Bennett countered. “I want someone to scare this girl to a point just short of cardiac arrest.”
“Maybe I should drive to Geneseo to try to talk to her,” Mom said. “Explain. It's only about forty-five minutes away. Surely if I just explained—”
“Send me back,” I interrupted.
That did quiet the room.
“There's no time for all this,” I said. “Send me back.” “Are you sure?” Ms. Bennett asked. By the readouts she and Adam had been monitoring, she had no doubt seen exactly what had happened to me—how I had left the game that last time.
“She has no friends,” I said—what I had said before, when I'd been simply repeating Emily's words. But this time, I meant: If not me, who ?
I asked, “Is this transforming-into-a-dragon thing part of the game?”
“Dragon?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Ms. Bennett said. “But having the ability to turn into a dragon means she's paid lots of money to the sprites.”
“Dragon?” Mom repeated.
Adam added, “She's altered the game to make getting coins a lot easier. She's going to be hard to fight, if she's in a fighting mood.”
“Yeah,” I said, “well, she's put me in a fighting mood, too. And I have a plan.”
Chapter 12
The Plan
I ENTERED THE Land of the Golden Butterflies right where I'd asked Ms. Bennett and Adam to set me down—in the pavilion—even though Adam had pointed out, “She's nowhere near there anymore. She's moved to a different area entirely.”
“That's fine,” I'd assured them. “I'll be able to find her.” I hadn't added out loud what I'd been thinking: I hope.
So there I was, watching the white silk tent billow in the breeze, listening to the wind chimes, while gently rocking in a hammock that I now knew was smiling-guy-propelled. The treasure chest overflowing with the golden and sparkly goodies Emily had accumulated was still there.
One of the shimmery butterflies that were always nearby when I entered the game landed on my arm. I wouldn't need coins, not if my plan worked.
But since when could I count on my plans working? I captured the butterfly and put the resulting coin with the others in my pocket.
Then, finally, I turned my head to bring hammock-guy into view.
Yep, still there. Still handsome. Still smiling.
Okay, so he might as well be useful.
“Give me a hand up out of here?” I asked.
He did, steadying both me and the hammock.
“Thank you,” I said. “Can you pick up that treasure chest?”
He did that, too, though he grunted at its weight.
“Follow me,” I said.
The two of us walked—well, one of us walked, the other staggered under his load—down the path of crushed glittery stones that led off to the left, toward the Victorian house.
I ended up sending him ahead of me, as the chest was too full for the lid to close, and we were leaving a trail of gems, and golden plates and goblets, and strands of pearls. Sort of like Hansel and Gretel dropping bread crumbs—but in the More Money Than Brains edition.
By the time we got to the garden, hammock-guy was puffing and sweating. Obviously, toting a chest overflowing with Emily's accumulated riches was a lot more strenuous than what a hammock-swaying specialist guy was used to. But his aim was to please, and he pleased me as long as he was willing to haul. I did let him rest on one of the park benches for a couple of minutes, but I was antsy to get moving again. So I asked, “All right?” and he nodded. I suspected he had been programmed to happily agree to any request, even if his heart was about to burst from the physical exertion, but I didn't let that worry me.
I led him into the maze.
I probably should have asked him if he knew the shortest route to the sprite fountain, because I took us to several dead ends. But eventually, over the huffing of hammock-guy, I heard the sound of the sprites' laughter. And it only took two more dead ends before we found the clearing in the center of the maze.
There were two sprites, one sitting on the
“Maybe I should drive to Geneseo to try to talk to her,” Mom said. “Explain. It's only about forty-five minutes away. Surely if I just explained—”
“Send me back,” I interrupted.
That did quiet the room.
“There's no time for all this,” I said. “Send me back.” “Are you sure?” Ms. Bennett asked. By the readouts she and Adam had been monitoring, she had no doubt seen exactly what had happened to me—how I had left the game that last time.
“She has no friends,” I said—what I had said before, when I'd been simply repeating Emily's words. But this time, I meant: If not me, who ?
I asked, “Is this transforming-into-a-dragon thing part of the game?”
“Dragon?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” Ms. Bennett said. “But having the ability to turn into a dragon means she's paid lots of money to the sprites.”
“Dragon?” Mom repeated.
Adam added, “She's altered the game to make getting coins a lot easier. She's going to be hard to fight, if she's in a fighting mood.”
“Yeah,” I said, “well, she's put me in a fighting mood, too. And I have a plan.”
Chapter 12
The Plan
I ENTERED THE Land of the Golden Butterflies right where I'd asked Ms. Bennett and Adam to set me down—in the pavilion—even though Adam had pointed out, “She's nowhere near there anymore. She's moved to a different area entirely.”
“That's fine,” I'd assured them. “I'll be able to find her.” I hadn't added out loud what I'd been thinking: I hope.
So there I was, watching the white silk tent billow in the breeze, listening to the wind chimes, while gently rocking in a hammock that I now knew was smiling-guy-propelled. The treasure chest overflowing with the golden and sparkly goodies Emily had accumulated was still there.
One of the shimmery butterflies that were always nearby when I entered the game landed on my arm. I wouldn't need coins, not if my plan worked.
But since when could I count on my plans working? I captured the butterfly and put the resulting coin with the others in my pocket.
Then, finally, I turned my head to bring hammock-guy into view.
Yep, still there. Still handsome. Still smiling.
Okay, so he might as well be useful.
“Give me a hand up out of here?” I asked.
He did, steadying both me and the hammock.
“Thank you,” I said. “Can you pick up that treasure chest?”
He did that, too, though he grunted at its weight.
“Follow me,” I said.
The two of us walked—well, one of us walked, the other staggered under his load—down the path of crushed glittery stones that led off to the left, toward the Victorian house.
I ended up sending him ahead of me, as the chest was too full for the lid to close, and we were leaving a trail of gems, and golden plates and goblets, and strands of pearls. Sort of like Hansel and Gretel dropping bread crumbs—but in the More Money Than Brains edition.
By the time we got to the garden, hammock-guy was puffing and sweating. Obviously, toting a chest overflowing with Emily's accumulated riches was a lot more strenuous than what a hammock-swaying specialist guy was used to. But his aim was to please, and he pleased me as long as he was willing to haul. I did let him rest on one of the park benches for a couple of minutes, but I was antsy to get moving again. So I asked, “All right?” and he nodded. I suspected he had been programmed to happily agree to any request, even if his heart was about to burst from the physical exertion, but I didn't let that worry me.
I led him into the maze.
I probably should have asked him if he knew the shortest route to the sprite fountain, because I took us to several dead ends. But eventually, over the huffing of hammock-guy, I heard the sound of the sprites' laughter. And it only took two more dead ends before we found the clearing in the center of the maze.
There were two sprites, one sitting on the
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