“Yeah,” I add, “but in video games, when you find one, youcan sometimes skip a whole level of play. Or wind up at the end of the game. Or even just automatically win.”
“A shortcut,” Delilah says, simplifying. “We found the ones you put into the book: the lip-gloss compact on the copyright page, and the star cookie.”
I meet my mother’s gaze. “Every time someone reads your fairy tale, Rapscullio falls out a tower window and dies. But not really, because the next time the book is opened, there he is again, conning Oliver into helping him.” I take a deep breath. “There is no death. There’s no sickness. The book won’t allow it. If you can tell us where you’ve hidden just one more of those gateways, we can go inside. And once we’re there, we get to live forever.”
She is silent for a long moment.
“Edgar,” she says finally, “you have some imagination.”
“So did you. Which is why I think this might work.” I reach for her hand. “You just had a conversation with Oliver, right? So you know that it’s possible to exist—no, not exist,live—inside the book . . . and in spite of what you want to tell yourself, it has nothing to do with the meds you’re on. If Oliver and Maureen are willing to trade places, and if you and I follow the plot instead of messing with it, there’s no reason the bookwouldn’ttake us. Sure, I’ll have to wear tights for the rest of my life, but that’s okay, if it means you’re with me. And there are worse things than having the day job of being a queen, right?” I hesitate. “Mom, really, what have you got to lose?”
My mother’s been awake for an hour now, and I can see she’s exhausted. “Even if this were true, which it can’t possibly be, I couldn’t tell you where to find a portal.” She sighs. “I didn’t create them.”
I look at Delilah and Jules. “If you didn’t, whodid?”
“I don’t know. Students write papers about themes and symbolism in books . . . and half the time, the author never planned any of it. It justhappens.”
“You mean, like, subconsciously?” Jules asks.
“Maybe,” my mother admits.
“Then who’s to say there’s not another subconscious secret passage somewhere? We just have to find it,” I say.
“But they’re not what you think they are. They’re not bonuses, or extra points. They were wishes. The only reason they worked when they did was because the person who stumbled across them believed wholeheartedly. A wish is just words. Belief is the catalyst. It’s what sets that wish into motion. When two people want the same exact thing and that wish is caught between them, there’s nothing more powerful.”
“Then why don’t wishes come true every day?” I ask her. “If we both want you to get better, how come it’s not that simple?”
She looks at me, her eyes wide and sad. “This world isn’t filled with magic,” my mother says. “Why do you think so many people escape through fiction?” She sinks into the pillow, her voice fading. “Edgar, I think I need to close my eyes for a little while.”
I slip out of the room, followed by Delilah and Jules. “Do you think she’s right?” Jules asks. “That they weren’t portals or escape hatches—they were just two people believing in something at once?”
“Then why did you get sucked into Seraphima’s wish?” Delilah asks her. “You clearly didn’t want to go into the book, but you wound up there anyway. And for the record, Oliver and Idid plenty of simultaneous wishing for him to get out of the book, and it did nothing.”
“I don’t know,” I say, my mind buzzing. I don’t have the answers. I just know I have to find them, quickly.
And I think I know who might be able to help.
OLIVER
I know something is wrong. I knew it the moment Edgar told me to say hello to Jessamyn and I saw the wires and tubes hooked up behind her, as if she were one of Orville’s experiments. I knew from the look on Delilah’s face before she closed the book, telling me she would explain everything as soon as she got a chance.
I have been pacing the bottom of page 43, waiting for her, but she hasn’t opened the book.
Love isn’t what you expect it to be. You imagine being drunk on happiness, but the truth is, you worry all the time. Is she ill? Hurt? Might she meet someone else? There’s a moment when you realize that you’ve gotten everything you wished for. And right on its heels is the understanding that this means you have so much more to lose.
By the time I feel the ground shift under my feet and thebook beginning to open, I’ve worked myself into a frenzy, imagining all manner of horrors.
To my surprise, however, Delilah doesn’t open the book to our usual page. I find myself springing through the story, until I am flung hard into Orville’s copper cauldron. He winces in empathy. I sit up gingerly, only to have Humphrey smack into my face and send me sprawling on my back.
Socks trots onto the page, panting. “Mmm. Feeling that cardio,” he says.
The scene swims before settling into place, and I glance up surreptitiously to find Delilah—in the company of Jules and Edgar.
“Are you all right?” I ask Delilah. “What’s going on? And don’t bloody close the book on me this time.”
“I’m fine,” Delilah assures me. “But Jessamyn—she’s not. She’s very sick, Oliver. She’s not going to live much longer.”
I watch Socks and Orville process this information. “Like Frump?” Socks asks after a minute.
