It wasn’t long before Peter was launching to his feet, suddenly towering over the aged goblin. “Touch a hair on her head,” he said, his words as clear as day, “and you will wish you picked the damned book.”
Maggie shot to her feet, instantly blocking Peter’s view of the old goblin. The sharp and jagged features of his face began to soften, the familiar curve of his cheek returning with a sheepish grin.
“It’s alright,” Maggie whispered, though she felt a bit odd at having to reassure him for a change. “Weneedthe eye.”
Peter shook his head. “But –”
“We’ve tried it your way,” Maggie interjected, her voice soft. “Now it’s my turn.”
Before the King of Neverland could offer any more of an argument, Maggie turned back to Mr. Reader, and reclaimed her seat. She scooted closer, though the intensity behind his eyes only seemed to strengthen then.
“A memory,” she repeated. “Whatever for?”
Mr. Reader produced a smile. “Goblins are considered to be greedy by most,” he explained as he rose from his seat. He waddled across the room until he reached a case that stood tall against the wall. Opening up the small doors, he revealed a series of crystal balls. Each shone a different color, flickering with a distant foggy image. “But what others consider to be greed is only collecting things that should never be lost. Things that are often forgotten, things that will always be priceless.”
Maggie slowly stood, her eyes stuck on the crystal balls. “Memories,” she whispered.
“But you can’t hurt her,” Peter blurted.
The goblin laughed, the sound like two rocks being clapped together. “Do not fret, King of Neverland. The memory will be shared, but not removed. I sense that there are many lurkingbeneath the surface of Marigold Hart –” he reached, one wrinkled hand hovering over her head “ – hidden even to her.”
Maggie’s eyes widened.Marigold.She had never heard her name said in such a way. Or…did she?Maggie shook her head, everything growing jumbled within her. She stepped closer to Mr. Reader. “So if I give you this memory, you’ll give us the eye?”
“Yes. It doesn’t hurt. There are no side-effects. It’s quick and painless.” The goblin reached into his cabinet and retrieved a blank crystal ball. The color within was murky and impossible to see through. Mr. Reader extended the ball forward, his hand gripping the bottom of it. “Just place your palm on top of the crystal ball.”
Maggie drew in a deep breath. Plenty of times before it had always been on Peter to lead the way, to reveal the information, to bring them one step closer to their goal. Pride lurked beneath her skin at the idea of being the key, of having some sort of purpose to being there. Though the hesitation still lingered, Maggie reached forward and rested her hand on the murky crystal ball.
The same sensation she had before, of the air being drawn out of the room, came rushing back. It was then that Maggie realized it was magic, and in particular, Mr. Reader’s magic. The power ensnared her like a coiling snake, squeezing until her limbs felt like rubber. All throughout it, her hand remained fixed upon the crystal ball, her fingers searing into it. Images flipped through her mind and appeared on the crystal ball, moving fast as Mr. Reader searched for one memory in particular. She saw the bakery owned, being chased out, working at the tavern, and meeting Peter. Their first kiss flickered across the crystal ball, but the goblin paid no mind. He didn’t stop until he dove deep within the trenches of her mind, reaching into a place not even she recognized.
The memory showed itself as though it was happening in real time: Maggie sat in a rocking boat, tall waves crashing over the sides and drenching her. An unforgettable moon rested high above her head, showering her with a pale mystic light. Lightning met the horizon in the distance, and thunder crashed almost instantly, met with the sharp and piercing wail of a newborn baby.
The goblin retracted just as fast it began, ripping Maggie out of the world she didn’t recognize. She blinked a few times and reached for her face, touching her skin as though it wasn’t her own. Nothing made sense about that memory. It hardly felt like her own. When was she ever in the middle of the ocean, on a flimsy rowboat? She was already shaking her head, moments away from telling the goblin he got it all wrong.
Mr. Reader yanked the crystal ball out from her hand. The memory danced within it but he was quick to hide it, greedily adding it to his large collection. “This might be my finest addition yet,” the creature murmured. “Important memories that are capable of shaping an entire life are full of untapped power. This one in particular –” he shuddered “ – holds a similar value.”
Maggie stared with wide eyes. She wanted to snatch the ball from his hand, to figure out what it meant before he stored it away for the rest of time. A series of questions rested on the tip of her tongue, just waiting for the moment to tumble out.
The goblin reached into his sleeve and retrieved the eye. It shone despite the darkness, the bronze glimmering in an earthy sort of way. “A deal’s a deal,” he rhymed.
Mr. Reader dropped the eye in Maggie’s hand, already slinking away. He snapped the cabinet shut, the lock clicking at the same moment. The goblin retreated into the darkness, inching back to the door from where he came. Maggie watched with a heavy heart, a life’s worth of questions building ontoher chest, only to remain unanswered. One, though simple and barely a sentence, echoed within her like a distant shout.
Who am I?
Peter’s hand on her shoulder pulled her back into the present. “You’re unstoppable, Magpie,” he murmured, giving her a tight squeeze.
And though the words were meant to reassure, to congratulate, Maggie could only look down at the bronze eye, the forgotten memory still playing ominously in the back of her mind.
17
Hazel’s cottage was lit up with song. The small-framed woman danced through her living room, prancing angelically around her bubbling silver cauldron. A quiet firepit roasted beneath the large pot, the flames kept at bay by a narrow wall of stone. Everything within the cauldron reacted to the sound of Hazel’s voice – the bubbles growing wide and popping before deflating and sinking deep to the bottom of the iron cauldron. As her words crescendoed, the potion rippled and grew, clawing up the sides of the pot. When she lowered, the silence creeping back into the forest, the liquid within swirled until it reached the middle – and stopped.
Maggie was entranced.
She was hooked from the start, her eyes following Hazel’s movements, down to her twiddling thumbs. The magic came off her subtly, not at all like the goblin, Mr. Reader. It wasn’t until the spell had carried on for quite some time that Maggie realized anything was happening at all. The music flowed from Hazel in magical waves, reaching every corner of the cottage before seeping into the woods. There wasn’t even a need for candlelight to illuminate their surroundings, the music echoed a warmth that was poignant enough to light every inch of the room. Itwasn’t before long that Maggie felt comfortable enough to hum alongside Hazel’s recognizable tune, or tapping her feet.
Hazel reached behind her during the throngs of her dance, her fingers trembling as they inched closer to Maggie. “The time has come near,” the witch sang, “for our first key to appear –”
Maggie extended her hand and placed the MirrorLeaf on Hazel’s hand. The witch pulled the artifact in front of her, the light catching on the mirror’s magical surface.
