“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?