Come on, an Audrey Hepburn lookalike and Josephine March? I’d take Hepburn anytime.
“Is the ugly stepsister supposed to get married in the story?” I ask, choosing to ignore his question.
Krev grins. He disappears from the mantelpiece where he was sitting and perches on the foot of my bed.
“We’re having a bet, the king, the queen, and I,” he says.
“On what?” I have a bad feeling about this.
“On how many proposals you’ll receive by the end of the Season. The king bets on two; the queen five.”
“And you?” I can’t help asking.
“One. But I won’t say who the man is, or you’re certain to avoid him.”
“You’d better bet on zero,” I say dryly. “There’s no way I can marry anyone here, and I’m not even out of high school. It’s ridiculous. Besides, you guys would have more fun betting on Bianca. She’s refused seven suitors already!”
Krev shrugs. “The king doesn’t care about other females—you’re the one who ripped his book. Besides, you’re an underdog here, and Morag has more sympathy for underdogs.”
“Sympathy? Then help me get out of this stupid book!” I throw my pillow at him; he snaps his fingers and the pillow comes flying back like it has rebounded off a wall. “Look, you can do magic and disappear and such, but you won’t even lift a finger to help me.”
Krev raises a crooked eyebrow. “How?”
“Well, with finding the fairy godmother, for one thing! I can’t get Elle to the ball on my own, I can’t turn a pumpkin into a coach, and mice into footmen, and God knows where I can get glass slippers. I want to get back, I want to go home!”
I let out a tiny sob. Krev, who usually takes pleasure in my misfortunes, looks a bit uncomfortable.
“Impossible, girlie. The king created the book a hundred years ago, along with several others. He doesn’t even remember what the fairy godmother looks like, not to mention where she might be.”
“Seriously? A hundred years ago?”
“Goblin-made objects last longer.”
“Like the sword Harry Potter used to kill the basilisk?”
“Oh, that is pure nonsense.” Krev sounds amused. “We don’t make weapons, trolls do. And the book was already fragile when you touched it. It may last longer than human-made stuff, but that doesn’t mean it lasts forever.”
“Whatever.” The point is I’m alone in my quest for the fairy godmother. God, with all the luck I’m having, I might be stuck in this story forever.
ELEVEN
On the mornings I don’t have dancing lessons, I curl up in bed in a baggy chemise and lose myself in the books I get from The Bookworm. Since Elle doesn’t get much time off work, I offer to check up on Billy sometimes. But it isn’t just Billy that draws me to the bookstore. Mr. Wellesley, the owner, keeps a stack of current bestsellers on a table right outside the store, arranged in a way that’s actually quite similar to Barnes & Noble’s featured books. One can easily browse through the books, grab one, and head to the register to pay for it. Only here, the register is a huge book.
I had bought a book called The Mystery of Castle Eynsworth out of curiosity, and holy smokes! I couldn’t put it down. Now this is what I call a proper Gothic novel. Finished the book in two mornings—I even sneaked it to a picnic and tried to read it when no one was looking—and wanted to rush out and buy the sequel immediately, for the book just had to end on an evil cliffhanger that makes you shell out money for the next one.
On one afternoon while Bianca and Madam are away at a high tea, I ask Van to drive me to The Bookworm. I would prefer to take the omnibus (a huge horse-drawn carriage for public transport), but it’s always so packed and crowded that it’ll take too long flagging one down. The first and last time I tried using one was when my crinoline got caught in the doorway and the whalebone nearly cracked.
“Ah, so it’s the pretty little
“Is the ugly stepsister supposed to get married in the story?” I ask, choosing to ignore his question.
Krev grins. He disappears from the mantelpiece where he was sitting and perches on the foot of my bed.
“We’re having a bet, the king, the queen, and I,” he says.
“On what?” I have a bad feeling about this.
“On how many proposals you’ll receive by the end of the Season. The king bets on two; the queen five.”
“And you?” I can’t help asking.
“One. But I won’t say who the man is, or you’re certain to avoid him.”
“You’d better bet on zero,” I say dryly. “There’s no way I can marry anyone here, and I’m not even out of high school. It’s ridiculous. Besides, you guys would have more fun betting on Bianca. She’s refused seven suitors already!”
Krev shrugs. “The king doesn’t care about other females—you’re the one who ripped his book. Besides, you’re an underdog here, and Morag has more sympathy for underdogs.”
“Sympathy? Then help me get out of this stupid book!” I throw my pillow at him; he snaps his fingers and the pillow comes flying back like it has rebounded off a wall. “Look, you can do magic and disappear and such, but you won’t even lift a finger to help me.”
Krev raises a crooked eyebrow. “How?”
“Well, with finding the fairy godmother, for one thing! I can’t get Elle to the ball on my own, I can’t turn a pumpkin into a coach, and mice into footmen, and God knows where I can get glass slippers. I want to get back, I want to go home!”
I let out a tiny sob. Krev, who usually takes pleasure in my misfortunes, looks a bit uncomfortable.
“Impossible, girlie. The king created the book a hundred years ago, along with several others. He doesn’t even remember what the fairy godmother looks like, not to mention where she might be.”
“Seriously? A hundred years ago?”
“Goblin-made objects last longer.”
“Like the sword Harry Potter used to kill the basilisk?”
“Oh, that is pure nonsense.” Krev sounds amused. “We don’t make weapons, trolls do. And the book was already fragile when you touched it. It may last longer than human-made stuff, but that doesn’t mean it lasts forever.”
“Whatever.” The point is I’m alone in my quest for the fairy godmother. God, with all the luck I’m having, I might be stuck in this story forever.
ELEVEN
On the mornings I don’t have dancing lessons, I curl up in bed in a baggy chemise and lose myself in the books I get from The Bookworm. Since Elle doesn’t get much time off work, I offer to check up on Billy sometimes. But it isn’t just Billy that draws me to the bookstore. Mr. Wellesley, the owner, keeps a stack of current bestsellers on a table right outside the store, arranged in a way that’s actually quite similar to Barnes & Noble’s featured books. One can easily browse through the books, grab one, and head to the register to pay for it. Only here, the register is a huge book.
I had bought a book called The Mystery of Castle Eynsworth out of curiosity, and holy smokes! I couldn’t put it down. Now this is what I call a proper Gothic novel. Finished the book in two mornings—I even sneaked it to a picnic and tried to read it when no one was looking—and wanted to rush out and buy the sequel immediately, for the book just had to end on an evil cliffhanger that makes you shell out money for the next one.
On one afternoon while Bianca and Madam are away at a high tea, I ask Van to drive me to The Bookworm. I would prefer to take the omnibus (a huge horse-drawn carriage for public transport), but it’s always so packed and crowded that it’ll take too long flagging one down. The first and last time I tried using one was when my crinoline got caught in the doorway and the whalebone nearly cracked.
“Ah, so it’s the pretty little
Similar Books
