There’s No Place Like Home
After running to my room, the servant girl dove under my bed and grabbed a wicker basket in the name of packing provisions.
“How do you know about my snacks?” The stash was supposed to be a secret. It was stuffed ’round the clock with my favorite treats—you never knew when you might want some midnight cake.
She stopped her frantic pace a split second to roll her eyes at me. “Just how do you think that basket gets stocked? Magic?” With a disgusted huff, she opened the lid. “Half-full, even though I stocked it this morning. It’ll have to do.”
The click in my brain was almost audible. Rexi…the kitchen girl. “Weren’t you just a frog?”
“Yeah, well, thanks to you and your friends, it’s been a busy night.” Her point was emphasized by the continued crashing from the ballroom. She sighed and started to leave.
“Where are you going?” I made a move to follow her.
She scoffed audibly and looked me up and down. “You think you can run in that dress? You’d get caught before we made it ten troll’s lengths. I’m going to swipe that green wench’s Dust Devil.”
Last year, Verte had upgraded her old broomstick for the state-of-the-art vacuum. All her friends at Swampy Acres Home for Retired Witches had one.
“You have exactly three minutes to pack whatever you can carry. Then I’m leaving.” Rexi shook her head slightly, expression tight. “I’m not going to die so you can stuff a few extra jewels down your corset.”
“That would be a dumb place to put…” Rexi couldn’t hear me; she was already halfway down the hall—a prime example of why I don’t like to hang out with other people.
“Doesn’t she know that’s what purses are for?” I muttered to myself and grabbed my enchanted handbag. Best accessory ever—the size of a book on the outside with the space of a small storage unit on the inside.
I stood looking around my room for a moment. What should I take? I’d never stayed at a friend’s for a sleepover, never been on vacation. I’d only seen the outside world through magic mirrors.
The battle for the ballroom raged on. There was more banging and the sound of things breaking and cracking. At this rate, the whole castle would be glittering rubble in a matter of minutes. A noise came from the closet floor. It was a cross between a growl, a whine, and a purr. At first glance, nobody was there—until I looked down, ankle level, and saw what looked like a mini-lion hiding from the witch—in my wardrobe. I couldn’t know for sure what he was trying to say, but I had a decent idea.
“The answer is no. You’re not coming with us. Go find your own parents.”
The word parents ended with a sharp stab to the chest. I told myself they weren’t gone. They were just missing. Missing I could deal with. Missing could be found.
More crashing from downstairs. Closer this time.
“Look,” I said, bending down nose-to-muzzle with Kato. “Don’t give me those puppy eyes. You are not a dog. I don’t know what you are, but if you’re not gone by the time I come back, I’ll take you to the window and see if those wings are just for show.”
Even at the size of a bread box, Kato still had the evil glare down pat.
“Good, glad we understand each other,” I said dismissively and took my bag to the closet, shoving everything inside that wasn’t nailed down or dry clean only. By the time I turned back around, the doorway was empty.
The floor rumbled beneath my feet.
Rexi ran back into my room, pockets bulging while lugging the heavy red vacuum. “Time to go.”
She ran back to the bed to retrieve the food while I inspected the Dust Devil. “Are you sure this can carry the two of us?”
She snorted. “That blasted sorceress weighs more than us both combined.” She hefted the basket. “But this thing weighs a ton. How can you keep eating all this and not get fat?”
Some things don’t deserve a response.
Stepping onto the vacuum, I settled onto the front. Rexi moved in close behind. I tapped the top like I’d seen Verte do countless times.
Nothing happened. “Where the spell is the owner’s manual for this contraption?” I muttered, looking around the red machine.
Footsteps.
Someone was coming up the stairs, and there was a fifty-fifty chance that it wasn’t my Emerald Sorceress.
I’ve never been very lucky.
The Gray Witch rounded the banister. “Did you really think you could run fast enough or far enough to get away?” She was at the doorway now. There was plaster in her hair, and her dress was ripped in several places.
“On…on…where’s the Grimm-galled on button?” I panicked.
“Hurry! Figure it out!” my backseat passenger shouted.
“If you thought you could do better, you should’ve driven.”
“I’m going to enjoy this.” Griz readied her stormball.