Chapter 6
JACOB
HONAU
Iscan the houses, complete with slanted roofs, balconies, and paned-glass windows, trying to remember where our shop was. We visit so many villages, they’re all starting to blur together.
“Where are you taking me?” Rumpelstiltskin asks. “If you’re going to murder me, why bother waiting?”
As we turn the corner, I spot Wilhelm leaning against a shop door, a crate at his feet. My heart sinks. He’s been working rather than resting.
“Wilhelm!” I hurry to his side, dragging a complaining Baldy along. “Let me help. You go find a chair.”
Wearily, Wilhelm cracks his lips, attempting a smile. “You’ve found our friend.”
“Friend?” Rumpelstiltskin harrumphs. “Hardly. What’s wrong with your brother?”
“Nothing you can’t fix.”
“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” Rumpelstiltskin narrows his beady eyes.
“Get inside.” When he hesitates, I warn him, “Don’t try me.”
He sighs dramatically but enters the shop. I throw Wilhelm’s arm over my shoulder, helping him through the door and into a chair beside the large wooden table in the center of the room. I dig through one of the crates he’s already brought inside until I find a blanket and wrap it over him.
“That’s not necessary.” He tries to wave me off. “I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can,” I say as I survey the room. Opened crates are scattered about, and two of the bookshelves are already stuffed with books. Wilhelm’s been busy. “Where’s the equipment?”
“There.” My brother points to a smaller wooden box sitting on the end of the table.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Rumpelstiltskin says and starts digging through the hay of one of the crates.
“Don’t touch anything,” I order.
I unpack the Enchantress’s pen, book, clock, and inkwell she so kindly gave us, setting them methodically on the table.
Wilhelm leans forward. “I didn’t realize he was just an old man,” he says in a whisper. “Shouldn’t we let him live out his last days in peace?”
“You aren’t insinuating we don’t finish the story, are you? Wilhelm, you know we must.” I pull out the hourglass from my pack. There’s just a trickle of blood left in the upper globe. Less than an hour. “Now sit back down and let me finish this cursed story.”
“I can’t keep doing this.” Wilhelm rubs his knuckles across his forehead. “Is my life really worth all these other lives? What if the Enchantress is lying? Have you ever thought about that? We could be taking away this old man’s last days.”
“He looks to be two centuries old. He’s lived a good life.
And from what I’ve been gathering, better than he deserves.
” Not to mention those gold strands. How many people have bled to death from those?
“Besides, we don’t have any proof that the Enchantress is lying. Now sit down before you collapse.”
“I don’t like it.”
Anger roars up within me. “And I do?”
“I started another story. We can use that one instead.”
“No, we can’t.” I slam myself into the chair opposite Rumpelstiltskin, ready to get the dreadful deed over with.
And yet for all of Baldy’s annoyances, the Enchantress’s book feels heavy as stone.
“There must be something I can offer you?” Rumpelstiltskin turns to Wilhelm, realizing my younger brother is his ticket to freedom. “A healing spell? I’ve got plenty. Or a nice plump woman to warm you up?”
Wilhelm glares at me and shuffles outside. I should yell at him to get back here, but I don’t have the seconds to spare. The book cracks as I open it, smelling of fresh ink.
Nearly all of Rumpelstiltskin’s story is finished. I dip the quill into the ink. A trickle of magic spills from the tip, dripping golden dust along the table. “Now, Rumpelstiltskin, let’s start at the beginning for a quick review of the facts. You’re a spinner, yes? Did you trick the—”
“Stop.” Wilhelm stumbles back inside, wheezing. He’s holding a bulging sack.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Rumpelstiltskin,” he continues, “if we give you more time, will you serve us as need be?”
“Serve you?” The old man spits on the floor. “I serve no one.”
“Serve or be banished from this world!” Wilhelm’s voice rings oddly strong, considering he looks as pale as death.
“There can’t be choices,” I snap. “He’s leaving, and that’s final.”
“This is my life, so I’m choosing the story.” Wilhelm drops the bag on the ground. A goose tumbles out. It squawks and begins peeking at the floor.
“Wilhelm!” I leap to my feet. “What are you doing?”
“Let me guess.” Rumpelstiltskin chuckles. “You didn’t read the terms and conditions of your contract with this enchantress, did you?”
I’m too busy staring at the hourglass in horror to bother with the trickster.
Drip, drip, drip.
My hands shake. “I can’t let you die.” I sit back down and start writing, but Wilhelm snatches the pen from me. Wheezing, he pulls out a second book. I pause. “What are you doing?”
He ignores me and flips through the pages to the end. Grimacing, he scratches out words. The goose starts chewing on the buttons of my jacket.
“It won’t work,” I remind him, pushing the animal away. “Rumpelstiltskin’s name is on the hourglass. She won’t accept it.”
“If we’re going to talk about names,” Baldy interjects, “I’d prefer you keep mine a secret between us.”
“Then I die,” Wilhelm says without looking up from the page. Beads of sweat drip off his forehead and splatter on the page.
“Wait.” Baldy joins us. “You’d die for me?”
“I can’t let you do this!” I slam my fist on the table.
“Can’t let me?” Wilhelm snorts. “You chose for me to live this cursed life. You don’t get to make my choices anymore. From now on, I have a say. Understand?”
His words crash against my chest. He’s right. This is all my fault. My hesitation allows him to scrawl out what must be the final words because suddenly, like magic of its own, the words, The End, appear at the bottom.
I freeze. Terrified of what may happen next.
The words on the page rise into the air just like every other story we’ve written. I hold my breath, begging for it to work. Ink whizzes and rushes around the goose, faster and faster, until it’s caught in a funnel.
The goose honks and flaps its wings but remains firmly in place. I rise to my feet, hope and fear rumbling through me.
“What’s happening?” Rumpelstiltskin asks. “This is wizardry!”
A golden egg pops out of the goose, shiny and bright. The goose is sucked into the inky funnel. With a swoosh, the ink returns to the pages, solidifying and drying. Wilhelm slams the book closed. His hands are paper-thin. A shimmering gold title appears across the front and spine: The Golden Goose.
“The goose…” Rumpelstiltskin stammers, “disappeared…into the book.”
Wilhelm and I share a look, but neither of us dares speak. I swallow my fear and unravel the scroll with the list of names. My finger shakes as I run it down the list until I find the title The Golden Goose. I strike a line through it. The whole process is always terrifying, but today is far worse.
We both rise to our feet. I pick up The Golden Goose while Wilhelm turns the hands of the clock to point to twelve.
Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin inches toward the door.
“I wouldn’t leave if I were you,” I warn him. “Unless you want the same fate as the goose.”
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving,” he says and plops into a chair, fear finally filling those dark eyes of his. “I’ll just sit my tush right here.”
Wilhelm and I wait. I study the walls, wondering which one the clock will open in this location. A groan yanks our attention to the wall on our right. It slides inward, and mist curls into the room.
“It always works.” Wilhelm’s voice quivers. “No matter where we are.”
“I’ll do it.” Clenching the book, I step through the doorway and into the Enchantress’s tower.
My skin tingles, and a slight dizziness washes over me just like it does every time I enter her world. I stride across the worn bridge of a round room that rises up to a domed roof. Every wall is lined with ornate bookshelves, most empty. Brass sconces burn, lighting the tower in an amber hue.
The end of the bridge leads me to an empty bookshelf, as it always does. I slide the newest story vertically onto the ledge. The words The Golden Goose sparkle on the spine in the murky light.
“Another name, another story.” I run my thumb over the words.
My heart tightens. No matter how many times I tell myself I’m doing the right thing, I still question it. What if Wilhelm is right and we’re actually locking people into these pages? Even if they are evil, who are we to make this judgment?
Once I step out of the Enchantress’s tower and into our new bookshop, the secret door slides shut, sealing off her realm from ours.
I rush to the hourglass, gripping the cold metal trees protecting the glass.
Rumpelstiltskin’s name has vanished from the top while our blood slowly starts to return to the upper globe through the twisted center.
Color returns to Wilhelm’s face, and his shoulders lift.
“It worked.” Wilhelm releases a long breath. “Somehow it worked.”
Which is unsettling in itself. But time is back on our side. At least for today.