Pinocchio complained. “I have never been so poorly treated.”
“Never, really?” Puck said. “I’m so proud of myself.”
“Uh-oh,” Daphne said.
“What’s uh-oh,” Sabrina asked.
“The ball of yarn is missing,” Daphne said, searching through her pockets.
“Maybe it fell on the road during the chase,” Sabrina said, scanning the ground beneath her. There was nothing but fallen leaves and the occasional mouse.
“I need a closer look.” Daphne climbed off the horse, as did Sabrina. They slowly walked back the way they came.
“Aren’t you three concerned about the fellow with the missing head?” Pinocchio said. “What if he comes back?”
“I’ve read the story,” Daphne said. “We’re at the end. He’s probably waiting there until it starts over. Sabrina, I’m not seeing it.”
??
?This is all very tedious,” Pinocchio complained. “I don’t see why I should have to assist you in your search. Set me down by a tree and come back for me when you have found your trinket.”
Sabrina ignored the boy. She was too busy fighting off a panic attack. Without that ball of yarn they might never find their way out of the Book. They would never find Mirror and the baby, either. If the revisers appeared, as they should at any moment, they would be in even more trouble.
“I’ve got an idea,” Puck said. He spun around on his heels and in a very troubling metamorphosis his head transformed into a bloodhound’s. He got down on his hands and knees and snorted at the ground. Then he hopped back up and ran down the path. Sabrina spotted a bushy tail poking out of the back of his pants. It wagged back and forth like an excited windshield wiper.
“I think he has picked up a scent,” Daphne said, running after him. Sabrina abandoned the horse and shoved Pinocchio along ahead of her. Puck darted off into the woods, racing along the bubbling creek, under the bridge where the ground was thick with mud, and then up an embankment littered with slippery leaves. They spotted a door not far ahead, but they also saw something that made her equally nervous. The White Rabbit was chasing after the ball of yarn as it rolled toward the magical door.
“I thought it was broken,” Sabrina said.
“I did too!” Daphne exclaimed.
The rabbit glanced back at them and doubled his speed, and soon he had scooped up the yarn and was opening the door. The wind blasted leaves back into his little face.
“I’m sorry!” he called when the children approached. “I have to take this chance while it’s in front of me. You are slowing me down and I won’t end up like the others.”
“We need that ball of yarn,” Sabrina said. “It’s the only way we’ll find our baby brother. And maybe the only way we’ll find our way out of this book.”
The White Rabbit shook his head. “I wish you luck.” And then he darted through the open doorway. It slammed shut and vanished into thin air, taking him and the magic ball of yarn with it.