Six
I was so early for work that Evelyn wasn’t in yet, her pink cotton cardigan neatly draped over the back of her chair, which had been pushed under her desk, her computer off. Even the morning’s newspapers were still stacked in their blue plastic baggies.
I’ll take these, I thought, unwrapping the newspapers and laying them flat next to several oversize pink peonies I’d plucked from behind the Princess Palace for a whoosh of June flora.
Best. Assistant. Ever.
Brimming with pride, I knocked on the wall, where I guessed the door was hidden. “It’s me, your . . . ma’am,” I said, catching myself. The door slid open, and I presented the tray. “Breakfast!”
The Queen spun around from her monitors. “Zoe! How nice of you to put in an appearance.”
She peered at the tray as if it contained lab specimens. “And what would you like me to do with . . . this?” she asked, fluttering her hand over the croissant. “Eat it or just attach it to my thighs?”
My bubble of confidence went pop! as it occurred to me that I’d somehow made a mistake. “It’s just a pastry.”
“It’s packed with calories. As is that.” She flared her nostrils at the Caramel Coconut Latte. “A week’s worth. Not to mention it would send me into diabetic shock. Are you trying to kill me, Zoe?”
A bead of sweat ran down the back of my neck. “No, ma’am.”
“Where did you get those flowers?”
“From outside the . . .”
She brought a skeletal hand to her chest in distress. “Don’t tell me you took them from our gardens.”
“The one behind the palace.” I was now so nervous, my palms were leaving wet sweat marks on the tray. “There are tons of flowers there—hundreds—I figured no one would ever notice three missing blooms by the exhaust vents.”
“No one would notice! Did you not read your rules as I instructed, Zoe? Number One-Eighty-Three: No flora or fauna on the property of Fairyland Kingdom Inc. shall be cut, trampled, or mutilated in any manner without written approval of Fairyland Kingdom Management upon penalty of a five-hundred-dollar fine.”
Crap! I didn’t have money to pay a five-hundred-dollar fine.
She turned to her computer, called up a file, and clicked her nails across the keyboard. “Instead of a pecuniary penalty, I will be lenient and mark one demerit. Two demerits, and you will be removed as my assistant. Three, and you will be sent home posthaste without a college recommendation and/or reference of any positive nature. Are we clear?”
For picking flowers? It was so randomly unfair, I felt like bursting into tears. Instead, between gritted teeth, I said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“May I ask what on earth were you thinking?”
My arms were beginning to ache. Those newspapers were not light. “I was thinking that I’d spruce up your morning. I was trying to make you happy. You know, fresh-cut flowers . . . Wow!”
She let out a long, pained sigh. “What would make me happy is a pot of Earl Grey tea. . . . For heaven’s sake, Zoe, put down that tray and take some notes.”
With no obvious place to put it, I set the tray on the floor and scrambled for a notepad. (Should have thought to bring one. Stupid!)
Exasperated, the Queen ended up finding one in a drawer and handing me a pen. “For future reference, the office supplies are behind you in the closet.”
I turned. The wall was flat and bare. There was no closet, just like there was no door.
“. . . Three almonds, whole, unsalted and raw; one hard-boiled egg, no yolk.”
She was dictating. I flipped open the pad, scratched the pen to get the ink going, and jotted down what she’d said so far: Earl Grey. Almonds. One hard-boiled egg, no yolk . . . I looked up. “How is that possible, without a yolk?”
“Is this a cooking class?” Her black eyes glittered.
“No, ma’am.”
“Ask Chef. He knows. Other than that, I will say the fresh raspberries you brought are acceptable.” She bent down to reach for the berries and gasped. “Tinkers!”
Tinker Bell had silently slipped off her satin pillow and was going to town on the chocolate croissant.
“Well,” I said, smiling, “at least someone appreciates it.”
The Queen seized her precious baby in horror, frantically wiping her dog’s mouth with a lace doily. “Chocolate will kill her. Don’t you know that? It’s the theobromine. Positively lethal for canines!”
“Really? Because once our Lab, Molly, got to my Christmas stocking before I did and ate all my chocolate Santas, and nothing happened.” I glared at Tinker Bell. Yes, she was just a dog, but I couldn’t help feeling she was trying to get me in trouble. “I’m sure Tinker Bell will be fine.”
“Only if you take her to the Fairyland vet, Dr. Venderbraugh, immediately. His office is by the stables.” The Queen thrust Tinker Bell into my arms. “Tell him you tried to poison her.”
“I didn’t try to—”
“Ah, ah, ah.” There was that tick-tocking finger again. “No truculence.” The door slid open. “Posthaste!”
Clearly I had no choice but to go. In the outer office, I nearly ran smack into Evelyn, who had just arrived, blueberry muffin in hand. She took one look at the dog trying to lap up every last bit of deliciousness with her tiny pink tongue and said, “I don’t wanna know. By the way, did you take my newspapers?”
“Those are yours? I thought they were the Queen’s.”
“And you just handed them to her willy-nilly?” Evelyn lowered her voice. “Unedited?”
My mind went blank. I scrambled to remember the rule about newspapers. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to fix it. Right now I have to get Tinker Bell to Dr. Venderbraugh.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Let’s just hope she hasn’t opened to the entertainment section and seen the Mouse. If that happens . . .” She nodded to the invisible door. “Honey, I’m afraid you won’t last the day.”
The stables were located at the edge of Fairyland near the garage, about as far as you could go in the park before coming to the stone wall marked with signs warning:
NO PEEKY BOOS BEYOND THIS POINT!
Under which was a drawing of Cinderella, winking.
I didn’t know what was beyond the perimeter wall that would make someone want to take a “Peeky Boo.” As far as I could tell, only more New Jersey scrub pine. However, during our orientation tour, Andy had mentioned that the Haunted Forest—where Hansel and Gretel, Snow White, and the witches hung out—abutted what he called the Forbidden Zone, which we were never to enter.
The Forbidden Zone was swampy like the rest of the Pinelands and riddled with huge spiders and ticks carrying Lyme disease, Andy had said. Also snakes, including poisonous timber rattlers that Fairyland Maintenance worked like “the Dickens” to remove from the park.
“As long as you stay in the Haunted Forest, you’re okay,” he’d said. “But never, ever go over or under the metal fence and beyond. It’s an automatic elimination from the program and, needless to say”—he’d paused to implant us with a meaningful look—“from winning the Dream and Do grant.”
Frankly, the dude had me at snakes and huge spiders. Expulsion from the program was peanuts in comparison.
It was understandable why Fairyland stuck the red wooden stables all the way out there. They stank. This was also where they kept the Three Little Pigs, the Three Billy Goats Gruff, along with a Tortoise and a Hare during the off-season. I’d have given anything for those Princess Palace peonies right about now.
The vet’s office was closed, but when I went around to the stables I found a blond prince anxiously perched atop a beautiful old white horse and—by their side in a T-shirt, dirty jeans, and muck boots—Ian.
“Now, Marcus, what you’re going to do is just walk her around the stable, okay?” Ian was saying, one hand on the thick brown leather saddle.
Marcus, in the white jacket and red epaulets of a Cinderella Prince Charming, clutched the reins and swallowed. “What if I fall off?”
“You won’t fall off. Little kids ride her,” Ian said patiently. “At birthday parties. With their grandmothers. That’s why you have Lulu, because she’s gentle.”
For her part, Lulu stood placidly chewing on her bit. She rolled one of her golf-ball eyes at Tinker Bell, and Tinker Bell twitched in fear before activating a full-body tremor.
“It’s okay,” I said as Tink kicked her tiny legs, struggling to leap out of my arms and cause more mischief, probably by scurrying around the horse’s hooves and causing her to canter. I clutched her tightly and whispered, “Oh, no you don’t.”
“Zoe?” Ian squinted, like he couldn’t make out the real me through the makeup. “What’re you doing here?” He ran a hand through his black hair, grinning, obviously pleased to see me.
I flashed an apologetic smile at Marcus, who’d given up the reins and was pitched forward, hugging the saddle. Despite the barnyard stench, his princely cologne of pungent Amazonian orchids wafted toward me and, unlike my first experience with Dash, I almost swooned. Perhaps its effects were cumulative. Or maybe Marcus, knowing he could use all the help he could get, had laid on the pheromones a little too thick.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, stepping away from the cologne to clear my thoughts, “but I’m trying to find Dr. Venderbraugh, the vet. Tinker Bell ate some chocolate.”
“Did you now?” Ian asked Tink, scratching her between the ears. Tink approved with adoring eyes, the traitor. “How much?”
I couldn’t tell what role Ian was playing here, assistant vet or what. “Not much. A lick. Maybe two.”
“Ah, that’s nothing. If you’re really worried, you can give her equal parts water and hydrogen peroxide—in her case, I’d say a tablespoon of each—and she’ll—”
“Ian!” Marcus shouted in panic. “The horse! It’s moving. Now what do I do? Ian?”
Lulu had begun her lazy trot up the path. Honestly, I’ve seen grannies in walkers with tennis balls on the bottom move faster.
“First take the reins, not the saddle,” Ian said.
Marcus wiped sweat off his forehead and, after much mumbling, quickly grabbed the reins. “I hate this. I’m a surfer, not a horse rider. I’m going to fall off and be paralyzed and never get on the board again.”
“Dude, chill. Now just let her lead the way. She knows the route. And don’t forget!” Ian called. “She’s a big, dumb beast.” To me, he added in an aside, “They should have a lot in common.”
We watched Marcus and Lulu mosey up the path at a snail’s pace. “How’s he going to survive as Prince Charming if he can’t ride a horse?” I asked.
Ian shrugged. “I dunno. He’s supposed to be galloping through the park to meet Cinderella before the dance. At this rate she’ll be lucky if he makes it to her retirement party.”
“And even though you’re Puss ’n Boots you’re helping him because . . .”
“Because Scott the equestrian trainer is working with the other princes who aren’t so afraid. Having grown up on my dad’s ranch in Colorado, I’m pretty good with large animals and tourists who’ve never ridden.”
“This would be the ranch with the cannibalistic chickens?”
Ian brightened. “I’m telling you, don’t mess. They’re vicious. Kind of like our Queen, from what I hear. Is she really as hideous as everyone says?”
“I’ll let you decide,” I said. “This morning, after I brought her a chocolate croissant, she accused me of attempting to kill her dog.”
“And were you?”
“What?”
“Trying to kill her dog?”
I was shocked by the question, though Ian was laughing like the Queen wasn’t a threat at all.
“Seriously, you have no idea,” I said, launching into how I’d tried to be the perfect assistant, only to be a complete disaster. “I cannot screw up again, or I’ll get one more demerit and be out of the program, guaranteed.”
“I don’t believe it. She’s just scaring you since it’s the first day.”
“She’s not. She’s out to get me.” I held up Tinker Bell. “And her little dog, too. I need advice on what to do.”
Ian wiped his hand on a dirty rag, thinking. “How about this? Ask RJ. He knows everything about this park, and maybe he can get in touch with one of the Queen’s former assistants who could give you the lowdown. You know, he does have internet access, so it’s possible.”
That was not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all. “Thanks, Ian. I—”
There was a loud thump! followed by a worrisome “Oww!” We froze.
“Ian?” Marcus wailed from the other side of the stable. “Dude, I think I just broke my ass.”