Into the Wild(17)

“Oh,” Linda said. “It’s out.”

“Out?” Julie said, astounded. It actually existed, and the library owned a copy? How had she never seen it here before? How had she never read it? A book with all the answers she’d ever wanted! Just thinking about it made her head spin.

“And so are the interlibrary loan copies and the copies in the Worcester Library,” Linda said. She headed for the circulation desk. “You won’t find it in Boston either.” Julie didn’t think to question how Linda knew about the other libraries’ copies.

Oh, Mom, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell anyone?

Outside, the police sirens screamed. “An emergency evacuation is in effect,” the megaphone blared. “Some might say,” Linda said softly, under the sound of the sirens, “this may not be such a horrible thing. With all the new people inside, there are bound to be new tales born out of the old stories. And the world needs new fairy tales. Or so some might say.”

Julie didn’t hear her. She stared at the cover of Grimm’s: a painting of a princess, a knight, a tower, and a frog. Did it matter that no one else knew? So long as Mom knew how to stop it, that was enough, wasn’t it?

If it was enough, why hadn’t she already escaped? Something must have prevented her: wolves, ogres, witches. She imagined her mother tied to a stake, a dragon circling above. Mom wouldn’t put up with it: she’d send the dragon to its room and cancel all its chocolate privileges. Julie half laughed, half hiccuped. No, no, she would not get hysterical.

But that had to be the reason why Mom wasn’t here right now: something had caught her before she could act, and she was a prisoner somewhere. Julie traced the image of the tower on the cover of the book. Rescues happened all the time in the Wild. She’d seen a dozen tales just now. All Mom needed was to be rescued, and then she could do the rest.

Julie just had to call a hero, and it would all be fixed. Yes, that was it! “Can I use the library phone?” she asked.

Linda’s forehead puckered in a frown. “The library phone is not for personal use . . .”

“Don’t you hear the sirens? This is an emergency! I need to call heroes!”

Linda began to smile. “Ah, yes. The new generation of tales do need heroes. Please, be my guest . . .”

Julie hurried past her. She picked up the phone at the circulation desk. She tried to remember the heroes’ real-world names: Jack the Giant Killer was Jack Bean; Prince Charming was Philip Charmin . . . None of the heroes lived in Northboro. Not enough adventure here, her mother had said. Some were in New York, some in L.A., and at least one was hunting yeti in the Himalayas. But they’d come back once they knew. Of course they would.

She dialed.

“What city?” the computer voice said. “New York,” Julie said. She wiped her free hand on her jeans. She was sweating. “What name?”

“Jack Bean. B-e-a-n.”

She’d start with hello, how are you. She’d say she had a problem. No, she’d flatter him first: she’d say she’d heard how brave a hero he was, and then she’d tell him about the Wild and Mom. She dialed his number, and the phone rang.

She heard a click, and her heart leapt. “Jack and the Giantess aren’t in right now,” a woman’s voice boomed. A younger male voice continued: “But if you’d like to leave a message, please wait for the ‘moo.’” On cue, a cow mooed.

He wasn’t home? How could he not be home? She left a message, and then she tried Prince Charming: Philip Charmin in L.A. Another answering machine.

So far, she was batting zero, and it was getting harder and harder to stay calm. Who else could she call? She did-n’t know Aladdin’s last name. He was a test pilot in the air force. Pinocchio wasn’t much of a hero—he’d been a child actor for the past fifty years. The mattress princess’s husband was in Europe somewhere. The Frog Prince was a nature specialist in the Okefenokee Swamp. Julie had never met Snow’s ex-husband, and Rose (a.k.a. Sleeping Beauty) never even talked about hers. As for the others—the simpleton heroes, the lucky third sons, the invisible princes—Julie didn’t know if they were in the United States or Europe, or even if they’d ever escaped from the Wild in the first place. She certainly didn’t know their names, real or fairy tale. Her head felt as if it were buzzing. Julie’s plan was falling apart before it had even begun. She made herself put the receiver down on the cradle. Abruptly, the buzzing stopped.

There had to be some way she could find out their real-world names. Cindy and Goldie would know, of course, but she couldn’t go back to them. Who else . . .