That night, as soon as she was sure her stepmother was sleeping, Cinderella yanked open the door to the back garden. Max brushed past her on the damp stone stairs as she ran up and into the garden.
If her father had hidden the wand, he’d hidden it well, and she felt almost foolish thinking she’d find it in one day, when her stepmother had searched for thirteen years. She’d searched the entire house now, including her own room. Not that she’d expected to find it down there. Her father hiding the wand in the cellar didn’t make sense, given her fear of the place. Not if he’d wanted her to find it one day, as she’d started to hope. He couldn’t have foreseen that his new wife would force his only daughter underground after he died.
Right now, her best strategy was to practice her skills. If by some miracle she figured out a way to escape and enter the competition, she wanted to be sharp. However, in the more likely event that she missed the competition entirely, and the stronger her magic and ninja skills were, the more chance she’d have of eventually breaking free from her stepmother’s grasp.
At least her stepsisters were no longer entering the magic competition. As Ty had suspected, they’d fallen for his flattery and jumped all over the beauty pageant option. They’d practiced their smiles and walks and spins for the rest of the day.
She spotted her garden hoe leaning against the wall of the potting shed and, instead of walking over to grab it, she extended her arm toward it and concentrated on the hoe, imagining it lifting up and floating toward her.
Come to me, she thought. Come. Magic energy flowed through her, starting as a tingle and building in heat and strength and power, making her feel happy and alive and as if anything were possible.
The hoe lifted from the ground . . . one inch . . . two inches . . . three.
She maintained her focus and felt the energy flow out from her hand toward the garden tool.
Max screeched, a wolf howled, but she stayed focused, and, foot by foot, the hoe moved toward her, as joy and confidence increased her power. This was the farthest she’d ever moved the hoe, and it flew the last few inches into her hand. She jumped in glee.
A wolf snarled and snapped, and she turned to see Max pawing in the distance at that same place near the edge of the forest he’d been so focused on these past few days. He seemed to be going crazy. He was spinning and jumping and pawing at the dirt, as if he’d discovered a hidden cache of catnip.
“Max,” she said as she walked toward him, carrying the hoe. “What’s going on? First you attack my stepmother and nearly get crisped, and now you’re taunting wolves?”
He turned to her, made eye contact, and then ran into the forest.
Cinderella froze, her entire body seized in terror, and then she ran. “Max! ” If her cat were to be eaten by wolves, she couldn’t handle the loneliness, not after all that had happened to her recently.
She plunged into the forest to find him pawing at the dirt about twelve feet in, at a spot in the center of a circle of six tall oak trees. He’d been pawing so hard, he’d already managed to dig a hole about three inches deep.
“Max!” She scolded him in a hushed tone as she picked him up with one hand, her hoe in the other. She quickly spun around, on the lookout for wolves.
He jumped from her arms to dig again, and she glanced into the forest and spotted a few pairs of red eyes in the distance, creeping forward, stalking, and no doubt preparing to attack.
She bent to pick up her cat again, but he writhed and twisted in her grasp. What could he possibly be digging for? It was almost as if he thought something was buried in that place.
And then she wondered, Could it be the wand? A ripple of hope flowed through her, which she quickly quashed. It made no sense. How could a stray cat know where her father had hidden her mother’s precious wand so long ago?
Still, she was curious. She glanced up. The wolves were taking their time, strategizing, ensuring they were in a tight circle before they attacked. Escape seemed impossible, unless . . . unless there were a wand buried there.
“Out of the way, Max,” she said as she raised the hoe. Max jumped aside to let her dig. She stuck the hoe’s sharp edge into the hard dirt over and over, flicking dirt out of the way in a hurry, until the hole was nearly a foot deep.
She looked around. The wolves were much closer, only twelve feet away, their circle growing tighter. Even if she did find something hidden in this hole, how would she and Max ever escape the wolves?
Her hoe struck something hard and she fell to her knees, scraped the remaining dirt away with her hands, and found something wrapped in a heavy cloth. She pulled it out of the dirt and Max jumped onto her shoulder and meowed. Cinderella unwrapped the cloth to find an old box underneath.
Six wolves stepped into the circle of trees. There was no time to open the box.
Pressing the treasure into her belly, she pulled her apron up and around it to make a pouch, and tied her apron’s strings tightly over the box—which she hoped contained the wand.
She snatched her hoe, the closest thing she had to a ninja sword. Max jumped down and stood next to her.
Planting her feet in a sideways stance, she held the hoe in front of her, her other arm bent back above her head for balance. She started to twist and rotate the hoe with her wrist, making large figure-eights in the air. She revolved slowly, warning each of the wolves with her eyes as she turned toward them. If they attacked, they’d get a strike to the head from her hoe.
Undeterred but cautious, the wolves crept forward slowly, their red eyes glowing, the silvery-gray fur on their backs rising. Condensation from the wolves’ breathing fogged the air and drops of drool dripped from their razor-sharp teeth. As much as these wolves had kept her trapped all these years, she had been kept alive due to her stepmother’s spell that prevented them from entering the garden.
But not tonight—not unless she got back inside the protective barrier of her stepmother’s spell.
Still twirling the hoe, she spun more quickly, wanting to keep sight of all the wolves at once, but careful to keep her focus directly on her hand, so as not to get dizzy. Faster and faster she spun, faster and faster she twirled the hoe, faster and faster the trees moved across her vision until both the trees and the wolves became a single blur.
She slowed for a moment, but the blur remained. Max rubbed up against one of her legs. Cinderella gasped. It was almost as if she’d created a wall of air in the form of a swirling funnel to encircle both her and Max.
One of the wolves lunged forward, but he slammed violently into the tornado she’d created and was flung away, smacking into one of the trees. The wolf stood up slowly, whimpered, and limped away, somewhere deep into the forest.
She spun again, twirling the hoe, her feet burning from the friction against the forest floor. If she wasn’t careful, the underbrush at her feet might ignite.
Another wolf lunged forward, mouth open, its huge teeth ready to bite, but again the wall of wind flung it off and into the woods.
This might actually save them. She felt Max rub against her calf and, still spinning, she started to step back, moving the circle of air toward the edge of the forest and the safety of the garden.
Another wolf tried to break through, then another, but her circle held, tossing each wolf aside in turn.
Her apron slipped. The box was going to fall. She lowered her arm to catch it and the circle broke down, dissipating into the night air.
Max jumped onto her shoulder and she ran. She ran as she’d never run before. Feeling the heat of a wolf’s breath snapping at her heels, she took a giant leap and landed on the grassy surface of the garden. As soon as she hit the grass, she tumbled over several times, finally coming to rest on her back. Max pounced onto her chest and licked her chin.
She heaved, trying to catch her breath, and slowly turned to see three wolves peering out at her from the edge of the woods. They snapped and snarled, but could not take one step into the garden.
Breathing heavily, she sat, but dizziness took over and she fell back. Max returned to her chest, curled up in a ball, and purred.
He was right. She deserved a short rest.
Early the next afternoon, Cinderella stood at the front window of the house and watched the carriage carrying her stepmother and stepsisters pull through the garden gate and head down the path to the palace. They were off to the beauty pageant and then to the ball, and would not be back until the wee hours of the morning.
Even Cinderella had to admit her sisters would look beautiful in their ball gowns, which she’d packed into big boxes with endless sheets of fine tissue paper so they wouldn’t sustain a single wrinkle on their way to the palace.
As soon as she was sure the carriage wasn’t going to turn back, she raced down the cellar stairs. The magic competition started in less than two hours, and she still had to crack the mystery of that box—her last hope. She’d stayed up almost all night trying to make it open.
Lifting up the corner of her bed, she reached deep into the straw. Sleeping on the box the few hours she’d allowed herself to rest last night hadn’t been comfortable, but it was better to feel the edges of the box digging into her side than to risk her stepmother discovering it.
She set the box on her lap. It was old and simple but beautiful, the joins in the cherry wood barely visible at the corners. A fine carpenter had crafted this box. Perhaps her father?
Now she remembered. The box had sat on her father’s bedside table when she’d been very young. The wood’s worn patina told her it was a well-loved, well-used box. It was darker in the spot where she’d pressed it last night, as if someone else’s—her mother’s?—fingers had pressed there many times.
Presumably, those fingers had managed to get it open. Her own attempts to do so hadn’t worked. Clearly, the box required magic in order to open it, and in spite of Ty’s encouragement, she obviously lacked the proper skills. She heaved a deep sigh. Max jumped up onto her shoulder and batted her head with his paw.
“Stop it, Max. You’re distracting me.”
He batted her head again.
“What, Max?”
Using her head, concentrating—that was it! “Maybe I need to visualize the box opening.”
Max jumped off her shoulder and rubbed against her side, purring. She closed her eyes to focus and drew in a deep breath until she felt her heartbeat slow and a calmness enter her mind.
Open, she thought. I want the box to open. Tamping down her anxiety, she pressed her thumbs against the lid and pressed.
It opened, and so did her eyes—wide.
The box was lined with red velvet and had two compartments. She opened the long, thin compartment and saw what she’d been hoping to find—what her stepmother had so clearly been trying to find. It was her mother’s wand, it just had to be.
She ran an eager finger along its pale wood surface. Was it pine, or perhaps birch? She wasn’t sure, based on the grain and color. It might even be willow.
She lifted the wand and her fingers tingled. Max was going crazy, doing loops in and out and around her legs, brushing and meowing and jumping.
“Yes, Max, you’re right. I should try it out.”
She pointed the wand at her stool with its wobbly leg, not really sure what she was doing, but thinking that surely her mother’s wand should be powerful enough to mend a stool leg. The stool fell over onto the floor. Well, that had not exactly been her objective, but she’d managed to make something happen. She might as well go for the gusto and try to escape.
She ran toward the garden door, which never opened while the sun was up, and concentrated.
Cinderella focused on the handle, then raised the wand and flicked it, saying, “Open, sesame.”
A spark flew from the wand and struck the door. She was thrown off her feet onto the floor, and a charred streak appeared on the wood of the door. She jumped up, dashed over, and pulled on the handle. It was as sealed as it ever had been.
Max wound his way between her legs again, insistent and annoying. Maybe there were instructions somewhere in that box? She’d only opened the one compartment, so she tried the other and found a velvet pouch with something weighty inside it. She loosened the silk drawstring at the top and slid the pouch’s contents into her hand. Her fingers caressed a beautiful golden necklace.
A heart pendant hung from a chain that was so fine she couldn’t see actual links. She examined the pendant and saw a crack along its edge: a locket. Maybe the wand instructions were inside. She dug her thumbnail into the crack, but it wouldn’t budge.
Max landed on her lap and she jumped. It was as though the cat had been drinking bowls of coffee. He lunged for the wand, trying to grab it in his mouth, so she tucked it into her apron pocket where he couldn’t reach it.
She scratched his back. “Thank you for helping me find the box, Max. I don’t know how you picked that spot to dig.” The box must have emitted some kind of signal only cats could hear.
Max stretched up to place his paws on her shoulders, then retracted his claws and batted her chin with his paw until she looked down.
Cinderella shook her head. Sometimes she saw something in Max’s eyes that resembled intelligence, but today he was being more of a pest. She picked him up and placed him on the floor. The contest was starting so soon and, without the wand, she lacked the power to break her stepmother’s spell and escape the grounds. And if she didn’t get out, she might never see Ty again.
Based on what Agatha had told her, her stepmother had threatened Ty yesterday when he’d tried to stall them upon their arrival home, so he was unlikely to return to the property. For his safety, she hoped Ty took her stepmother’s threats seriously.
She pictured Ty’s sparkling blue eyes, his shaggy blond curls, his strong jaw and lips, and imagined the teasing tone in his voice. Her belly stirred and she felt a stab of longing in her chest. At the same moment, the locket sprang open.
Gasping, she checked inside. It was another heart—solid, forged from metal and painted in deep red enamel. The beautiful object fit perfectly inside the locket. But as nice as it was, her heart sank. She hadn’t found instructions on how to operate the wand. She placed the red heart back inside the locket and strung the chain around her neck.
She felt around the box for a hidden compartment, but found none.
Ah! The wand itself could have the answer. Perhaps she was supposed to use the wand to extract the instructions from the box. At this point, no idea was too silly.
Leaving the box on the bed, she took the wand from her pocket, backed away a few steps, and lifted the wand. Yes, this would work.
Concentrating, she bent her wrist to prepare.
Max jumped onto her arm. She jumped, and the bolt of magic energy hit the corner of the bed instead of the box. The straw sizzled and burst into flames.
“Ah!” She scrambled around her bed to grab a bucket of water. She doused the flames and then turned to pick up the wand, but Max had the wand in his mouth and was spinning around in tight circles.
“Silly cat!” she said. She tried to grab him, but he wouldn’t stop. “Max, give me that. You’re going to ruin it.”
He spun two more times, backed up a few feet, and then, still holding the wand, he jumped into her arms and passed the wand to her.
Cinderella dropped Max to the floor, wiped the cat spittle off the beautiful wood, and then held it up to the light from the window. At least he’d been careful—it didn’t look as if he’d left any tooth marks.
What could she try next?
Max jumped around her again, and she shooed him away. “Get lost, Max. Can’t you see I’m busy?” She brushed her wand hand over the misbehaving cat.
On the third flick of her wand, a flash appeared above Max’s head.
Cinderella froze.
Her cat disappeared under a searing blue-white light that flew from the wand and turned to smoke.
She’d killed her cat. Her heart clenched. Please, she thought, please let him be okay.
Drawing a deep breath, she fanned the air with her free hand as the smoke continued to build. There was so much smoke, but it was of a kind she’d never seen before. It was somehow lit from within. It glinted and sparkled and didn’t smell the way smoke usually did. It smelled like cloves and vanilla and chocolate. It smelled like . . . magic.
Realizing that casting more accidental spells was not a great idea, she tucked her wand into the pocket of her apron, then waved at the smoke to find Max. It started to clear, but not in the way smoke normally cleared. It didn’t spread and dissipate into the air. Instead, it gathered, became more solid, and took form.
She blinked a few times and tried to wave the smoke away, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The smoke looked as if it were forming into the shape of a person.
A moment later, a short, stout man appeared; he had silvery-gray hair and bright, flashing green eyes, and was dressed in an elegant suit of gray velvet with scarlet trim. A shiny black belt was wrapped around his ample middle. Bits of his hair shot out like tiny wings over his ears. He licked the back of his hand and rubbed it over his cheek, as if he were cleaning whiskers.
She staggered back, tripped over the toppled stool, caught her balance, and then gathered her courage. “Who are you?” Her voice was too soft, too timid. She pulled herself up, struck a warrior pose and this time demanded, “Who are you? Where did you come from? And what have you done with my cat?