“Snow and William might argue their story is real life. What I’m asking you is, do you believe one might happen to you?”
“I used to,” Sabrina said. “I thought when my parents woke up, we’d all move back to the city. Granny and Uncle Jake would come for visits. Things would go back to normal. That’s my happy ending.”
“And you’ve given up on it?” Mirror asked.
Sabrina shrugged.
Mirror sighed. “I believe everyone deserves a happily ever after. But I think that happy endings don’t just happen by accident—you can’t wait for one. You have to make them happen.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.
“I’m saying you are responsible for your own happiness,” Mirror said as he brought the trolley to a stop at the end of the hall. “If you want to be happy you have to work to make it happen. You can’t just wish for it and you can’t put it in the hands of other people. I know you thought when Henry and Veronica woke up they’d give it to you, but that’s not how it works, Starfish.”
“So what should I do?”
Mirror shrugged. “I can’t possibly know, Sabrina. Only you know how to end your story. It took me a long time to realize it myself. I’d hate to see you grow bitter waiting. If you want a happy ending you have to go out and take it.”
Sabrina nodded. Mirror always made her feel better. She felt like she could tell him anything and he’d understand. In many ways he was her best friend.
“So I suppose you’d like me to wait while you talk to your dad?” Mirror asked.
Sabrina smiled. “You’re the best.”
She hugged the little man and climbed down from the trolley.
“Hurry up, the meter is running,” he said. Then he took the shard of mirror from his pocket and used it to check his thinning hair.
A moment later she was standing in the spare bedroom of Granny Relda’s house. The power was still out so the house was dark. The windows had been shut tight for several days and the air was stuffy. From the shouting and explosions outside, it was clear that the Scarlet Hand was still surrounding the house and doing its best to find a way inside. But the protective spells were still working.
Sabrina called out for her father and heard him reply. She followed his voice to her bedroom—rather, his bedroom. He was lying on the bed staring up at the model airplanes he had constructed when he was Sabrina’s age. A photo album rested on his chest. He turned his head when she entered and smiled.
“Need a friend?” Sabrina asked.
“I didn’t think I had any friends left.”
“I know that feeling,” Sabrina said. She noticed the collection of marionettes Pinocchio had made of her family resting on the nightstand.
“I didn’t want anything to happen to them,” her father said. “He worked so hard.”
Sabrina sat on the bed next to her father. He turned to her.
“I don’t want you or your sister to train the soldiers anymore,” he said. “No wands, rugs, rings, or unicorns. I don’t want to see you helping anyone. I don’t want you running off to fight. I don’t want you to get more involved in this than you already are, understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“But, Dad, it’s a lousy idea,” Sabrina added.
Henry looked shocked. Sabrina realized that waking up to see that his daughters were older must have been troubling, but dealing with their independent personalities also couldn’t be easy. He rubbed his face in his hands, something he did when he was trying to wrap his head around a problem. Instead of answering Sabrina, he sat up and flipped through the photo album. Inside were yellowing photographs of the Grimm family from long before Sabrina was born. Her father stopped at a picture of himself and Jacob, dressed in long wizard robes and pointy hats decorated with tinfoil stars and moons. Each boy had a magic wand in his hand and was pointing it playfully at the camera. They couldn’t have been more than seven and nine.
“I was around Daphne’s age when my father opened the Hall of Wonders and its contents to your uncle and me. Back then, there weren’t any locks on the doors except for the ones with very dangerous weapons or creatures. Jake and I ran wild in there. It was like a giant playground, and we didn’t have to share the slide with other kids. I was learning to conjure fireballs and handling dragon eggs before I hit the third grade. Dad thought it was good for us to know how to use magic.”
There was a picture of the two boys sitting atop a griffin. Despite its dangerous claws and vicious beak Jake and Henry looked like they were riding a pony on a carousel. Their father, Basil, stood by proudly.