“Oh boy oh boy oh boy!” Humphrey cries, dashing after it. A moment later he returns, the toy clamped between his jaws. He shakes his head vigorously and then drops the toy between his paws. “I love this toy with all my life,” he snuffles, biting at it. “I love it so much that I want to eat it.” He pulls and chews. “I love it. . . . I love it. . . . I love it. . . . Oh no, it’s dead.” Humphrey steps back from the scrap heap that seconds ago was his toy and looks up at me in distress.
“Okay,” I sigh. “That took thirty seconds.” Maybe I can tire him out. “How about a run?”
“I’m the fastest runner ever,” Humphrey says, and he bolts into the next chapter. I jog after him as he dashes ahead andthen loops back just to make sure I’m still here. He tracks a scent, nose down, through the Enchanted Forest, weaving through the trees. He dog-paddles across the ocean and runs circles around Orville’s lab. Finally, at the base of Timble Tower, he skids to a stop, panting. “That was so fun. Let’s do it again. I can totally keep my eyes open. I’m not falling asleep at all.” And then he conks to the side, snoring.
I sigh.“Finally.”I probably have less than a minute till he wakes up again, and I will have to find yet another way to distract him. My gaze falls on the tower rising before me.
Dogs can’t climb.
I grab on to the stone cliff that leads to the tower, fumbling for a hand- and foothold. Hoisting my weight, I start to inch upward, swallowing the nausea that hits me like a wave when I look down at the churning ocean.
Finally I reach the open window of the tower where Seraphima is imprisoned in the story and hurl myself inside headfirst, landing unceremoniously in a heap on the floor.
Thank God,I think.Peace and quiet.
“What areyoudoing here?” A muffled voice comes from a pile of quilts across the room.
I squint. “Seraphima?”
I’ve never seen her like this. She’s wearing a nightgown and mismatched socks. Her hair looks like there are small woodland creatures hiding inside it. And I’m pretty sure it’s been days since her last shower. “Um,” I say, “are you feeling all right?”
“No,” she wails, bursting into tears. “I don’t knowwhatis happening to me. No one’s left chocolates on my pillow at night. I can’t find my slippers anywhere. There’s been nobreakfast waiting outside my door. And I can’t even remember the last time someone told me I was pretty.”
I suddenly remember Frump telling me once that he had to go make Seraphima’s bed, as part of the continuing ruse that let her believe she was a true princess. I wonder if that’s what love is: giving in to someone’s delusions, just because you know it makes them happy.
“You know what you need?” I say. “A change of scenery. I’m trying to get rid of a dog—”
Seraphima wails even louder.“I miss Frump!”
“Believe me,” I mutter. “You’re not the only one. Listen, do you know any good hiding places in this book?”
She stops crying and blinks twice. Then she lifts the hem of her sheets and blows her nose into them. “Let me think,” she says, sliding off the bed and behind a folding screen. I turn away, reddening, as she takes off her nightgown and I see her naked silhouette. A moment later she emerges, in a wrinkled, stained gown, sporting one blue shoe and one green one. Her hair has been yanked into a messy bun that sits off-center on her head and only contains half her hair. “Do I look all right?” she asks.
“Um. Sure.”
Her shoulders sag. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I have anyone to impress.”
I glance out the window and see Humphrey starting to stir. “We have to hurry,” I say. “Please tell me I don’t have to climb back down?”
“I usually just jump.”
“Are youinsane?”
“Even Rapscullio can do it,” she says, “and he’s a big baby.” She hikes her skirts up and hooks one leg over the windowsill. With a smile, she hurls herself out.
“Seraphima!” I yell. I hesitate for only a moment, glancing down at the waves breaking over the rocks below, and her body, which grows smaller and smaller as she falls. Then I dive after her.
This hero thingsucks.
The ground is rushing up at an alarming pace. I find myself thinking:This is how I die.Flashing before my eyes are all the things I will miss the most: my mother, the new Star Wars movie premiere, meatballs and spaghetti . . .
As if I’m attached to a bungee cord, I stop in midair an inch before my body is smashed on the rocks. But unlike on a bungee cord, I don’t snap back up. Instead I hover, turning my head to see Seraphima suspended the same way. She delicately arches her foot and tiptoes a few steps down to the ground. “Well?” she asks, looking up at me. “Are you waiting for an invitation?”
I take a deep breath and jump, landing squarely on both feet, safe and sound. “Now what?”
“Follow me,” Seraphima replies. She grabs my hand and starts to run, flying through the pages until we come to a stop on a tundra made of snow. Or that’s what it looks like, anyway. It’s nothing, as far as the eye can see, but it’s not cold.
“Wherearewe?” I ask.
