Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
I open my mouth to decline again, but Dee-dee is already pushing me into a chair.
“Have a seat, Irena dear,” she says, getting me seated in a chocolate dining chair with scrolled arms and a white marshmallow seat cushion.
“Really, I shouldn’t,” I protest weakly. But I am already being served food.
The platter with the ham has grown tiny feet and legs and it rises up and marches towards me. A knife rises magically into the air to carve it and then delivers a pink, delectable slice onto my plate. Then the other plates and dishes are marching towards me too, the magical silverware dishing out portions onto the plate before me which soon becomes quite full.
Again, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m in the middle of some vivid dream. Where else but a dream or a fairytale would I be served by magical plates and cutlery?
But though I’m tempted to succumb and start eating, the memory of the bramble berries and Old Man Oak are fresh in my mind. In this forest, you don’t take without paying.
“Let me give you something in return,” I say to Dee-dee, who is standing beside me, watching expectantly. “Maybe you’d like one of my hairpins,” I offer, pointing at the hairpins my mother gave me, which are holding my still-damp hair out of my eyes.
“No, no, no!” she exclaims, and do I detect a note of impatience in her sweet, musical voice? “No, you must eat!” she insists.
“But I’m really not hungry,” I protest weakly. It’s an obvious lie and it seems to upset Dee-dee.
“I said, eat!” Her voice is stern and angry and her big brown eyes are no longer quite so calm and kind.
Suddenly, the chair I’m sitting in starts to move. Its scrolled arms twitch and then lengthen. Before I can even gasp, they have wrapped themselves around me, holding me in place. At the same time, the magical knife and fork are cutting a piece off the glistening slice of tender, pink ham on my plate. The fork flies towards my mouth, as though it will force the succulent morsel between my lips.
“No!” I gasp and turn my face, which causes the fork to stab at my cheek. “No, please—I can’t!”
“You must!” Dee-dee’s voice is harsh now and when I glance at her, my eyes widen in shock.
No longer is she a lovely young girl with blonde hair and chocolate brown eyes. As I watch, she is transforming—becoming what I imagine must be her true self.
Her thick blonde hair turns gray and straggly and greasy. Her eyes grow small and beady and her formerly straight nose develops a hump while a large, hairy wart grows on her chin. Her lovely clear complexion is turning an alarming shade of green, and her clean white gown has become a tattered black dress and cloak.
My own new clothes have changed as well—they’re nothing but filthy rags with huge gaping holes in them. The food on the table is no longer a delicious feast. The ham shrivels and goes rotten, and the apple pie withers to dust. The bread is moldy and the butter is rancid. The wild berry preserves are a horrid mass of writhing maggots.
Even the furniture is changed. The table is no longer made of chocolate—it’s a rotten plank of wood and the candy chandelier above is nothing but a smoky torch.
“Eat!” shrieks the witch—for she must be a witch, just like in a horrible fairytale. “Eat, my pretty one! Grow plump for me!”
“No! No!” I gasp, moving my head from side to side to avoid the fork, which is trying to feed me a piece of rotten meat. “No, leave me alone! Please—I just want to leave!”
“You’ll never leave—you owe me!” she cackles. “You owe me for the taste of my house you had!”
“I never tasted your house!” I protest. Looking around at the rotting structure where all the candy has changed to rot and ruin, I’m glad now I didn’t give in to the urge to lick or nibble anything. Everything is now ten times as disgusting as it was appealing just a few moments ago.
“You did! You licked your hand after you used my doorknob—I felt the magic leave me when you tasted the peppermint on your palm!” she screeches triumphantly. “And now you must pay!”
“And what do you expect her to pay you, crone?”
The deep, resonant voice makes us both whip our heads around. Standing in the arched doorway of the dining room, is Valen.
35
IRENA
He’s glowering at the witch and his eyes are already glowing red. His throat begins to glow too, and I know he’s about to breath fire.
Unfortunately, the witch seems to see that too.
“Stop!” she shouts and raises her hand. Clenching it into a fist, she makes a throwing motion, as though she’s hurling something at Valen. Suddenly the fire in his throat goes out.